The Kill-Off (16 page)

“N-no!
NO!
” I said. “I w-was with my sister! I—”

“Suppose I told you I’d talked with your sister? Suppose I told you she’s admitted that you weren’t with her? Suppose I told you I’ve only been playing with you all evening—getting you out on a limb with this one-person alibi deal? Suppose…”

His voice had uncoiled; he had uncoiled. He was in front of me, leaning toward me, pounding on the desk. He was there, but he was also behind me, to the side of me, above me. He seemed to surround me like his voice, closing in, shutting out everything else. Chasing me further and further into a black, bewildering labyrinth where only he and the voice could follow. I couldn’t think. I—I—

I thought,
Isn’t it funny? How, when you feel so much one way, you act just the opposite?

I thought,
She never said nothin’. Mama and Papa said I did real good…and she hated it. She hated me. All her life she’s—

“She did it!” It was me, screaming. “S-she said she was going to! S-she—she—she says I wasn’t to home, why she wasn’t either! S-she—she—”

“Then she can’t alibi for you, can she? You can’t prove you were at home. And you weren’t, were you, Williams? You were at the Devore house, weren’t you, Williams? You were killing Luane, weren’t you, Williams? Killing her and then faking—”

“
N-N-NO! NO!
Don’t you s-see? I couldn’t I—I couldn’t hurt no one! H-honest, Mr. Kossmeyer! I—I ain’t that way. I k-know it l-looks like—like—but that ain’t me! I couldn’t do it. I didn’t, d-didn’t, didn’t, didn’t…”

He was making little motions with his hands, motioning for me to stop. The whiteness was gone from his face, giving way to a deep flush. He looked ashamed and embarrassed, and kind of sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t really think you killed Luane. I just got sore, and—”

“He didn’t kill her,” said a voice from the doorway. “I did.”

P
apa just about scared me to death when he came home for lunch. He didn’t act much different or say anything much more out of the way than he usually does—I guess he really didn’t actually. But I kept feeling like he knew about Bobbie and me, and that that was why he was acting and talking the way he was. And finally I just got so nervous and scared that I jumped up from the table, and ran up to my room.

Afterwards, sitting up on the edge of my bed, I was scared even more. I thought, Oh, golly, now I
have
done it. Now, he
will
know there’s something wrong, if he doesn’t already. I shivered and shook. I began to get sick to my stomach; kind of a morning sickness like I’ve had a lot lately. But I didn’t dare go to the bathroom. He might hear me, and come upstairs. He might start asking Mama questions, and that would be just as bad, because she’s even scareder of him than I am.

It’s funny how we feel about him; I mean, the way we’re always so scared of him. Because there’s actually no real reason to be. He’s never hit Mama or me. He’s never threatened us or cussed us out. He’s never done anything of the things that mean men are supposed to do to their families, and yet we’ve always been scared of him. Almost as far back as I can remember, anyway.

Well, after a moment or so, Mama left the table too, and came upstairs, stopped in the doorway of my room. I held my hand over my mouth and pointed. She pointed to my shoes. I slipped them off, and followed her down the hall to the bathroom. And, golly, was it a relief to get in there.

I used the sink to vomit in, and Mama kept running the water to cover up the noise. It was sure a relief.

We went back to my room, she in her shoes and me in my stocking feet. We sat down on my bed, and she put her arms around me and held me. She was kind of stiff and awkward about it, since we’ve never done much kissing and hugging or anything like that in our family. But it was nice, just the same.

It wasn’t much later, but it seemed like hours before Papa left. Mama’s arms slid away from me, and we both heaved a big sigh. And then we laughed, kind of weakly, because it was sort of funny, you know.

“How are you feeling, girl?” Mama said. “Girl” is about as close as she ever comes to calling me a pet name. I said I was feeling pretty good now.

“Stand up and let me take a look at you,” Mama said.

I stood up. I pulled my dress up above my waist, and Mama looked at me. Then, she motioned for me to sit down again.

“It doesn’t show none at all,” she said. “You couldn’t tell there’s a thing wrong by looking at you. Of course, it wouldn’t need to show if he’s—he’s—”

“Do you think he has, Mama?” I started to tremble a little. “Y-you don’t think he has heard anything, do you, Mama?”

“Well, sure, now,” Mama said quickly. “Of course, he hasn’t. I reckon he’d sure let us know if he had.”

“But—but what makes him act so funny then?”

“Mean, you mean,” Mama said. “When did he ever act any other way?”

She sat, turning her hands in her lap, looking down at the big blue veins in the rough red flesh. Her legs were bare, and they were red and rough, too; bruised-looking where the varicose veins were broken. She was just kind of a mass of redness and roughness, from her face to her feet. And all at once I began to cry.

“There, there, girl,” she said, giving me an awkward pat. “Want me to get you something to eat?”

“N-no.” I shook my head.

She said I’d better eat; I’d hardly touched my lunch. She said she could bake me up something real quick—some puff bread or something else real tasty.

“Oh, Mama.” I wiped my eyes, suddenly smiling a little. “That’s all you ever think of! I’ll bet if a person had a broken leg you’d try to feed them!”

“Well…” She smiled, kind of embarrassed. “I guess I would probably, at that.”

“Well,” I said. “I guess I could probably eat a couple of those fresh crullers you made this morning. Maybe a couple of cups of good strong coffee, too. All at once, I’m actually really pretty hungry, Mama.”

“You know, I kind of am myself, girl,” Mama said. “You just stay here and rest, and I’ll bring us up a bite.”

She brought up some coffee and a half-dozen crullers, and a couple of big thick potroast sandwiches. We were both pretty full when we finished—at least, I couldn’t have eaten anything more. And I felt kind of peaceful, dull peaceful, you know, like you do when you’re full.

A fly buzzed against the screen. A nice little breeze drifted through the window, bringing the smell of alfalfa blossoms. I guess nothing smells quite as good as alfalfa, unless it’s fresh-baked bread. I wondered why Mama wasn’t baking today, because she almost always puts dough to set on Sunday night, and bakes bread on Monday.

“Guess I just didn’t have the will for it,” she said, when I asked her about it. “You bake all day in this weather, and it takes the house a week to cool off.”

“It wouldn’t if you cooked with gas,” I said. “You ought to make him put in gas, Mama!”

Mama made a sort of sour-funny face. She asked me if I’d ever known of anyone to make Papa do anything. “Anyway,” she added, slowly. “I don’t think he could do it now, even if he wanted to. I don’t think he’s burning coal any more just to bother the neighbors.”

I said that, well, I thought so. I
knew
so. “Why did you ever marry him anyway, Mama? You must have known what he was like. There certainly must have been some signs of it.”

“Well…” She brushed a wisp of hair back from her forehead. “I told you the why of it about a hundred times already, girl. He was older than me, so he got out of the orphanage first. And then he started dropping back to visit, after he was making money, so…”

“But you just didn’t marry him to get away from the place?” I said. “That wasn’t the only reason, was it?”

“No, of course not,” Mama said.

“He was different then, Mama? You were in love with him?”

She looked down in her lap again, twisting her hands. Words like “love” always embarrass Mama, and her face was a little flushed.

“It wasn’t the only reason I married him,” she said. “Just to get away from the orphanage. But maybe…I kind of think maybe he thought it was. We shouldn’t talk about him like we do, girl. Shouldn’t even think things like we do. He’s pretty sensitive, you know, quick to catch on to what someone else is thinkin’, and—”

“Well, it’s his own fault,” I said. “What else can he expect, anyway?”

Mama shook her head. She didn’t say anything.

“Mama,” I said. “What did you mean a minute ago when you said Papa probably couldn’t have the house piped for gas, even if he wanted to? You didn’t mean he didn’t have the money, did you?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean anything—just thinking nonsense and I said it out loud,” Mama said quickly. “Don’t you ever breathe a word around about your Papa not having money, girl.”

I said I wouldn’t. In the first place it would be silly and a lie; and then it would make Papa awfully mad. “He’s got all kinds of money,” I said, “and, Mama, I just g-got to—”

I started crying again. Right out of a clear blue sky without any warning.

“I can’t stand it any longer!” I said. “I’m getting so scared, and—could you get some money from him, Mama? Make him give you enough for me and Bobbie to—”

I didn’t finish the question. It was too foolish. I wouldn’t even have started to ask it if I hadn’t been half-scared to death.

“I don’t know why he has to be so hateful!” I said. “If he wants to—to—Why doesn’t he do something to that dirty old Luane Devore? She’s the one that’s causing all the trouble!”

“There, there, girl,” Mama mumbled. “No use in getting yourself—”

“Well, why doesn’t he?” I said. “Why doesn’t he do something to her?”

“He wouldn’t see no call to,” Mama said. “As long as it was the truth, why Papa wouldn’t…”

She frowned, her voice trailing off into silence. I spoke to her a couple times, saying that it wasn’t fair and that I just couldn’t go on any longer. But she didn’t say anything back to me.

Finally, when I was about ready to yell, I was getting so nervous, she sighed and shook her head.

“I…I guess not, girl. I thought I had a notion about some place I might get some money for you, but I guess I can’t.”

“But maybe I could!” I said. “Bobbie and me! Who—”

“You keep out of it,” Mama said sharply. “You couldn’t get it, even if it could be got. I thought for a moment I might get it, part of it anyway, because I’m your Papa’s wife. But—”

“But I could try!” I said. “Please, Mama! Just tell me who it is, and—”

“I told you you couldn’t get it,” Mama said, “and trying wouldn’t get you anything but trouble. This party would tell Papa about it, and you know what would happen then.”

“Well…” I hesitated. “I guess you’re probably right, Mama. If you couldn’t get it, why, I don’t see how I could. Is it an old debt someone owes Papa?”

Mama said it was kind of a debt. It was and it wasn’t. And there was no way that the party could be forced to pay it.

“For one thing,” she added, “the party’s got no money to pay with that I know of. Papa thinks different—I kind of got the notion he does from some things he’s let slip—but you know him. Someone says something is white, why he’ll say it’s black, just to be contrary.”

“I just can’t imagine,” I said. “I just can’t see Papa letting someone get away without paying him what they owe.”

“I told you,” Mama said. “They—this party don’t really owe it. I mean, they do and they ought to pay, but—”

“Tell me who it is, Mama,” I said. “Please,
please,
Mama. I—I’ve got to do something. I c-can’t be any worse off than I am now. If you won’t see the party, do anything to help me, at least—”

“I can’t girl.” Mama bit her lip. “You know I would if—”

“Can’t what?” I said. “You can’t help me, or you can’t let me help myself?”

“I—I just…” She pushed herself to her feet, started loading dishes back onto the tray. “I’ll tell you how you can help yourself,” she said, looking hurt and sullen. “You can just stay away from that Bobbie Ashton until he’s ready to marry you.”

I started crying again, burying my face in my hands. I said, what good would that do, for heaven’s sake. Bobbie might get mad or interested in someone else. Anyway, even if I did stop seeing him, it wouldn’t change anything when Papa found out about us.

“You k-know I’m right, Mama,” I sobbed. “H-he’d still—he’ll kill us, Mama! H-he’s going to kill me, and—and I’ve got no one to turn to. You won’t h-help me, a-and you w-won’t let me do anything. All you can do is just fuss around and mumble, a-and ask m-me if I want something to eat, a-and—”

The dishes rattled on the tray. One of the cups toppled over into its saucer. Then, I heard her turn and shuffle toward the door.

“All right, girl,” she said, dully. “I’ll do it tonight.”

“M-Mama—” I took my hands away from my face. “You know I didn’t mean what I said, Mama.”

“It’s all right,” Mama said. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“But I didn’t—you’ll do what, Mama?”

“I’ll see that party tonight. It won’t do no good, I’m pretty sure, but I’ll do it.”

She went on out of the room, and down the stairs. I sat forward on the bed, studying myself in the dresser mirror. I certainly looked a fright. My eyes were all red and my face blotched, and my nose swollen up like a sweet potato. I hadn’t put up my hair last night either. And now, what with the heat and my nervous sweating, it was as limp and drab-looking as a dishrag.

I went to the bathroom, soaked my face in cold water and dabbed it with astringent. Then, I took a nice long lukewarm bath, putting up my hair as I sat in the tub.

I tried to tell myself that I hadn’t said anything out of the way to Mama, that she’d certainly never done much of anything else for me, and that it was no more than right that she should do this. I told myself that—those things—and I guess there was a lot of truth to it. But still I began to feel awful bad—awful ashamed of myself. She’d always done as much for me as she could, I guessed. It wasn’t her fault that Papa had just about taken everything out of her that she had to do with.

There was last spring, for example, when I graduated from high school; she’d gone way out on a limb to help me then. To try to help me, I should say. I’d told her that she simply couldn’t let Papa come to the graduation exercises. I’d simply
die
if he did, I told her, because none of the other kids had any use for me now, and if he came it would be ten times worse.

“You know how it’ll be, Mama,” I said, kind of crying and storming. “He won’t be dressed right, and he’ll go around snorting and sneering and being sarcastic to the other parents, and—and just acting as awful as he knows how! I just won’t go if he goes, Mama! I’d be so embarrassed I’d sink right through the floor!”

Well, Mama mumbled and massaged her hands together and looked bewildered. She said it really wasn’t right for me to feel that way about Papa; and maybe she could drop him a few hints so that he’d look nice and behave himself.

“I don’t hardly know what else I can do,” she said. “He means to go, and I don’t see how—”

“I told you how, Mama!” I said. “You can pretend like you’re sick, and you don’t want to be left alone. You can do it just as well as not, and you know it!”

Mama mumbled and massaged her hands some more. She said she guessed she could do what I was asking, but she’d sure hate to. “He’d be awfully disappointed, girl. He’d try to cover it up, but he would be.”

“I just bet he would!” I said. “Naturally, he’d be disappointed missing a chance to make me feel nervous and cheap. I just can’t stand it if he goes, Mama!”

“But it means so much to him, girl,” Mama said. “You see, he hardly had any education himself, not even as much as I did. Now, to have his own daughter graduating from high school, why—”

“Oh, pooh!” I said. “I won’t go if he goes, Mama! I’ll run away from home! I’ll—I’ll k-kill myself! I’ll…”

I really ranted and raved on. I’d been feeling awfully upset and nervous anyway, because I’d just started going with Bobbie Ashton at the time, and he wasn’t nice to me like he is now, and—but never mind that. That was a long time ago, and I don’t like to think it ever even happened. Anyway, to get back to the subject, I kept insisting that Papa just couldn’t go to the graduation exercises. I ranted and raved and cried until finally Mama gave in.