This One and Magic Life (15 page)

“Mama and Artie?” Hektor didn't think they were alike at all.

“More than they realize.” And his father had taken Hektor into the kitchen where they both tasted some of the tomato biscuits and cheese puffs Sarah had fixed for the company. “Mmmm. Good,” they agreed.

“Mess it up, I'll wring both your necks,” Sarah had said, standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling at them. In Hektor's memory, she is always dressed in a black velvet dress. High-necked, proper in front, it was cut
extremely low in the back, ending in a white taffeta bow. Her back was lightly freckled, smooth. Hektor has always thought it the most beautiful dress he ever saw. Someday, he wants May to have one just like it. When she is thirty years old. No use tempting fate.

He hears Father Audubon laughing in the kitchen. He's glad he found him. Delmore Ricketts. God. Worse than Hektor Sullivan for sure. What will he do with him now he's here, though? Why did it seem such an imperative thing to have a priest who knew Artie was cremated, who would accept all of them as they were? Who would say a funeral mass over her ashes? He, Hektor, hadn't thought the logistics out. Should they take the ashes out to the beach or on the front porch? Would Donnie then take them out to sprinkle them on the bay?

Hektor hears Father Audubon laugh again. It doesn't matter, Hektor thinks. We need him to bless us. Bless us all.

“Papa?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“Father Audubon and I saw a whopping crane on the beach.” May climbs up on the bed beside him. “He says there are only a few in the world. He nearly had a fit.”

“A whopping crane?”

“It was real big.”

“You mean a whooping crane?”

“I guess.”

“That's wonderful. I'll bet he did nearly have a fit.”

“He did a dance. Like this.” May gets off the bed and does the Watusi-type jump Father Audubon had executed on the beach. Her chunky short legs hit the floor solidly. For a moment, in the late afternoon sun's
shadows, Hektor sees a woman with black hair, whirling, dancing. Ana? But the image disappears.

“He must have been very happy.”

“He was. He went to call somebody to tell them.”

“Whopping crane headquarters,” Hektor says.

But May knows he is teasing. “No,” she says, frowning at Hektor.

Hektor is sufficiently chastised. He changes the subject quickly. “Your blue dress ironed?”

“Didn't need it. Aunt Mariel looked at it.” May sits down again. “Uncle Donnie's back.”

“I know. I heard him drive in.”

“He has Aunt Artie in a package but he said it wasn't her.”

“Well, why would he say that?”

“Because I'm a child.” She examines a mosquito bite on her leg, decides to scratch it vigorously.

Hektor catches her hand. “You're going to make it bleed.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Now quit that.”

May gives him her frown.

“Have you had any supper?” Hektor asks.

“No.”

“Well, let's go get some. We have to get ready soon.” He sits up and realizes how tired he is. “You need a mother,” he says.

“Because I scratch my legs?”

“Absolutely.”

“A mother couldn't stop me.”

“No, but she could help me worry. I'm going to start investigating the possibilities as soon as we get back to New Orleans.”

“Well, I'll tell you what,” May says. “Don't marry that old Marny Naftel or I'll run away from home.”

“I'll give you the last say-so. Okay?”

“Okay.” May thinks for a moment. “I like Kelly Stuart,” she says. “She's letting me read all her old
Nancy Drews
.”

“But I thought she was taken.”

“I'll find out for sure,” May says. “I'll ask her tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

 

Donnie is drooling on the sofa cushion. He sits up, blinking, wiping the side of his face when Mariel pats his shoulder.

“Here,” she says. “Eat some of this. You'll feel better.”

Donnie takes the plate and stares at it.

“Drink the tea. That will wake you up.”

He reaches for the tea obediently. For a moment, he had thought she was Artie waking him to go to school. Things click back into place.

“I'm going to go on and get ready.”

“Okay.” Donnie looks at the food. He doesn't think he can eat. But he takes a bite of fruit salad, and suddenly he's starving. He eats everything, sopping his roll in the poppy seed dressing. He finishes the tea, gets up, stretches, and walks to the window. Late August sun is making everything shimmer, blur like a ghost image on TV.

“Mama said you were back.” In shorts and ponytail and no makeup, Dolly is his child. She comes to hug him. “Did it go all right?”

“Okay.” He feels how hot she is. “I'm sorry you're sick.”

“So am I. I don't think I'd better try the rosary. I
hope I can go to the funeral tomorrow, though.” She sees the package on the mantel. “Artie?”

Donnie nods.

Dolly goes over to it. “Not much, is it?”

“You and I'll take her out on the bay, maybe tomorrow, and sprinkle the ashes.”

“She said on the day you deemed perfect.”

“Maybe every day is perfect.”

Dolly smiles. “You are becoming a philosopher in your old age.”

“Dangerous, isn't it?”

“Well, different, anyway.” Dolly touches the package.

But Donnie stays at the window, looking out at the sun, the beach, and the golden-green water of the bay.

I KNEW THE DEVIL WHEN HE WALKED IN THE CHURCH THAT
Sunday. I was only six years old, but I recognized him right off. He came down the aisle like any man would and sat across from us. He had blond hair and a reddish, freckled face. He looked right at me with eyes yellow and quick as Susie's, Artie's cat. I hid behind Papa.

“Papa,” I whispered, “the Devil is here. What's he doing at mass?”

“Shhh,” Papa said. I peeped around him at the Devil. The Devil smiled at me. It scared me so bad, I put my face against Papa's arm. The material in his suit scratched; he smelled like Prince Albert tobacco and soap. I must have gone to sleep, because the next thing I remember is being led down the aisle and seeing Father Carroll shaking hands with the Devil. Then he was introducing him to everyone.

“Sarah and Thomas Sullivan, Zeke Pardue. Our new neighbor. Just bought the Simonton place.”

Mama and Papa shook hands with the Devil. So did Artie and Donnie. But I ran and got in the car.

On the way home I asked Donnie if the hand was hot or cold but he acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. He had a game he played where he'd lean out of the car far as Mama would let him and count buzzards. That's what he was doing.

“The Devil's hand. Was it hot or cold?”

Artie said it was hot, burning-up hot.

“I knew it!” But then I saw Donnie and Artie were laughing.

Mama wanted to know what I was talking about.

“The Devil. I wanted to know if his hand was hot or cold.”

Papa said there was no such thing as the Devil.

“Then why does Father Carroll say there is?”

“Well, everyone is capable of doing evil things. That's what the Devil is,” Mama said, “the part of us that isn't good, that makes us misbehave. That's what Father is warning us about.”

Artie kicked me and said it was the Devil made me throw rocks at school and hit Jenny Walker.

But Papa told her for goodness sakes not to tell me that, that I'd use it as an excuse, that the Devil would be causing all sorts of problems and I wouldn't be to blame at all. And they all laughed. That was when I decided not to tell them about Zeke Pardue.

We didn't see him again until the next Sunday. I kept thinking about those yellow eyes, though, and knew they would be right where they were, looking at me like we had a big secret together. Which we did. Again, after mass, I ran and got in the car. But this time Mama and Papa stayed longer talking. And when we started home, Papa said Mr. Pardue had invited us out to his place that afternoon, that he had two buffaloes, real buffaloes he was thinking about raising. Lord
knows he'd do better with Herefords. But it would be fun seeing them.

I didn't want to see a buffalo. Besides, I knew who would be there.

The Devil was waiting for us, looking at me with those yellow eyes. I tried to stay behind Papa but he pulled me away from his leg wanting to know what on God's earth I was doing. Zeke Pardue smiled at me. He had big teeth, white, shiny.

“Come on, I'll show you Bill and Sadie,” the Devil said. “I hope you brought your camera.”

Mama had it slung over her shoulder, said we didn't want to miss a thing.

We all got into Zeke Pardue's pickup, Mama, Papa, and the Devil in the front and Artie, Donnie, and me in the back. We headed down a road that was full of mud holes. The Devil would hit one of them and nearly throw us out of the truck. I held on to the sides hard as I could. Artie and Donnie were laughing like crazy.

Blackberries were blooming everywhere along the road. I remember this. I knew there must be thousands of snakes there. Snakes love blackberry patches. I took my hands off the sides and just let myself be bounced up and down. And then we were at the pasture.

“Ho, Bill! Sadie!” Zeke Pardue called. But nothing happened. “Ho, Bill!”

We waited for a few minutes by the gate while he kept hollering.

“Let's go on in,” he said. “We'll find them.”

Mama started to get back in the truck, but Zeke Pardue stopped her. “We'll just walk. The truck's probably scared them off. They can't be far.”

Mama looked around at us three kids, looked at each one of us like she was measuring us. I remember that. Then she asked if it was safe.

“Sure,” said the Devil.

And that is how I almost got killed by a buffalo. We were partway across the pasture and Zeke Pardue was calling, “Ho, Bill! Ho, Sadie!” when they came charging out of a pine thicket. They were huge and coming straight toward me. I dropped Papa's hand and started running. I knew they were behind me, though. I could hear them catching up. I could feel their breath.

And then I was in the air and the Devil was holding me there and was laughing. And Mama and Papa and Artie and Donnie were laughing. The buffaloes were standing by them and Artie was patting one of them on its head.

I looked down at Zeke Pardue, way down into those yellow eyes, so deep I could see flames flickering.

“I know who you are,” I said.

“So you do.” And he threw me into the air and caught me, laughing. “Now go back to your mama.”

And I did. I even have a picture made of me sitting on Bill. I am not smiling in this picture. I am looking toward something out of the camera's range. It is the palm of Zeke Pardue's hand pressed against my mother's thigh.

YOUR AUNT ARTIE KNEW HER MAMA. YES, SHE DID. BOTH MY
girls thought Sarah Sullivan was handed down. They'd go to her house to help with those parties she was always giving and come home saying “Mrs. Sullivan says this” or “Mrs. Sullivan does that.” The china was just so and the silver, and Mrs. Sullivan wore such and such a dress. And I wouldn't say a thing, just think that's how much you know about Sarah Sullivan, little girls. Quite a lady, she is, over at the hotel. I'm the one changes the sheets. I know.

I knew Thomas Sullivan couldn't afford all that entertaining she did. He was a teacher with mouths to feed and bills to pay. I said as much one day, and Mariel jumped right in. “It's her money, Mama. Left her by her daddy. She can do what she wants with it.” And I thought if it was her money she was using, I knew where it was coming from and it wasn't her daddy. Unless her daddy was named Zeke Pardue.

Thomas and the children had to know it. I'd see Thomas at mass not just on Sundays but sometimes at early mass during the week. I guess he still thought God was going to straighten everything out for him. I'd watch him lighting his candles and kneeling and I'd think, Don't hold your breath, Thomas. But I felt for him. The early morning sun showed how thin his hair was getting, how dark the circles were under his eyes. And I wanted to reach out, put my arms around that good, sweet man. Feel his arms around me. But he belonged to Sarah like a fish caught in a net, like she'd cast a spell over him.

And then he would drive to Mobile to work, and I'd clean the sanctuary. That's what I was doing there. Father Carroll kept thinking the smell of incense and those candles flickering would reach out and grab me. I knew that was why he hired me. But if I'd looked up and seen the Blessed Mother herself crying real tears I would've just handed her a rag to blow her nose on. I might have said, “I know how you feel. God treated you bad, too.” But I wouldn't have hollered, “Miracle! The statue is crying!” Give the woman her privacy. Besides, Father Carroll would have given God credit for it.

“Listen, God,” I said the night Toy was dying. “Let her live and I'll do anything you want. I'll walk on my knees to New Orleans. I'll praise and serve you every day.” I couldn't think of anything else, but all he would've had to do was ask. Instead he took Toy away from me.

The doctor came and stood in the doorway. Didn't say a thing. I knew. Father Carroll got up and went to talk to him and then came touching me on the shoulder. “Naomi.”

I looked around the room. It was empty except for us. God had gone.

“Let us pray for Toy's soul,” Father Carroll said, kneeling by me. But I got up and left him there on his knees. I walked outside where traffic was going back and forth even in the middle of the night.

“Naomi,” Father Carroll said, following me. “We can't begin to know the reason these things happen.”

“God,” I said.

“There is a purpose—” he began. But I walked away into the park across the street.

“Naomi!” But I kept on walking. Somewhere I lost the priest. When I got to the river, I was by myself. The stars were falling into the water. Ping. Ping. Ping. I sat and watched them and didn't feel sad, just empty. I watched the stars and thought that was the way of it. God was too busy for Naomi Cates. No use fooling with him.

I wrapped Toy's blanket around me. It smelled like her. I sat there with the blanket over my head until it began to get daylight. Then I threw it into the river and walked to the bus station to go back to Harlow.

There's one thing needs to be straight. I never threw Will Cates out like most people thought. He took himself out a little at a time. Finally he wasn't there at all, and, sure enough, here comes the priest saying, “Naomi, Will's killing himself with grief.”

“He's killing himself with whiskey,” I said. “Has been for a long time. You going to tell me it wasn't his fault he passed out and left Toy in the sun? You going to tell me ants weren't already after that burned baby's skin when I found her? Ants, Father.”

“He needs some help,” Father Carroll said.

“Then get him some.” I was busy. It was my day
off and I was boiling clothes in the wash pot. “You're the priest. Pray for him.”

Father Carroll slammed the door to his car and started off. Then he backed up and yelled, “He's your husband, damn it!” And before I even had the wash hung, here he was, coming back down the road with Will.

A pitiful sight Will was, too. I took him inside and pulled all his clothes off and put him in the washtub. Scrubbed him like I scrubbed the clothes. Spread a quilt on the floor and rolled him up in it. He was red-splotched and droopy-eyed, lying there like a cocoon. But I knew he could hear me.

“Old man,” I said. “I got no quarrel with you.” He didn't say anything. Just looked at me with those eyes about half-open but seeing me. “You and me have the same enemy.”

He still didn't say a thing. I took his clothes out to wash and when I came back in he was asleep.

“Will,” I said. “Will.” And I fixed him some milk toast and woke him up to eat it. He was so weak, I had to feed it to him.

When the children came in, I had him in bed. “Your father's here,” I said. But not a one went in to see him. Not a one. And he was gone again next day, soon as his clothes got dry.