“I guess,” she said in a self-deprecating way. “The doctors did a good job. They had to fix my nose and cheek. My arm broke again and I had a fractured skull. I was in the hospital for a long time. When I got out I had nowhere to go. I don’t know why he cared, but Johnny helped me move and I spent the next two years hiding in the bar. All my relationships were ruined. Even MaryAnn was mad at me. I wish I could say I learned my lesson with men, and in some ways maybe I did, but mostly I still picked up guys in the bar after drinking too much and fucked them in their cars. I tried not to, but I’d get lonely. I drank and I said yes, so I was popular with a certain crowd. I wish I was a decent woman, that I had a nicer story to tell, but I don’t. I am what I am.”
Her eyes were staring in at mine. I found it disconcerting.
It was hard to square what she said to the woman I thought I knew. It certainly didn’t paint a flattering picture, and it made me wonder about the choices she’d made. How was I going to change who she was? Her savior? That was all pie in the sky bullshit; people don’t change.
“It’s not a very pretty story,” I said, mostly to myself.
“No, it’s an awful story, but I don’t want you to have any illusions about me.”
“I still don’t think you’re a bad person or a lost cause, Agnes.”
She shook her head and smiled at me.
“I’m not going to let you go. You know that, right?”
“And when did you decide this?”
“Last night. I spent the whole day believing you’d hear the truth and be so disgusted that, that it would be over, but then you said we were ok and it was as if everything changed. I thought maybe we really did have a chance, you and me, Monk and Agnes. I told myself that I was going to do everything I could to hold on to you, no matter what. For the first time since I’ve known you, I didn’t feel afraid. I want to be strong with you. You know Johnny told me he liked you, that you would be good for me. He’s never said that about anyone else I’ve known. I didn’t listen to him before, but maybe this time I will.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She was serious.
“Alright, but there are a few things we need to get straight.”
“What?”
“You’re right, after what you told me, you don’t exactly smell like a rose. I might be a fool, but I’m not stupid. I can’t wave a magic wand and make everything better. I can’t make you into somebody else.” She nodded, which didn’t help. “And I don’t want to hear anymore talk about hoe you’re terrible or worthless or any of that, I don’t like it. It’s a waste of energy, a waste of time, and it makes you look pathetic. And no more jealousy, I don’t like that either.”
Agnes wrapped her arms around me. “I love you, Monk Buttman!”
“Then you’re the fool.”
“I don’t care.”
Agnes squeezed as hard as she could. I did what I could to coax her to the car. If we were going to get to the farm before everyone was in bed, we had to get moving.
I called Moses once we got close enough to a town where my phone worked. I told him we were running late and apologized for being an inconvenience. He laughed and told me I was never going to change. We arrived with the moon illuminating the valley. I recognized the road and the hills, but the rest of it was foreign. Where I remembered pastures there were vineyards. There were more houses. The gate was different as were the lights on the houses built around the courtyard. Everything was what I expected, but I didn’t remember any of it. The name above the gate, Our Home, was new or so I assumed.
I didn’t remember it.
I was a stranger, an exile repatriated. I drove to the second house on the left. There on the porch stood Moses and Meredith, his wife. I parked the car.
“You’re still driving this old thing? Well, good for you.”
“Yeah, Bernie keeps it running.” Agnes came around. “Moses, this is Agnes; Agnes, this is Moses, my father.”
“Welcome, Agnes. It’s good to know my boy has a woman in his life. We worry about him.” Moses wrapped his arms around Agnes, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek. She looked at me for guidance.
“He a hugger, I should have mentioned that.”
The old man laughed. “You got that right. Human contact is the glue that binds us.” Moses then wasted no time giving me the same treatment. I put my arms around him and closed my eyes. He still felt strong. He put his hand to the bruises on my face and shook his head. “Should I ask?”
“I fell off my bike.”
“And I thought I taught you how to ride…” His smile wasn’t convincing.
We said hello to Meredith and more hugs ensued. Meredith looked the same as I remembered, though there were more wrinkles and her hair was now white. The billowy field dress was gone, replaced with jeans and a blue cambric shirt. Moses still had that great mane of hair, but it too was white and shorn of its ponytail. The beard was groomed, no longer cascading down his chest. He remained trim, but the overalls were gone, he wore what Meredith wore. His shirt was tan.
“Come in, you must be tired from your day on the road.”
Meredith took Agnes’ hand while Moses and I brought in the luggage. We were given the guest room to the right side of the living room. I took it all in. It was a big room with a kitchenette, a small table and two couches. They were new to me. When I was a kid, the room only had chairs; couches were kept out front facing the courtyard where the families gathered. Moses wanted a communal place where the families could come together and share. I wondered if that still occurred or if it had gone along the wayside as times changed.
Moses and Meredith slept in the bedroom on the other side of the house. We sat down for a few minutes during which we were informed that breakfast was at seven and, if Agnes was interested, Moses would be delighted to show her around the farm. Agnes seemed unusually enthusiastic. I just smiled and said we could do whatever she wanted.
It was time for bed.
“Are the toilets still outside?” I was curious.
Moses rolled his eyes. “You should come more often, we’ve had indoor plumbing for twenty years. There’s a bathroom right off your room. Get some sleep, we rise early around here; that part hasn’t changed.”
Agnes and I went into our room.
“Figures they’d put in toilets after I left. I spent my youth going to an outhouse.”
Agnes patted my ass and told me to “get over it”. We unpacked and got into the smallish bed.
“Was this your room?”
“No, we kids had our own little bunkhouse. You’ll see it tomorrow. It was very communal in those days. When my stepbrothers were born, things changed; they added the other rooms. Us older kids stayed in the bunkhouse until we left.”
She snuggled up close to me. “You’ll have to show me all your secret places.”
“There are no secret places, just a sad one, and it’s not on the farm. Maybe we’ll go there tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime get some sleep. Moses wasn’t kidding about rising early.”
“I have to get up at seven?”
“No, beautiful, you have to get up at five-thirty to be ready for breakfast at seven. We’re expected to help.”
“Oh…” Who’s enthusiastic now!
“You’ll have to learn to cook, whether you like it or not!” I couldn’t suppress my delight.
“You’re a jerk, Buttman.”
“Yes, I am.”
33
Agnes did not like getting up early. Nor was she prepared for communal life and the idea that we all had our part to play. I, on the other hand, fell right in line as if I’d neve
r left. I found that rather disturbing. In the old days, I was responsible for the animals. As a visiting relative, I went where I was directed and tried to stay out of the way of those with work to do.
The point, as I remembered it, was to be as self-sufficient as we could and to forgo that which we could not produce ourselves. I saw it as deprivation while my father saw it as the noble existence of an honest man. He didn’t object to commerce; he objected to the belief that labor’s value should be subsumed to profit. He saw no benefit in the accumulation of wealth. Wealth was a disease that made men greedy and maleficent. He didn’t believe in individualism as a code or philosophy. Community was his thing, the belief that our time was best spent in the service of each other. These thoughts all came flooding back as I wandered through the barn and helped where I could.
I had to continually remind myself I once lived here.
Agnes was in the communal kitchen. It was a big place on the north side of the courtyard around which the houses were built. I had furtively pulled Meredith aside before Agnes finally swore her way out of bed to ask her to have mercy on Agnes as she was, by her own admission, not much of a homemaker. Meredith gave me a hug and told me not to worry. So it was quite surprising to see the self-avowed non-cook merrily helping the other members of the day’s cooking crew. She was baking. Her hair had been hastily pulled back, and there was flour on her hands and clothes. She saw me and with a big smile raised her sticky fingers. I gave her a thumb’s up.
Moses was at the other end of the square by the shed where the equipment was stored. Much as he tried to integrate the sexes, whether in the kitchen or fields, a certain amount of self-segregation occurred. Few of the women had any interest in fieldwork. Maybe that had changed and I was just ignorant of the facts. I guess I’d find out.
Moses flagged me over, introduced me to the people I didn’t know; and there were many, then went over the day’s schedule. I listened and shook my head like I knew what was going on. It wasn’t technically any different from what I used to do in Virginia, other than there I was working my own land. Here it belonged to the collective. Once the workday and its particulars were discussed, it was time for breakfast. Moses put his arm around me and kissed the side of my head. I flinched, more out unfamiliarity than dislike. It’d been a long, long time since we’d spent any time together.
“I hope that doesn’t bother you?”
I smiled at him. “No, it doesn’t bother me, it’s just been too long.”
He turned to face me and put his hand on the fading bruises. “We were always here.”
We were always here. One of the few things I always understood, but I couldn’t accept that I should be here.
“I know. It wasn’t you that kept me away.”
“You say that, but…”
“But what?” I didn’t want to talk about it.
The bell chimed. Moses led me towards the dining hall.
“There was so much you missed, so much. It’s been years since you’ve slept here. For a while, there was hope you might come to the gathering we had a few years back. We planned it for months. Rebekah told us you knew of it; that she asked you to come. She said you were coming. Everyone was so excited. Old friends from the early days came. Your mother was here as was Lilith and her husband. All the children; we had a marvelous turnout, a wonderful time. The only one missing was our Sunshine.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
He sighed. “It’s a beautiful name, what’s not to like?”
“It’s no name for a grown man.”
He laughed. “And Monk Buttman is?”
“Ok, maybe in hindsight it wasn’t the best choice, but I’m the one who’s had to live with it, not you.”
“It does matter to us.”
“Us who? How often do you even think of my mother?”
He stopped just as we reached the door to the dining hall. That old serious face I ran away from was glaring at me.
“I talk with your mother more than you think, far more than you do. She loves you and worries about you. She longs to see you and your response is to hide in that hellhole of Los Angeles. When was the last time you spoke with her? When was the last time you laid eyes on her? We won’t last forever. If it’s not us, then what’s your excuse, Mr. Buttman?”
I had no answer.
Moses reached down and picked up a handful of dirt. He placed it in my hands.
“This is your home, this is your land. I told you this before; you belong here. Will you spend the rest of your life cut off from your family and your land?”
The others were watching, listening. I’d forgotten we’d opened the door to the dining room. I could feel them pressed in around me. It was a replay of six years before, only then Moses was yelling at me in that booming baritone. I stormed out then; I wanted to now. Agnes could find her way home.
I carefully put the dirt back on the ground.
“We’re keeping everyone from breakfast.”
Moses looked at them. “So we are.”
I found my seat beside Agnes. She, like the others, had been watching.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
We joined hands and said grace, something we didn’t do when I was a kid. There were about thirty people at the table. It was a long heavy wooden structure we’d built years ago. I remember being part of the crew; it was my first big project. I assisted Arturo in building the legs and gluing and binding the top. The food was passed around. Agnes noticed I wasn’t taking anything and put food on my plate.
“You need to eat.” When I started to object, she shushed me. “If you can say it, so can I!” Damn!
On top of the eggs, pork, and potatoes, rested two biscuits. She motioned for me to try one. I put a small amount of butter on one and took a bite.
“Well?” she asked. I noted the light in her eyes.
“Well what?”
“How does it taste?”
I leaned over as if to kiss her. “It’s very good. You made them?”
Agnes smiled broadly, “I did! Of course, Meredith showed me how, and it’s her recipe, but I was so excited that they turned out ok, and I wanted you to like them.”
“I do. See, I told you cooking’s not so hard.”
“I don’t remember that at all, Buttman.”
It didn’t occur to me that people might be watching. I don’t know why I thought that. I was the long lost son of the founder of the commune. Once word spread that I’d be there, and I knew the word would; why would I be surprised by their curiosity? I know I’d been talked about and here I was, back after all those years. The name Buttman resounded throughout the room.
A young girl across from us named Emily pointedly asked Agnes, “Why do you call him Buttman?”
I looked at Agnes. Please don’t say anything!
Agnes retorted, “Because that’s his name.”
Emily looked at me. “My mom told me your name was Sunshine, not Buttman. Isn’t your name Sunshine?”
A deep odious groan percolated through me. Agnes was all smiles. They all knew.
“Yes, Emily, my name was once Sunshine, but I don’t use that name anymore. I’m called Monk now.”
“I like Sunshine better, Buttman sounds nasty.” More than a few people laughed. Agnes couldn’t contain her glee.
“Oh, my beautiful Sunshine!” That was followed by a big sloppy kiss on the cheek and the roar of everyone at the table.
This was why I didn’t come back. Years of hard work down the drain. I was back to being Sunshine, fucking Sunshine!
With that
the floodgates opened. Where have you been? What do you do? Where did you two meet? I think you should get married, that from the irrepressible Emily. You could get married here. Groan. Questions for Agnes, who did not say no to questions concerning weddings, and naturally, there was the big white elephant in the room, why did you leave and why haven’t you come back? I answered the ones I wanted to and demurred on those I found too painful. I tried to rope-a-dope as Orville had done and hoped to run out the clock.
Didn’t these people have work to do?
I made vague promises to talk about it later once the day’s work was over, maybe at supper. I turned the tables and made them talk about themselves. There were seven families; many were multigenerational. For a number of them, that’s why they were here, to live and work together as people had done for generations before industrialization and modernization. They wanted to care for the Earth, to be a greater part of it.
Since I didn’t actually have any work to do, I helped clean up after breakfast. I did the dishes and put them away. Agnes stood with me, merrily drying the dishes and humming to herself. The sad fearful woman from the day before was nowhere in sight. Instead, here was this almost bubbly woman happily drying dishes and rubbing up against me. Every time I looked at her she would smile and make a kissy face. I would shake my head and she would laugh. The others helping thought we were just so delightful together. When we were finished, Moses and Meredith, as promised, showed us around.
We took the road that led out from the courtyard. They had added some land, but for me it was much the same. The change was in the vineyards. They were everywhere. “This was wine country,” Moses said, and they decided to expand into that. He thought it advantageous to grow varietals that were less well known to carve out a niche within a very robust market; this from an avowed anti-capitalist. When I called him on it, he shrugged and told me times change. He was too old to storm the parapets; better to organize with like minds and make the best of the world you’re in.
“And the angry man, the one I can still hear bellowing in my head, what happened to him?”
Where Fools Dare to Tread Page 27