Tenth of December: Stories

by George Saunders

  Laughter turned to tears.

  Felt so bad for harsh things I just now said to kids.

  Pam came out, asked had I been crying? I said no, got dust in eyes from cleaning garage. Pam not buying. Pam gave me little side hug + hip nudge, to say: You were crying, is o.k., is difficult time, I know.

  Pam: Come on inside. Let’s get things back to normal. We’ll get through this. The kids are dying in there, they feel so bad.

  Went inside.

  Kids at kitchen table.

  Could see in eyes of kids they were anxious to forgive, be forgiven. Lilly and Thomas did not know. I said I knew they did not know, do not know why I said I thought they knew.

  Opened arms, Thomas and Lilly rushed over.

  Eva stayed sitting.

  When Eva tiny, had big head of black curls. Would stand on couch, eating cereal from coffee mug, dancing to sound in head, flicking around cord from window blinds.

  Now this: Eva sitting w/ head in hands, like heartbroken old lady mourning loss of vigorous flower of youth etc., etc.

  Went over, scooped Eva up.

  Poor thing shaking in my arms.

  Eva (whispers): I didn’t know we would lose the house.

  Me: We’re not—we’re not going to lose the house. Mommy and I going to figure this out.

  Sent kids off to watch TV.

  Pam: So. You want me to call Dad?

  Did not want Pam calling Pam’s dad.

  Pam’s dad’s first name = Rich. Actually calls self “Farmer Rich.” Is funny because he is rich farmer. Farmer Rich = very rich + very strict. In terms of me, does not like me. Has said at various times that I 1) am not hard worker and 2) had better watch self in terms of weight and 3) had better watch self in terms of credit cards.

  Farmer Rich in very good shape, with no credit cards.

  Farmer Rich not fan of SGs. Gave big lecture to all last Christmas: feels having SGs = “show-offy move.” Thinks anything fun = “show-offy move.” Even going to movie = show-offy move. Going to car wash, i.e., not doing self, in driveway = show-offy move. Once, when visiting, looked dubiously at me when I said I had to get root canal. What, I was thinking, root canal = show-offy move? But no: just disapproved of dentist I had chosen, due to he had seen dentist’s TV ad, felt dentist having TV ad = show-offy move.

  So did not want Pam calling Farmer Rich.

  Tell Pam we must try our best to handle this ourselves.

  Got out bills, did mock payment exercise: If we pay mortgage, heat bill, AmEx, plus $200 in bills we deferred last time, would be down near zero ($12.78 remaining). If we defer AmEx + Visa, that would free up $880. If, in addition, we skip mortgage payment, NiMo bill, life insurance premium, that would still only free up measly total of $3100.

  Me: Shit.

  Pam: Maybe I’ll email him. You know. Just see what he says.

  Pam upstairs emailing Farmer Rich as I write.

  (Oct. 6)

  Will skip description of work. Work not important right now. When I got home, Pam standing in doorway w/email from Farmer Rich.

  Farmer Rich = bastard.

  Will quote in part:

  Let us now speak of what you intend to do with the requested money. Will you be putting it aside for a college fund? You will not. Investing in real estate? No. Given a chance to plant some seeds, you flushed those valuable seeds (dollars) away. And for what? A display some find pretty. Well, I do not find it pretty. I see the young people here doing the same. Old people too. And it makes no more sense here than there. Since when are people on display a desirable sight? Others here are do-gooders in our church and cite conditions of poverty. OK, that is fine. But it appears you will soon have a situation of poverty within your own walls. And physician heal thyself is a motto I have oft remembered when tempted to put my oar in relative to some social cause or another. Although am not against dropping off a ham at our abused woman home now and then. So am going to say no. You people have walked yourselves into some deep water and must now walk yourselves out, teaching your kids (and selves) a valuable lesson from which, in the longterm, you and yours will benefit.

  Me: Ouch.

  Pam called Farmer Rich, begged Farmer Rich. Farmer Rich laid into her on phone re. money, re. our entire history of money, i.e., our entire approach to life = wasteful. Farmer Rich said do not ask again. We have dropped in his estimation via initial jackass move + subsequent desperate show of hubris in attempt to rectify initial jackass move in bone-headed manner.

  So that = that.

  Long silence.

  Pam: Jesus. Isn’t this just like us?

  Do not know what she means. Or, rather, know, but do not agree. Or, rather, agree, but wish she would not say. Why say? Saying is negative, makes us feel bad about selves.

  I say maybe we should just confess what Eva did, hope for mercy from Greenway.

  Pam says no, no: went on-line today: releasing SGs = felony (!). Does not feel they would prosecute eight-year-old, but still. If we confess, this goes on Eva’s record? Eva required to get counseling? This goes on her record? Eva feels: I am bad kid? Starts erring on side of bad, hanging out with rough crowd, looking askance at whole notion of achievement, fails to live up to full potential, all because of one mistake she made when little girl?

  No.

  Cannot take chance.

  Pam and I discuss, agree: must be like sin-eaters who, in ancient times, ate sin. Or bodies of sinners? Ate meals off bodies of sinners who had died? Cannot exactly recall what sin-eaters did. But Pam and I agree: are going to be like sineaters in sense of: will err on side of protecting Eva, keep cops in dark at all costs, break law as req’d.

  Pam asks: am I still writing in book? Isn’t book = legal document? Have I written in book about Eva, about Eva’s role in? Wouldn’t book prove us guilty of obstruction of justice? Couldn’t they subpoena book? Shouldn’t I stop writing in book, expunge questionable pages? Hide book? Drop book down hole I kicked in wall the other day? Better yet, destroy book?

  Tell Pam I love writing in book, do not want to stop writing in book, destroy book.

  Pam: Well, it’s up to you. But to me? It’s not worth it.

  Pam smart. Pam excellent judge of situations. Am thinking this over. (If book goes silent, future reader will know I (once again!) decided Pam = right.)

  My guess, my hope: cops have many similar cases, we are small fish, our case = low priority, all this will soon fade away.

  (Oct. 8)

  Wrong. Wrong again. This not fading away.

  Will explain.

  Worked all day.

  Was normal boring day.

  Can future reader imagine how agonizing it was to plod through normal boring day when all I wanted to do was rush home, strategize w/Pam re. Eva situation, pluck Eva from school, give Eva big hug, tell Eva all will be well, assure Eva that, even though we do not approve of what she did, she will always be our girl, will always be apple of our eye(s)?

  But in this life, dad must do what dad must do.

  Stuck out whole day.

  Then usual drive home: zone of used car dealerships, zone of quarry, long stretch of highway looking down on bad apartments w/clothes on lines, relatively pastoral stretch with pioneer graveyard, former mall gone belly-up.

  Then our little house + sad empty yard.

  Guy standing at back gate.

  Went over, had chat with guy.

  Guy = Jerry. Is detective (!) assigned to our case. Activists = big priority for city, he says, mayor determined to send strong signal (!). Says he knows we are behind eight-ball in terms of money, feels shysters at Greenway deserve to be boiled in oil. Is man of limited means himself, he says, is family man, knows how upset he would be if he owed big faceless corporation $8600. But no worries, he is on it. Will not rest until activists found. Has low regard for activists. Activists think they are doing noble thing? Are not. SGs become illegal immigrants, take jobs away from “legit Americans.” Jerry very much against. Jerry’s father came from Irel
and on boat, vomiting whole trip, then filled out required forms. This = proper way, Jerry feels.

  Ha ha, he says.

  Smiles, wipes mouth.

  Jerry a talker. Before he became cop, was teacher. Is so glad to not be teaching anymore. His students brats. Brattier every year. For last few years, was just biding his time, waiting to be knifed or shot by some brat. Things got worse as kids got darker. If I know what he means. Has nothing against dark people but does have something against dark people who refuse to work and learn language and insist on pulling mean pranks on teachers. When he was kid, would never have dreamed of putting small baby frog in Diet Coke of one of most dedicated teachers on staff. Was almost certainly dark kid who did it, since nearly all his kids dark kids. Was never personally knifed, but is sure he would have been, eventually, by some dark kid or other. For any kid nervy enough to put frog in teacher’s drink, sky is limit, i.e., stabbing = next logical step.

  Kids just kids, I say.

  Yes and no, Jerry says. Kids = future adults. What is good for goose is good for gander. Once saw film re. baby lion allowed to run rampant: lion grew up, ate own owner. Therefore, firm hand tantamount w/ kids.

  Jerry lonely lately, he says. His wife recently died. Did not plan on her dying first. She was always healthy one. Now he is little bit lost. Wife was just wisp of thing even at best. Toward end, she was almost not there. Is never in big rush to get home. Home so quiet since wife gone. Has no grandkids, as never had kids, as wife had questionable eggs.

  Hence will have plenty of time to dedicate to our case.

  Something fishy here, Jerry says. Does not look like typical activist job. Activists will normally leave calling card: Semplica Rots in Hell leaves single red flag. Women4Women leaves manifesto + tape recording of SGs listing things family did to offend/annoy SGs during time in yard. Activists will often have doctor as part of team, to remove microline before SGs get in van. Yet cops found microline drag marks near our gate, indicating SGs escaped on foot, microline still in?

  Does not add up.

  Jerry smells rat.

  But not to worry, Jerry says: he is “here for duration.”

  For now, will sit in yard awhile. This how he sometimes proceeds: will get “right into head of perp.”

  Jerry hacks, hobbles away into yard.

  Go inside. Tell Pam all.

  Pam and I stand at window watching Jerry.

  Thomas: Who is that?

  Me: Just a guy.

  Pam: Don’t go out there. Don’t talk to him or anything like that.

  Lilly: He’s in our yard but we’re not allowed to talk to him?

  Me: Yes. Correct.

  Is nearly midnight as I write. Jerry still in yard (!). Jerry smoking, Jerry humming same annoying four-note phrase over and over. Can hear him from spare room + smell his smoke. Would like to go down, order Jerry from yard. Say: Jerry, this = our yard. Our kids sleeping, they have school tomorrow, if you wake them with your humming, they will have rough/sleepy day at school. Also, Jerry, we do not allow smoking in or near house.

  Yet cannot do.

  Must not alienate Jerry in slightest way.

  God.

  Household in freefall, future reader. Everything chaotic. Kids, feeling tension, fighting all day. After dinner, Pam caught kids watching “I, Gropius,” (forbidden) = show where guy decides which girl to date based on feeling girls’ breasts through screen with two holes. (Do not actually show breasts. Just guy’s expressions as he feels them and girl’s expression as he feels them and girl’s expression as guy announces his rating. Still: bad show.) Pam blew up at kids: We are in most difficult period ever for family, this how they behave?

  When kids born, Pam and I dropped everything (youthful dreams of travel, adventure, etc., etc.) to be good parents. Has not been exciting life. Has been much drudgery. Many nights, tasks undone, have stayed up late, exhausted, doing tasks. On many occasions, disheveled + tired, baby-poop and/or -vomit on our shirt or blouse, one of us has stood smiling wearily/angrily at camera being held by other, hair shaggy because haircuts expensive, unfashionable glasses slipping down noses because never had time to get glasses tightened.

  And after all that, look where we are.

  Is unfortunate.

  Just now went down hall to check on kids. Thomas sleeping w/Ferber. This not allowed. Eva in bed w/Lilly. This not allowed. Eva, source of all mayhem, sleeping like baby.

  Felt like waking Eva, telling Eva all will be well, she has good heart, is just young + confused.

  Did not do.

  Eva needs rest.

  On Lilly’s desk: poster Lilly was working on for “Favorite Things Day” at school. Poster = photo of each SG, plus map of home country, plus stories Lilly apparently got during interview (!) with each: Gwen (Moldova) = very tough, due to Moldovian youth: used bloody sheets found in trash + duct tape to make soccer ball, then, after much practice with bloody-sheet ball, nearly made Olympic team (!). Betty (Philippines) has daughter who, when swimming, will sometimes hitch ride on shell of sea turtle. Lisa (Somalia) once saw lion on roof of her uncle’s “mini-lorry.” Tami (Laos) had pet water buffalo, water buffalo stepped on her foot, now Tami must wear special shoe. “Fun Fact”: their names (Betty, Tami, et al.) not their real names. These = SG names, given by Greenway at time of arrival. “Tami” = Januka = “happy ray of sun.” “Betty” = Nenita = “blessed-beloved.” “Gwen” = Evgenia. (Does not know what her name means.) “Lisa” = Ayan = “happy traveler.”

  SGs very much on my mind tonight, future reader.

  Where are they now? Why did they go?

  Just do not get.

  Letter comes, family celebrates, girl sheds tears, stoically packs bag, thinks: must go, am family’s only hope. Puts on brave face, promises she will return as soon as contract complete. Her mother feels, father feels: we cannot let her go. But they do. They must.

  Whole town walks girl to train station/bus station/ferry stop? Group rides in brightly colored van to tiny regional airport? More tears, more vows. As train/ferry/plane pulls away, she takes last fond look at surrounding hills/river/quarry/shacks, whatever, i.e., all she has ever known of world, saying to self: be not afraid, you will return, & return in victory, w/big bag of gifts, etc, etc.

  And now?

  No money, no papers. Who will remove microline? Who will give her job? When going for job, must fix hair so as to hide scars at Insertion Points. When will she ever see home + family again? Why would she do? Why would she ruin it all, leave our yard? Could have had nice long run w/us. What in the world was she seeking? What could she want so much, that would make her pull such desperate stunt?

  Jerry just now left for night.

  Empty rack out in yard, looking strange in moonlight.

  Note to self: call Greenway, have them take ugly thing away.

  HOME

  1.

  Like in the old days, I came out of the dry creek behind the house and did my little tap on the kitchen window.

  “Get in here, you,” Ma said.

  Inside were piles of newspaper on the stove and piles of magazines on the stairs and a big wad of hangers sticking out of the broken oven. All of that was as usual. New was: a water stain the shape of a cat head above the fridge and the old orange rug rolled up halfway.

  “Still ain’t no beeping cleaning lady,” Ma said.

  I looked at her funny.

  “ ‘Beeping?’ ” I said.

  “Beep you,” she said. “They been on my case at work.”

  It was true Ma had a pretty good potty mouth. And was working at a church now, so.

  We stood there looking at each other.

  Then some guy came tromping down the stairs: older than Ma even, in just boxers and hiking boots and a winter cap, long ponytail hanging out the back.

  “Who’s this?” he said.

  “My son,” Ma said shyly. “Mikey, this is Harris.”

  “What’s your worst thing you ever did over there?” Harris said.<
br />
  “What happened to Alberto?” I said.

  “Alberto flew the coop,” Ma said.

  “Alberto showed his ass,” Harris said.

  “I hold nothing against that beeper,” Ma said.

  “I hold a lot against that fucker,” Harris said. “Including he owes me ten bucks.”

  “Harris ain’t dealing with his potty mouth,” Ma said.

  “She’s only doing it because of work,” Harris explained.

  “Harris don’t work,” Ma said.

  “Well, if I did work, it wouldn’t be at a place that tells me how I can talk,” Harris said. “It would be at a place that lets me talk how I like. A place that accepts me for who I am. That’s the kind of place I’d be willing to work.”

  “There ain’t many of that kind of place,” Ma said.

  “Places that let me talk how I want?” Harris said. “Or places that accept me for who I am?”

  “Places you’d be willing to work,” Ma said.

  “How long’s he staying?” Harris said.

  “Long as he wants,” Ma said.

  “My house is your house,” Harris said to me.

  “It ain’t your house,” Ma said.

  “Give the kid some food at least,” Harris said.

  “I will but it ain’t your idea,” Ma said, and shooed us out of the kitchen.

  “Great lady,” Harris said. “Had my eyes on her for years. Then Alberto split. That I don’t get. You got a great lady in your life, the lady gets sick, you split?”

  “Ma’s sick?” I said.

  “She didn’t tell you?” he said.

  He grimaced, made his hand into a fist, put it upside his head.

  “Lump,” he said. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Ma was singing now in the kitchen.

  “I hope you’re at least making bacon,” Harris called out. “A kid comes home deserves some frigging bacon.”

  “Why not stay out of it?” Ma called back. “You just met him.”

  “I love him like my own son,” Harris said.

  “What a ridiculous statement,” Ma said. “You hate your son.”

  “I hate both my sons,” Harris said.