Raven

by V. C. Andrews

  I left Mr. Martin's office feeling even more sorry for myself and a little guilty. Many of the students who behaved poorly or performed poorly left Mr. Martin's office angry at him for making them look into that mirror. I should have expected the same sort of behavior from Jennifer. After all, I had threatened to expose her to Uncle Reuben.

  The rest of the weekend went as usual. I kept to myself, did my chores and my homework. Aunt Clara was always inviting me to join them in the living room to watch television, but the few times I had, I felt Uncle Reuben's eyes burning into me. When I glanced at him, he immediately looked disgusted or angry. He made me feel like a pebble in everyone's shoes. I felt as if I had to thank him for letting me breathe the very air in his house, and I knew that he would never give me anything -willingly or with a full heart, not that I wanted anything from him. It hurt more that I had to depend on him for anything. This was truly what he called the burden of family relations, only it wasn't he who carried the weight of all that distress; it was me.

  If I needed any reminders of the awkwardness between us, Jennifer was more than happy to provide them. She had ignored me most of the remainder of the weekend, but on Monday, as usual, she joined her friends at the bus stop, pretending I wasn't coming out of the same house with her. Our short-lived friendship to make it possible for her to attend the party was over. Ironically, because she had gotten herself sickly drunk and fooled around with Brad at Missy Taylor's, she was even more of a heroine to her friends. They were all waiting anxiously to hear the nitty-gritty details, as if throwing up your guts was a major accomplishment.

  I sat in front with Clarence, but it was hard to ignore the raucous laughter coming from Jennifer and her clan in the rear. It wasn't until I was halfway through my morning that I began to understand why there were so many other students smiling at me, hiding their giggles, and wagging their heads. Just before lunch, some of them called out to me as they walked past Terri and me in the hallway.

  "Heard you had a helluva weekend, Raven." "Surprised you can walk."

  "Who's next on your list?"

  "Is it true what they say about girls with Latin blood?"

  No one waited for a response. They just kept walking, their bursts of laughter trailing after them. The questions were tossed at me like cups of red paint meant to stain and ruin.

  "What are they talking about?" Terri asked.

  "I have no idea," I said. Afterward, when we sat in the cafeteria, I told her what had happened at Missy Taylor's party.

  "So you rejected Mr. Wonderful," Terri said. "He's not going to let anyone know that."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  I saw Jimmy and Brad had joined Jennifer and her friends at a table, and they were all talking quickly and laughing. Once in a while, they turned to look at me. Someone made another remark, and they all roared.

  They sounded like a television laugh track. I felt the heat rise in my neck and into my face.

  "I don't know what's going on," I said, "but it's coming to an end."

  "What are you going to do?" Tern asked as I rose from my seat.

  "Watch," I told her, and started to march across the cafeteria. I heard the laughter and chatter die down and saw that heads were turning my way. Everyone at Jimmy's table stopped talking and looked up.

  "I hear that you're making up stories about me, Jimmy," I said, glaring down at him.

  He shrugged. "Hey, in some cases, you don't have to make anything up," he said.

  Jennifer grunted, and her friends smiled.

  "In your case, I imagine it's ninety-five percent invented," [said. "After spending only a few minutes with you alone, I can understand why you're always looking for a new girl."

  Smiles faded. I heard someone suck in air. Jimmy turned; his face was turning bright red. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

  "You're a lot better at basketball than you are at making love," I said. "I guess you waste all your talents on the court. If you don't stop making up nasty stories about me, I'll tell everyone why I left the bedroom so quickly."

  For a moment, Jimmy was unable to respond. Everyone at the table turned from me to him, their eyes widening with new awareness. I knew there was no better way to make a boy like Jimmy afraid than to attack his manliness and his souped-up reputation.

  "Huh?" was all he could utter.

  I started to turn away when Jennifer piped up. "Stop trying to cover up, Raven. You're the one who's always fouling out," she shouted. "That's why you're here, living as a servant in my house." Her friends laughed.

  I froze for a moment, feeling my spine turn to cold steel. Then I turned slowly and stepped back toward the table.

  "Me? Cover up? Please, Daddy," I whimpered. "I didn't mean to throw up all over the place. Raven made me do it."

  "Shut up!" she screamed.

  "I'm a good girl. Daddy's little good girl," I mimicked.

  Everyone held their breath. Jennifer turned so red I thought she might just burst into flames. Instead, she reached down, seized a half-eaten bowl of tomato soup, and threw it at me. The hot soup splattered my clothes and face, and the bowl crashed to the floor, shattering.

  Mr. Wizenberg, the cafeteria monitor, came running over. "What's going on here?" he demanded. "Who did this?"

  Everyone at the table stared at him. He turned to me. "Who threw that at you?"

  "No one," I said. "It flew up on its own." I wouldn't be a tattletale, not even to get Jennifer in trouble. Frustrated, Mr. Wizenberg sent the whole table and me to Mr. Moore's office. Unable to get anyone to rat, Mr. Moore put us all in detention and sent letters home to each and every student's family. Naturally, they all blamed me.

  Before our letters arrived, Jennifer went crying to Uncle Reuben, claiming I had started it all. This time, Aunt Clara interceded before he could unbuckle his belt.

  "Don't, Reuben," she said. "It can't be entirely her fault, and you've punished her enough already."

  Uncle Reuben was angrier about Aunt Clara's interference than anything, but he didn't say a word. He pointed his finger at me and shook his hand without speaking. To me, that was more frightening. He looked monstrous, capable of murder. I retreated as soon as I could and let him vent his rage to Aunt Clara.

  "She is obviously the one who needs discipline, Clara. We can't keep her here if we don't try to control her bad ways. Look at all the trouble she's caused in the short time she's been with us. Don't ever interfere again, understand? Understand?" he threatened.

  "Yes, Reuben, yes. I'll have a talk with her."

  "Talking doesn't help that kind. She's too spoiled, too far gone. I'm her only hope," he declared.

  If he was my only hope, I was long gone.

  When the letter arrived, he pinned mine on the inside of my bedroom door.

  "Don't you dare take this off here, understand?" he declared. "I want you to see this each and every time you walk out of this room."

  "Are you pinning Jennifer's to her door, too?" I asked.

  "Don't you worry about Jennifer. You worry about yourself. That's enough," he snapped.

  I couldn't keep the emotion from my face, and I saw him tilt his head as he looked at me, his own eyes focusing like tiny microscopes to look into my thoughts.

  "You might have Clara fooled with that sweet act you put on," he said in a hard, coarse whisper, "but I know your mother. I knew your father. I know from where you come. You can't fool me."

  "If my mother was so bad, why aren't you? You're her brother. You came from the same parents. You grew up together, didn't you? You're not perfect," I said. "You've done some bad things." The moment I said that, I knew I had gone too far, but I had no idea just how far.

  He stepped farther into the room.

  "What did she tell you?" he asked. "Did she make up some lie about me? Spit it out. Spit out the garbage. Go on," he ordered.

  I shook my head. "There's nothing to tell," I said, my heart pounding. He seemed to expand, inflate, rise higher, and grow wider.

/>   "I never did anything to her," he said. "If lever hear you say anything, I swear I'll tear out your tongue."

  I stared at him, and then I looked down quickly. He hovered there like a giant cat. I could almost feel my bones crumbling under his pounce.

  "She was disgusting, parading around naked and saying whatever she wanted, trying to get me to give in to her evil ways. Well, I showed her. It was good when she ran off, only she didn't run far enough," he declared.

  I could almost feel his hot breath on the top of my head, but I didn't move, didn't twitch a muscle. I tried to stop breathing, to close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned and marched out. It felt as if a cold draft had followed him and left me in a vacuum of horribly dark silence. I was afraid to think, even to imagine what sort of things he meant.

  Suddenly, I felt I had to get fresh air. I threw on a sweater and went out. All the houses on the street and the next were well spaced apart. There were only about six or seven on each avenue. At the moment, there was no one on the street and apparently no one outside his or her home. I folded my arms under my breasts and walked with my head down, not really paying attention to where I was going. I was so deep in thought that I never realized I had crossed the street.

  "Hey," I heard, and looked up at Clarence Dunsen. "Wh. . . where are you . . you going?"

  He had a garbage bag in his hand and had just lifted the lid of the can when he saw me.

  I stopped and looked around, surprised at how far I had traveled.

  "I'm just taking a walk," I said.

  He put the garbage in the can and closed it. Then he simply stood there looking at me.

  "Is this where you live?" I asked, nodding at the modest ranch-style home. It had gray siding with charcoal shutters, a large lawn with some hedges around the walk, and a red maple tree in front. The garage door was open, and a station wagon and a pickup truck were visible. I saw a bike hanging on the wall as well and what looked like some tools, wrenches and pliers, clipped to another wall.

  "Yeah," he said. "I live in the bas . . . bas . . basement."

  "The basement?" I smiled "What do you mean?"

  "That's where I . . . slee . . . sleep and stuff," he replied. He smiled. "I have my own door."

  I shook my head, still confused.

  "Com . . . come on. shhh show you," he urged with a gesture. He took a few steps toward the side of the house and waited. I thought a moment, looked around the empty street, and then followed him to steps that led down to a basement door. He pointed. "There," he said.

  "You live down there?"

  "A-huh. Wanna sssssss . see?"

  No one had ever told me about this, not even Jennifer, but then again, no one really took any interest in Clarence except to make fun of his stuttering. I nodded again and followed him down the steps. He opened the door to a small bedroom that contained a desk and chair, a dresser, a cabinet that served as a closet, and a small table on top of which sat a television set. The floor was covered in a dark brown linoleum with a small gray oval rug at the foot of the bed. Under the bed were a few pairs of shoes and some sneakers. There were two electric heaters along the sides of the room.

  His clothing was tossed about, shirts over the chair, a pair of pants dangling over the door of the closet, and some T-shirts folded and left on top of the television set. I saw magazines on the floor, some books, and a few boxes of puzzles.

  "Why do you have to live down here?" I asked him. The room had no windows and was lit by a ceiling fixture and one standing lamp beside the desk.

  "My mom's new hus . . husband fixed it for. for me so the baby could have my old rooo . room," he said.

  The dull gray cement walls had chips and cracks in them. It smelled dank and musty. The floor rafters were clearly visible above us, and there were cobwebs in them. This was more like a dungeon than a bedroom, I thought. Why would his mother want him down here? I could hear footsteps above us, the sound of chair legs scratching the floor, and then a baby's wail.

  "That's Donna Marie," he said.

  I nodded and continued to look around the dingy room. "Where is your bathroom?"

  "Upsta . . stairs. You got to go?"

  "No," I said, smiling. "I just wondered. You do puzzles?" I asked, nodding at the boxes on the floor.

  "Yeah, sometimes. Aft. . . after I do one, I take, take, take it apart and do it again."

  I laughed, and he smiled.

  Just then, the door of his room was pulled open, and a tall, lean, dark-haired man in a pale white athletic undershirt, jeans, and old slippers appeared. He was unshaven and had a square jaw with a cleft chin and a thin nose under a pair of dark brown, tired eyes that brightened with interest when he saw me.

  "Who the hell are you?" he asked.

  "I'm Raven Flores."

  "Who's this, Clarence?" He smiled. "A girlfriend?"

  "Nnnnn no," Clarence replied, turning a deep red. He glanced at me with terror.

  "I'm just a neighbor," I said. "I'm living with my uncle."

  "Who's that?"

  "Reuben Stack."

  His smile widened. "Reuben, huh? He never mentioned you. I work with him." He turned back to Clarence. "We was wondering why you didn't come back upstairs after you took out the garbage. It's time for dinner. I hate to interrupt," he said, smiling at me. "Come on back later, if you want."

  "That's all right. I'll see you tomorrow, Clarence," I said.

  "Sure you're not coming back tonight?" his stepfather asked. I ignored him and went to the door. His laughter followed me out.

  I hurried back, feeling sorrier for Clarence than I did for myself. Where was this magical family in America, the one I saw on television? You can have parents and still be an orphan, I thought.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Uncle Reuben asked when I entered the house.

  "I just went for a walk."

  "It's suppertime. You know you have to be here to help," he said.

  I hurried toward the kitchen.

  "Jennifer's already set the table," he said.

  "All by herself?" I retorted.

  "Don't get smart," he snapped. "Just help Clara bring in the food, and next time, you let someone know when you're leaving the house, hear?"

  "Yes, sir," I said. I nearly saluted.

  He stared daggers at me, so I continued into the kitchen, where Aunt Clara was busy getting the food into serving bowls. She worked quickly and quietly. I had the feeling Uncle Reuben had already blamed her for my not being there.

  "I'm sorry I'm late, Aunt Clara, but . . ."

  "Just take this in, dear," she said, handing me the bowl of mashed potatoes.

  When I entered the dining room, I found Jennifer sitting back with a wide, self-satisfied smile on her face. William looked as meek and beaten down as ever, and Uncle Reuben sat in his throne, his big arms on the table, waiting like the king he thought he was.

  "It's about time," Jennifer said. "I'm starving. I got the table set for you."

  I put down the bowl and looked at the plates and silverware.

  "Forks are on the wrong side," I said, and winked at William, who gave me a small smile. Then I returned to the kitchen before Jennifer could offer a smart reply.

  It was another dinner with Uncle Reuben pronouncing his opinions about women and young people. The world was out of control. Values were being destroyed, and the fabric of the country was being torn apart. It was all the fault of women who wanted too much and children who weren't

  disciplined properly. No one contradicted him. I tried to drown him out with my own thoughts, but he bellowed and knocked on the table when he wanted to force home his conclusions.

  All Aunt Clara could say was, "Don't excite yourself when you're eating, Reuben."

  I hurried to clean up afterward. As usual, Jennifer just rose and went upstairs, not even bringing her own plate to the sink. I saw that William wanted to help, but he was afraid of angering his father, who had just finished d
eclaring that women were getting men to do their work and that was one of the things wrong with this country.

  After my chores, I went to my room to start my homework. I could hear Jennifer in the living room watching television with Uncle Reuben and Aunt Clara. Her laughter sounded loud and obnoxious to me. Why didn't they ask her about her schoolwork? I wondered. I heard the phone ring, and a few minutes later, my door was thrust open.

  Uncle Reuben stood there gaping in at me. "What?" I asked, turning from my small table.

  "Where'd you go before?" he asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him "Huh?"

  "I told you. I went for a walk," I said.

  "That's a lie. You went to the Dunsen house, didn't you?"

  "I saw Clarence, and he wanted to show me his room in the basement," I said.

  Uncle Reuben smiled coldly and shook his head. "You know that boy's retarded."

  "He's not retarded. He just has a speech problem," I said.

  "It's easier to take advantage of someone like that. What were you trying to do, seduce him9"

  "No!" I cried. "Leave me alone."

  "I got to get a call from one of the men who works under me gloating that he caught you with his stepson? I got to get that call? What are you doing to our reputation in the neighborhood?"

  I turned away, the tears coming so fast and hard I couldn't stop them this time. I wasn't the one who was fooling around with boys, and yet I was getting accused!

  "Looks like you need more than one lesson, and more than one lesson you're going to get," he said, and pulled off his belt. "Get on that bed."

  "No. Leave me alone!" I cried.

  "If you get on it yourself, I'll only give you six whacks. If you make me do it, it's ten," he said. He hovered between me and the door. I could never get around him "Well? Which will it be?"

  "I didn't do anything wrong," I moaned. "Please."

  "Looks like ten," he said, moving toward me.

  "No," I cried, holding up my hands. I got up and backed toward the bed.

  "Reuben, what's going on in there?" I heard Aunt Clara ask.

  "Just keep out of this, Clara, or it will go down harder for everyone," he shouted. He turned to me. I couldn't stop sobbing. I didn't want to be hit once, much less ten times. What could I do?