In An Arid Land

by Paul Scott Malone

  "We'll plant others."

  "It won't be the same. I'll be dead and buried by the time they're as big as this one. Couldn't you wait a month or so?"

  "Walter wants to do it this year. For tax purposes."

  "I'll pay the taxes."

  "It's not a matter of paying them, it's a matter of deducting them. You know that . . . . Listen, I got to go."

  Eveline was silent on the line. She had hoped that if she got this job, any job, she would be able to buy the house from Walter and Nina and save the tree. She didn't need a den.

  Nina said, "Are you all right . . . Eveline?"

  "Eveline?"

  "It was Walter's idea. He thinks I should quit with 'Mama.'"

  The interview went smoothly. It was the perfect job for her with a large, secure company based in San Francisco. She would, more or less, pick up just where she had left off. She talked briefly with two men in their separate offices. Then they took her to lunch. The three of them got along like old friends.

  "With your experience we see a cost savings to the company of several thousand dollars. We want you at the first of the year, and we'll project the move to San Francisco by Feb-First."

  "Wait a minute," said Eveline. "San Francisco?"

  The two men, both shorter than Eveline, and younger and brighter and busier, looked at each other. "Didn't you tell her?" They laughed and reddened. "Sorry," said one. "We've talked to so many," said the other. "It's being transferred to headquarters after training here with us. That decision delayed the hire."

  "I sure thought you knew," said the balding redhead.

  "Is that a problem?" said the blond. "Relocating?"

  "Yes," she said. "I mean, no. I love San Francisco."

  They wanted her answer by Christmas.

  Eveline drove home in confusion. In her previous job she had traveled all over the States and to six foreign countries, but she had lived all her life in Houston. She couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Everything about her was associated with the city. What about Nina? (She'd never allow it.) And Toby? What about Angela? Who would visit Ed's grave? And she didn't know a soul in San Francisco, or in all of California for that matter.

  Two trucks were parked in front of the house. On the doors of each was a sign: Mackey's Tree Service. She went inside, paid the elderly lady from next door for watching Toby, ushered her out in a hurry and then stepped to the back door. Limbs and branches and yellow berries were strewn all over the yard. Three men were sitting on the ground, taking a coffee break, it appeared. The trunk of the tallow tree was already naked as a toothpick. She went to her bedroom to change out of her good clothes. She heard a chain saw crank up outside. She sat down on the bed in nothing but her underwear. She just listened . . . .

  Christmas was the finest time of the year to Eveline. Houston's humid weather usually turned for good in December and the holiday brought to mind the only really good memories she had of her childhood, of her father bringing home the tree and her mother baking rich-smelling pies in the kitchen. It was a longstanding tradition that Eveline and her family would gather at Angela's house for the annual celebration on Christmas Eve. This year, and with only a week to go, no one had called to settle plans and recently Nina never had time to talk. Eveline knew the holidays were the hardest time on people alone and more than ever before she was looking forward to the get-together up in Conroe. She decided to make the arrangements herself.

  "I've been meaning to tell you for weeks," Angela said over the phone. Then she started crying. "We're going to Kansas City for Christmas." It was Floyd's idea to meet in Missouri at the home of the eldest son, because "it's more central, geographically speaking, you know," Angela said, sniffling.

  "Hush now," said Eveline. "It's not the end of the world."

  "Plan on coming up for New Year's, hun, will you?"

  When Nina arrived that evening Eveline broke the news and suggested an alternative. "Why don't we all have Christmas here. Maybe you could invite some friends. We'll have a real party."

  Nina said just what Angela had said: "I've been meaning to tell you for weeks." They were going skiing.

  "Skiing? You don't know how to ski."

  "We can learn, Mama. Eveline. Heard of ski instructors?"

  "You don't have to be smart with me . . . ."

  "What about Toby?"

  Nina's face answered the question. "Please, Mama?"

  "It's Eveline." Eveline gave her daughter a sarcastic look.

  Nina said, "I mean, Eveline."

  "I'll have to think about it," her mother said. "Turns out I've got some news of my own. A job offer."

  She hadn't intended to tell Nina until she had made the decision. She knew it would complicate things; Nina would be upset and irrational about it. But Eveline was tired of being the only one with no developments in her life. Now it had slipped out, more like a confession than an announcement.

  "Tell me why I shouldn't go," said Eveline.

  Oddly, Nina's reaction was mixed. She was excited about the offer but hesitant to advise Eveline to move. It would be such a startling change. They had never lived so far apart from each other. "You have to think of your family," she said at one point. By the time she had packed up Toby, however, Nina's position had softened. The salary, the benefits, the opportunities: a career requires sacrifices, she said. "I mean, we could visit back and forth several times a year. And just think San Francisco."

  "So, you're saying I ought to do it?" Eveline heard the surprise in her voice which rose from the surprise in her heart.

  "I don't know, Mama. It may be for the best. You need to get on with your life. Daddy would want you to, don't you think?"

  They went silent and thoughtful and their eyes wandered.

  Eveline said, "How much rent will y'all ask for this place?"

  "Walter thinks we could get four hundred," said Nina who immediately realized her mistake. "Oh, Mama, that has nothing to do with it."

  "I know, I know," Eveline said. "Close your mouth."

  "Well, it doesn't. I'd never . . . ."

  Nina's protest was so vehement that Eveline could hear Walter's plans for the future in every word. And she knew that Walter was right. And Floyd too.

  "Here, give me a kiss and go on home to your husband."

  That night Eveline bought her Christmas tree and then went shopping at the mall. Everyone in the crowd seemed to be with someone else and they were all carrying packages. The familiar music put her in a queer, distant mood. She couldn't smile at anyone or anything, until, in a little boutique, she came across something that was just perfect for her tree. It was a Christmas ornament in the shape of a lizard. The glass was all green except for a crescent of red at the throat. It reminded her that she hadn't seen the real lizard in more than a week, not since the day before Walter's hired men had hacked down her beautiful tallow, the lizard's home. And that reminded her that the men were coming on Monday to start work on the add-on. Everything would be disrupted, dusty and noisy, for no telling how long.

  She bought the ornament, but when she got home, instead of hanging it on the tree, she attached it to the window screen in the empty back room, hoping it would entice the real lizard to return. Eveline knew it was a false whim, a doubtful idea, at least until the construction work was done and everything was back to normal, which might not occur until well after New Year's, and she realized then that she might never see the lizard again.

  Suddenly she said, "I'm a widow, I tell you, as if you didn't know." Her voice echoed within the empty room. In a rush of temper she snatched the ornament from the window screen, snapping the flimsy piece of wire she had attached it with. She hurried into the living room and carelessly hung the thing on the tree, where it belonged. It dangled from its limb all alone, green on green, still swaying from her heavy touch.

  "I'm a widow," she said again, but softly, mysteriously this time, and she finally heard the truth in it.

  THE WONDROUS NATURE OF REPENTANCE

&n
bsp; We were religious in the worst of ways then and looked at things differently than most people, more severely, or more biblically maybe everything we did involved The Church and Father ruled with a cast-iron hand. Back in his deacon days.

  I was only eight when all this happened, so I don't know for sure. But this is what I remember and what I've figured from them since them being Mother and Jancy (Jancy's my sister, only two years older, almost in college now) and Roger (my brother by nine years, a real flesh-and-blood brother) and there was Brother Hobson (the preacher at church) and there was Father too, though he hates to talk about it.

  So here's what happened. It was Sunday. First, all four of the kittens died and then Roland (he's my brother by ten years, the oldest of us, my favorite) and Roland's wife who was his girlfriend the nor maybe his fiancée already, or maybe she was his wife already. Anyway, the kittens died and then Roland and Mary went down front to confess before the whole congregation. Not over the kittens, I know that now. They confessed their love, as best I can tell, which must have been an awful sin, as it got everybody in an uproar. A terrible time. And then they had the wedding. And I became Uncle Robert. And then everybody simmered down, even Father, and everything changed. But that was later, after Tiger and Roland had both left home.

  For me it begins with Tiger, our cat that we'd had a long time, maybe a year, ever since old Max the dog had run away.

  Jancy and I named her Tiger because of her stripes and because she was fierce and independent too, a real tomcat we thought, though we might have named her something else like Sophie or Elsie if we'd known. I guess nobody who could have told us different had ever looked, being so busy and so tall you know, and mostly ignoring the cat anyway since Mother had made it clear that she was to be our responsibility and ours alone, Jancy and me, "not like the dog that I ended up caring for despite your promises." And so we didn't find out the truth till one day after school when Mother said, "What's wrong with Tiger?"

  The cat was all bloated like a toad and she'd been whining all afternoon and wandering through the house as if searching for something she'd lost. Jancy and I didn't think much of it till Mother said, "What's wrong with Tiger?" and she got that curious smile on her pretty face, young face then, a look like she'd just got a wonderful surprise. Mother stooped and hugged us to her and we leaned over Tiger who was crying and staring up at us from the floor with an air about her like she'd sat down on an ice cube.

  Mother said, "Tiger, I'm afraid, my little lovelies oh, my goodness" (and she grinned at us then like we'd done something precious)"Tiger," she said, "is about to be a mother."

  "No," said Jancy.

  "Oh, yes," said Mother. "I'm afraid so. And any minute now it appears." Then her eyes went serious, kind of perplexed-looking, the same expression that was in Jancy's eyes, and Mother said, sort of to herself, "I can't believe I didn't notice."

  Tiger lived out back in the garage most of the time. But we made her a bed of an old blanket and a cardboard box and put it in the washroom, because Mother said it would be better.

  When Father came home and we told him (Jancy got to him first before he even had a chance to put down his briefcase, but she jumbled it up, so I said, "Tiger's having babies," and Mother just stood there nodding) he went to the washroom and squatted down and petted Tiger quite gently, which was odd for Father who never paid the cat any attention. And he said, "Hello there, old boy old girl, I guess now. Just full of surprises." Then he said, "And not even married."

  "Do cats get married, Daddy?" I asked but he just chuckled and squeezed my head.

  Then Roger came home from Bible study and he went to look at Tiger and then Roland came in from Debate Club and he went in to look, and at dinner everyone was happy and expectant. Roland said, "Hey, Robby, you a girl or a boy?" and then he winked all around the table and Roger laughed at me and Father chuckled, until Mother said, "Roland, hush! All of you, hush!" But she was teasing too. "I promise you he's a boy." At that Roland gave another wink, just for me, and I felt better.

  In the morning there was magic. The box was full of kittens crawling all around Tiger and chewing on her belly and making the craziest noises, and Mother looked very tired. So did Tiger.

  "Was Tiger bad?" asked Jancy, which seemed like a good question to me, though I hadn't thought about it. But Mother said, "No, of course not. What gave you such an idea?"

  Jancy shrugged and Mother looked at me and I shrugged too.

  That was a Wednesday. I remember because that night we went to prayer meeting, which we did every Wednesday back then. After the singing and after Brother Hobson preached his sermon and it was time to pray, I asked God to watch out for the kittens. I guess he didn't hear for all the other prayers coming up to him at that moment, or maybe it was something else . . . .

  Anyway, in the car on the way home Mother and Father argued about Roland who was not with us that night. This was the first whimper of the uproar.

  Father said, "I don't see why he can't attend, what with me a deacon and all."

  "You know perfectly well why. He's a grown man now and about to graduate and he and Mary have things to do."

  "I know that," he said. "I know that. But I have to wonder just what sorts of things." Then he called back to Roger, "What's your brother up to tonight?"

  At that time Roger wanted to be a minister and he stayed to himself except for Bible study and he was mostly quiet except when he was talking about Jesus, and he and Roland didn't always get along. But he said, "Senior Boys' Club, I think."

  Father said, "So he's out carousing . . . ."

  "Oh, Richard!" said Mother.

  "I don't know what he's doing," said Roger.

  Father said, "And what about Mary?"

  "I don't know," said Roger who hated arguments.

  Father looked at Mother. "It was a mistake, you letting him buy that car," he said.

  "He's a good boy," Mother said.

  "But how does it look? With me a deacon and all. And her own father a deacon as well. Don't you know that people talk."

  "They're good children," Mother said.

  Jancy spoke up then: "Mother, is a deacon like a disciple in the Bible?" and I looked toward her voice in the dark back seat. "A rhyme," I said and I thought it was only to myself, but Mother and Father looked at each other and then they glanced back at Roger and for some reason all three of them started laughing.

  Then Tiger moved the kittens. It was a few days later, a Saturday, the day of the prom that Roland and Mary went to but didn't come home from that night, or the next morning either.

  Anyway, that day Tiger was sort of fidgety and nervous and then about lunch time we saw her out back pacing across the yard. She was toting one of the kittens in her mouth. She went into the garage and by the time Jancy and I got out there she was already up among the rafters. This is how we found her regular home, where she stayed when she wasn't in the house or out catting around. It was in the hollow part of the eaves. Jancy crawled up on the table saw and then up higher onto the lathe so she could see. "Golly," she hollered. "It's just like a nest in here."

  So then Tiger brought out the last kitten. She jumped down from the rafters and slunk back across the yard and entered the house through the little dog door in the big door, Max's old door. We followed her again, and Father and Mother came too, and when we looked up sure enough there was one of the kittens just hanging over the edge, pawing the air. And sure enough it stepped off, but quick as anything Tiger's big head shot out and she snatched the kitten back at the very instant it fell.

  Mother said, "Richard, perhaps we should bring them down."

  "No no," Father said. "It's only natural. We don't want to tamper with something like this."

  That afternoon Roland dressed himself up in a tuxedo. Then he left in his car. It was an old Dodge, a '54 convertible with flames on the sides that he'd saved for working summers at Mr. Hardessey's lumberyard. I had been out hunting jays with my BB gun and was up in the big tallow tree where h
e couldn't see me, and I watched him. He primped a bit in the rear-view and then he cranked her up. But before starting off he leaned over and took something out of the glove box. He glanced all around as though to see if anybody was out, and then, just like that, he lit up a cigarette. He blew out a whirl of smoke and with only one hand on the wheel he drove away, looking for all the world like a grown-up on TV, or a spy in the movies. So I had a secret on Roland.

  Then Roland came home again. Mary was with him. And she was so pretty in her pink, fluffy dress and her hair all made up that I could feel my face burning whenever I looked at her. There was something different about her, in her eyes, like the eyes of the ladies you see in magazines, the ones wearing just petticoats. I couldn't help sneaking looks at her, even though I had known her most of my life, and knew her parents, and knew her brother and her sister as if we were all cousins. So I had another secret.

  Father and Mother made a big hubbub over Mary, and Roger took a book's worth of pictures. First, with them outside by the boxwoods before the light went, and then inside with Mary sitting in a living room chair, and then with Roland standing beside Mary, and then three or four of Roland pinning on the flower as everybody joked about how he couldn't find enough material to pin it to, and even Father turned red in the face then.

  "You're both so . . . so beautiful," Mother said. "Mary so pretty and Roland so handsome. Why, you look like the Kennedys, like Jack and Jackie." Everybody laughed. Then she said, "It's no wonder" but that was as far as she got before the tears started up and so Father hugged her and sure enough Roger snapped a picture of that too. And then Roland and Mary left again. We all watched at the windows. Father stood there a long time, long after they had driven away, till Mother called him in to dinner.

  Then came the uproar. It went on for weeks.

  Sunday morning when we got up Mother and Father were arguing. Or at least Father was arguing. I could tell that Mother was sitting there in the kitchen just taking it. From the hall I heard Father say, "I expected him to get home late, that's understandable. But this is going too far."