by Jones, Craig
“What about your father? You used to be able to talk to him.”
“There’s too much disappointment and disapproval there now. On his part. He’s never quite gotten over my quitting school. More than that, he’s vehemently against Frank’s political views, and—I hate to say it—I don’t think he’s as fond of Regina as a grandfather should be. She can be a terrible hellion, which you’ve seen, but he’s not very understanding of her, the illness and all.”
“And she doesn’t look like you, either.”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“Sometimes a great deal, unconsciously. You disappoint him by leaving school and marrying Frank and then you have a child that looks entirely like Frank, so your father feels cheated all the way around. I’ll bet if you had another baby, that looked more like you, he’d treat it differently.”
“I wouldn’t want that.”
“Of course not. Look, once you start your own family, you’ve got a double load. You have to manage your parents as well as your children.”
And maybe your husband too, I thought. I was still thinking of what Vivian had told me, still burning over Frank’s secretiveness. For some reason, Vivian’s information made me think of the night Sylvia had slept over. Was Frank sleeping with her and keeping that a secret too?
We smoked a couple of cigarettes and watched Brian. Now and then, with an exaggerated gesture of delicacy to convince his mother, he would reach out and stroke a flower and give her a smile that said: “See, I’m not hurting them.” Again, I felt a twinge of jealousy.
“I’m going to hate to see you leave,” I said impulsively. “This time, let’s not lose touch with each other.”
“You’re the hermit. If you can tear yourself away from your sanctuary, you’re welcome at our place anytime. All three of you.”
After an hour at the zoo, Brian got bored. When I picked him up and carried him to the car, he buried his fingers in my hair and murmured, “Fire.” I thought of Regina’s hands in Sylvia’s hair and how I had overreacted to it. I cautioned myself about overreacting to everything Vivian had told me.
When we got home, I called Mrs. Lorimer. She said Regina was outside playing, so I told her to send her home when she came in. Brian took a nap for an hour, then went out to play in the sandbox Frank had put in the vacant lot. Around four-thirty, Gloria went up for a shower while I set up the charcoal grill in the backyard. I began making the salad in the kitchen. As I was washing the vegetables in the sink, I looked out the window and saw a patch of red move behind the tree near the sandbox. I stood still, squinting, trying to make it out. What I saw next was the point of a stick protruding from the other side of the tree. Just as I was struck by the possibility of what it was, Regina jumped out and cracked the stick over Brian’s head. He went forward, face down in the sand. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. Regina dropped the stick and ran. I flew out the back door yelling for her to stop, but she continued on without a backward glance. When I got to the sandbox, I saw the blood running down each side of Brian’s ear. But what frightened me more was his face: his mouth was drawn back in a sob that couldn’t escape and his skin was purple from the lack of air. I grabbed him up and slapped his back until his breath returned in little hitches; finally, he was able to scream. I carried him into the kitchen, where I patted his head with a wet dish towel. The profusion of blood terrified me, and I yelled for Gloria.
“My God, what happened!”
“Regina hit him with a stick.” She looked at me incredulously. “I saw her. We’d better get him to the hospital. I think he’s going to need stitches.”
Gloria held him on her lap while I drove. His sobbing slipped into faint whimpering and he closed his eyes.
“Don’t let him go to sleep,” I said.
“You don’t think . . .”
“I don’t think anything. Just don’t let him go to sleep.”
The cut required six stitches, but the doctor assured us he would be all right. However, just to be safe, he told Gloria to be alert for any signs of dizziness or wavering in his walk.
When we drove into the driveway, the whole place looked disturbingly peaceful, as if nothing had happened. There was a thin line of smoke coming up from the charcoal grill; the three huge oaks blotted out the descending sun and colored the air a soft blue-gray. There was no sign of Regina. Gloria sat with Brian in the living room, cutting up an apple for him, while I searched the house. I looked under beds, opened closets and checked the basement and garage. As I was deciding my next move, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Lorimer.
“Mrs. Mattison, Regina wants to spend the night here.”
“I’m sure she does. I’ll be over to get her right now.”
“She says she’s afraid to come home.”
“Just keep her inside until I get there.”
I went out the back door and picked up the stick she had used on Brian and brought it into the kitchen. Then I started for Mrs. Lorimer’s. When I reached the edge of her yard, Regina came barreling out the front door and went running in the other direction. I started after her, kicking off my thongs as I ran. As I rounded the corner onto the next street, my foot came down on something sharp. It was just enough to throw off my gait, and the big toe of my other foot slammed into the edge of the sidewalk. Strangely enough, the pain was more of an inspiration than a deterrent; I sped up and caught her in the next block. She had been screaming all the while I was chasing her, so there was quite an audience on hand, on lawns and porches and at windows. I got hold of the collar on her red shirt and yanked her backward so I could get a grip on her arm. Immediately, she began to pull.
“Stop pulling or so help me I’ll break it!”
Mrs. Lorimer, who had been following me, arrived in time to hear this. She scowled and took a step toward me.
“That’s no way to talk to a child.”
“This is none of your business,” I snapped.
“It’s my business when I see a child being threatened.”
“Would you like to know what this child did?”
“I don’t care what she did. It doesn’t excuse—”
“There’s a three-year-old in my house who has six stitches in his head because of her!”
“I didn’t, I didn’t!” Regina screamed.
“Don’t bother lying—I saw you do it. Now start walking!” She continued to pull in the other direction. “If I have to start pulling you, you’re going to be sorry.”
“Mrs. Mattison, maybe it would be wise to wait until you’ve calmed down.”
“I’m not waiting for anything.” I began to pull Regina the way a cowboy might pull his horse out of mud. Mrs. Lorimer walked alongside us.
“I want Daddy!”
“Maybe she could stay at my place until her father comes home.”
“She’s coming home with me.”
“I want Daddy! My throat hurts!”
After the distance of one block, she realized my strength was greater than hers; she gave up pulling and stumbled along hesitantly. Mrs. Lorimer walked with us as far as our yard. Her cue to stop was my emphatic good night.
As soon as we got into the kitchen, Regina pulled back at the sight of the stick. I let go of her arm and picked it up. “Do you know that that little boy had to have his head sewn up?” My hand tightened around the stick as I looked into her face: there were Frank’s eyes, his high forehead, his long, thin jaw line, but there was none of his softness. That face was a wilderness to me; all my anger gathered in my throat and I had to fight not to cry. “Do you realize how badly you hurt that boy?”
No answer.
“Would you like to see what you did? Would you like me to show you his stitches?”
Gloria came in. “Irene, he doesn’t know what hit him. I don’t think we should e
ven bring it up.”
Regina turned and sneered at her. That was all it took. I snapped the stick in two.
“Upstairs.” My tone changed both their faces. For the first time in the past two years, there was fear in Regina’s eyes and I savored it. “Upstairs. Now.”
“I want Dad—”
“If you say that one more time, it’ll be worse. Now get moving.”
She went ahead of me, looking over her shoulder as we climbed the stairs. I followed her into her room, closed the door and pulled her over my knee. When I raised my hand, I realized I still had the stick in it. I dropped it, yanked down her shorts and panties, and slapped until my hand burned. She fell back on the bed, screaming.
“You have exactly half a minute to get quiet. If you don’t, you’ll get more. With the stick.” To prove it, I picked it up. She turned her head and cried into the pillow. “I’ll tell you right now, if you ever do what you did today, I’ll beat you until you can’t stand up. And don’t think for a minute your father will be able to stop me.”
When I got downstairs and saw Gloria and Brian, I felt I couldn’t be in the same room with them. I sat in the kitchen to gather myself, but when I saw the flies feasting on the raw steaks that were supposed to have gone onto the grill, I burst out crying. Then I felt Gloria’s hands on my shoulders.
“I’m so ashamed, I don’t know what to say.”
“Shh, don’t say anything. You just sit there while I get these steaks on.” She put them under the broiler and slipped a block of frozen spinach into a saucepan.
“I don’t think I can eat.”
“Of course you can.” She took out the plates and began setting the table.
“Oh, Gloria, don’t! Yell at me—do something!”
“Yell at you for what?”
“You must be angry; you have to be!”
“I was, but not at you. And after I heard what went on upstairs, I don’t think I’m angry with her anymore.”
“What she did is inexcusable. I’ll never forgive her for it.”
“Don’t say that. She’s had her punishment. In fact, I think our being here is her punishment. We can stay at a motel.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But I wish you wouldn’t.”
“We’ll see.”
In an obvious effort to lighten my mood while we ate, she got Brian to chatter about the flowers and the animals he had seen that afternoon. But the boy’s readiness to be cheerful and the bandage on his head depressed me even more.
“Something has to be done about her,” I said as we washed the dishes. “As soon as Frank gets home, I’m laying down some new rules.”
“Don’t get worked up over it again. The trouble will be over when we leave.”
“No, it won’t. She’s got the mistaken idea she runs this house. I’m going to see to it that idea goes right out the window.”
Gloria agreed to stay the night. When we took Brian upstairs, I got the cold, sick feeling that maybe Regina would attack again. I went to her room while Gloria tucked Brian in, and found her asleep clutching the Howdy Doody puppet Frank had given her. There was only contentment in her smooth brow and purring lips, but when I kissed her cheek I could smell the salty aftermath of her tears.
Downstairs, Gloria tried humoring me. I was ready for it. She widened her eyes dramatically, shook back her hair and ran her fingers through it, and said, “Whew, what a day! Mah deah, ah think we deserve some refreshment.” She took out a joint and plopped down onto the couch.
“I don’t think I should. Maybe I’ll have a drink instead.”
“You’ll have some of this. You are going to relax.”
I was in the mood to be told what to do. I wanted her to take me by the hand and lead me into oblivion.
She took two deep drags. “Now let’s think pastel thoughts. Lightness and air, that’s our need.”
“Talk to me. Tell me about California,” I said, taking the joint from her.
“Well”—she laughed—“that should take about two minutes. It’s the epitome of contradiction and if you enjoy analyzing that sort of thing, it’s rather amusing. Let’s see, we have sunshine and smog, the ambitious and the idle, a richness of imagination and a poverty of style, an air of permissiveness and stringent laws, a desert kissing an ocean. Let’s see, what else. . . .”
The grass was not pulling my mind away from the afternoon; it was doing just the opposite. I went on asking typical questions about California, her job at the college, where she and Pat had taken vacations. As animated as she was, I could not be distracted by the new chapters in her life or by things I’d never seen. I could barely even recall what Pat looked like.
The telephone rang. It was Frank.
“I called you earlier but there was no answer,” he said. “I wanted to get through before Regina went to bed.”
I wanted to tell him what Vivian had said and what Regina had done to Brian. I wanted him to know how cheated I felt, but I didn’t want him to come running home. I needed another day or two alone with Gloria.
“Irene? Hello?”
“I’m here.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“No. I was sleeping. How’s your demonstration going?”
“There were some beatings and arrests. Tim’s in jail. We’re going to the ACLU tomorrow to see what they can do.”
“You mean you might be arrested?”
“That’s not what I said. Irene, you sound funny. Are you all right?”
“How do you expect me to sound when you tell me someone’s been arrested?”
“I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Honey, why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad. Where are you now?”
“We’re at Sylvia’s cousin’s house.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“All of us.”
How cozy, I thought. But I said nothing.
“Is Gloria there?”
“Yes; she’s sleeping.” I glanced guiltily at Gloria.
“Are you having a good time?” he said.
“Wonderful.”
“You don’t sound it.”
I heard a click on the wire.
“Is somebody listening in there?” I said.
“No, there’s only one phone.”
“Maybe somebody’s tapping the wire.”
“Daddy! Daddy! Come home, please come home! They’re being mean to me!”
“Get off that phone,” I said.
“Regina?”
“Daddy, please come home now!”
“I said to get off that phone.”
“Regina? What’s wrong, honey?”
“She hit me, she chased me and hit me, please come home!” She began to sob.
“Get off that phone this minute!”
“Irene, what’s going on there?”
“Daddy, please come home now, please, please!”
“Get off that phone, young lady, before I come up and pull you off it!”
“Daddy—”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” he said.
“What did you say?” My voice was burning.
“I said”—his voice softened—“I just asked you not to talk to her like that.”
“And how should I talk to her?”
“Daddy, please, before she hits me again!”
“Irene, what’s going on there?”
“Ask your daughter.” I hung up. When I turned to Gloria, I suddenly burst out laughing. “God, aren’t telephones wonderful, the way you can just hang them up?”
Gloria was not amused. She looked at me apprehensively. “Don’t
get upset again. I shouldn’t have given you the grass.”
“Oh, what the hell. Let them play me for the villain. She can tell him whatever she wants. I’m not going near her. I’ve had enough of her for one day.”
In a few minutes, the telephone rang again.
“It’s me,” he said. “Now tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m tired, Frank. Nothing’s happening.”
“Damn it, what are you keeping from me!”
“You’re a great one to be asking that question.”
A tiny pause, then slowly: “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, nothing, nothing. Look, Frank, it hasn’t been a pleasant day and I’m tired. Regina hit Brian over the head with a stick. He had to have six stitches.”
“Stitches?” Another pause. “Well, what did he do to her?”
“He didn’t do a goddam thing to her!”
“Irene, take it easy.”
“Don’t tell me to take it easy! ‘What did he do to her?’ It seems to me your first question would be to ask how he is.”
“Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s all right.”
“I’m coming home. I’ll take the first plane I can get.”
“Fine. Exactly what she wants. Now she’s learned the power of tears and hysteria.”
“Stop it, stop making her sound so conniving. She’s only a child.”
“Yeah, and Hitler was a child once.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I’m coming home.”
“You do that. And when you get here, I’m leaving. I’m going someplace with Gloria for a couple of days.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
After I hung up, I made us whiskeys with soda. Gloria kept quiet, waiting for me to talk.
“I suppose I sounded like the proverbial harridan.”
She shrugged. “You were angry.” Then: “But you’re angry at more than just Regina. Something was bothering you last night after Vivian left.”
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it until I’ve spoken to Frank.”