Walking Across Egypt

by Clyde Edgerton

  As she made her turn at the bottom of the bank she saw Beatrice standing near the back door, watching. She stopped, cut off the lawnmower, and started up the bank. “Well, how you doing, Beatrice?” she called.

  “Fine. I didn’t want to scare you. Just thought I’d stop by for a little visit. I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Let’s go over here and sit.” About four more strips and I’d been through, thought Mattie. What in the world? Beatrice has never visited me in her life.

  They walked to the metal lawn chairs.

  Mattie went on inside, and poured two glasses of iced tea, tore off a paper towel for Beatrice, picked up a used one for herself, came back outside, handed Beatrice her tea, and sat down.

  “That’s a lot of work, cutting the grass,” said Beatrice.

  “Well, it is, but I give myself two days to do it now. I used to do it in one.” I bet she’s never cut a blade of grass in her life, thought Mattie. Beatrice had attended college in Virginia and saw to it that everybody knew, over and over.

  “What I came for is to say I’m sorry about all that in Sunday school. I couldn’t imagine you knew that boy was escaped.”

  “Well, no, I didn’t. I . . . it was just all a big mix-up.”

  “And another thing—I wanted to ask you about our new member from Maryland. To ask you if you’d do something for us.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, she was the president of her Sunday school class where she’s from and what I was wondering is, since the vice-president doesn’t do all that much anyway, what I was wondering is if maybe we could let her have that office so she would, you know, feel included. She’s been coming for about a month and hasn’t joined yet, and we can use everybody we can get in the membership drive and I just believe that if she had an office in the Sunday school department then she’d join the church, transfer her membership, and we’d have a new member for the membership drive and then too she wouldn’t have to feel left out, you know, in our department. Just think about it. It was just a little something I thought about that we might could do.”

  “Oh . . . well, it’s okay with me, I guess, but since it’s an office, we’d have to have somebody nominate her and vote her in and all. What’s her name—Elizabeth?”

  “Elizabeth Fisher. I think we could work that out.”

  “I see what you mean. Help her feel at home and all. Well, I suppose it’s okay with me.”

  “Okay,” said Beatrice, “I’ll see what the others say and bring it up on Sunday if that’s all right with you.”

  “It’s fine with me. I’ll be working on the Lottie Moon, anyway. Let me get you some more tea.”

  “I don’t think I want any more, thank you. I don’t have but a minute. And like I say, I am sorry about all your trouble Sunday.”

  “Well, it was a kind of funny thing. That boy is right pitiful in a way. He’s never had much of a chance at anything. Lived at Berry Hill Orphanage all his life, got in trouble and ended up at the YMRC. I didn’t have no idea at all when he come by here on Saturday that he’d escaped.”

  “It’s just awful, what goes on nowadays,” said Beatrice. “Everybody’s getting divorced and you never know what’s going to happen, or where it’s going to happen, or who it’s going to happen to, do you?”

  “No. No, you don’t.”

  “I wonder about how strong the church is in the middle of it all. It seems like the state has just about taken over everything.” Beatrice stood. “I pray about it, but I declare, sometimes I don’t even know what to pray.”

  “I know. Me either.” He would have to learn to put things back where he got them, thought Mattie. I wouldn’t go around picking up after him like I did with Robert and Elaine.

  “Well, it was good to see you, Mattie,” said Beatrice as she left. “Just think about this little vice-presidency thing. We’ll talk about it Sunday.”

  “Okay.” I could teach him how to trim. The importance of trimming so that it looks good—not so shaggy around the trees and up against the house.

  XIII

  Elaine came by to see Mattie late Tuesday afternooon. No, Mattie said, she wasn’t feeling funny. She felt good. Yes, everything was fine about Sunday. It had just been a misunderstanding. Would she please go in her room and put out everything she wanted sold at the yard sale Saturday.

  Elaine spent two hours sifting, looking at old scrapbooks and pictures, reading a diary, then letters from an old boyfriend.

  Thursday night Mattie called Lamar to be sure he remembered about Saturday morning. He said he would be there with the truck by 7:30. If he ate breakfast with her, that would put them in Pearl’s yard at eight, eight-fifteen or so. Alora had decided to come at nine, bring Finner’s Mexican rifle lamp and a few other things.

  On Friday night Clarence Vernon, the head deacon, ate the chicken and dumplings, string beans, and potatoes his wife had fixed. He ate quietly. His wife wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain what he had to do on Sunday. He was going to have to straighten out the Mattie Rigsbee business. For the sake of the church. He knew exactly how to handle it. He would tell Mattie how much he appreciated what she had done for the church and also for this unfortunate young man. The thief. Degenerate, evil boy. But he would have to point out that it seemed to him as head deacon that the line had been crossed. You cannot take in, support, protect, hide, conspire with a known criminal. You can treat him well in prison, the Scriptures even speak of that, but anything beyond that is wrong; beyond that is where the Devil comes in. It’s clear. He would say he thought it would be best for her to give up the Lottie Moon until the whole business blew over—until all charges of wrongdoing had settled down appropriately.

  He liked Mattie Rigsbee, and would be sure to tell her so, and he’d be sure to ask her opinion about the whole thing. But his calling was not to Mattie Rigsbee, it was to higher offices: Duty, the Church, God.

  By the time Clarence went to bed, Mattie had five piles throughout her house, ready to go to the yard sale the next morning: a Robert pile, an Elaine pile, a Paul pile, a Mattie pile, and a miscellaneous pile. She had called Elaine and Robert and given them one last chance at their goods. Robert wanted Mattie to keep his arrowheads, that was it. Elaine said she had brought all she wanted to her apartment. She was going to Chapel Hill for a conference and would stop by the yard sale. A man named Winston Sullivan would be with her.

  When Mattie sat down to the piano Friday night, she had a vague sense that some sort of trade-off was coming. Maybe it was that she was getting rid of some of Elaine’s old things, her childhood things, roller skates, her last two dolls, a watercolor set, and in exchange Elaine was bringing a young man to the yard sale for her to meet. Well, he might be young. He could be old, with Elaine there at thirty-eight already. Elaine hadn’t brought anybody to meet in about a year. This was a good sign. And so soon after Robert had brought somebody.

  And she was getting rid of some of Robert’s old things. She could call Robert and see if he’d bring that nice young lady to the yard sale to meet this Winston Sullivan fellow. She’d like for the four of them to get together, to spend some time together. Maybe she could have them all to Sunday dinner. If not this Sunday then the next. She’d ask Elaine tomorrow. But tomorrow they could all have a good time talking about the toys for sale, remembering.

  Mattie thumbed through the hymnbook. She found and played “Blest Be the Tie,” and then “Morning Has Broken.” She played “To a Wild Rose” once. She hummed “Walking Across Egypt,” but still couldn’t remember the words. It was in one of those old songbooks she’d gotten out of the piano bench to sell. Too late to go through all that. She’d get Robert and Elaine and Laurie and that Winston Sullivan to go on a little treasure hunt for it. That would be fun. Something for them to do together—see who could find “Walking Across Egypt” first. Then she’d bring it home and they could all sing it together around the piano sometime.

  She went to the kitchen and got the papers on Wesley a
nd sat down with them on the couch in the den. She read, noticing the blank spaces where you had to fill in your name, address, schooling, dates. Schooling? Well, if she decided to keep him, she could put something in. It had been so long ago. You agreed to provide for the physical needs, to provide guidance, to know where he was at all times. Stapled to the form was a paper of some sort which said chances for guardianship would be increased if the guardian was a relative.

  It would be a nice challenge for her to get that boy started on another road, another path, in another direction. Get his teeth fixed, buy him some clothes, get him going to church, back in school.

  But she wouldn’t be able to do as much as she could when she was younger. She didn’t have the energy; she was slowing down.

  Well. . . she needed to go ahead and pray about it and make a decision: either yes, so she could get on with it, or no, so she could put it out of her head for good.

  He could have Robert’s room. She wouldn’t have to buy a thing. She had several sets of sheets. She could get one of those Instamatics fixed for him, too.

  Sitting on the couch with the legal papers in her lap, the lamp lighted beside her, she closed her eyes and prayed. Dear Lord, bless this house and all I try to do. Guide and protect me in making this decision. Help me to do what is right.

  What if everybody did good unto the least of these? thought Mattie. What in the world would happen? But that would only happen if the Devil went away somehow. It’s up to Christians to lead the way, to do what’s right. But I’m not young anymore, able to take on this, that, and the other. It’s getting harder just to keep up this house. I need to look after myself—do a good job of that. I owe that to myself. I can’t take care of some boy who’s liable to do no telling what.

  Dear gentle Jesus, guide me in making this decision. I need to get it over with, decide now. Please guide and direct me. In Thy precious name. Amen.

  Mattie looked across the den into the kitchen, dark except for the light from the lamp beside her. What if Wesley was sitting over there right now doing something he ought not to be doing: eating hard candy, or worse still, drinking a beer. What would she say? She’d talk to him and explain. Maybe take more time to explain than she used to take with Robert and Elaine.

  She closed her eyes. Now was the time. How could she do it? Well, it had to be some sort of instant decision, something quick. There was just no way she could figure it out. It would have to come in a flash.

  She had an idea. She pictured herself standing in the pulpit looking out into the church sanctuary. The church was empty except for three little . . . little ghostlike figures, sitting in the middle of the auditorium on her right, and three in the middle on her left. Mattie spoke to the three on her right. “If I am to keep Wesley, you three stand up—when the time comes,” she said. She looked at the three on her left. “If I am not to keep Wesley, you three stand up when the time comes. All of you take your time. Don’t move until you have to. Now. Do what you have to do.” She stood before them, watching and waiting.

  Together, the three on the right stood. Mattie opened her eyes.

  That was that.

  She looked at the papers in her hands. She let her head fall back. She looked at the water stain on the ceiling. She needed to shout out. A big upside-down waterfall seemed to be flowing up out of her—up out of her head. “Amen,” she said loudly. She was going to have a boarder. What in the world would Pearl say? “Amen,” she said again. She stood, raised her hands. “Amen.” And then: “Hester field.” She remembered! She’d have to call Pearl, tell her she remembered the name of the field, and see what she thought about her big decision. Pearl would go along. She might resist a little to start with, but she’d go along eventually. Alora. Lord, Alora might shoot him. Alora or Finner, one.

  She felt a great rush of energy. She felt wonderful. She needed to call somebody and tell them. Pearl? No, it was too late.

  “Hello, Elaine?”

  “Hi, Mother. I’ve got company; can I call you back tomorrow?”

  “Company? This late?”

  “Mother, it’s just, ah, 10:15.”

  “A man?”

  “Yes, Mother. It’s okay. I’m thirty-eight.”

  “How old is he?”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Ask him.”

  “Mother! What is this—the Spanish Inquisition?”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “Say that again, Mother.”

  “I’m getting married.”

  “Mother, this is no time for jokes. I’ve got company.”

  “I’m getting married so I can have my own grandchildren. I’m signing the papers tonight.”

  “Mother, that is ridiculous. What papers?!”

  “The guardian papers.”

  “What are you talking about, Mother? What guardian papers?”

  “The guardian papers on Wesley Benfield. So he can live here.”

  “Wesley. The juvenile delinquent? Mother, sit down. Are you sitting down?”

  “I’m standing at the kitchen counter. I’m fine. I’m going to take him in and I’m prepared to say yes when he asks me to marry him. And I imagine he will.”

  “Mother, now stop it. If you don’t stop it, I’m coming over there.”

  “Come on, and spend the night.”

  “I . . . Mother . . .”

  “What’s your friend’s name? Is it the one you’re planning to bring to the yard sale?”

  “Winston Sullivan. Yes. He’s the one.”

  “Let me speak to him.”

  “Mother! What for?”

  “Let me speak to him.”

  “Just a minute.”

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any intention of marrying Elaine?”

  “Well, I, ah, haven’t gotten quite that far in my thinking, ah, about things.”

  “Well, if you don’t marry her I’m going to marry a sixteen-year-old boy and have my own grandchildren, even if I have to rent them, or adopt them, or whatever it is.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You understand what marriage is, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, but—”

  “How’s your sperm?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “I said how’s your sperm; how old are you?”

  “I’m forty-seven. I hadn’t checked my sper—”

  “Your sperm starts getting weak when you pass forty-four.”

  “Mrs. Rigsbee, I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about this. I—”

  “Let me speak to Elaine.”

  “Yes. Okay. Good night, Mrs. Rigsbee.”

  “Good night. Sleep tight.”

  Winston looked at the phone and handed it to Elaine.

  “Hello, mother?”

  “He sounds like a nice young man but it’s time he was going home. Or getting married. His sperm is getting tired.”

  “Mother, what in the world has happened to you? Do you feel all right?”

  “I feel wonderful. I feel like a upside-down waterfall is coming up out of my head.”

  “Oh? Well, listen. You go to bed right now. And we’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest. Right now. You’re not going to marry anybody, for goodness sakes, Mother. Let’s talk about all this tomorrow.”

  “Fine. We’ll all talk tomorrow. And find ‘Walking Across Egypt’ and bring it home and all sing it together.”

  “Okay. Bye, Mother.”

  “Bye-bye.”

  Elaine hung up the phone and stood looking at Winston Sullivan. “She’s lost her mind. I’ve got to do something. I’ll have to call Robert.”

  Mattie turned out the kitchen light, walked into the hall and on down toward her bedroom. She turned on the bedroom light, turned out the hall light. What in the world? What a funny conversation. Somebody needed to get married.

  XIV

  The morning sun glow
ed orange through the top of a black pine tree as Lamar turned into Mattie’s driveway. She would have hot coffee and no telling what to eat. Some of those biscuits. And maybe he could get another pair of shoes. Those wing tips fit perfect.

  He stepped onto the back steps and knocked on the door. No one answered. He started around to the front.

  The back door opened. Mattie stuck her head out. “Come on in. I was in the bathroom. I been so excited I got up at five.”

  Lamar stepped into the den.

  “Take off your hat,” said Mattie. “I’ve got something to tell you.” She picked up the papers off the counter. “See these papers, the guardian papers; well, I signed them last night and I feel just as good about it this morning as I did then. Take off your hat.”

  “Well, slap my thigh.”

  Mattie walked to the stove. “You want some breakfast, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “How do you want your eggs?”

  “Scrambled. I’ll be doggone.”

  “Yep. I decided to get on with it. Have a seat there at the table.”

  “Wesley’ll be happy. He’ll be real happy. I hope they let him out.”

  “Well, I do too. We’ll call him up in a little bit.” Mattie placed butter on the table. “How about that little dog? Is he still at the pound?”

  “Yeah. I’ve seen him a few times.”

  “Well, I’m trying to decide—maybe I ought to get him back. Wesley’ll need something around to look after, to take care of. That’ll do him good, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yeah. I can bring him to you anytime.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Let me see how things go with Wesley, then we’ll worry about the dog. One thing at a time. Maybe I ought to get a parakeet. Take off your hat.”

  Lamar took off his hat. Mattie handed him his plate, sat at the table herself, took a sip of coffee.

  Lamar buttered his biscuit. “Ain’t you going to say the blessing?” he asked.