The Town Crazy

by Suzzy Roche

  Luke stood, and shoved the letter back into his pocket. “Nice visiting with you, Mrs. O’Brien,” he said. He started toward the door, but his shin knocked into the coffee table, and he winced in pain. “Damn! Somebody ought to open the shades in here.”

  Stephanie rushed to the window to turn the blinds, but Lil cried, “No!” shielding her eyes with her hand.

  Luke proceeded toward the door, coming face to face with Clarisse, who did not move aside.

  “This is not funny,” said Clarisse, her voice shaking with righteousness.

  “I didn’t say it was.” Luke flicked his thumb across his lips. “You know what? You’re a real pip, Mrs. McCarthy. If I were you, I’d tend to your friend, ’cause she needs help.”

  Luke stepped around her and hurried out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

  After he was gone, Clarisse looked at Stephanie, who stood by the windows gripping the string of the blinds.

  “What are you looking at?” Clarisse said.

  “Nothing,” said Steph.

  “You see? I told you. He’s rude.”

  TEN

  MR. NEW YORK CITY hightailed it out of there in a hurry, guilty as a rat. Clarisse rushed to set the brownies on the coffee table, ignoring the mess around her. She pulled up a chair and sat across from Lil.

  “Can’t you get a seat from the dining room?” Clarisse said to Steph, who stood paralyzed by the windows. Clarisse then turned her full attention toward Lil. “Honey, what was that man doing in your house?”

  “I have no idea,” mumbled Lil.

  “Well, what was said?”

  “Nothing. All these visits today. I’m not up to it,” said Lil shutting her eyes.

  Stephanie dragged a chair in from the dining room.

  Clarisse gathered her thoughts. Her reason for feeling qualified to handle a crisis like this was due in part to opportunities she’d been fortunate to have while attending St. Agnes for Women, a small Catholic college in central Missouri. Though Clarisse showed little aptitude for academic scholarship, in her senior year she had been chosen, because of “excellence of character,” to spend a month at St. Lucy’s, north of Boston, a Catholic charity that transitioned foundling children into foster care. Though it was hailed by the college as a great honor to be chosen, the work was grueling, and little more than an unpaid internship. The facility was basic, and beds were filled with children making their way through a relatively unsupervised system that hung precariously on the kindness or unkindness of the nuns who ran it. One of the most intriguing aspects of the program for all the girls who applied was that they would be housed in the basement of a convent in close proximity to the nuns. It gave the girls a rare glimpse into the real lives of the nuns, and it proved to be a life-changing experience for Clarisse.

  One thing the nuns drummed into Clarisse was that the first step in any difficult situation would be to search for the eyes of Jesus in the face of the unfortunate. Clarisse folded her hands in her lap and took a moment to try to find Jesus in Lil’s face.

  “Lil, please look at me.”

  Lil opened her eyes toward Stephanie, “Can you tell me what’s going on, Steph?”

  Though Clarisse could not find Jesus in Lil’s face, she saw that Lil was changed. Her eyes had lost the spark that once dazzled everyone in town, and Clarisse felt a ping of satisfaction.

  “I wish you would tell me why Luke Spoon was here. You’re hardly dressed, honey. It’s tempting. And who is he? No one knows.” Clarisse couldn’t help it. She heard the strain of falseness in her own voice, but if Luke Spoon and Lil O’Brien … well, it galled her.

  “Who is Luke Spoon?” asked Lil, and she closed her eyes again, pulling her fists against her chest.

  “Oh, come on Lil. The man who was here,” said Clarisse, getting tense.

  Unlike the round-faced, gentle nuns of her youth, the nuns who ran the Boston home were tough as old boots, and though Clarisse failed to follow in their path, she learned there were certain advantages to that kind of toughness.

  “This is not a game, Lil. You are playing with fire,” said Clarisse, aware that something about Lil’s condition disgusted her. “I’d like you to sit up and listen.”

  Lil pushed herself up and sat before Clarisse and Steph, like a child.

  Truthfully, at the home, Clarisse had found it almost unbearable to be around the strange, disturbed children. Many of them rocked incessantly in their cribs, and some never smiled. The smell of the place alone was enough of a reason to be traumatized.

  “Honey, look at this mess,” said Clarisse, glancing around the living room.

  “I can’t seem to clean it up,” said Lil.

  “It’s not your fault,” said Steph, frowning.

  “Have you eaten anything today?” asked Clarisse. “And what are these pills?” she reached for one of the bottles on the coffee table.

  “They’re for crummy mothers, Clarisse. Not like you. They’re mine. You shouldn’t get involved with that.”

  Lil seemed drunk.

  “You’re not a bad mother, Lil,” said Steph.

  Clarisse squinted at the label on one of the pill bottles.

  Lil reached for a used Kleenex that lay crumpled on the coffee table and wiped her mouth with it.

  “Oh, Lil, that’s dirty! Take a fresh one,” Clarisse said, screwing her face up in genuine disgust. She pulled a tissue from the box and offered it to Lil, who didn’t take it.

  “I like dirt,” said Lil.

  “It’s unsanitary!” cried Clarisse, and a sharp memory exploded in her mind.

  Clarisse had endured many rough days at the home, but a particular incident stood out. One night, it fell to Clarisse to care for a toddler named Ennis, who had a facial disfigurement that made his lower lip droop nearly to his chin, cursing him with a steady thick drool. He always had a cold; his nose was a faucet of snot, and from the congestion in his chest he suffered a perpetual cough. It was heartbreaking. The child had the sweetest disposition, despite his medical problems, but he was hard to tend to under the best of circumstances, and especially since he’d contracted a parasitic disease. Though he’d been treated by doctors, much of the time it was left to the nuns (and the girls) to care for him. Feverish, he screamed, his little body alternating from rigid to limp. Though his diaper was soiled, and tears streamed down his face, Clarisse couldn’t bring herself to pick him up, even as he gasped for breath from exhaustion. She sat by the crib terrified, unable to care for Ennis, worried that he might vomit on her, or that she might catch whatever he had.

  Upon discovering Clarisse next to the crib with her palms over her ears, a fierce nun, Sister Clotilde, scolded her: “Mother of God, you heartless bird. Stop the fuss and pick that baby up.” But Clarisse had used the very same words. “It’s unsanitary,” she’d whimpered. Sister Clotilde, her eyes iced over with rage, lifted her arm and smacked Clarisse’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You’ll never be a nun! You have no idea what goodness is!” Clarisse was stunned. The sister scooped up the boy, held him in her arms until he quieted, and whisked him away for a diaper change, leaving Clarisse to slink back to the dormitory. She rocked herself to sleep on her narrow cot, feeling her holy calling slip away.

  This was not the story Clarisse retold about her glorious stay at the home. In fact, she had a completely different version, and the women of Hanzloo had heard it often, after a cocktail or two. The revision made much of the harsh conditions at the home, and Clarisse’s tireless devotion, but Sister Clotilde’s name was never mentioned. Still, the nun’s words popped up in her head even to this day—sometimes in dreams, sometimes while wide-awake. Here in Lil’s living room, as Lil slid herself back down on the couch and buried her face in her pillow, the memory of Ennis came back, and Clarisse softened her tone.

  “Oh, sweetie, talk to me,” Clarisse begged.

  “Don’t sweetie me,” whispered Lil.

  And it went back and forth like that for a while.

&nbs
p; Stephanie, feeling like a third wheel, snuck off into the kitchen to put on some coffee. She shoved aside dirty plates and sponged off the counter, and turned on the Westinghouse, crammed with food-streaked dishes, partly to muffle the sound of Clarisse’s voice. You can’t barge into people’s lives and start pushing them around like checker pieces on a board.

  Steph carried a tray with the coffee pot and cups into the living room, and was sorry to see Clarisse smoking a cigarette, which only meant that she was feeling insecure.

  “Maybe we should tell Lil why we’re here,” said Steph. “Lil, please have a brownie.” Stephanie peeled the tinfoil off the pie plate.

  “Okay, fine, let me handle this,” Clarisse said, holding her hand up to Steph, like a traffic cop. “Lil, we’re concerned about you … and Alice.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Alice,” said Lil.

  “We want to make sure about that, right Steph?”

  Stephanie noted that Clarisse had a way of treating everyone like a three-year-old, but at least Lil was listening now.

  “We think it might be a good idea if Alice came to stay at my house for a while,” Clarisse continued.

  Stephanie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The suggestion that Clarisse take Alice home was not something that they had ever discussed.

  “Are you crazy? No!” Lil sat up straight. “No!”

  “It’s because we love you, Lil,” said Clarisse.

  Tears spurted from Lil’s eyes, wetting her face all at once, and then dripping off her chin. “You don’t love me! You couldn’t love anything! How could you suggest such a thing, Clarisse?” Lil wiped her eyes and nose with the palms of her hands, trying to recover her composure.

  Clarisse bristled. “This wouldn’t be forever,” she said, tapping her cigarette into the empty juice glass on the coffee table. “We have a cot and we’ll move it into the twins’ room. Alice loves the twins, you know that.”

  Lil kept shaking her head no.

  “Sweetheart, frankly you’re in no condition to take care of Alice. If you had pneumonia, I’d suggest the same thing. There’s no shame here.”

  “You can’t take her!” cried Lil. “What is this?”

  “Honey, I’m trying to help you. If too many people find out about what’s going on here, there could be serious consequences. Forgive me, Lil, but you’re not well. I know you want the best for Alice. She’ll be two doors down. Right Steph?” Clarisse turned to Stephanie, urgently.

  “Oh, Lil, we care about you, and Alice. That’s all it is,” said Steph. “It’s a suggestion, no one is forcing you.”

  “I can’t believe you’re in on this too, Steph. Where’s your decency? Where’s your—” But Lil lost her train of thought and stopped. “Am I crazy?” she said, afraid, as if they knew something that she did not.

  “You’re tired, Lil. You’re very tired,” said Steph.

  “Medication gets in the way of thinking,” Clarisse added. “You don’t seem right.”

  “I’m all right,” Lil mumbled, but her mind was jumping from point to point. “Who is involved? The school, the police?” Lil turned to Steph in a panic.

  “No. I swear to you. We’re your friends. You know we wouldn’t talk behind your back,” said Stephanie, who, in general, was not a deft liar.

  “That’s just it. We’re trying to avoid involving anyone else.” Clarisse picked up the coffee pot and poured three cups. “Have some coffee,” she said to Lil. “Now, don’t get mad, but I’ve talked to Jim, and he likes the idea of Alice coming to stay with us.”

  Lil’s eyes narrowed. “Jim? No!” she yelled, banging her palm on the coffee table.

  “Please, calm down.” Stephanie rushed to the couch and sat down beside Lil. “No one is taking Alice away from you. You must believe that,” she said, putting her arm around her.

  “There’s something else,” said Clarisse. “And you better listen to this. You can blame me all you want, and go ahead, act crazy, but Alice is in danger. That Spoon boy—the son of the man who was just here sitting in your house, on your couch, with you half dressed—has been caught molesting your daughter. Whatever it is you’ve got going on with Luke Spoon, you have to shape up and think of Alice.”

  Stephanie was horrified by Clarisse’s icy tone. No one knew what had occurred in the cafeteria, but Clarisse had jumped on the molestation horse and was halfway to kingdom come with it.

  Lil, quiet now, turned to Stephanie and said, “Steph? What is she talking about?”

  “I don’t know, you have to ask Alice about it,” said Stephanie, pushing a strand of hair behind Lil’s ear.

  Lil tried to think back on the last few days, but she couldn’t remember seeing Alice this morning, much less last week.

  “Here’s what we’ve been able to find out. Teresa Sepolino found Alice and the Spoon kid under the tables in the cafeteria and the boy ran, leaving Alice trembling and so upset she couldn’t speak,” said Clarisse.

  “This could be a big trauma for Alice, you know?” added Stephanie.

  Clarisse leaned forward on her chair. “You may not have heard that Felix Spoon pushed my girls down on the playground, and they still haven’t recovered fully. He ate caterpillars, for God’s sake! Something’s wrong with him.”

  “No, I don’t remember, I don’t. You spoke to Jim, Clarisse? He’s my husband,” said Lil, resting her head in her hands. “How awful. I never liked you.”

  “What?” Clarisse went silent. “Listen, somebody has to step in. Like it or not, Lil, we’re a community who cares. The truth is, Jim doesn’t know how to help you. You have to take a little responsibility here. I’d hate to have to bring this story to Sister Annunciata. I’d hate to have her think she needs to call child services.”

  BY THE end of their visit, Lil had disappeared behind her eyes. “I guess you’re right,” she said, as if she didn’t care.

  After seeing the extent of Lil’s condition, Steph had rolled around to thinking it might be for the best. Maybe they were a team, pulling together.

  Lil agreed—zombielike—that she had to get off the pills; she admitted she’d been taking too many.

  “Jim’s the one who wants me on the drugs. He wants to keep me quiet.”

  “Oh, please, don’t say things like that, Lil. You’ll work it out between you. Jim is a good man,” said Stephanie. She didn’t feel it was right to get between husband and wife.

  “Alice will have a blast with my girls,” said Clarisse. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Alice should come tonight. I also called Mrs. Tanker, and she agreed to clean your house after she does my place tomorrow. How does that sound? See? Things will get better now.”

  Lil just sat there.

  “I’ll pick up Alice from school today. I see her walking home alone and I don’t know that it’s such a good idea.”

  “No,” said Lil. “I’ll go.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it, honey? It’s no problem for me.”

  “Yes, I’ll take a shower and comb my hair,” said Lil, blankly.

  “Oh, Lil,” said Stephanie.

  “Oh, Lil,” said Lil.

  Clarisse and Steph left her in the darkness of her living room, saying they’d see her at the schoolyard.

  LATER, BACK in her own home, Clarisse’s thoughts turned once more to the home in Boston, and Ennis, the poor sick child. She was unsettled. Sometimes she thought she was better than everyone—unless she happened to be having one of those days when she thought she was worse than everyone—and fluctuating between the two extremes made her life a violent zigzag of congratulation and flagellation.

  When Lil said, “I never liked you,” Clarisse’s seesaw tipped from high to low.

  I’m trying to help, she thought, and no one seems to understand.

  ELEVEN

  LIL STOOD UP and the room swirled. She focused on a spot on the wall until the dizziness subsided. In the kitchen, she threw on the light and glanced around at the condition of things, as if for the first t
ime. Out of an open cupboard, a waterfall of brown paper grocery bags had tumbled to the floor. Grabbing one, she headed back to the living room and with one swipe, shoved the pill bottles, magazines, used tissues, plastic spoons and sugar packets into the bag. Carefully she closed her tattered books and stacked them on the floor by the couch.

  The thought of taking a shower made her yearn for one more nap. In the bathroom, the mirror above the sink was spattered with dried water drops, as if someone had spit at it. There she examined herself in the speckled glass. Fingering the dark circles around her eyes she moved her hand over her cheeks and down across her chapped lips. Something had happened to her; she was oddly disconnected, hardly alive. She pulled her nightgown over her arms and threw it on the floor. The garbage pail was a small, repulsive mountain of cotton balls, used tissues, and soiled sanitary napkins. Lil stepped into the shower, holding her hand against the wall. The water rained down hot and steamy as she turned her face into its stream and let it pour across her body. She washed her hair with a vengeance, as if her scalp, her head, her brain, needed a serious talking to. Reaching for the razor, she spoke out loud, Stupid. How silly it seemed to shave a leg.

  NOW SHOWERED and dressed, she braced herself for the long walk down Mundy Lane toward the school, making sure the coast was clear before she ventured out.

  Her outfit, a wrinkled blouse polka-dotted with coffee stains, and blue slacks that fit clumsily below her waist, fell far below the standards of her former self. All she’d been able to find for her feet were terrycloth slippers. Who cared? Luckily, sunglasses appeared on the dresser, and she snatched them at the last minute, grateful to have something to put between her and the world.

  Outside, her hair blew wildly in the wind. Putting one foot down, and then the other, she walked as though the sidewalk might dissolve beneath her feet and swallow her. The world was a liquid wonderland; the edges of houses were soft and fluid. By the time she reached the end of her street, the journey to school seemed nearly impossible. This was her town, her neighborhood; it was where she lived, but now it frightened her and looked absurd. Why did everyone have the same exact house?