by Suzzy Roche
Like a ferocious animal chained to a fence, she felt herself lurching to get free. I have to see him, she whined to herself, as she turned the key to unlock the car door. How could something so right be wrong? Her stomach churned with nerves, she almost felt sick, and she fished around in her purse for a cigarette but couldn’t find one. Draping her arms across the steering wheel, she rested her forehead on her hands and closed her eyes. She saw herself in her Marilyn dress, twirling around the convent with Luke, like Marilyn … like Jackie O.
TWENTY-FOUR
IN FARROW’S CORNER or Silverton, the day after Halloween was no big deal. Children sat with their friends or siblings, bags of candy dumped on their bedroom floors, examining the contents of their stash. They traded boxes of Good & Plenty for Tootsie Rolls or pennies for Gold Rush gum.
But in Hanzloo, the festivities were far from over. November first, All Saints’ Day, the Catholic Church’s celebration of its holiest souls, was a bigger deal than Halloween. Kids put their costumes back on, mothers painted their faces all over again, and families headed over to the convent for the costume party, where the nuns had been on an all-day super-cleaning fest, functioning as an elite special force, organized, obedient, and precise.
Early in the day, Sister Rita Joseph, now too old and weak to knead the dough for her goblin cookies, supervised from a chair, while Sister Loretta followed the elder’s instructions. She squeezed the dough with her bare hands, adding orange food coloring until Sister Rita Joseph cried, “Enough, you’ll turn the cookies red!”
The convent rooms were swept, and extra chairs were brought up from the basement. Sister Ann and Sister Clare Veronica bickered about which candles should go where, but afterward, laughing about their foolishness, they made up and agreed to light the candles just before the guests arrived.
Vodka had been added to the fruit punch, and orange slices floated on its surface. Ovens were preheated, and pigs in a blanket, stuffed mushrooms, and bite-size spinach pies were arranged on baking tins and set out on the long dining room table, ready to be warmed.
SISTER ANNUNCIATA assigned Lil O’Brien the task of dressing Felix Spoon. The boy waited on his cot in his underwear. His bare feet dangled, not quite reaching the floor, and his hands rested on his lap. When Sister A. led Lil into the room, he looked away.
Felix’s devil costume had been ironed and laid out on the bed. The shirt, pants, horns, and tail were arranged with care. On the floor sat the red slippers and leaning up against the bed was a pitchfork. They’d managed to find him one, which was not quite real and dangerous, but not exactly a plastic toy, either. Really, thought Lil, and he’s still pouting.
“Felix, Mrs. O’Brien will help you dress.” Felix idly banged his legs against the bed. “I must have cotton candy in my ears. Did I hear you say, ‘yes, Sister’?”
“Yes, Sister.” Felix had learned that it was best to say the things she wanted to hear.
“Hurry. The party’s about to begin,” she said, and left the room with a tablecloth hanging over her arm.
ONCE ALONE, Lil and Felix fell silent. Both were bewildered and deflated by their circumstances and had little to say. Felix finally spoke.
“Is Alice coming to the party?”
“I think she is,” said Lil.
“What’s she going to be?”
“I don’t know,” said Lil, as she moved over to the bed and picked up the devil’s shirt.
“Are you mad at me?” asked Felix, lifting his thumb to scratch the back of his ear.
“No,” said Lil.
“It’s because I’m not your own child, right?” Felix was still sitting on his cot, looking at his lap.
“Let’s just get the costume on, okay?” She held up the shirt and stood before Felix. “Can you raise your arms for me?”
“Did Alice tell you about the cafeteria?” asked Felix, reaching up.
Lil stiffened. “No.”
“Most kids would tell. But Alice is trustworthy,” said Felix, using Sister Annunciata’s word. Felix put his head and arms into the shirt as Lil pulled it down to his waist.
“My father thinks she’s a special person. He said she’s beautiful in a very different way. He said that you are, too. He’s a painter, and he knows,” said Felix.
“That’s silly,” said Lil as she approached him with the devil pants. “You want to put these on?” She flapped them in the air in front of her to straighten them out.
Felix stood and looked squarely at Lil, who was kneeling before him, ready to have him step his foot into the pant leg. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself, and their eyes met. “You want to see what I showed Alice in the cafeteria?” asked Felix.
Lil pulled away.
“Everyone is always so sour,” he said.
“Okay, I’d like to see.”
“Really?” Felix smiled. “Can you close your eyes?”
Lil pretended to close her eyes. From her squint she could see Felix reach under his pillow and pull out a small red velvet box. “You can open up now,” he said, holding the box in the palm of his hand. He opened it for Lil to see.
Lil stared at the dull gray stone. “What is that?”
“It comes from God’s cave.”
“Oh yeah? God’s cave?”
“Don’t you believe me? The nun gave it to me,” said Felix solemnly. “She has powers. People don’t know about her. I have to sleep in here and I wake up every few minutes, just in case she tries something.”
“Oh, please,” said Lil.
“No, I mean it.” Felix began to whisper. “I think she might have taken my mother. And now my father’s gone. Can you help me? What if he doesn’t come back, and I’m stuck living here? She told me I’m a lot like her. I don’t want to be like her. If I have to live here, I’m afraid my eye will fall out.”
Lil softened. “Look, I’m sure your father will come back.”
“But my mother said that she’d come back, too. You’re not my mother, and I’m not your child,” said Felix, as a matter of fact. “Everything’s wrong.”
“Felix, I really don’t think that Sister A. took your mother. Your imagination is running away with you. Don’t you ever ask your father about your mother?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about her,” he said.
“What happened to her?” Lil asked gently.
“I don’t know.” Felix turned to Lil. “I guess you don’t know.”
“I don’t,” said Lil.
They were silent once again while she zipped up his shirt.
After she finished clasping the devil horns to his red cap, and his tail was pinned on, she helped him into the red slippers. Lil handed Felix the pitchfork and led him into the other room to stand before the mirror.
He stared at himself blankly. “Does it look good?” he asked.
“I think so,” she said.
“Really?”
“Seriously, Felix, it looks better than I thought it would. You do look like a devil,” she said.
“Do I look mean? I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“No, you don’t look mean, but you look scary enough that no one will bother you,” said Lil.
Felix lingered in front of the mirror examining his costume, turning at different angles to see it from all sides.
“Kids are mean to Alice,” he said, still looking in the mirror. He talked on, as if looking at himself made it easier. “They’re mean to me, too. But I don’t mind as much as she does. How come you sent her to live with the twins? The twins are bad. It’s not her fault that kids are mean to her, she’s just different, that’s all.”
“But, Felix, that’s not why she’s staying there. It’s not anything that Alice did. It’s really about adult things,” Lil said.
“Well, if I were you, I’d take her home,” said Felix.
“It’s time. The party’s starting.”
Lil sensed that Felix was losing his nerve as she ushered him to the back stairs.
“
Aren’t you coming?” he asked her.
“I’ll wait a little while,” she said.
“Do you want me to sneak Alice up here when she comes?”
“No one has to sneak,” said Lil.
“I spend my whole life sneaking around,” he said, feeling for the horns on his head, like an athlete adjusting his gear.
“I will come down to find Alice. You don’t have to worry. But, wait,” she said. “I think you could use some special eyebrows.” She fished a small stick of red chalk out of her pocket and drew two downward pointing lines above his eyes that gave him a permanent scowl. “Am I ready?” said Felix.
“Yes,” said Lil.
Felix took his pitchfork and turned to go.
TWENTY-FIVE
SKELETONS, PIRATES, A milkmaid, witches, and several cowboys were among the contestants who trickled into the convent on the unseasonably warm first night of November. Most of them held the hand of a parent as they filed into the front hall quietly; their footsteps could be heard shuffling across the wooden floors.
Sister Clare Veronica had put the sound effects record on, and the old house resounded with the racket of hooting owls, screaming witches, and creaking doors. The combination of dimmed lights and flickering candles caused shadows to quiver on the walls and ceiling, and some young goblins peered out from behind their masks, more than a little spooked. Entering the gigantic front room, they came face to face with their hosts.
At the bottom of the grand staircase, the nuns, shrouded in black habits, stood in a line, ready to receive their guests. Families made their way past the nuns, exchanging awkward and respectful greetings.
Sister John the Baptist, first in line, looked through coke-bottle glasses and colorless eyes. Known for pulling children by the ears, she now held a basket of M&M’s and candy corn. She offered her goodies to those who passed in the welcoming line, and children warily reached in for their treat, half expecting a whack on the wrist.
Sister Rita Joseph had to sit on a chair, and beside her stood Sister Ann, who made a point of complimenting all the costumes, careful not to play favorites. But Sister Clare Veronica, crabby by nature, just kept saying, “BOO!”
Sister Annunciata was last in line. With her worn-out face and ragged eye patch, she looked more like a contestant than a host. Upon seeing her, one small, confused witch, who didn’t recognize her principal, shouted out to no one in particular, “What kind of creature is that?”
Stephanie Conte and her husband, Victor, were among the first to arrive. One of their boys was Bozo the Clown and the other was Frankenstein, although his plastic mask was already up on his forehead.
“I always forget how strange this party is,” Victor whispered to his wife.
Soon the children started to relax and interact with each other, while most of the adults found their way to the punch bowl.
Father Moore, looking eight months pregnant in his long brown cassock, stood nearby, rosy cheeked, with glass in hand, having already dipped his cup twice. He had a taste for the drink, and the round, bumpy nose to prove it. His assistant, Father Aloysius, was bald with a pockmarked face, but for whatever reason, people seemed to like him more because of it. The priests couldn’t resist making jokes about taking bribes for the contest.
FELIX STEPPED carefully down the back staircase. With every step, he imagined becoming more and more a devil and less and less a boy. He endowed himself with special powers, like a finger that could burn a hole in someone’s arm, and a foot equipped with an automatic knife, easily activated by kicking. He thought of his tail as a poisonous snake in disguise, and if need be, he could use it to squirt venom into someone’s eyes. By the time he reached the bottom step he felt ready for the party. Roaming stealthily among the guests, he tried to make out who was who behind their masks. He passed a cowboy and a cop—boys from the fourth grade whose names he didn’t know—and he spotted a rather lame pair of ghosts, who’d simply cut eyeholes into a sheet. Presumably a baker, Margaret Lawler, Felix’s classmate, clutched a rolling pin and wore a big white hat. She was holding hands with her best friend, a nurse with a stethoscope around her neck. But there were no other devils, as far as Felix could tell. Adults towered above him, faceless, and for the most part, nameless. He looked for Alice but didn’t see her.
Chubby Thomas Walsh approached him. Thomas wore a black choir robe and held a gavel in his hand. “I’m supposed to be a judge,” he said with a smirk. “I like your costume. Where did you get that?”
Felix offered him a menacing stare.
“Stupid. You can’t scare me,” said Thomas, but he veered away.
Felix headed to the food table and took one orange goblin cookie. There he ran into Sister Annunciata, and she bent down and shouted in his ear. Her breath was heavy and hot. “Are you up to something?” she yelled above the din.
Her head was so close to his face that her eye patch brushed against his cheek. He longed to see the empty socket, as if it would be a hole into her brain. “Where have you put my mother?” he wished he could ask, but instead he just said, “No, Sister, I’m just being me.”
She smiled at him and placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. “Okay, then, run along.”
Felix took his cookie and snaked his way through the party until he found a spot for himself underneath an end table. He crouched there and watched.
His mood slid quickly, which led him to thoughts of his mother. And then, where was his father? Maybe his parents weren’t dead but simply through with him. Even Mrs. O’Brien, who seemed nice enough, had made Alice go live with the McCarthys, and look what happened to her. Alice had gotten so strange. The problem was that if your parents left you somewhere, the real you could wind up disappearing, and even though you would look like you, you wouldn’t really be you anymore. If he got stuck with the one-eyed nun, he’d have to run away.
A COMMOTION stirred at the entrance to the party room. The McCarthys had arrived. The guests parted to make way for them, delighted that the whole family had dressed up.
First came the twins. Dawn, a ballerina in pink leotard, wide net skirt, and white tights, had her hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head, and she wore a jeweled crown. Next, Fawn, in a tight red skirt, wrapped in a fake mink stole. She wore a pillbox hat adorned with a peacock plume. In her hand, she held a leash and dragged a stuffed poodle alongside her.
Behind the twins, Mrs. McCarthy was there with her husband on her arm. Her shiny white dress, which tied around her neck, drew even Felix’s eye to her rather large bazookas— as the boys at school called them. Her hair was curly and wild in a way that it never was. Mr. McCarthy, who was a pretty fat man, was wearing a suit that hardly buttoned. He stood beside his wife, grinning.
It took Felix a moment to find Alice.
She was standing off to the side, but even as he spotted her, it was hard for him to believe that it was Alice. Instead of her long orange braids, her hair was gray and pulled into a low bun on the back of her head. Her dress was the color of charcoal, and it fell to the middle of her legs. A lumpy red sweater was buttoned over her shoulders, and a large purple purse hung on her arm. Her shoes reminded Felix of Sister Annunciata’s, black mounds of clay. Even her face looked old behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. She looked to Felix like a tiny grandmother.
LIL O’BRIEN had slipped into the room in time to see the McCarthys’ entrance. She zeroed in on Alice, who stood by the wall, her gaze fixed on the McCarthys as if she were the family dog. Clarisse and her family made their way to the food, leaving Alice behind.
Lil quickly skirted around the edges of the room. Above all, she didn’t want to make a scene. Alice’s eyes brightened as Lil approached her.
“Mom! You’re here?”
“Yeah,” said Lil, crouching down. She took Alice’s hands with both of hers and held them to her lips.
“I’m the old maid,” said Alice, blankly.
“Oh, Alice,” said Lil.
Alice frowned. “Is it n
ot a good costume?”
“No, it’s a … wonderful costume. A very interesting one,” said Lil.
“I didn’t want to be the old maid. I had to,” said Alice. She stared out into the party.
Lil wrapped her arms around her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Alice whispered urgently into her ear. “Sneedler’s gone, maybe dead.” But as quickly as she said it, she pulled away, changing the subject. “Are you sure my costume is good? Please don’t muss it, Mom,” she said, shaking free from Lil’s arms. “I think I have to go stand with them.”
“No. Stay here with me,” said Lil.
“I don’t think so. Mrs. McCarthy said we’re a team. We have to stick together.”
“Alice, it’s me … you don’t have to worry about them.”
“I have to do it, Mom.”
“I don’t understand. What do you have to do?”
Alice looked across the room where Teresa Sepolino, was forming a line for photographs. A small platform, draped in velvet, had been set up for the photographer who’d been hired to take photos of all the children in their costumes. He adjusted his camera on a stand.
Some of the children stepped up for their picture in groups of four or five, and some in pairs. Clarisse McCarthy stood in the middle of all the children supervising, a glass of punch in hand. With her other hand she frantically waved for Alice to come over.
“I have to go,” said Alice, quickly hugging her mother.
Mike Fitzpatrick and his friends closed in on Alice as she crossed the room. They were laughing at her.
“Hey, Grandma!” said Mike Fitzpatrick, holding his nose.
Felix left his post under the table and met her in the middle of the room, and the boys dispersed.
“Alice,” he said. “It’s me, Felix.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re supposed to be the devil, right?” said Alice, looking him over. “Pretty good costume.”
“Yeah. But yours is so good. I didn’t recognize you at first.”