“I know, because she’s got this theory that telling about a thing creates a—a whatsit? You know, like black thoughts and all. She’s dead right, too. I just know she is.”
“Bernice O’Brien just might be,” Annabel said, “the finest woman in the world. Certainly the wisest.”
“No question about that,” Echo said. “She made me get all new clothes and just did me over in general. That’s when I cut off my hair, too. Can you believe it used to be down to here?”
“Echo, I saw it when it was down to there—when I went up for the class reunion! Now tell me, have you ever regretted it?”
“Nope, because it’s easier to take care of. And if I want to I can take a bun and pull it all back like this, see, with lacquer, and wear it in a chignon. But then of course, these ears are a problem. —You, by the way, have got adorable ears. And you sure do make the most of ‘em.”
Annabel said: “That’s very sweet of you, Echo, and you’re right! But you know they’re getting awful big? See? When a person gets older, her ears and her nose both has a tendency to . . .”
“Annabel!” Echo interrupted. “Listen to me, honey. I am not going to let you get away with that, nosiree. Old, my foot! Now you quit that or I’m going to get mad at you.”
I could hear Annabel’s eyebrows go up and her eyes fall shut when she said, “Well, I am fifty-one.”
“But I just don’t see you as the age type. A person look at you, they think, now there’s a darn good-looking’ woman, they don’t think about age. Y’see what I mean, Annabel? It’s like Greer Garson.”
“Listen, Echo,” Annabel said, getting very confidential. “Less than a year ago, our Dr. Bolz looked me over. Nothing serious, I had some kind of a boomp-boomp-boomp in the heart, you know, not a thing but nerves. Anyway, he said that just looking at my body, I could be way way way under forty.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
“I am not a vain person, but let me tell you, that did wonders for my morale. Now, this is a terrible thing to call attention to, but you know when a woman gets older, how her nipples turn a kind of brown? —Well, mine are still pink. Pink!”
“Personally,” Echo said, “I think that’s just wonderful. I only hope when I’m fifty-one years old . . .”
“Oh, yours will be, sweetheart,” Annabel said. “I just know they will. Say, we’re having a real girl-talk, aren’t we? Lord, it’s fun, I don’t know when I’ve had more fun.”
“Me, too,” Echo said. “I’m just having a barrel of fun.”
“This houseful of men, let me tell you it’s something.”
“You know what I think of that Clint?” Echo said. “I’d just like to eat him up. I mean it, I think he’s a real peach.”
Which was worth hearing. But then naturally Annabel had to move in and try to cancel the whole thing out. “Oh, but just wait,” she said, “wait till you meet his big brother.”
“Oh! I’m so glad you brought that up,” Echo said. “I got a message for you from Mamma. She says you can look for Berry-berry any time now. —Hey, hey, whoops!”
Annabel had spilled her coffee. I heard her chair backing away from the table, and she started bawling herself out. “Now wasn’t that smart of me? Thank God it was lukewarm, or I’d have scalded myself to death!”
Echo said: “That’s a real cute apron, too. But I don’t believe it’ll stain.”
“Imagine!” Annabel said. “Just sat here and poured a half cup of coffee all over myself.” She started to laugh about it and so did Echo. When I went into the kitchen they were still cleaning up the mess and by that time Annabel was just about hysterical.
Echo looked at me and said, “Morning, Clint, we just had the funniest thing happen.”
But I don’t think Echo knew what the joke was. Neither did Annabel. Neither do I. I know it’s got something to do with how nervous this whole family is every time Berry-berry comes up in a conversation. We all act like he just went down to the drugstore for a pack of cigarettes and will be back in about ten minutes, whereas the truth is we don’t even remember what the hell he looks like any more.
Which I actually said once, and Annabel almost flipped her pizza, said I was talking like an insane person. Okay, so he’s down at the drugstore and will be back in ten minutes, and Annabel spilled coffee all over herself as a kind of vaudeville act for Echo’s benefit. I don’t know.
After breakfast Echo and I got right into her car. She said she was flabbergasted how fast I learned. But she made it very easy and did not get flustered when I made mistakes. Anyway, we went rolling all over hell, including the Old Neighborhood. I drove very slow past Mildred Murphy’s house. Of couse she wasn’t home, the bitch. But I didn’t really care. Then on the way home we passed the airport. Echo said she’d never been up in a plane. Me either. They had these signs all over that said,
AIRPLANE RIDES
SEE CLEVELAND FROM THE AIR
$5
All of a sudden I had this very urgent feeling that we ought to take an airplane ride. When I told Echo about it her mouth dropped open and she looked straight ahead and said, “Lord, do you think we should?” We got out of the car and as we walked toward the gate, she said it again, “Lord, Clint, do you think we ought to?” But she was taking big steps and I had a hard time keeping up with her. By the time we got up to the counter, she said, “I don’t know why not, do you?” I pulled out ten dollars of my White Tower money, but she grabbed hold of my sleeve and said, “Just a minute, will you, I want to ask you something over here.” We walked away from the counter, and she whispered: “Now look here, kiddy-kat, you been sick and I got this real good job, so let me lay out the ten. Okay?” So I said, “I’ll tell you, Echo, if it was anything else but an airplane ride, but I got to pay for this, you know what I mean?” Echo said, “Sure, okay. But you see, you and me can have a lot of fun doing all kinds of things. But if I see we’re eating up all your dough it’ll take the kick out of it for me. You understand? So not every time. Right?” That’s the kind of a person she is. Anyway, I got the tickets and we went out onto the field. There was this very neat little orange airplane with two open cockpits, one for the pilot and one for us. We climbed into the front seat. Echo said, “I just can’t believe I’m in an airplane, can you?” I said, “No, I just can’t believe it.” The pilot came up and gave us each a pair of goggles. He was just an ordinary guy about forty but he seemed to take everything for granted, the airplane and the goggles, all of it. He showed us how to fasten the seat belts, then he got in and a short man in overalls stood out in front of the plane and pulled on the propeller a couple of times. Then the motor started and Echo turned to me. “Wow!” she said. “Are you scared?” I said, “No,” because I wasn’t. I asked her if she was scared. She said, “No, but it sure is a thrill.” Then we couldn’t talk any more because the airplane made so much noise. Pretty soon we started to taxi out to the end of the runway. I kept looking at Echo and she kept looking at me, and we were both laughing. Sometimes when she wasn’t laughing she’d be grinning with all her teeth showing, even part of her gums. Then the motor made more noise than ever and we were going God knows how many miles an hour. Echo grabbed my hand and squeezed it. (She’s got nice cool hands.) Then she let go and threw her hands up in the air and opened her mouth real wide and screamed because she was having such a good time. Which kills me when I think about it. Anyway, all of a sudden we were off the ground, and we could see Lake Erie and all the big buildings downtown, busses and cars like little bugs creeping along. You could tell the layout of everything and how neat it really is from far away. But they don’t give you much of a ride. Maybe about five minutes, top. Then we circled the airport and landed, which is the best part of all because it looks like you won’t make it. Now Echo was in a very grave and solemn mood. She kept shaking her head and saying “Wow!” over and over again about seventeen times. The pilot helped her out of the plane. Then she held out her hand to him and looked at him with her head kind o
f lowered and her eyes open wide. “Sir, I want to shake your hand,” she said, very seriously. The pilot got kind of confused, but he smiled a little and they shook hands. “That’s all,” Echo said, “just shake your hand.” Then she screwed up her mouth real tight, like a person does who has just learned something very important that they don’t want to forget. “Thank you, sir,” she said, “and God bless you. Come on, Clint.” She took my arm and we walked across the field toward the gate. People watched us like we were the first humans ever to come back alive from Mars. At the gate, we stopped and looked back at the orange airplane. Echo said, “Now I want to remember every least thing about it.” She filled her eyes with it all and clamped them tight shut.
In the car, and all the way back home, she kept saying, “Clinton, what impressed me was the being up there.” When we got back to the house, she stopped me on the front steps and said, “Clint, just for your information, that’s the best time I ever had in my life.” At lunch, she told Ralph and Annabel all about it, too.
Then all four of us went down to the basement because it’s cooler there in the afternoon. Besides, it’s the only place in the house that’s not fixed up all phony, which also helps. We started playing four-handed rummy with deuces wild, the only card game I can stand because when you lose you still get a big score. But all of a sudden I got this very strong urge to do something and get it over with. So I excused myself and came up here for a while and thought it over. I decided finally that whether or not it was a good idea was a small point. So I wrote this note to Echo, very simple, no signature, and put it on the front seat of her car. She’ll know who it’s from. Nothing but five words with a ball-point pen and no date even.
DEAR ECHO,
I love you.
Now she’s on her way back to Toledo. She’s probably read it already. Maybe not though. Maybe she won’t see it till tomorrow morning on the way to work. I wonder if it was a stupid thing to do?
Annabel and Ralph asked her to come back next weekend. Echo said she’d love to, but didn’t want to “wear out her welcome mat.” Then Ralph and Annabel laid on a lot of palaver and she said next weekend for certain.
But maybe I’ve thrown in the monkey wrench with that note. Maybe she’ll never come back because of me being only sixteen and her being thirty-one, etc., which slays me because what’s that got to do with it anyway?
Tomorrow I’m going to get a job, maybe at a car-wash place. Otherwise I may go crazy. Besides, what have I got to lose? I was going to kill myself anyway, so from now on it’s all gravy.
I wonder why I didn’t sign the goddam thing? I wish somebody’d kick my ass for me.
The next morning, carrying out his plan, Clinton made the rounds of several big downtown car-washing establishments. He offered a smiling and cheerful countenance to the managers of these places, and before noon one of them had put him to work. The place, called Frankie’s Two-Minute Auto Wash, ran a car through its garage on a conveyer belt, where it was worked on simultaneously by a crew of six men. Clinton’s job was to jump into a car and wash the insides of its windows while the other men scrubbed its exterior. It was hard work and he liked it.
Annabel made sandwiches for him, and at noon he bought apples and Coca-Cola at a nearby fruitstand. Then he and the other men on the crew, three white men and two Negroes, all older than himself, would sit on stacks of tires behind the garage and eat their lunches together. These lunches were friendly affairs, and sometimes there were conversations that Clinton would write down while he rode home on the bus. The hard work seemed to add certain flavors to the sandwiches. When they had eaten, most of the men used the remaining few minutes of their half-hour for more talk, and smoking. Clinton found that these cigarettes, smoked after a workman’s lunch, had an especially good taste to them. And in the evenings when he was tired, he found that he enjoyed the tiredness; he was usually asleep by eleven o’clock.
Now on the Wednesday of this week, Annabel Williams, for no apparent reason, began to suffer from an unusual nervousness. Late in the evening, long after Clinton had gone to bed, and while Ralph napped in his easy chair in the basement, Annabel sat in the living room, alone as usual, watching a television comedian. It was during this time, on the Wednesday, that these demons of uneasiness crept into the room and stole into her mind. Their approach had been soft and stealthy and had taken place while her mind was partly occupied with the entertainment.
While the commercial was being shown, Annabel suddenly became aware of her condition. It was as if she had undergone a real fright. But it was nameless and invisible to her. She walked across the room, slowly, her flesh chilled, and turned off the machine. This sudden silence made her more acutely aware of her solitude. She began to gasp for breath. The open windows terrified her and she wanted to draw the blinds; but for the moment her consternation was so great she was unable to move. When this first shock passed, she felt gradually easier.
Without thinking, she started toward the basement. From the landing, she looked down and saw Ralph at the foot of the stairs. He was standing there, the Lord alone knew why, in an attitude of puzzlement, suspension, just looking at her.
“Annabel?” he said.
She stopped on the landing. “Yes?”
“You all right?” he said.
There seemed to be a kind of nightmare silence between each word that was spoken. But neither of them made any mention of it.
“Why do you ask me that?” Annabel said.
“No reason.”
Annabel and Ralph Williams had lost, a long time ago, the habit of reporting to each other these secret fears. Therefore Ralph went back to his card table. Annabel sat by his side until bedtime. Even though neither of them would speak his thoughts, both the husband and the wife were comforted by the presence of the other.
On this night, Annabel’s sleep was fitful, disturbed by dreams of a vague and disquieting sort; during the long moments of wakefulness, she was unable to focus on their content.
The following morning, a florist’s truck delivered a splendid bouquet of long-stemmed American Beauty roses. Echo O’Brien had telegraphed them from Toledo with this message:
“God bless all the Williamses see you
Saturday noon with love from Echo.”
These flowers were a welcome distraction, but now Annabel carried with her a constant sense of foreboding so strong that it was like an actual knowledge of impending trouble. No matter what else commanded her attention, she was aware of this knowledge that hovered just outside her field of understanding, tormented her like some real and palpable thing, too capricious to show its face. In some curious way, Annabel felt there was something shameful in her anxiety, and she mentioned it to no one at all.
She had also a second secret: her belief that Berry-berry would come back soon, just as Bernice O’Brien had predicted. Perhaps it was natural that she would not fit these two secrets together, and make a piece of them in her mind. Because a mother is not commonly expected to admit, even to herself, that she fears the return of a long-awaited child.
Nevertheless, on that Wednesday evening, while Annabel experienced her fright in the living room, this is what had taken place outside the window:
A blue Ford pickup truck, with its headlights off, had driven up Seminary Street and parked at the curb across the street from the Williams house. On the side of this truck, in gray letters, a sign had been painted:
APPLE MOUNTAIN PLUMBING COMPANY APPLE MOUNTAIN, O.
In the front seat sat Berry-berry Williams. He sat there for a long time, just looking at the house. For the first ten minutes—while he smoked two cigarettes and took several quick pulls from a half-pint bottle of cognac from the glove compartment—the young man still believed that he would actually go up and knock on the door or just walk in. He thought he was just taking his time about it.
But as the minutes passed, he found that he could not do it. However, he did walk barefooted up onto the porch and stand there for a long time looking at
Annabel through the window. When she rose to turn off the television, Berry-berry knew that she felt herself being watched. So he crept silently off the porch and, passing between the house and a big white-flowering bush, he stole into the driveway and crouched next to a lighted window in the basement.
From here, he took a good long look at Ralph, who was asleep in his easy chair next to the table. Then the old man woke up with a sudden start: he gripped the arms of his chair and sat forward. Berry-berry felt he could almost see Ralph’s ears cocked for sounds like a smart old hunting dog. He wanted to knock gently on the window and lock eyes with the old man, just to reassure him. But this impulse was no more than a slight tension in his hands. Instead of following it through, he backed away from the window altogether.
Then the young man, running softly, returned to his little Ford pickup truck and drove away.
On Friday evening, he came back. The Williamses had just sat down to dinner. They heard the opening and the closing of the front screen door; and Berry-berry’s voice: “Where is everybody?”
Annabel clenched her fists and looked at Ralph. Ralph stood up. Clinton, from where he sat, looked into the living room.
Before any of them could speak, Berry-berry had entered the room and was standing just inside the archway.
Clinton stared at him incredulously, as if his brother had been long dead, and now, suddenly, magically, his image had been evoked by the mummery of some wizard. Perhaps the most startling aspect of Berry-berry’s sudden appearance—indeed more difficult for Clinton to believe than any act of magic might have been—was the simple flesh-and-blood reality of his being there.
Though he knew him instantly, he found that he had forgotten many details of Berry-berry’s appearance. For instance, he had always thought of him as handsome in an oddly individual way, but now Clinton was aware of an actual impression of beauty. This impression was not even marred by the fact that Berry-berry’s eyes were slightly bloodshot and that his skin had taken on an unhealthy, almost greenish pallor; these were defects that seemed only to enhance.
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