Well, what can you do? They got on each other’s nerves. That happens, you know? That was bound to happen—Casey saw through Nonie—Nonie is selfish—Nonie saw through Casey—Casey is crazy and has to have her foot on your neck . . .Well, so what: is it life and death? I was the peacemaker, believe me . . . Don’t believe me . . . I don’t care . . . I didn’t make trouble between them . . . And if I did, well, that was nasty of me; I slipped up—I’ll tell you the truth now: I saw it was life-and-death stuff . . . I was left out and I had life-and-death stuff of my own—but not like that—and the least said, the sooner mended . . . Isn’t that what they say? I behaved well, Wiley, she said but her voice wavered and was bold and pleading; she said it pleadingly: What more can you ask of a woman like me? What’s unendurable is always being a little wrong about everything and not knowing how it’s going to add up . . .
Listen: knowing Casey is no bed of roses for anyone . . . Everyone in that family [who] wanted to meet people to romance with, went out of town to do it: that’s how things were around Casey, she was such a know-it-all do-it-all run-it-all. General of the armies. When you’re that rich, you can get an exaggerated idea of yourself—an exaggerated idea of what you can make people put up with—Casey treated Nonie like a poor relation . . . NEVER, NEVER treat Nonie like a poor relation . . . if you value your sleep . . . She’s a real Robin Hood that girl . . . Well, well, what do you know, Nonie had learned a thing or two: she had her own army: she had her own secret service: it went to her head—she forgot to be scared of Casey . . . She wasn’t scared of the future . . . You don’t laugh but I laughed . . . Listen to me: it was FUNNY, the two of them . . . Everyone got hurt . . . Even you, Pisher . . . The soldiers came and went; they used to serenade Nonie. Some drunken officer candidates drove a jeep through Casey’s azaleas . . . People react—and there’s no end to it: you learn something; and how do you unlearn it? Well, monkey see, monkey do . . . Nonie had to be Casey. Casey had to be King of the Hill. They fought over it without raising their voices—they wanted to be well-bred. Isobel was so scared, she stuck to boys—of course, I’m guessing. I don’t mean it was a fight you’d know about . . . It was only women . . . She was being ironic. No man stands a chance in that cross fire . . . Here’s a simple truth: a lot of life is you fight over people . . . And people don’t catch on to what’s happening . . .
Then they made up. Who knows how it went. Then when Abe got sick, you know something?—there’s a man went to his grave as secret as the tomb, taking his secrets with him . . . Do you think he had a good time and died young? He was bored by the thought of going on? I might not want to see myself old. Like Momma. Maybe I’d rather die, Pisher . . . I’ll be honest with you, Pisher, I’m bored lately. I lose my nerve now and then. But in many many ways I’m content it’s over . . . My doctor is sweet on me and look at you staring at me . . . It’s funny: you learn to take things as they come but you don’t want them anymore; you say no and then you change your mind but it’s too late; and that’s the end of it . . . It’s all as strange as a moon full of green cheese . . . I’ll tell you about Abe: he never found the miracle, he never got to the real top, he laughed at people and it went bad for him . . . Well, but he was smart: Casey knew he was; she gets some credit . . . Well, the day Abe was diagnosed, cancer of the bones, well, Casey wasn’t close to her old friend what’s-her-name at that time, or she was, her old friend, Whosits, Emma-Jean whatever, but Casey’s life changed and she didn’t turn to Nonie; she turned to the other one; and I’ll tell you something you won’t hardly believe: Nonie who hated sickness was so jealous she went a little crazy from that day on . . .
She was jealous that Abe was sick and that it mattered to people . . . She was jealous of Abe . . . She was jealous of Casey’s attention . . . Nonie was under a strain, and after S.L., it was too much. And I’m sick. Casey can’t take craziness. She’s patient but she runs away, not from the person, but from the feelings. So, there you are, that was the end of it whether they knew it or not; there was no for better or for worse between THEM . . . Casey was a faithful nurse to Abe—I got to hand it to her . . . Of course, some people said she enjoyed it—she lorded it over everybody as Queen-Saint Florence Nightingale. Abe was helpless . . . He mostly screamed: Wiley, it was a terrible thing. Casey and her friend, the two old friends stood by each other—and guess who was out in the cold? Nonie said there was a war on. She pish-tushed everything. Her life came first—maybe it did. Casey said at first she understood that Nonie was scared of illness. But the soldiers kept coming . . . That was too crazy . . . You know how it gets, things go from bad to worse . . .
Mom, stop. NO more of the scary story. Let it alone. Leave me alone.
Casey called me: listen: it was interesting—she asked me if Nonie had sold her soul to the Devil—isn’t that interesting?
Well, I told her, you can’t ask a mother that . . .
I don’t know what it really was with Nonie . . . I’m her mother and I don’t know . . . I think maybe it was she couldn’t feel sorry for anyone or for anything and that it drove her crazy in the long run . . . She tried to be sophisticated but what good is it to be a smarty-pants when you’re crazy? Nothing worked . . . She would listen only to herself—like she was The Second Coming . . . She couldn’t trust anyone . . . She was like S.L. all over again . . . Mahatma Gandhi Leo Tolstoy Man o’ War Franklin Roosevelt Gary Cooper Babe Ruth rolled into one . . . Those two were too proud for their own good . . .
Momma, stop.
What can I tell you? Nonie had her ups and downs . . . She wasn’t sensible . . . She was a moron in some ways . . . I suppose that’s what psychology is, that’s what a lot of things are for, to make morons smart, smart enough . . .
I DIDN’T WANT HER TO GO ON . . . I sat there patiently, however.
So Casey, Casey called me . . . ME . . . You could have knocked me over with a feather . . . We were friends again: I had to get Nonie to leave Forestville and come home . . . I spoke to Nonie but the two of them had a scene: Nonie had held her tongue all that time—I tell you she liked Casey a lot. Nonie spoke her mind—well, she blew off steam and Casey threw Nonie out of the house . . . I mean it: she had her put on the train back to St. Louis . . . Nonie was outright crazy but she could manage okay in front of people . . . I have a lot to answer for. I’m sorry she had to be in your life but (and this was in a mean voice, this was in a tone of attack) I’m sorry for how I treated her more . . .
I’m her mother . . . Now, in my last days, I don’t have to be a mother anymore and I’m relieved—and I don’t want her in here . . . I don’t want you blaming yourself; I don’t want you hiding behind the fact she’s the blood child and you aren’t. But I want you to take care of her after I’m gone. For now, I don’t want her in here. Promise me you’ll help her so we can get back to talking: I want to talk to you; I want to say I’m sorry; I want you to forgive me . . . I never meant for things to happen the way they did . . . I meant well . . . If I didn’t, I kept it to myself—I certainly didn’t make a big song and dance out of it. Casey won’t forgive and forget, she won’t let bygones by bygones, she never let Nonie come back, she’s sent her cards and presents, but she won’t see her . . . Casey plays for keeps . . . That’s how she got ahead in the world . . . She’s always been afraid Nonie’s told me things, but I will say this for Nonie: she can keep a civil tongue in her head—she can keep a secret. She has a mind of her own . . . She has stamina . . . She said she didn’t care. But she did care. Nonie always loses out. Who doesn’t. She thinks she can fool people—and she can some of the time . . . She thinks she sounds okay—she doesn’t know when she’s crazy . . . She hardly had one bad word to say about Casey . . . How does that make me feel, do you think?
Maybe everything’s terrible: maybe it’s for the best if you’re tough about atonement . . .
I admire Casey. She’s come out a winner in her life. I like cold people—the fewer feelings the better, I always say . . . People can be too cold: enough’s e
nough . . . Poor Nonie . . . She’s no different from anyone else but she ruins things for herself—why do you suppose that is? I want you to take care of her after I’m dead . . . Wiley, I know she won’t listen to you, I know there’s bad blood, I know you get bored . . . I know you can say I wouldn’t let her in my room even to say good-bye to; but so what, you lived as brother and sister, you have a head on your shoulders, take care of her, help her, don’t let go, do for her what I never did for her . . . please? I ask you this from my deathbed . . . Don’t lie to me . . . Lie to me if you have to . . . You always look good compared to Nonie . . .
What I hear happened is they had a scene; Casey can’t stand scenes; everyone heard everything; and Nonie was so horrible, they all decided a year later they loved you . . . Ha-ha . . . No ha-ha . . . Some things it’s better not to think about. You have your own road to hoe. Nonie knew how to play her cards short-term but she never knew how to do the long haul . . . Maybe no one does . . . Maybe it’s our family . . . She makes a little home for herself among people who are mad at me: that’s how she does it. She’s like a little animal in a book . . . I want you to forgive her and help her . . . I failed and I want you to take over . . . I have a little pride and faith in you . . . I have a lot . . .
The other range of voice and manner was back—the other mode, or method for dying, unenraged—or enraged with tenderness—enflamed with affection.
Sometimes I think she hasn’t a grain of sense in her head. Too much of everything she’s done has been a mistake for her to stop covering up now—that’s a mistake a lot of people make. You’d think they’d be more logical. Nonie wants things her way, she doesn’t like sadness: help her. There’s a lot I don’t know . . . I don’t understand you at all but you get along somehow . . . I can’t leave her alone in the world now, Wiley, and just prefer you at the end and let it go . . . I don’t like her but I have a conscience . . . You have a conscience . . . Have you lost your conscience at Harvard? Have you learned to bend like a reed? Nonie, something knocked her down, she got up again . . . What else can you ask from a daughter? What else do you want from a daughter you don’t love enough anymore? But you were always different Knock you down and you’d lie there, ha-ha, or you wouldn’t be knocked down. I wanted her to have what I didn’t have but you were the one who wound up different. I gave her what I could but you’re the one who’s like me. We had a hard time of it sometimes but, well, I’m the one you should blame, not her . . . You can’t force yourself to love someone . . . She was always just a child. Be big, be nice to her. Good. Take care of me now. It’s your turn: tell me a story—tell me about a girl you met, you liked . . . No: wait: I want you to go and get the nurse . . . Don’t let Nonie see you. Don’t let her in here. I can’t take it anymore, any of it, from her—get the nurse and tell her it’s time for my shot . . . I want to talk about something else but I have to have a little rest . . . I want to talk about you and me—me and you . . . I’ll tell you a terrible thing about me: I’d like to enjoy my dying if I can . . . When I wake up, I’ll tell you some serious things . . . I’ll tell you about all sorts of things I thought of to tell you—much better things than I’ve told you so far. Trust me. I’ll be serious—you’ll see . . . Just don’t leave me: just sit here by the bed so I can find my way back when I’m dozing . . . My dreams take me far from here and I get lost; I feel young and that I can do what I want; and it’s hard to come back . . . But I know what you’re like. You don’t like people to die. You’re a softy. I promise I’ll come back to you at least one more time. GET THE NURSE. AH, AH . . .
The pain she felt was extraordinary.
We talked for two more days . . . Well, mostly she talked. She talked and slept. She mentioned Nonie once each time she, my mother Lila, was awake; she wanted to see if I still would tell her I would take care of Nonie.
But she and I never spoke about Nonie again or about what she was like or what the world was like with her in it.
The Runaway Soul Page 80