by Harry Mazer
‘Because Mary needs somebody she can trust.’
‘Where’s her mother?’
‘In Florida with Mary’s sick father.’
‘No other relatives? Friends? Girlfriends? What about the Belcos? She said she was living there.’
‘It’s just a living arrangement,’ he said.
‘You mean the two of them are alone? Mary and the little girl?’
‘You got it, Mom.’
His mother stopped packing. Her busy fingers were at rest. She looked at him closely. ‘Well … I should understand what’s going on, but I don’t.’
‘Try friendship.’
‘I don’t want to pry, but would you mind answering a simple question?’
He could read his mother’s mind and searched for something reassuring to say. Something to put a mother’s demons to rest. No, Mom, this isn’t my baby. No, Mom, Mary and I aren’t … I only wish we were … But that’s another subject.
‘No, Mom, Hannah is not –’
‘And Mary?’
The conversation was turning into one of these fill-in-the-answer forms. ‘Me and Mary? Not that, either. Not that I don’t wish –’
She sat down on the bed. ‘You know what they say – the wish is father to the deed.’
‘Indeed! But in this case no deed, Mom. So, is it okay about Hannah?’
‘I take it you promised already? Asking me is just a courtesy?’
He put his arm around her. ‘Hey, Mom, you’re going to help me out.’
‘Don’t I always? When’s all this happening?’
‘Mary’s leaving day after tomorrow.’
‘Day after tomorrow we’re not going to be here, my absentminded son. Your father and I are leaving tomorrow morning for your sister’s wedding.’
‘What? Tomorrow morning?’ Natalie’s wedding. A little detail he’d let slip by him. He fell back on the bed, whimpering. They were going to the wedding. Leaving. His mother was leaving. Deserting him. ‘You can’t go.’ All the starch was out of him. He had promised Mary, but it was always with the idea of his mother in the background. His mother hovering there, rescuing him, taking charge when things got too tough for him. He felt weak. ‘Mom, I need you here. What am I going to do with a baby for four days?’
‘I don’t know. What are you going to do?’
He pulled a pillow over his face, screaming silently, tasting the days before him, panicking. Alone with Hannah for four days and four nights. Just Hannah and him. He couldn’t do it. He knew he couldn’t do it. What did he know about babies? As Mary had said, so he’d changed a diaper. Biiiig production. Close-up: Jeff changing Hannah. Cut. Close-up: Jeff holding Hannah. Cut. Mary overcome with gratitude.
‘I can’t do it, Mom.’
‘Call her and say you can’t do it, then. She’ll just have to make other plans.’
‘I can’t do that, either.’
‘Then you’ve got a problem, Jeff.’
He watched his mother fold one of his father’s shirts into the suitcase, then roll up socks and underwear. Her fingers were so calm and competent. What did it matter to her (heartless, selfish mother) that he was having a break-down? He’d be drowning here and she’d be dancing at his sister’s wedding. ‘Can’t Natalie change her wedding day? What difference does it make when they get married? They’ve been living together for three years. They can wait a few more days.’
‘Now I’ve heard everything.’
‘You’re not going to help me, right? I can count on that!’
‘Jeff –’
‘Forget it!’ He jumped up.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Whatever I’m going to do, I’m going to do.’
The Belco line was busy. Maybe Mary was calling him. She’d had a change of heart all on her own, realized it was too much to ask him. It was wonderful that he’d offered, but she couldn’t accept. Too much responsibility, but she’d never forget that he was ready to do it. He wouldn’t be hurt, would her, because she didn’t want to leave Hannah? She was so young – he understood, didn’t he, that it wasn’t good to leave little babies? Of course … of course.
He tried the number again. Still busy. Maybe she was calling the workshop, cancelling out. Good thinking, Mary. There’d be another workshop, next summer, and she’d be first in line. And he’d be better prepared, he’d do it then.
Danny finally answered the phone. ‘Let me talk to Mary,’ Jeff said.
‘Jeff? You want me to get her? She’s kicking a suitcase down the stairs. What’s going on?’
Packed! Two days early. She wasn’t going to let him off the hock. Not after she’d netted him. She wasn’t cancelling. Not Mary. She was going to be the first one in line this summer! So eager she couldn’t wait to dump Hannah on him. Oh, she was clever. Let’s ask Hannah … Last chance to back out. Oh, sly woman. ‘Put Mary on,’ he said to Danny. ‘I want to talk to her.’
She came on the phone a moment later. ‘Jeff? Everything okay? Wait a second, I want to close the kitchen door.’ She came back. ‘I told Mrs. Belco Hannah and I are going away for the weekend, but she doesn’t know where. I’ve got everything ready to bring over. It’s almost all downstairs. Hannah’s high chair and her food, extra bottles and baby oil and her playpen. I think I thought of everything. She can sleep in the playpen. Friday morning all I’ll do is call the cab. So how about your mother? Is she looking forward to it?’
‘Ah … ah …’
‘Is she there? Can I talk to her?’
‘Ah … ah …’
‘Oh, never mind, don’t bother her. I’m so excited. I can’t believe I’m going –’ She broke off, and he heard her saying to Danny, ‘Don’t touch anything, Danny, I’ll take care of it.’ She came back on the line. ‘So I’ll see you Friday morning?’
‘Right, right … fine, fine … everything’s fine.’
He didn’t tell her, couldn’t tell her. Just couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. Was it cowardice? Or was it love? What did it matter – it was going to be a disaster. What if Hannah woke at night and he didn’t hear her? Close-up: Hannah shaking the bars of the playpen. Cut to Jeff asleep. Cut to Hannah frowning disapprovingly at Jeff (For four days.) Cut to Hannah in high chair, lips tight, refusing food. (For four days.) Quick cuts: Hannah crying in playpen. Hannah crying in high chair. Hannah crying in stroller. Hannah crying indoors. Hannah crying outdoors. (For four days!)
‘You didn’t tell her?’ his mother said later. ‘I don’t know, Jeff. Maybe it’ll be a good experience for you.’ She sounded doubtful. ‘Something like this will give you a taste of the real world. You do know where to reach Hannah’s mother if you need her? And you have Natalie’s number. We’ll be there the day after tomorrow. You better have a whole list of emergency numbers, just in case. I suppose I shouldn’t worry. You’re eighteen. I know you can do it if you concentrate. Just remember you’re dealing with a helpless human being.’
21
Hannah was crying, high piercing screams. She was sitting up on the couch, the pillows stacked around her. Mary had put her there when she arrived that morning. Hannah had been all smiles – smiles for her mother, smiles for Jeff. She had gone to sleep like a lamb. ‘Put her in the playpen when she wakes up,’ Mary had whispered, and she left. Then Hannah woke up and saw him, and that’s when the screaming started.
With Hannah screaming, he couldn’t think straight. The playpen refused to open. Hannah was red and rigid, furious. A dirty trick had been played on her. She hated him, hated his face, hated seeing him near her.
Those screams. Furious. Bloodcurdling. Bright red. Mouth gaping open. No letup, no weakening. Volume turned up full. Fortissimo. Where were all those screams coming from? How could a baby this size scream this long and this hard and this loud? She had the stamina of a marathon runner, the lungs of an opera singer. He clamped his hands over his ears. She was going to scream day and night for four days. Those screams were going to tear the roof right off the house. ‘Shut up!
’ he whimpered.
She stopped in midscream, swivelled her head around to look at him, her eyes sticky and red with tears. Mary’s smoky grey eyes looking at him accusingly. Where’s my mother? What are you doing here? I don’t like you!
‘Tough luck, kid. You’re stuck with me.’ He could see her winding up again, and he warned her. ‘Don’t start again. If this is some kind of record you’re trying to set, Hannah, you’ve done it. The Guinness people heard you all the way over in England. They’ve got your name in the record book.’
She was at it again, screaming, hiccuping, burping with rage. Screams like the rasping of crows. Like fire trucks coming. Like jet engines. Freezing his blood, congealing his brain. The screams filled every room in the house, all the closets, perched on every lamp and corner. He slammed the windows down, dropped the blinds, pulled the drapes, every second expecting the neighbours to storm the house and break down the door.
He ran around the room like an idiot with his fingers in his ears, leaping like a kangaroo, then waving his arms like a conductor, calling, ‘More, more, more … keep it up. Louder! Louder! The police are coming. Satisfied now? They’re going to put you in a dog kennel and me in a loony bin.’
He fell in a heap at her feet. ‘Are you hungry? Tell me, Master. Does the beast want to be fed? Speak to me – but softly. Your servant trembles before you.’
Jumping up, he checked Mary’s instructions. Five pages of closely detailed notes. What to feed Hannah for breakfast, for lunch, for supper, and in between. ‘She likes her mashed squash for breakfast and oatmeal at supper.’ He checked the time. Too early for lunch, but milk was always appropriate. Mary had left him enough bottles for a year. The refrigerator was full of nothing but Hannah’s food. When she opened her mouth, he stuck the bottle in. ‘Here. Plug up that screaming hole.’ For a moment it shut her up. She sucked rapidly, then she spat it out.
He held the bottle in front of her face. ‘Do you know what this is? This is for you, moron. Milk isn’t my idea, it’s your mother’s. Do you want to see?’ He showed her Mary’s instructions. ‘It’s all here in writing. What do you want, beer?’ He tried to give her the bottle again, but she just turned her head away and screamed. ‘You are a mean vicious little kid. You know what those screams of yours sound like? You ever been beaten with a club? That’s the way it feels. Stop! Quit it! You stop or I leave.’ He went to the door. ‘I’m not kidding, kid.’
She stopped screaming to watch him.
‘Ah! You’re not stupid. You see where I am now? That’s where your little game is going to get you. Scream one more time and you’re minus one servant.’
The silence lasted fifteen seconds, just long enough for him to get his brains unscrambled. Fifteen seconds, then five seconds more. He was counting. And then she let him have it. The volcano exploded. Vesuvius! Pompeii! Mount Saint Helens! This was the biggest mistake of his life. He slapped himself in the face. ‘So, so quick to say yes, yes … yes, Mary, yes! I adore you. I kiss your feet. Anything you want, Mary! Go away and leave me with Hannah? I’d love it. Yes, Mary. How come Hannah never screams like this when you’re around?’
He wanted help. Mary, his mother, Mrs. Belco. Danny. Anybody! ‘You see what you’re doing to me, creep? Are you happy, enjoying yourself, having fun? I’m glad somebody’s having a good time. Me? I’m leaving.’
He walked out on her, went to his room, turned his stereo on full, all out, and put on the earphones. Ah, the peace and quiet of rock. He sat back on the floor, hands behind his head, snapped his fingers, rolled his shoulders, shut his eyes. Drums … percussion … electric guitars … bass. Peace …
But there was no peace.
Great going, Jeff. Hiding in your room. Defeated by a baby.
I don’t like war.
All you know how to do is talk.
What was he supposed to do? He gave her a bottle. He told her he wasn’t going to listen to her screaming. Now it was her move.
Where’s your imagination? Where’s your brains? Where’s your famous inventive, creative self, big-shot director? Get into a little problem and you quit.
He tore off the earphones and flung them aside. It was silent. Too silent. No music. No screaming. ‘Hannah? Hannah?’ he called again.
She was on the floor in the living room, lying there like a floppy doll. She’d fallen off the couch. She was so still, so quiet. He was afraid to touch her.
He went down on his knees next to her. ‘Hannah?’ At least she was breathing. But then he got worried. Were those short little snorts normal? Those little puffs of breath? He crawled around her and listened on the other side. Her eyes were shut, her shirt bunched up under her back. Why was she lying on her head? Was that the way she slept normally? He didn’t want to tamper with that silence – she could sleep till her mother came back – but was it real sleep? At least when she was screaming, he knew she was alive.
He’d never heard her breathe before. Was that the way babies did it, those wheezy sounds? His own breath didn’t sound too normal to him either. He’d never paid so much attention to breathing in his life.
‘Hannah?’ he said again. He shook her a little. Her eyes opened. She could barely raise her lids, then they shut again.
She was sleeping. She must have worn herself out screaming. Okay, then sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep till your mother comes back. Every minute she slept was a moment’s peace, brought him a minute closer to Mary’s return.
He tiptoed into the kitchen, got out bread and cheese, humming under his breath. Sleep, baby, sleep … He dropped the knife, and right on cue, she was off and screaming again. He spread mustard on the bread and some lettuce. ‘Just hold your horses,’ he yelled, ‘I’m here. I hear you. The whole neighbourhood hears you. For all I know your mother hears you. You’re spoiled, you know that? You expect people to run every time you open your yap.’ He started to take a bite out of his sandwich, but she had ruined his digestion.
‘You’re getting your way, little Hitler,’ he said. He charged back into the living room, scooped her up and raced around the room with her. ‘Like that? This make you happy? Thirty laps around the Orloff Speedway.’
She stopped crying and he slowed down. She hiccuped and jumped up and down in his arms. She wanted more. She was a speed freak. Every time he stopped, she protested. Up and back he ran, through every room, up the stairs and back down, up again, into the bathroom, turned on the lights, turned them off, turned them on, slid open the shower door, lifted the toilet seat, turned on the taps, and for a grand finale flushed the toilet. ‘That’s it, Hannah, that’s the deluxe tour.’
She hiccuped and bounced in his arms. ‘Now we do the kitchen.’ He ran around the kitchen, opening and shutting the cupboard doors and grabbing a bite out of his sandwich. He could feel the wet through her diaper. Gross! This was really going to be a disgusting experience. What should he do now? Finish his sandwich or change her diaper? The way it smelled, he lost his appetite anyway.
He got the diaper bag and the Pamper box from the bedroom and looked around for a place to operate. Dr Orloff. The kitchen table? Too gross even for the doctor. Not the couch, either. He finally put her on the floor. He didn’t look when he took off the dirty diaper. The last time he’d done this, it was just a wet diaper, and Mary was there and Hannah wasn’t squirming and sliding around in it.
Before he had the nappy off, she got her foot in it, and then it was on her overalls. He had to start all over again, change her from the bottom up and the inside out, holding his nose all the time. ‘That’s your own fragrant self. You sure don’t smell like a rose.’ He opened all the windows and flushed the diaper down the toilet. ‘If that clogs up, Hannah, you’re paying.’
Then, back to the other end, it was feeding time again. Mashed liver and peas. He dipped into the jar, shoved the spoon in the general direction of her mouth. He didn’t want to look. After he fed her, it was time to air her. He’d promised Mary he’d get her outside every day.
He didn’t hav
e a minute to himself until she took her afternoon nap. This time he got the playpen open and put her in there. ‘Now sleep,’ he said and went into the kitchen. There was half a pizza in the freezer that he threw in the oven. He stepped out on the back porch. It was a great day. He wondered how long she’d sleep this time. She was safe in there. He lay down on the grass. A few minutes for himself. How’m I doing, Mary? You must be there by now. Thinking of me?
What would he do this afternoon? What could he do? Nothing. But still, if he could, what would he do? So much of his life lately had been focused around Mary, and now she wasn’t here. Vague thoughts of California drifted through his mind – sun and beaches, movie sets, cameras, girls in yellow bikinis.
He smelled the pizza burning. His nose brought him the news. Then the phone rang. He ran inside and he lunged for it, got it before the second ring. It was Danny, looking for company. ‘I’m going out to the lake for a swim.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Busy.’
‘I thought while Mary was away you’d have some time for your friends. What’re you doing?’
‘Nothing.’
If he told him he was nursemaiding Mary’s baby, Danny would say she had him wound around her little finger.
‘I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.’
He pulled the cord around so he could check on Hannah. ‘I’ve got a friend over.’
‘Bring him along.’
‘Her. And she’s sleeping over.’
‘Somebody I know?’
‘Mmmm …’
‘Where are your folks?’
‘They went away. They’ll be gone for ten days.’
‘Where’d you meet her? Has she got a friend?’
‘I don’t think you’d like her or her friends. They’re all a bunch of slobs.’
‘Well, she’s hanging out with you, what do you expect?’
‘Right now she’s sleeping on the living room floor. When she wakes up, we’re going to be taking a bath together.’
Danny whistled. ‘Why don’t you let me talk to her at least?’