It was fun to be doing for two men. They took to being bossed just as she, to her surprise, took to being maternal, calling them brassily for lunch, insisting that they wash up before sitting down to her pancakes. Even Ray’s inability to eat meat, which could be an irritant to a permanent cook, was at the moment a challenge to her ingenuity.
What would she make them tonight? Spaghetti? That was last night. Vegetable plate? The night before. Kitty paused in the middle of the kitchen, thumbnail between her teeth, and gazed absently about her. Her eye lighted upon an old-fashioned wooden recipe box on the shelf next to the throbbing whale of a refrigerator, whose guts rattled and groaned as though Jonah were inside pleading to get out. Nibbling at the varnish on her nail, Kitty wondered whether the box could have belonged to Jenny Land, the dead mother whose rather horse-faced, sad-eyed photo she had discovered only this morning on the mantel behind an Optimo cigar box stuffed with Kirkman soap coupons. Would the boys like something that their mother had made many years ago?
Kitty lifted the lid cautiously. Yes, it was Jenny Land’s. With schoolteacherly neatness she had written her name and address in Palmer penmanship on a shipping label and pasted it on the inner lid. The label was curling loose but the box was not particularly dusty. Kitty began to flip through the three-by-five cards, but they fell open at B: Birthday Cakes. A folded oblong sheet, closed with a paper clip, was holding the cards apart. She pulled off the clip and opened the sheet. Block letters: THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LEO LAND.
Kitty clutched at the breadboard. Groping behind her, she sat down on the kitchen table top and stared at the paper which rattled in her hand. She had resisted the immediate temptation to cry out in triumph. Now as she read the erratically scrawled statement her ears were drumming and her mouth was dry, so dry that she could not have called out had she wanted to.
But she did not want to. The simple two sentences were what they had been looking for. There could be no question. Below Leo Land’s name was the hastily scribbled signature, typically messy, like all doctors’, of Solomon Stark, M.D.
Kitty sat so still that she could hear an entire chamber orchestra of sounds about her in the house. The circular whir of the failing electric clock on the wall, the marine gulp-throb of the refrigerator, the thud-thud of poor ancient Sasha rousing up from his post under the dining-room table to claw feebly at his balding hide with a palsied paw; and, in the living room or the parlor or the front room or whatever the builder had called it, the two brothers shuffling papers, muttering, even chuckling, searching for what she held in her hand.
On the edge of the stove, no further away than her hand, was a blue and white cardboard box of Ohio wooden matches; she could strike one without anybody hearing, without anybody (not even Dr. Stark) ever discovering what she had done. One day she could tell Ralph—he would believe her, he knew she was capable of it—and it would be over with, done. But would he be grateful? Was this what he would do in her place? I don’t know him that well, she realized in sudden fear, I don’t know if he would do what I would do. Nor was she sure—she cursed herself for her idiot ignorance of the law—what Ralph’s legal position would be if she were to reduce the paper to ash.
But of course, of course, there was Ray. And as soon as his name had formed itself in her mind, together with the image of his blue eyes, transparent as clear glass, she realized that what she had been contemplating was, quite simply, impossible. What has Ralph done to me, she marveled, that I should think even of holding it back for his private decision? She had already given him substantial proof of love. There was no need to start fires; he knew that she would be with him in whatever he had to do as a result of her discovery. She kicked free from the table and strode down the hallway with the paper in her hand.
In the pillared entranceway to the living room she stopped. Ray and Ralph were squatting, facing each other, in the cleared area before the hideous false fireplace, their faces sharply highlighted by the fringed floor lamp they had lit against the waning winter day. Ralph held a legal folder in his hand, which was dirty, as was his face. He did not look up at her entrance.
“No bankbooks,” he was saying, “except for the current checking account?”
“Everything went into mortgage bonds, or more properties.”
“What about Papa’s life insurance?”
“I heard him say something once to Uncle Max about cashing in his policies after Mama died. There wasn’t much anyway, just a couple small ones from that fraternal organization with the long name, the Rumanian one.”
“Ralph,” she said. “Ray. I’ve found it.”
“Just a minute, Kitty,” Ralph said impatiently. “What do you mean, Ray, just a couple small ones?”
“Ralph,” Kitty repeated insistently, “I’ve found the will.”
She stared in fascination at the face of the man she was going to marry in the morning. Ralph was squinting up at her uncomprehendingly, the line of the razor along his cheekbone perfectly clear in the lamplight, his firm secretive mouth gone a little slack, agape, as though he were having difficulty breathing.
“Will?” he demanded. “My father’s will?”
“Yes. It leaves everything to Ray.” She paused. “And one other thing. Who is Mel?”
4: RAY
JANUARY 6
Not surprised about will. Wasn’t even particularly complimented that Papa left everything to me. He was grateful that I didn’t leave home. Didn’t leave him, rather. But more likely he was worried about what would happen to me, afraid Mel and Ralph might cut me out or hold up my share. So he figured he’d make sure. But how could I say this to Ralph? Wouldn’t make him feel better to think that Papa trusted him so little.
Was more surprised last week to learn that Uncle Max left everything to Papa. Thought surely he’d leave something substantial to Mel. He always worried about Mel like Papa worried about me. That really floors me, no bequests for Mel or Ralph in either will.
Couldn’t explain my feelings to Ralph, because in each case it comes down to Mel.
Supposedly there was no love lost between them. But there had been love between Mel and Ralph when they were kids, I’m convinced, and somewhere it got lost. Isn’t that worse?
What did surprise me was Kitty asking, “Who is Mel?”
I knew Ralph was not proud of us. That’s his business. But to conceal your older brother from the girl you’re going to marry and bring into the family! Can’t understand his reasoning. Wasn’t she bound to find out sooner or later?
Then, when Kitty read the will aloud, he gave us both a horrible look, as though in that instant we had done him some physical violence. Made a lunge for Kitty.
Tore the paper out of her hand and glared at it, while she was asking, “Who is Mel?”
Shouted at me, in sudden, irrational rage, “What do you know about this?”
“As much as you.”
“Did you put Papa up to this?” he yelled. “Is that why you locked yourself in this nut house with him and Max? So as not to let him out of your sight?”
Kitty said, “I asked you a question.”
So he turned on her, asked her why she came running in with the will, why she didn’t talk it over with him first. She froze. Asked him if he thought she’d have behaved any differently in that case, and hidden the will from me.
That stopped him. Kitty asked, it must have been for the third time, almost in a whisper, “Who is Mel?”
He shoved past her, desperate to get out of the room, as though the very sight of us sickened him. As he went he cried over his shoulder, “Ask him! Ask Ray! He knows everything, he’ll give you all the dirt.”
Kitty looked at me uncertainly. I wasn’t used to giving advice, but finally I suggested that she should let him go, that he’d cool off.
“Will you tell me about Mel?”
So I did. Just said what she would find out sooner or later anyway, such as that Mel and Ralph had been very close when they were kids, two against the world,
that they had a falling out, that Mel had the reputation of being a tough guy just as Ralph had the reputation of being ambitious and thin-skinned, that Mel had gotten into some trouble and run away from home when he was eighteen, and that none of us had ever seen him since. And that when we did hear of him it was always because of some new trouble. Like now, convicted of burglary. “The poor guy,” Kitty said. “The poor guy.” I thought she meant Mel. Didn’t envy Ralph the explaining he was going to have to do. But then I realized it was Ralph she was thinking of!
So I started by not understanding Ralph and wound up by not understanding her.
When Ralph came back he was cleaned up, clothes changed. Looked to me as though he had been soaking his head, especially his eyes, with cold water. Gotten himself under control, too, but barely.
“You win all the marbles, kid,” he said. “You’ll have enough to keep you in comfort for as long as you want to hole up. So I guess you won’t need me.”
Kitty scolded him, but gently, for not telling her about Mel. “Do you think I care?” she asked him. “I’m holding you to nothing,” he replied. Kitty stared at him.
“You came here on specific terms. I can’t fulfill them, so you’re free to leave.”
She called him a horse’s ass then. And an idiot. “Idiot,” she said, “do you think I came here for the money? If Raymond is going to be rich, let him. What’s it got to do with us?”
I was so embarrassed for them, I wanted to crawl up to the attic. Gritted my teeth, stepped between them, said to Ralph, “I don’t need the money, I don’t want it. I need you. Don’t go away. Don’t feel you have to do anything on account of me. Stay here, both of you, and I’ll go on up to the attic.”
I hate to say it, but a very calculating expression crept into Ralph’s eyes. He nodded coolly, picked up Kitty’s coat, told me to sit tight while they went out to eat.
I made another mistake, asked Ralph if he was going to be back.
He told me not to wait up for him. And that was that.
Made myself cheese sandwich, came back up here. Haven’t eaten it, have no appetite, it’s drying on the table. I know why Ralph took Kitty away—he was afraid I’d eavesdrop. All because I was listening that first night, when he called her on the telephone.
What was so terrible about that? I just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t call a cab and go away for good.
11:15 P.M. The Late News is finished, and the last of the lights are going out in Happy Valley. I am so alone!
January 7
Slept late. Made no difference, nobody came back. Can’t keep to a schedule when I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
Did the usual. Rolled hammock, 15 min. setting-up exercises, 30 min. weight-lifting (press and jerk only), policed attic, called in W3RS as per schedule, discussed neutral subjects. But couldn’t concentrate on reading, much less studying or memorizing. 11 A.M., am at a standstill.
How much longer will I be here? The 3-in. fiberglas insulation batten that I stapled to the ceiling, the random tile floor covering that I put down using the odd pieces Uncle Max dragged home, the pictures I shellacked to the celotex walls, even the steel rod chinning bar that I screwed into place between studs, all my improvements will go to waste. To say nothing of my radio rig, books, clippings, the ledger books for this diary.
Mel and Ralph would both laugh at me for being so attached to things. That’s another of the attitudes they’ve always had in common. Which is more important, property or people? They’re right, of course. Neither of them would give a second thought to what’s in the attic, or to the whole house, if it stood in the way of progress.
But the whole story of our family is right here, under these eaves. Why tear everything down without finding out about ourselves first?
Anyway, what’s so terrible about my being scared? Isn’t everybody scared?
Maybe if I look at people for a while it will help.
Later. Hunkered down behind louvers in customary catcher’s position. Mailman came on schedule, pushing one-handled gocart along shoveled walk, wiping nose with free hand, bringing the usual: Life magazine, announcements of private sales to public customers, delayed New Year’s cards, also birth, death, marriage, communion, bar mitzvah, and removal of dentists’ offices to new locations. After him, clumsy chocolate-colored United Parcel Service truck. Driver is coward. Sat in truck honking for housewife to come out, afraid of her little girl’s dachshund. Then a young doctor, new in the neighborhood, broad-shouldered and blank-faced like a professional athlete, lifting his little bag from his Buick and stepping fussily over the snowdrifts. Went into corner house, first time I knew anyone was sick there, scuffing his rubbers on sisal mat, then ducking indoors past outstretched arm holding open storm door. Must find out what’s wrong there.
Looked across to A & P, hoping that the Jehovah’s Witness would be back on the job again in front of it, but no such luck. Knew she wouldn’t be there, she’s been gone so long, but all the same I kept watching.
Then the phone rang. It rang so many times I almost screamed. Had to jump up with my hands to my ears. Maybe it was Ralph, couldn’t take a chance. After I finally lost count, it stopped. Found myself doodling, three linked circles, like the Ballantine ad. Purity—body—flavor, which am I? Stuck my initials in the inferior circle, junior partner in firm of Max and Leo Land, Drugs and Sundries, Nuts and Bolts. Then made three more circles, me in bottom one again, clinging member of a new trio—Ralph, Kitty, and unwanted me.
Nobody has to tell me that I can’t just sit here forever. But Ralph is liable to stay away as long as possible, to make me as dependent on him as possible.
He’ll be back, it was written all over his face. He’s as hungry for what I am going to have as I am for what he is going to have. So why should I bear him a grudge for what he said? Instead, I’ll make a surprise.
11:50 P.M. Third entry today. The surprise took all afternoon to make, and still no one came.
I know he’ll come. Not just because of the estate. Because of me. He’s always thought that he could wipe out the past, Papa, Uncle Max, Mel, me, the store, this house, by being what none of us has known how to be. For him that means not only having so much money that you don’t have to get up in the morning to make more. It also means behaving not like a Land, but in high style. Noblesse oblige. He’d be humiliated if the newspapers said that he had neglected me. Especially if they printed my picture! So I have weapons on my side too, if only I don’t lose my nerve. If things drag out, though, time might be more on his side than on mine. He’s more mobile, more used to planning than I am, and he’s more ruthless.
But if only he’d come back!
January 8
What a day. In the A.M. tried to pretend that nothing had changed. Fiddled with ham rig, recalibrated, checked call letters. Tried to memorize some more constellations. Read three articles in Britannica. All worse than useless. Because I kept sneaking looks in hopes of seeing a Yellow Cab pull up. I was being punished, it didn’t make any difference whether it was by Ralph or by the Almighty, for the sin of pride. Once I said aloud, “I want to be good!” but right away I was ashamed of myself.
Then the front door slammed, with no forewarning. Ralph shouted up, “It’s us.”
There they were, helping each other off with their things, Kitty tottering on one foot and laughing while Ralph tugged at her overshoe. Ruddy-cheeked, completely unlike the two who had left the day before yesterday. Scattering snow all over the hall, shaking themselves like Sasha, who stood by dumbly. My heart leaped when I saw Kitty’s bags standing beside her.
She is very quick. “Yes,” she said, “I’ve come to stay for a while. You won’t mind?”
“Mind?” I could hardly talk.
“In that case you might as well congratulate us. It’s legal now.”
Ralph looked wary as we shook hands. I knew I was supposed to kiss my new sister-in-law, but I couldn’t. I stood there like Sasha, with my head hanging. So she took the ini
tiative, placing her hands, pinkish from the cold, on my shoulders, and kissing me on each cheek. Her breath was delicious, she smelled wintry and fragrant.
Then I remembered my surprise, and insisted that they come back to the kitchen with me. Ralph wanted to know whether I was going to pull something else out of Mama’s recipe box, and I had to laugh, because when I turned on the kitchen light, there was the wedding cake on the table.
Kitty’s eyes filled with tears.
“How sweet,” she said. “How sweet.”
I set out plates and coffee cups, and while the coffee was perking, Ralph wanted to know how I was so sure that he was getting married, when he wasn’t even positive himself. I admitted I had taken a chance and Ralph winked at Kitty and said, “Don’t we all.” I think he was really pleased about the cake. He said now he had a wife and a brother, and responsibilities to both of them.
That was what I’d been hoping to hear, and I asked him what he thought we ought to do about the will.
“As soon as we agree on the way things ought to be arranged,” he said, “give it to Martin Stark and tell him how you want to dispose of the estate.”
I wasn’t sure that we ought to keep it to ourselves even that long, but Ralph argued that the reporters would start hounding him as soon as it became public knowledge that the will was being probated. Besides, he said, I wouldn’t be of age for some months, and Martin probably wouldn’t be able to do anything until then.
It sounded reasonable, what more could I have wanted? We shook hands on it. But I was thinking (not aloud, because I didn’t want to spoil things) that it was to Ralph’s advantage not to let on to anyone that Kitty had found the will. All I said out loud was, I still didn’t want anything for myself.
The Will Page 10