Hy-Lo was as cruel to her as he was to us. When she did happen to stumble across his path he would grab hold of her and drag her across the carpet by her tail, or sometimes hold her by her neck and singe her whiskers with his cigarette.
She would get him back though, but for a long time Malcolm and I took the blame.
“Wasn’t there two chicken wings left on this plate?”
“Who was in the refrigerator? There’s milk everywhere!”
“Damnit! Who ate the last pork chop!”
Malcolm and I were constantly accused of leaving the refrigerator door half-open, knocking over containers of milk, and taking meat out of frying pans and not placing those pans to soak in the sink.
We would stand at attention in front of Hy-Lo or slouch before Delia and accuse each other of the crime or just swear on our young souls that we knew nothing of the offense that had been committed.
Hy-Lo called us liars and sent us for the belt. Delia would shrug her shoulders and shake her head in disgust and send us to our room, where we would sit and scratch our heads and wonder if there were a ghost living among us. All along it was Pricilla.
Her hiding place was in the hollowed-out underside of my father’s record player. It was a beautiful piece of furniture— long and sleek, running nearly the length of the wall it rested against. A deep mahogany with four claw feet, my father kept it gleaming with wood oil and Pledge.
The left side was a case that held his old 78s and newer 33s, while the right side held the turntable. None of us were allowed to touch it and we’d better not even look at it too hard.
I’d spotted Pricilla on a number of occasions slipping beneath its belly and disappearing from sight. I’d lay my body across the floor and move as close to the player as I dared, expecting to see her glowing eyes staring back at me, but they were never there.
It was a long time before I got up the nerve to slip my hand beneath the player. I patted the air for her soft fur and moved it slowly across the carpet in hopes of colliding with her. Nothing.
I pulled my hand out and sat up and scratched my head in bewilderment.
“Oooooooh!” Malcolm’s voice rang out like a human siren. “I’matell Daddy you messing with his record player. Ooooooooooh!”
The bond that held Malcolm and me together was rapidly losing its adhesive. With every birthday we celebrated we moved further and further apart. After all, I was nearly a woman and he was still a child.
“Shut up!” I hissed at him. “Stop sneaking around like a little snake.”
Malcolm had become a sidler, often entering a room without making a sound.
“Hy-Lo gonna beat you good!” He taunted and teased me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I flew at him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Shut up!” I shouted in his face, and spittle covered his forehead. I shook him until his head resembled the plastic dolls that bounced their grinning heads in car windows.
Malcolm tried to pry my hands loose but I had a death grip on him. I saw the quick fear that passed across his face and it made me feel superior. I flung him against the wall. He stood there for some time whimpering and examining his torn shirt. “I’matell Mommy!” he screamed and stomped off to the bedroom.
I laughed out loud at his dramatics. “Make sure you do!” I yelled and shot up my middle finger at his retreating back. My adrenaline was still pumping and tiny beads of sweat covered the space above my nose. I considered jumping up and following him, grabbing him again and slamming him around some more. I smiled at the thought and the power of my strength over him.
I turned my attention back to the record player. I lay on my back and slid my head beneath it. It was dark and dusty. I opened my eyes and almost screamed. There was Pricilla looking down at me.
The record player was old. Made in the ’40s—they didn’t make them that like that anymore. The whole underside was hollowed out and made for a great hiding place.
Pricilla blinked at me and then hissed. I pulled myself out and waited until my heartbeat slowed. I moved in again, easing my hand under and up until I felt her fur. I moved my hand across her stomach and stroked her there until she purred contentedly.
I laid my palm flat against the warm wood and slid my fingers along the unfinished edges. My mind wandered and I closed my eyes against the dusky light of the living room. Pricilla shifted and moved away from my hand. I reached for the warm comfort of her fur but instead my hand found the cold steel of a gun.
I believed he was planning to kill us. Murder us as we slept. One bullet to the head, just like in the movies.
Their arguments and fights became more than just violent confrontations. They were now the opening acts to a scene I was sure would end with Delia clutching at her heart while blood, dark red and hot, spread across the bodice of her dress. She would look at me for one last long moment, mouthing the words I love you, and then her eyes would roll up into her head and she would be gone, leaving me and Malcolm to be raised by my father.
I couldn’t tell anyone about what I’d found. It was Pricilla’s secret and mine, and who would she tell? The alley cats that watched her as she rested on my windowsill?
My secret ate at me. My stomach knots got knots and I had trouble keeping my food down. I lay awake at night afraid to close my eyes and surrender to my dreams because they were filled with gunshots, blood, and caskets. I was afraid to go to sleep because mothers got killed deep in the night when a lonely cloud blocked the moonlight and children slept curled up in their beds.
“You feeling okay, Kenzie?” Delia held my chin and tilted my head left and then right. Her face was etched with concern. “Uh-huh,” I answered quickly and even forced a smile. It took a lot of energy and the act of bending my lips made me tired.
“I dunno,” she said and she eyed me suspiciously.
My clothes began to hang off of my body and deep dark circles formed under my eyes. I was as worried as I was weak. I did not have the strength to jump double-dutch or sit on the park wall with Glenna and hiss at the neighborhood boys. And even if I did, I would still have chosen to remain confined to my bedroom, door slightly ajar, watching and waiting for Hy-Lo to make his move.
Weeks passed and their arguments were contained to short blasts of loud angry words, the yelling and screaming never escalating beyond furious words and slamming doors. It was as if Hy-Lo knew I knew and kept the wild thing within him at bay.
It was the bottle of rum that did it, a gift from a coworker who had taken a trip to Jamaica. White rum, overproof. I remember reading the label over and over again. Overproof, what did that mean? I would find out as the bottle went from full to half empty in a matter of two hours.
I knew from then on that it wasn’t going to be a good night. Saturdays hardly ever were. Hy-Lo had no place to go on Sunday. Work would be another day away and church was someplace he passed on the street on the way to the liquor store.
The dawn broke behind large black clouds that kept the day gray and the ground wet. It rained so hard and for so long that we could hear the water rushing into the drainage ditch and the consistent cough and gurgle as the sewers backed up and spewed the water back into the street.
There was no place for us to escape to that day. Saturdays usually found us biking in Prospect Park or teasing the monkeys at the Bronx Zoo. Our only activity today would be to avoid Hy-Lo.
“Kenzie!” The sound of his voice traveled through the small apartment quickly. But the sound of the bottle’s lip clinking against the glass was even louder and more threatening than Hy-Lo’s voice.
My response was just as swift. “Yes! Coming!” I yelled back and hurriedly shoved my bare feet into my slippers. I moved past my parents’ bedroom and shot a worried look at my mother’s back. She was stretched out across the bed and had been that way for most of the day.
“Yes, Da—” My words got caught in my throat at the sight before me. Hy-Lo had Pricilla clutched by the skin of her back—suspended in the air before h
im. She was hissing and spitting, trying frantically to free herself.
I wanted to run to her and snatch her from his grip, but my feet were glued to the floor, my mouth hung open.
“This cat—” He spoke low. “This cat has been stealing food.” He slapped her across her nose and she hissed. Her breathing was becoming labored and her tongue hung out of her mouth lapping for air.
“She’s been stealing food right out of the goddamn refrigerator!” He shook her with every loud angry word. He shook her and my insides twisted, my heart dropped down to my stomach and then shot up into my throat. I could feel tears stinging at my eyes.
I knew she was doing it. I’d walked into the kitchen one day just as she’d managed to claw the refrigerator door open. I watched in awe as she stood on her hind legs and carefully examined the contents of the refrigerator shelves, finally settling for a slice of baked ham that Hy-Lo had placed uncovered on a plate.
“Daddy.” My words were barely a whisper. I extended my hand out toward him unable to say any more. “Please, Daddy, please.”
He turned and looked at me, his face creased and bloated, his eyes red. I saw evil living there and my hate for him increased. I thought about running to the record player and getting the gun. I took one step sideways toward the living room.
Pricilla hissed again and twisted herself enough to take a swipe at Hy-Lo. Blood sprouted out of the top of his hand and then oozed onto the floor.
“Damnit!” Hy-Lo yelled and Pricilla dropped with a thud to the floor. She was moving so fast that she was no more than a black-and-white blur when she skidded past me. She took the corner too fast and slammed headfirst into the wall. She recovered quickly and disappeared into the dark living room.
Hy-Lo stood staring at his hand; the deep scratch bubbled up revealing pink and white flesh. I half-expected to see the coat of the wild thing that lived inside of him. A thin stream of blood spilled out and onto the white linoleum. That seemed to make him angrier than his wound and he turned eyes on me that were filled with rage.
Hy-Lo cussed under his breath and moved to the sink; he turned on the cold water and shoved his hand beneath the rushing water. His face cringed at the sting the water dealt his open wound.
I waited.
He snatched the dish towel from its place on the rung over the sink and wrapped his hand in the soiled cloth. I almost smiled at the infection I was sure would set up there. I had wiped a spill off the floor with it earlier in the day.
“That cat is going the hell out of here!” he bellowed as he moved past me and into the living room. He flicked the light on and began looking behind the couch and the potted plant that he had picked up for Delia after he’d thrown out the small pots of jasmine she’d had growing on the windowsill.
I knew where she was and my heart beat loudly at the secret I held. The deafening sound of it caused my head to spin and I grabbed the wall for support.
“Go and find her!” he yelled over his shoulder as he checked behind the couch for the third time. He was spilling blood all over the couch and the floor. “Damnit!” he screamed and stomped to the bathroom.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?’ Delia was standing in the doorway; the whites of her eyes were tawny and her bottom lip hung limp. Her hair was a disheveled mass and for the first time I noticed that she was wearing the same clothes she had worn the day before.
“Shut the fuck up, Delia,” Hy-Lo said as he came slamming back out of the bathroom. His hand was wrapped in a baby blue washcloth, the one with the yellow duck. It was mine. I would have to remember to drop it down the incinerator. “Where is it?” He was looking behind the couch again. “Kenzie!”
“I-I don’t know,” I said and looked at Delia.
“Who are you looking for?” Delia asked as she stepped into the living room and stood near Hy-Lo.
He stood up, considered her for a moment, and then pushed past her so hard that her shoulder hit the wall with a loud thud. She grimaced at the pain and then smirked at Hy-Lo’s back. He was in their bedroom on his knees, peering beneath the bed and cursing at the shadows and dust bunnies that looked back at him.
Malcolm, who had been in our bedroom, came to the door and looked at me. I shook my head in warning and waved him back. He did not argue and hurriedly returned to the safety of his bed, thumb, and G.I. Joe figurine.
“Look for her, Kenzie!” Hy-Lo slammed into my bedroom and ordered Malcolm out of the bed. “Get your ass up and find that piece-of-shit cat. Now!”
Malcolm scrambled from the bed and dropped to his knees, searching beneath the beds for Pricilla.
Delia looked at me and mouthed, What happened?
I stared at her as if she were crazy. Did she really expect me to explain her husband’s madness to her? You lie down with him every night; you tell me what happened. That’s what I wanted to say, but I just shrugged my shoulders and looked behind the potted plant again.
Hy-Lo was in the living room again; the washcloth was soaked with his blood, turning it a dirty burnt-orange color. He peered down at it and his rage increased. “Call her,” he said and his voice shook. “Call her,” he repeated and spittle flew from his mouth.
I looked at Delia, who had settled herself against the wall. Hy-Lo’s head jerked and she bounced upright as if his movement were a quick reminder of how much he hated anyone touching his walls.
I glanced down at the faded brown of his slippers and the tiny drops of blood that lay drying there and opened my mouth and called out her name. “Pricilla.” It was barely a whisper.
“Louder, Kenzie,” Hy-Lo said and raised his hand in preparation to backhand me if I didn’t obey.
“Pricilla,” I said again, louder. “Here, girl … pssssst-psssst-psssst.” I knew no matter how much I called her she wouldn’t come. She could smell him there and sense the danger. Delia unglued herself and stepped carefully around Hy-Lo, her mouth dropped open for a split second as her eyes caught sight of the bloody washcloth. Again she looked at me, but this time her mouth did not ask the question that her eyes asked: What happened?
She stood there for a moment, her eyes moving between me and Hy-Lo’s wrapped hand. Her eyes moved back and forth like the glass eyes of the dolls she brought me as a child.
“Pricilla,” I called again as Delia moved by me and into the kitchen.
Hy-Lo slammed his wounded fist into the wall and left a bloody smudge there, before stomping into the bathroom again. I could hear the shower curtain being pulled back and forth on the rod. Back and forth until the pink seashell rings that held it gave way with six pops and the curtain fell crumpled into the tub. The lid to the hamper opened and the toilet seat slammed up and then down again. I knew Hy-Lo had lost it. “Kenzie!” he yelled at the top of his voice and flew out of the bathroom toward me.
I raised my hands to protect my face; he was on me before I could brace myself. He snatched at my arm and pulled me into him. His breath was hot on my face and it reeked with the stink of liquor and Camel cigarettes.
“Find that damn cat or it will be your behind. Do you understand me?” He was sweating and I could smell the white rum seeping out through his pores; it was a sick sweet smell that turned my stomach.
“Pricilla,” I called again between the sobs that had started to tear through my body.
“Louder!” he screamed.
“Pricilla!” I matched his deafening tone with my own.
Delia was moving past me again, her features seeming to hang on her face. She wiped at the corner of her mouth as she moved around me; her steps were unsure, and she wobbled for a moment and I caught a whiff of something, but it was gone before I could place it.
“Kenzie!” Hy-Lo’s voice snatched my attention away and I followed it into my room, where he was bent over in my closet tossing out toys, old dolls, and worn sneakers. Each item hit the floor with a loud thud that made me jump with each impact. A shoe box came flying out, barely missing Malcolm’s leg as it crashed to the floor, the lid pr
opelled through the air, and Malcom’s matchbox car collection scattered across the floor like fifty colorful water bugs on the run.
Marbles, Easy Bake oven accessories, and Silly Putty eggs followed until the contents of the closet lay strewn across the floor.
“Throw it all out!” Hy-Lo yelled in a crazed voice. We moved quickly and without question. Both Malcolm and I ran to the kitchen to retrieve garbage bags. That’s when we saw her. Pricilla had left the safety of her hiding place and had settled herself comfortably on the kitchen windowsill.
I froze.
Malcolm hadn’t noticed her lounging there and had hurried back to the bedroom. I could hear Hy-Lo snapping the black plastic Hot Wheels tracks in two and the shrieking sound of the fire truck Mable had brought Malcolm for his birthday as Hy-Lo’s foot came down on its shiny red back.
Pricilla’s big black eyes looked into my own and then she lifted her leg to clean the soft fur of her belly.
I thought about raising the screen and tossing her out the window. I told myself that cats always land on their feet. But suppose that wasn’t the case?
I was torn and my mind was going too fast for my body to keep up. I moved in slow motion toward her, but by then it was too late, Hy-Lo was standing behind me.
He knocked me to one side and snatched Pricilla up by her throat.
“No!” I yelled. “Daddy, please!” I begged and snatched at his shirt. Hy-Lo shrugged me off as effortlessly as if I had been a fly and I went hurling into the refrigerator, sending the mayonnaise jar off the metal shelf inside.
I followed him out into the living room and then to the small hallway that connected my bedroom with my parents’. He stopped there and swung open the closet door. He kept his coats in there: a brown corduroy car coat with a beige collar and a blue waist jacket he wore in the spring.
I knew I was still begging and pleading because I could feel my lips moving, my tongue hitting against the roof of my mouth, and my throat was going dry and tight, but I couldn’t hear my words or any sound around me.
I knew I was begging because my hands were stretched out in front of me, my hands opening and closing—pulling at the air, hoping it would pull at Pricilla too. Her eyes were rolling up in her head and slipping back down to look at me before rolling up in her head again. Hy-Lo’s fingers were locked around her neck, cutting off her air; her chest rose and fell, pulling in nothing.
The Warmest December Page 9