The Sunflower Forest

by Torey Hayden

  It was then too, during that early part of April, that I learned about Paul’s parents. We were, of all places, in the playground of the park on Third and Elm when he told me. I’d been working at the nursing home that afternoon and Paul had come to pick me up afterward. He hadn’t been able to get the car from his mom, so he’d walked. We were cutting through the park when he sat down on one of the swings.

  ‘They’re going to get divorced,’ he said. He twisted the swing around. Leaning back, he stared up at the chains, wound around one another. ‘I heard them talking the other night. They haven’t said anything to me or Aaron yet. I just overheard them in the kitchen.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  He lifted his feet from the ground and the swing spun around. ‘Nothing to be sorry about really, I guess.’

  Regarding the other swing, I debated about whether or not to sit down. I was still wearing my white nurse’s aide uniform, and Mama was always complaining about how dirty I got it.

  ‘I think I knew it was coming,’ Paul said. ‘It’s been coming a long, long time. They don’t love each other. Maybe they never did.’

  I tried to imagine what it must feel like to know your parents didn’t love each other. It was an entirely foreign concept to me. I couldn’t fathom what my mother or father, either one, would do without the other. They fit together like one person. Apart, they would be incomplete.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked. I sat on the swing, realizing that compared to Paul’s problems, Mama’s yelling at me about my uniform wasn’t much.

  ‘Dunno.’

  Silence. He had begun to push himself back and forth on the swing. I lifted my head and looked up at the sky.

  ‘I’m just thankful I’m going away to school,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want to have to live with either one of them, quite frankly. My dad, he wouldn’t want me anyway. I think maybe he’s said six whole things to me this year. “Hey boy,”’ Paul said in a sneering mockery of his father’s voice. “Hey boy, what you doing there, boy? How come you aren’t on the football team like Aaron? How come you hang around with all those fairy queers in the physics club?” “Hey boy, don’t look at me like that. You earn the money, then you call the shots.” That’s all he ever says to me.’

  I pushed my swing and let it come forward. ‘I’d live with your mom.’

  Paul snorted. ‘Maybe you would. I wouldn’t.’ He made a second futile-sounding little noise. ‘I embarrass the shit out of my mom. You’ve seen her. With all her fancy, phoney crap.’

  ‘You shouldn’t talk like that, Paul. It isn’t true.’

  ‘A lot you know about it.’

  There was a long silence. It was growing late. The sun was down on the horizon, and I was finding it not a particularly warm evening.

  ‘I embarrass the shit out of you too, don’t I?’ he said. ‘You want to be just like her, don’t you? And you’re embarrassed by me.’

  Slamming my feet down to stop my swing, I stared at him. ‘What do you mean? Why do you say something like that?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because why, Paul. You don’t embarrass me. Why would you say that to me?’

  ‘Think, Lesley. It shouldn’t be too hard.’

  Disgruntled, I turned my head away. ‘Cripes, Paul, don’t make it a stupid guessing game.’ I looked back. ‘If something’s wrong, just say so. Don’t be so coy.’

  ‘Well, if you think I’m so godawful wonderful, how come you’ve never once invited me over to your house? Jesus, you practically live over at our zoo. And I’ve never even met your folks.’

  I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that was how it seemed to him. ‘Oh cripes. Oh God. God almighty, Paul, you think it’s you?’

  Shrugging, he launched the swing backwards with a push.

  Now what? I looked down at my fingernails.

  He was seething. I watched him pump the swing higher and higher and I could tell he was easily as mad at me as he was at his folks for their divorce. In a way perhaps he was madder.

  ‘Listen, stop the swing, would you?’ I asked.

  He kept going.

  ‘I can’t talk to you when you’re flying through the air like some stupid trapeze artist. Stop it, all right?’

  Without aiding it, he let the swing slow down. But he still did not stop it.

  ‘You’re dead wrong, Paul. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. If that’s what you think, then it’s just your swelled head. It has nothing to do with you.’

  He gave the swing another push. ‘So, what is the reason then?’

  Silence.

  I looked over. ‘Nothing special. I don’t know.’

  Silence.

  I sighed. ‘It’s just that my family’s different, that’s all. Not like yours.’

  ‘That can’t be all bad.’

  ‘No, I really mean it. Like, we’re poor compared with you guys, Paul. My dad’s a mechanic down at Hughson’s Garage. My sister and me, we got nothing like you and Aaron have. We don’t have our own stereos or TVs or phones or stuff. There’s nothing to do but sit around. It’s boring.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t asking for an amusement arcade, Lesley. I don’t care about that,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but it’s still different. My parents are nothing special. My dad’s never gone to college. And my mom’s from Hungary. She’s been in this country since 1957 and she still speaks German and Hungarian better than she does English. And she doesn’t wear nice clothes. She doesn’t even wear her own clothes half the time. She wears my dad’s. Or mine. She wouldn’t know Bill Blass if he kicked her in the teeth.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Paul acidly. ‘I get it. You’re not embarrassed about me. You’re embarrassed about them. God, that shows a deep personality. Nice move, Lesley. That makes me real reassured.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m not embarrassed by them either. You’re twisting my words. I was just saying there’s no point in going over there. You’re not missing anything.’

  ‘Nice move, Lesley.’

  I looked out across the park. Twilight was settling into the shadows. I was frozen half to death, sitting there. Paul in his shirt sleeves seemed unfazed.

  He was watching me. He had stopped his swing entirely and was even with me. ‘You don’t have to cry about it,’ he said and there was no sympathy in his voice.

  ‘I’m not crying.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ he said in disgust and launched the swing again.

  ‘Stop it!’ I said and I grabbed the chain on the swing. ‘Stop that goddamned swing.’ We glared at one another. ‘You want to know? Mr Know-it-all with all your stupid brains. You want to know what the truth is? My mother has mental problems. I don’t bring people home because I don’t want them to laugh at her for some of the things she does. And I don’t want them to talk about her behind my back. And I don’t want them to make fun of me because she’s my mother and I love her.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Paul. There was a moment’s sharp silence, piercing as a dart, and he turned away.

  ‘So there. Are you satisfied now?’ I wiped the tears back with the heel of my hand. ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Nice move, Paul,’ he said softly under his breath. He turned back. ‘Look, Les, I’m sorry.’

  Snuffling, I grimaced. ‘Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault she’s got problems.’

  He shrugged. ‘But I’m sorry for talking like that. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Look, just forget it.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  I brought Paul over. He came on a Wednesday evening to study, and except for Megan, who was pretending to be Supergirl and was leaping off tables and wearing her swimsuit with a towel stuck down her back for a cape, my family acted quite normal. So I chanced inviting him for supper on Friday evening.

  I woke up on Friday morning with an upset stomach from nerves. While sitting in bed waiting for it to go away before I got up for school, I drew up a little list of things I didn’t want my mother to do while Paul
was eating with us. Later, I carried it down and showed it to Mama. I’d waited until after Dad had left for work because I knew he’d be horrified if he found out. Mama, who was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper and having another piece of toast with her coffee, studied the list thoughtfully as she sipped from her mug. I had tried to be as tactful as I could. Mama appeared to take it seriously. She nodded and said she understood.

  And she didn’t do any of the things on my list. Instead, she caused Paul to howl at the dinner table by mimicking me from the morning when I had presented her with it. She had every little detail, from the way I’d smoothed out the paper on the tablecloth to the way I’d tried to explain why some of the things on the list were embarrassing to me. I was absolutely mortified and thought I was going to murder her before she was done. But Paul loved it. And he loved my mama. Far more than I did that particular evening.

  As the days passed I relaxed more and more. I even thought about asking if I could have a party for my birthday in the middle of the month. The closest thing I had ever had to a party was the year I was twelve and my father had taken two of my friends and me to a movie on my birthday. I didn’t ask my parents immediately, however, but I sat in school for days, doodling invitations and thinking about things like refreshments and dancing and lots of boys rather than Newton’s laws or irregular French verbs.

  I had a dentist’s appointment. Although I intended to go back to school afterward, I went home instead. I had had three fillings, and my mouth was swollen and sore. Since the only classes I had in the afternoon were German and physical education, I decided it wasn’t worth the agony of returning.

  When I arrived home, my mother was out. I knew where she was. It was payday for Dad, and he had dropped her off downtown on his way back to work from lunch so that she could put the cheque in the bank and go pay the bills. My mouth felt very uncomfortable, so I went into the living room, turned on the television and lay down on the couch with the afghan over me.

  There was a loud rap at the back door.

  I ignored it.

  Another series of raps, louder, more insistent. Then again. Dragging myself off the couch, I went into the kitchen to see who it was.

  Toby Waterman stood with his face pressed up against the screen in the back door. With his odd, colourless eyes he studied me. ‘Where’s Mama at?’ he asked through the screen door; it was less a question than a demand.

  ‘Your mother isn’t here, Toby,’ I replied. I didn’t let him in.

  ‘Where’s she at?’ His face was pushed flat against the mesh of the screen, giving him a piggy look.

  ‘You’re an awfully long way from home. You know that, don’t you? Do you know how to get back without getting lost?’

  He reached up to let himself in but I put my foot against the bottom of the door to prevent him from opening it. When he couldn’t exert enough pressure to move the door, he gave up and dropped his arm back down to his side. He gazed through the screen at me.

  ‘Does your mom even know you’re here?’ I asked.

  ‘Not her. My mama. This mama in this house.’

  ‘My mama? Whose mother are you looking for anyway?’

  ‘Her!’ he said with impatience. ‘Her that lives in this house. My mama here. Let me in.’

  Startled, I did.

  He had a grungy little bouquet of dandelions in one hand. He lifted them up toward me as he walked in. ‘I’m her little boy,’ he said. ‘To this mama here. I was just staying with that other family till she founded me. They was just taking care of me for her.’

  ‘Listen Toby, I think you’ve got something awfully mixed up.’

  ‘And for another thing,’ he said and smiled disarmingly. ‘I ain’t Toby no more. Not really. My name is Klaus. They just called me Toby at my other family, but that ain’t really my name. I’m her little lost boy. When I was a baby, see, the bad people, they takeded me away from her. And they gave me to my other folks. But real honest truly, my name is Klaus.’

  He was so unclean. His hair stood out in all directions like the hair on a too-often-played-with doll. His face was smudgy with food stains. The windbreaker he wore was far too large, and underneath was a ratty-looking T-shirt. He smelled as if he had wet his bed and the sheets hadn’t been changed afterwards. Of all the kids my mother could have chosen, why had she picked one like this?

  ‘Look, Toby—’

  ‘It’s Klaus! How many times I got to keep telling you?’

  ‘Whoever you are, look, you’re going to have to leave now. You understand? No one’s here but me, and I want you to go.’

  His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he regarded the dandelions. Lifting them up, he inspected each flower carefully and then held them higher. ‘You want to see if you like butter?’ he asked engagingly.

  ‘No!’ I replied. ‘I just want you to go. Mama isn’t here now.’

  ‘I want to wait for her.’

  ‘No! You have to go. You can’t stay here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because ain’t no reason.’

  I glared at him.

  ‘But when’s she going to come get me, huh? I been waiting. I been waiting all day for her.’

  ‘Toby, you have to go. Right now. This minute.’

  ‘I told you. My name is Klaus. How come you can’t remember that?’

  ‘Just leave!’ I cried. Putting my hand against his back, I shoved him physically toward the door.

  ‘But when’s she gonna come for me?’ he asked, his voice trailing off into a whine of protest.

  One hand still on his back, with the other I opened the screen door. ‘I don’t know. It won’t be today. You hear me? So just go home. Right this minute.’ And I pushed him outside, closed the door sharply and locked it. He stood a moment in the sunshine.

  ‘Tell her I comed to see her,’ he said, his eyes narrowing in the brightness. ‘You tell her her little lost boy was here.’ It sounded like a threat.

  I was shaking. I went around the house and locked all the doors and windows and pulled the curtains. Not daring to look out for fear he might still be there, I sat down on the couch and wrapped the afghan around me. Still unnerved, I shook so badly that my hands could hardly grip it.

  Shortly, my mother returned. She came up to the front door and tried it, expecting it to be unlocked. When it did not open, she tried it a second time, harder. I heard her mutter something under her breath in German. Keys jingled and the door opened. Smiling at me, she breezed past with an armload of groceries.

  I stayed in the darkened living room a moment longer. My mouth still hurt. The novocaine was half in and half out, making my jaw feel unpleasantly peculiar.

  Mama buzzed by to get a second bag of groceries off the front door step. ‘You’re home early,’ she said to me as she headed back for the kitchen.

  ‘I had a dentist’s appointment, remember? I decided not to go back to school afterward.’ She had already disappeared around the corner.

  Forlornly, I rose and followed her. ‘Mama, that little kid was here.’

  She was putting groceries away, and whether she did not hear me or whether she was simply ignoring me, I couldn’t tell.

  ‘Mama, please stop what you’re doing a moment, would you?’ I took hold of her arm. ‘Listen. That little boy was here. That little Toby Waterman.’

  She looked at me.

  ‘What have you been telling him, Mama? He came here all full of tales about being Klaus.’

  Mama moved away from me, went over to the table and took more groceries from the sack.

  ‘Mama, you can’t be telling him stuff like that. It isn’t right.’

  She emptied a plastic bag full of apples into the colander, put it in the sink and turned on the water. Turned the water off and shook the colander. Dumped the apples into the fruit bowl.

  ‘Mama, do you hear me?’

  My mother took a thick paperback book from one of the bags. She paused a momen
t to page through it. Then she held it up. ‘I’ve been wanting to read this,’ she said. ‘It’s supposed to be very good. Mrs Reilly, you see, she read part of it in Family Circle and she told me about it.’

  ‘Mama, we’re not talking about books.’

  My mother remained absorbed in the pages of the paperback.

  ‘Please, Mama, put that down. Please? Now listen to me. You can’t go around telling Toby Waterman things like you’ve been doing. He’s just a little kid. How old is he? Six, maybe? Not even that, I bet.’

  Mama set the book down and turned away toward the table.

  ‘I know you’ve been going out there, Mama. I know you and he have been having a lot of fun together lately. And I know it’s making you happy. I’m glad about that. But you can’t go telling him things that aren’t true. He’s too little. He doesn’t know not to believe them.’

  ‘But they are true,’ she said softly, not looking at me. She pulled a chair over and climbed up to put away a package of spaghetti in the top cupboard.

  ‘Mama. Don’t say that. They aren’t true. You know as well as I do. Don’t go trying to convince yourself they are.’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘I know you wish they were true. I can understand that. But it doesn’t make them true.’

  She got down from the chair and returned it to the table.

  ‘Fun’s fun, Mama, but this is going past it. This isn’t fun any more. To be honest, I’m getting sort of scared by it.’

  No response.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’

  A can of pork and beans in each hand, she stopped stock still in the middle of the floor and looked at me. ‘Can’t you see that’s him?’ she asked me. Her voice was faint. ‘Can’t you see that’s Klaus? He’s my son. I’m going to recognize my own son. He’s my own flesh and blood.’

  ‘Mama,’ I wailed. ‘Oh cripes, Mama. Oh God. You don’t think that, do you? Not for real? Mama, that was forty years ago. That was in Germany in the war. This little boy couldn’t be Klaus.’