“Lenny! Give that here,” demanded Nell, because Lenny still held tight to the rag. He felt slow and clumsy. Not like Nell, who looked steady and calm. She even seemed unaware of Dad right behind her, his nails digging into Mom’s arm. Did she realize Dad was on a mean one? How could she not notice the loose cuffs of his shirt, or the dirt caked on his shoes, or his smell? Lenny tossed the rag into Nell’s hand. Maybe he was overreacting. But there was glass everywhere, by the icebox, by the door, and blood and grape soda and who would take care of cleaning this up? Lenny pushed Sally into the living room, away from the mess, and opened the hall closet to get the broom. Before he could get it there was Nell, already grabbing it, so there was nothing for Lenny to do but watch as his mother eased herself into a chair and Nell started to sweep.
“Where’d you go, Dad?” Lenny asked. He wanted to distract him so he’d let go of Mom’s arm. It worked. Dad groaned as he scraped a chair back and sat down heavily.
“Had some business. Unexpected stuff. You understand.”
“You kids get back to bed,” Mom said, holding the rag to her foot. There was a perfect circle of red where the blood had soaked through.
“Need a Band-Aid, Mommy?” Sally asked, her voice wavering tearfully.
“Thanks honey, but we don’t have any. I’ll be fine.”
“Are we going to eat?” she asked, pointing to the cutlets.
“We had our supper,” Mom said.
“Mayonnaise sandwiches. Yuck. I’m still hungry.”
“Fry up this chicken then,” said Dad, throwing the butcher’s package on the table. “We may as well eat again. It’s Lenny’s birthday, after all.”
“Tomorrow,” Lenny said, but no one listened.
Mom’s eyes were narrow and mean. “I’m not cooking.”
Lenny held his breath but Dad only sighed and rubbed his face. Maybe it wasn’t a mean drunk, after all. Dad just seemed tired.
“Cook the chicken,” he said. Reasonable-like.
“I could eat a decent supper,” Lenny said quickly. It didn’t feel right, expecting Mom to cook with her foot hurt, but she must know that he was asking for her, for all of them. If Dad was in a mean mood, the best thing was to act as normal as possible.
“I’m going to bed.” Mom started to get up.
“Yeah. It’s bedtime, not suppertime,” Nell said.
But they could pretend. “Hey, we could find some candles,” Lenny said. “Make like a midnight birthday celebration.”
“You better put something over that window,” Mom said, standing.
“Sit down,” Dad said, still friendly sounding.
Mom walked out.
“Prudy, get back here!” Dad yelled, his face reddening. “And cook the goddamn chicken!”
“Cook it yourself!”
“Prudy! Get the fuck in here!”
Mom reappeared. “Watch your mouth,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You come tooling up with those expensive shoes and act like we should all be happy to see you. You’re nothing but an overgrown child, and I’ve got enough children to take care of.”
Dad shoved the chicken on the floor. “I paid good money for this! I put this roof over your heads, and if I want a pair of new shoes, which, by the way, were on sale, and which I need for my profession, then…”
“Oh, save it.” She disappeared down the hall. Dad jumped to his feet and went after her. They heard the bedroom door slam.
“You dumb head,” Lenny said to Nell.
“Shut up and help me.” Nell dropped to her knees and started wiping up the blood.
The sight of it made Lenny sick. “I’ll put Sally in bed,” he said.
“There’s lots of it,” Sally said, staring. Lenny had to take her hand and pull her down the hall. They passed their parents’ closed door and Lenny heard the sound of drawers being slammed.
“You’re not afraid of blood, are you?” he asked.
“Are you?” Sally said.
“Naw. It’s messy, that’s all.” He put her in bed and threw her baby quilt over her, the one with silly looking cows all over it. Snoring, sleepy cows with long curling eyelashes and the words dream a little dream.
“I don’t like messy things,” she said.
“Then why are you always playing in the mud?”
“That’s different. That’s brown.”
Lenny nodded as if it made perfect sense. “Go to sleep.”
She shook her head. “Too loud.”
He went to his room and grabbed his transistor radio. He hated to wear down the batteries, but he brought it to Sally’s room and laid it on her pillow. She grabbed it earnestly and put it to her ear.
Lenny went back to his room and picked up his Slugger. He sat on his bed listening. He could hear Dad’s voice. Something something don’t you something if you ever. Then his mom, loud. Stay. Away. From. Me. There was a flurry of noise and a snarling, achy cry, like a cat being thrown against a wall. Lenny stood up. Why didn’t Dad stop? Mom was already hurt. That blood, and the way it shot out of her foot. He’d never seen that before. She’d probably have to have a tetanus shot. Or was that only when you stepped on a nail? What if her foot got full of gangrene and had to be amputated? Then she’d be in a wheelchair and Lenny would spend the rest of his life pushing her around. He’d have to, since all this was his fault. He should have said something, anything, to make Dad go away. Make him go sleep it off, just like Mom said. Except Lenny didn’t want him to go away.
He went to the doorway. Nell was standing in the hall, the broom in her hand. They looked at each other.
“It’s her own fault,” Lenny whispered. He didn’t mean it. Mom did her best to provide for them, working 10 hours a day at the factory, taking in laundry from the rich folks who lived on Lake Macatawa, plus showing up at church for every single service, singing “I’ve Got a Mansion Just Over the Hilltop” in her clear, unfaltering way. All this, while Lenny tormented his sisters, threw spitballs at girls in school, never knew his Bible verses, and even stole bubble gum from the downtown Woolworth’s. If anyone deserved punishment, it was Lenny. Come on, hit me! he wanted to yell at his father. But Dad never hit them, only Mom.
“What are we going to do?” Nell asked. It scared him, hearing that. She was always the one taking charge.
“He’ll probably pass out soon,” Lenny said.
Then they heard it. A sickening thud, like a body hitting a wall. The bed creaking. A muffled cry. Help. Mom calling for help.
“Do something!” Nell said. “Make him stop!”
“You do something!”
“No, you. He likes you.”
Lenny felt a rush of pleasure. Dad liked him. So couldn’t Lenny just open the door, hey Dad, what’s up? Couldn’t he say something a man might say, like we got ourselves a big day tomorrow, breaking in the new bat and all. How about getting some sleep?
He still had his bat in his hand. He could carry it in, just to show Dad, just to remind him of their plans tomorrow. And if Dad didn’t listen, if he didn’t stop whatever it was he was doing, then Lenny would have the bat to....well, to what?
“Hurry!” Nell cried.
Lenny lifted the bat. It was heavy, unbelievably heavy. He stepped toward the closed door, tripping over the leg of his pajamas. He hiked them with one hand, and reached for the knob. Nell cowered behind him as he eased open the door. There was Dad, on his knees on the bed, his pants unbuckled. He had one hand on Mom’s throat. She was thrashing, kicking at him. Dad’s hand was raised. There was a bottle of vodka on the dresser.
“Stop, Dad,” Lenny croaked.
Dad turned. His hair, always so neatly slicked back, was flopping over his eyes. “Get out!” he said.
“Lenny,” Mom whispered. Her head was smashed sideways into the pillow. She looked at him with one eye. “Put the bat down.”
“Why’d you have to mention the shoes?” Lenny asked.
“Put the bat down.”
Lenny looked at the bat. He had it in
both hands. A good strong grip. Mom thought he was going to use it. Why else would she tell him to put it down? He stepped forward, trying not to notice his dad’s unzipped trousers, the contorted legs of his mom, or the way her dress was bunched up, binding her arms like a straightjacket. Dad’s hand came down across his mom’s face.
“Shut up!” Dad leaned over, grabbed the table lamp and flung it against the wall above the bed.
Nell screamed and Mom let out a long wail as pieces of the lamp fell down around her.
“Look what you made me do! You think I like this?” He pushed on Mom’s throat. “Huh? Do you? You think I want my kids seeing this?”
Nell was sobbing, “Stop! Please stop!”
She pushed Lenny hard and he raised the bat. He had to do something. Mom couldn’t breath. He started to cry, and then he swung. It was more like a practice swing than a bases loaded, full count kind of swing. It was more of a poke. The bat landed in the soft part of his father’s side, just between the ribs and the hip, so there was not the crack Lenny feared. It sounded quiet, dull.
His dad fell sideways off the bed, landing on his rear end on the floor. He looked up, surprised. Mom scrambled off the bed.
“Jesus Christ!” Dad stared at Lenny, dazed. “You’ve been practicing your swing. I didn’t mean on me.”
“Why are you doing that?” Lenny asked. He tensed, ready to run if Dad came after him, but Dad only struggled to his hands and knees. He seemed unable to go any farther.
“Who asked you two to barge in here?” Dad said, breathing hard. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
Mom stumbled to the door, crying. “I’m calling the police,” she said.
Dad was trying to unwind his pants from around his ankles. “Look, I got a little carried away.”
“Nell, call 911. Hurry!” Mom pulled at her dress and her hair. There was blood in the corner of her mouth. She made a quick lunge for Lenny like she was snatching him back from the edge of a cliff. He felt her shaking as she pressed him against her.
“Get out, Richard” she said, sobbing. “We don’t want to see you again, ever.”
Dad made an annoyed sound.
“If I leave now I’m never coming back. I’m fed up with this shit. How much is a man expected to take?”
Mom was squeezing Lenny’s neck. It hurt. “They’ll put you in jail,” she cried. “I swear.”
Dad laughed. “What do you say, Lenny? Think you can stand living here all alone with these hysterical women?”
Mom wiped her hand across her mouth. “He’s survived so far. No thanks to you.”
“Well?” Dad stared at him.
Lenny could go with Dad. They could ride the highways together. They could stay away from girls and there’d be no trouble. There’d be no Nell. No Sally. No Mom.
“Guess you’d better leave,” Lenny said finally. For now. Not forever.
“What’d you say?”
Lenny didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the floor so the only thing he could see was Dad’s stocking feet. Where were the brand new shoes Dad was so proud of? Was he sober enough to put them up after a quick polish, or did he toss them off his feet, one behind the bed, the other in the hamper?
“Gimme back the Slugger then,” Dad said. He held out his hand. Lenny hugged the bat.
“Don’t torture the boy,” Mom said. “Just get out.”
“You’re right. I’m no Indian giver.” Dad leaned down so his face was level with Lenny’s. Lenny saw how his head bobbed, up and down, up and down. Lenny could tap him once and down he’d come.
“You enjoy that bat son. Too bad I won’t be here to have a game with you.”
Nell rushed into the room. “I called. Police are coming.”
Dad threw up his hands. “Great! Respectable salesman gets thrown out of his house after a long stint on the road. That’s rich.”
He stumbled past them in his stocking feet, wearing his T-shirt and wrinkled trousers. He stopped in front of Nell and held out his hand. She hesitated before taking it.
“Have a nice life, young lady,” he said, as he pumped her hand once hard. He grabbed the suitcase that sat unopened by the bedroom door, and bumped his way through the kitchen.
“I know when I’m not wanted,” they heard him mutter. “Sweet dreams, loved ones!”
The door slammed.
“Bye Dad,” Lenny said, but Mom was hugging his head and his words were mushed into her stomach.
They listened, not moving, as the car revved up and peeled out.
“It’s okay,” Mom said, over and over. She pulled a housecoat over her dress and went to wait by the front door. When the officer arrived, she sent him away. Next, she pulled some tools out of the junk drawer and unscrewed a seat from one of the kitchen chairs. She hammered nails through the screw holes in the seat into the wood around the window, covering the hole where the window had been. It didn’t cover it completely, but enough to keep a hand from reaching in.
Lenny and Nell stood watching her. They looked at each other once but it was no good. It made Lenny go all crumbly. He bit the inside of his cheek and rubbed the warm wood of his bat. The part where Dad first handed him the Slugger kept playing in his head. How could things be so good, and go so bad? How could he get that moment back?
When Mom finished, she disappeared down the hall and came back carrying Sally over her shoulder.
“What’d you wake her up for?” Lenny asked.
“Come here,” Mom said. She turned on the living room light and sat on the sofa, gathering all of them to her.
“You kids are all I’ve got.”
And there they sat, waiting. For what, Lenny couldn’t say.
He tried to tell himself that he’d saved his mom. But all he could think of was the way Nell had acted when the glass went into Mom’s foot. Why should she be able to move so fast, when he barely had time to take a breath? Barely had time to stop noticing how Mom’s blood flung itself across the kitchen onto the potato bin—how could blood travel so far?—and here was Nell, already mopping it up. But he’d done something she couldn’t. How would she like to swing a bat and hit another person? How would she like to stand up to Dad? Or live knowing she was the one who made him leave? Dad had asked if Lenny could stand living here with all these girls. What could he stand? He could stand on his head. He could stand a boiled egg on end. He could even stand a raw egg on end with a little salt. He could stand up for Jesus, the way he was taught in Sunday School. Could he stand living all alone? Or live standing on a stone? He nearly giggled like a girl. They were rubbing off on him already.
He could see the clock and when midnight came he was still awake. This was the real nightmare, this sitting. And knowing. Come back Dad! He felt like crying, but he’d already had his one good cry, so he was done. He was eight years old now. The man of the house.
It was a warm spring afternoon near the end of Lenny’s senior year. Lenny was walking home swinging his Slugger, feeling mighty fine after a 9-2 win over the Reese Puffer Spartans. It was fucking hi-larious the way their third baseman thought he could read Lenny’s windups. The sucker squared up for a line drive and Lenny dropped in the slider to win the game. Ding dong. And that was in addition to the triple he scored.
He sure wished people would call him Slugger. What’d a person have to do to get a nickname around here? He was just too talented, that was the problem. If all he did was hit in the runs, then he’d be Slugger. But he was the best pitcher the Holland High Flying Dutchmen had seen in years, too. Not a bad problem to have, considering. He was smiling over this when he ran into a girl from school named Rhoda Raymond. She was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, her dirty bare legs blocking Lenny’s path.
“Can you stop a minute Lenny?” Rhoda mumbled. She didn’t look up.
“You talking to me?” Rhoda was three years younger than him, the same age as his little sister Sally. He barely knew her.
“‘Course I’m talking to you. You see anyone el
se around?”
She was bold. Didn’t she know? He was the pitcher of the varsity team. And who was she? Nobody.
“What do you want?”
“Sit down here a minute.”
“I’m in my uniform, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m on the baseball team.”
“It’s already dirty, so what’s the big deal?”
“I’m not sitting on the sidewalk! Stand up if you have something to say.”
Rhoda got to her feet so laboriously Lenny was sorry he’d asked.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, pushing her long brown bangs out of her eyes.
“What would that be?” he asked cautiously. God, she’s got a crush on me. Of course he’d attract some slow-witted oddball like Rhoda. Why couldn’t it be one of the pom-pom girls stopping him in the street? He always thought he might snag himself a cheerleader if they had a squad for the baseball team. Why did the football jocks get all the fun?
“I saw your daddy,” Rhoda said.
It took a second to register. Your daddy. Those were words that didn’t come his way too often. Besides, only a baby talked like that.
“What do you mean?”
“Your daddy was at my house.”
Lenny shook his head. “My dad doesn’t live around here,” he said. But he had no idea where his dad lived. What if after all these years it turned out he was here all along? What if he watched Lenny play ball? What if he was there today, at the game? Wouldn’t he be impressed! Lenny felt a rush of excitement before he remembered. Oh right. This is real life. Not la-la land.
“Maybe he was visiting,” Rhoda said.
“Visiting who? Your mother?” The hair on Lenny’s neck pricked up. Rhoda’s mother was a loose woman. Everyone said so. She and Rhoda lived alone in a shack next to the blueberry fields. She was known to go with the Mexican migrant workers who came to pick the berries. Surely his dad couldn’t sink that low.
Lenny’s dad had always been a salesman. Maybe he happened by Rhoda’s house trying to sell a set of steak knives, or encyclopedias, or a vacuum cleaner, or television set. The possibilities were endless. But what kind of salesman would bother stopping at those shit hole shacks out there?
Hello Loved Ones Page 4