Rubies from Burma

by Anne Lovett

  The smile faded. I said I was sorry. I sent flowers. I tried to see you.

  I don’t forgive you, I said.

  He dropped to his knees. Please?

  I flushed. Get up before somebody sees you, stupid.

  He didn’t get up.

  Okay, okay, I said, but crossed my fingers. You are forgiven.

  He got to his feet and dusted off his jeans. Walk you to class.

  I’ve got to talk to Lindy.

  Well, I’ll be damned. You don’t know?

  Know what?

  She broke her collarbone falling off that fool horse. She’s home today.

  She didn’t call me?

  It just happened yesterday afternoon. I only know because her momma called mine.

  Thanks, Starrett, I said, and turned to head back to my car.

  Where are you going? Aren’t you coming to school?

  I’ve got to talk to her.

  Wait, wait, he called, but I was already in my car and peeling out of the parking lot.

  I called Lindy from a pay phone next to the Shell station downtown. I wanted to say good-bye, I said. I explained what had happened. She said she was okay but the doctor thought she ought to rest for a couple of days, not carry any books.

  She was always the voice of reason for me. You just can’t go off like that, she said. You need a definite plan, or they’ll catch you for sure. Maybe even send you to reform school.

  I snorted. They can’t do that.

  You want to bet? she said. Juvenile delinquent, they’ll call you. Runaway. Did you take any money? They’ll get you for stealing.

  I’ve got my own money, I said. In the bank. I’m going to draw it out.

  Be sure to act cool.

  I bit my lip. Would they call Duke?

  Not if you act like you’re supposed to be there. Come out here, said Lindy. Momma’s got a dentist appointment in town about eleven. I’ll help you. I’ve got maps and everything.

  I don’t know, I said. They might see me on the road.

  You can’t just take off without a plan, she said. You need money, gas, extra food, a first aid kit, and a map.

  Okay, I said. I can do that.

  I went to the bank and cleaned out my savings account, and nobody batted an eye. I went to the service station and got the car filled up and they gave me a free map. Then I walked over to Dr. Weir’s drugstore to buy a Coke and some cheese crackers and peanuts and a first aid kit. The old pharmacist was still in back, with even less hair. I sat on a stool and asked for a Coke in a bottle to go. The freckled blond woman didn’t know me.

  What are you doing out of school? she said.

  Dentist appointment, I said. I’m early.

  He’ll tell you to lay off the Cokes, she laughed, pushing the drink toward me. I was just preparing to pay her when a black truck pulled up outside.

  Duke. There was no way out. Had Lindy called and told him?

  He got out of the truck, closed the door, and walked up to the drugstore.

  Wait, I want a magazine, I told the girl and walked over to the magazine section where I hid.

  He opened the glass door and came in. I watched him walk to the back of the store. Mornin’, Doc, he said, and handed over a prescription. I thought I could sneak out without him seeing me. But damn. I had to pay. I went up to the register, dollars in hand, paid quickly, said keep the change, and was pushing the front door when I heard him behind me.

  Let me get that for you, Mae Lee, he said calmly, and pushed it all the way open. Our eyes locked, and my heart sank way past my knees.

  Come on, he said, indicating the truck. I saw your car.

  Trembling and with a huge lump in my throat, I climbed into the passenger seat. He didn’t say anything, but drove down to the empty lot of the drive-in by the river where Jack Austin and I had eaten barbecue and listened to Frank Sinatra. He looked into my eyes, daring me to lie to him. What’s this all about? You change your mind about school?

  I shook my head.

  I’m sorry about last night, Mae Lee. It’ll never happen again.

  Then the tears came. Between sobs, I said, I’m leaving, Duke. I can’t stay in the same house with Ava. And with you, I silently said.

  You have nowhere to go. I’ll look after you.

  I don’t want your pity, I said. And it’s the dream. You can’t sell the farm. That was part of your dream.

  Sometimes you wake up, punkin.

  I think I’m just now beginning to dream, I said. I’m not going back, even if I have to jump out of this truck.

  He shook his head slowly. Then I’ll just have to stop the truck and scrape you up off the pavement.

  Let me go to Lindy’s for just a little while. A day or two. Maybe I can go stay with Mimi. Please?

  He considered this for a few minutes. Let me see a couple of folks first, he said. And I’m going to drive you to Lindy’s, if that’s where you want to go. You’re not having that car until we work this out. Hand over the keys.

  I pulled them out of my pocket.

  I’ll arrange to get the car to the farm, he said. Then he drove to his father’s office at the plant. I waited with the secretary, reading magazines, while he talked to his father behind closed doors. He told me I could use the secretary’s phone to call Lindy, and so I did. When he came out he gave me a wink and a nod, and I followed him out.

  We started back home, though it had never really been home to me. He looked straight ahead and I gazed out the window, feeling like a prisoner on the way to jail, although Lindy’s house was nice and her mom brought orange juice to her in bed every morning.

  The miles melted away, and we were driving by the familiar fields of Sweetbay. Cows huddled at one end of a pasture near a bubbling artesian well under a stand of pin oaks. Gazing at the cows, I was stopped short by a flash of yellow against the green, half-hidden beyond the stand of trees. It looked very much like the tail of an airplane. I gasped.

  What?

  Over there, I said.

  Duke slowed and looked and then he drove on down about a hundred yards, turned into a dirt road, unlatched a gate, and we bounced over the ruts until we reached the cows. We got out and before we’d walked very far we saw the plane in all its yellow glory.

  Austin’s plane, he said. He walked over to it and all around and then he looked into the distance and saw Sweetbay house on the rise. Then it was just as if wheels were clicking into place on a slot machine. He raced back to the truck and I hurried after him, stumbling through the uneven grass. He gunned the engine, and the truck jostled and rumbled back to the paved road. Duke didn’t stop to latch the gate. The cows! I shouted.

  Damn the cows! We were speeding down the tree-lined road that led to Sweetbay.

  I turned cold all over. He swung into the circle and screeched to a stop. Stay here, he commanded. He ran in.

  I was trembling. Shivering. I waited. And then I heard a scream, long and piercing.

  I leaped out of the truck, chest hurting with the effort to breathe. I ran inside to a chaos of shouts and screams. When I reached the bedroom Duke held the bayonet, and Jack, wearing only a pair of jeans, gashed arm pouring blood, was trying to wrestle it from him.

  I froze, horrified. What could I do? I looked from one to the other and screamed, Duke! Stop!

  Ava, naked, was scrambling madly for her clothes, whimpering. She scooped up a pair of lace panties and tugged them on, never taking her wide eyes off Duke. Now he bent Jack’s arm back, forcing the bayonet toward Jack’s neck. Suddenly Ava leapt from the bed onto Duke’s back, clawing and scratching. He let Jack go and whirled toward Ava with the jungle in his golden eyes.

  I ran up and grabbed Jack’s arm. Do something! I screamed at him. He’s going to kill her!

  Jack shook me off like a mosquito. Then he grabbed his shoes and ran out the door.

  I wanted to follow him, tell him he had to help, but he was going pell-mell. How could he just run off like that! How dumb I had been, how childish to
fall for him! He was gone and it was up to me now. No more death. No more. I was shaking and there was a huge lump in my throat. I had to save them. They were my family.

  Duke and Ava struggled. The bayonet, sharp and bloody, danced in my sight. My scar throbbed. I took a deep breath and knew what I had to do. His mind had turned Ava into the enemy he had to kill, and I had to make him see where he really was. I made my voice soft and advanced toward them in a dreamlike state. It wasn’t me doing this.

  Duke, Duke, put it down, I said.

  He looked then, from Ava to me, eyes blank, not really seeing me.

  It’s me, Mae Lee, I said. He looked confused, glanced at his weapon, then back to me, trying to make out where he was, who I was. Get out, Ava, I said under my breath, without taking my gaze from his. Get out quick.

  Li-wei? said Duke. His tongue was thick, a drunkard’s tongue.

  Yes, I said softly. I’m Li-wei, Captain. Come and talk to my grandfather. He will tell you not to kill. Still Ava did not move, her hands frozen on his, the bayonet inches from her pale throat. Twist around! I shouted to her. Duck and run! I picked up the shirt off the floor and flung it at her. Duke, surprised, relaxed his grip.

  Cover up and go, dammit! I screamed. She scrambled for the shirt and made for the door.

  He lunged after her, then, lunged with the bayonet, and I saw a thin stripe of blood where the point raked her perfect pale back.

  She screamed again, then, and raced outside, right through the front door that Jack had left hanging open. Duke was hard on her heels. She grabbed for the car door, but he stayed her hand. She broke loose and raced around the car, then when she saw she couldn’t get in, she ran across the driveway to a hogwire fence and scrambled over. She raced across the hard-packed field of waving weeds toward the plane, its propellers already turning, its motor sputtering.

  Duke shook his head then, and his mind must have cleared somewhat. Ava! yelled Duke, staring pitifully after her. Ava!

  Captain! Captain Radford! I yelled, and then, when he didn’t move, I walked up to him, my hand outstretched.

  Cyrus must have heard the commotion, for he came running up. Cap’n! he called out. Cap’n! Duke turned back toward us, gave a long, anguished yell, dropped the bayonet, and sank to the ground. The bayonet lay at my feet, and there were drops of blood in the dust.

  Almost like a ghost, Elzuma appeared behind me. Using a rag from her pocket, she picked up the bayonet and gave it to me. Wash this, honey, and put it away. She led Duke inside and, speaking very softly, made him change his clothes, as though he were still a small boy. Her steadiness calmed me and I was able to help her clean up the spots of Ava’s and Jack’s blood, change the sheets, and tidy the room.

  I washed the bayonet. I remembered how I had sliced the air, thinking of Ava. I laid the bayonet back in the trunk and this time, locked the lid.

  Now you call Mr. D.B. Radford, Elzuma said to me.

  Clutching the red and crystal rosary for dear life, I did.

  Duke’s father arrived in twenty minutes and took charge of the situation, even getting a doctor out there right away. The doctor said Duke’s battle fatigue had been triggered by the shock of Ava’s desertion.

  Duke was sent to a private mental hospital—the same one where Celia Pritchard had been sent so many years before.

  I went to live with my grandmother Mimi and Mr. Linley in South Georgia, at the peanut farm where she was looking after him.

  It was hot and dry there, and the dusty air smelled of feed and hay, fertilizer and bug spray. One movie theater and one soda shop entertained the kids in the sleepy town nearby where I finished high school, but there was also a junior college, and the train to Florida hooted its way through every night at 11:00. It reminded me that I would someday leave.

  Mimi kept me busy with chores, and I was glad. Carrying chicken feed and gathering eggs, watching the barn cats, folding the laundry, and going to town on errands kept my mind from dwelling on everything I’d lost.

  At school, the other students were curious about “the new girl” but didn’t go out of their way to include me in their cliques, and that was fine with me. I didn’t want them asking too many questions about why I was there. If anyone did ask, I just said that my parents had died; I said nothing about having a treacherous sister who had flown away with her lover boy and left her poor war hero husband who went out of his mind and tried to kill her. No, I would not tell that story to anyone.

  And then there was my scar. I wore my long hair down around my face, but if people saw the scar and asked what had happened, I told them a horse had thrown me into a barbed wire fence. That usually shut them up.

  Back in my room, on the yellow desk that matched the yellow bedroom furniture with blue painted flowers, I lined up pictures of Chap and Momma and Duke, Duke from the wedding picture they’d given me. I’d cut Ava out of it. Gazing at Duke in his “monkey suit,” I wondered if I would ever see him again. Mimi said that people sometimes recover from madness, but not always. I hated to think of him being in that hospital for the rest of his life. I wrote him a long, friendly letter, not knowing if he would be able to answer.

  Duke wrote me two letters. I have them still, tattered and torn from so many readings. In the first letter he said how he missed Ava and he missed me too and he’d soon be coming home to us, as soon as the g.d. war was over. That one broke my heart.

  In the second letter he sounded as though he was getting better. He said he missed me and the farm and Ava. He wrote that his daddy had kept on Cyrus and Elzuma and some of their kinfolks to keep the place running until he could get back to it. He said that he wrote Ava every week but she never answered. That second letter broke my heart again.

  I could see in my mind the letters piling up on the hall table, letters from the mental hospital. One after another. I was afraid that if she never answered, he wouldn’t get better, just like him giving up when he was in the Army.

  I wrote Duke and told him that she wanted to answer but that she thought he wouldn’t forgive her.

  And that is when the deception began.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It all began with a call from old Elzuma.

  She ain’t showed up to your place, is she? Elzuma said.

  Ava’s not ever coming back, I said bitterly. She’s probably in Timbuktu.

  No’m. But it’s these letters.

  Letters? I asked. Was she writing Elzuma?

  They keep comin’ in the mailbox from Mr. Duke, and Mis’ Norma, she say just toss ’em out. I hate not to mind his momma, but I don’t have the heart. What if Mis’ Ava show up at the door one day, and say, where my letters? And him up there in that hospital missing her something powerful? He ain’t going to get well that way, with no word from her.

  Let me call Mis’ Norma, I said. I had always gotten along fine with Duke’s mother, unlike Ava, who felt they wished Duke had married somebody else and so was prickly and defensive around her.

  What do the doctors tell him? I asked Norma Radford. Do they tell him Ava is gone?

  They do not, she said, on the chance she may come back. They said they can deal with that part when they have to. They think it’s good for him to write to her. Mae Lee, he may be there for a long, long time. I want him to have peace of mind. When I go to see him, he is so—she paused, looking for the word—earnest in his belief that she will wait for him. I can’t shatter that. But then she never writes back. He’ll have to face that eventually.

  That’s just it, I said. Would you mind if I wrote him back, pretending to be her?

  Well, why—I never thought of that. Oh, dear.

  Mis’ Norma, Duke needs the will to get well, just as he needed the will to live out there in the jungle.

  Let me think about it. I’ll ask the doctor.

  In the end, they agreed, with reservations. They’d see how it went.

  I sent Elzuma a packet of brown envelopes addressed to me. Once a week she would mail me the letters that had co
me for Ava, and I would send her the letters I had written in Ava’s hand, for her to put in the mailbox for the postman. I knew how Ava wrote, knew all her expressions, and it was not hard to sound like her. I filled the letters, written on creamy paper printed with roses, with tenderness and hearts and Xs and Os, written with her favorite purple ink.

  The hard part was reading all the sweet stuff he wrote to her and knowing it was not for me.

  The pecans cropped out and spring came and tassels formed and made a new crop by fall, and I filled baskets and shelled them and looked after my grandmother and helped around the house and studied and finished high school. I wrote to Lindy and found she had dreams of going to the Olympics as an equestrienne. I entered the junior college there in town and studied history and religion. I was interested in Asia.

  And I wrote letters to Duke. When I sat down at the desk and took up that pen with the purple ink, it was almost as if she was inhabiting my body. I wondered if she was dead and had come back to haunt me.

  We’d left all the rest of her things at the farmhouse, in case she came back. Mis’ Norma said we shouldn’t dispose of them until we knew for sure. The thing was—nobody much wanted her back, except Duke. Myself, I wasn’t sure. She had done all of us dirt, but she was my sister, and after Mimi was gone she would be my last link to my old life. That’s how I thought of it, the old life, when times were good even when they were hard.

  I clung to the night long ago when we sat around the oilcloth-covered table eating chops and cornbread while Chap bragged about the airplane he was building, and Ava talked of letters from her soldier, and Mama’s cheeks flushed with love and pride over one of the poems I had written. I missed writing poems, but they wouldn’t come now that I was inhabiting Ava’s skin.

  I was becoming more like Ava with each letter I wrote. Without knowing why, I found myself at ease with the boys in my classes. My wardrobe became brighter and tighter. My grandmother gave me a pair of red spike heels that hurt her feet. They fit me fine, and I wore them. I was gaining some of Ava’s strength, some of her determination, which I was going to need, as it turned out.