Too, he'd found out listening in on his dad and Uncle Ed, that the reason his dad had been privately tipping a waitress outside of the restaurant was that Maggie had steadfastly refused to have a child, and had even been denying his dad marital relations. To Lee there was plenty of strange irony in the fact that Patty, who had almost torn Maggie and his dad apart, had been the person that brought the family back together. After Maggie's horrendous pregnancy was over and Patty was born, there was never any doubt who was the favorite in the house. And rather than being jealous, Lee really loved his little sister. She'd saved them all.
Recalling all this, Lee suddenly came back to himself. Looking at the statue of the little girl, Lee knew absolutely Maggie would surely have been one of the first to complain that the artist had paid way too much attention to the finer details of the girl's body. The sculptor's talent was such that Lee could easily see the shallow indentation of her breastbone and the faint outlines of her ribs traced under the skin. Though obviously still prepubescent, she was portrayed in an extremely feminine manner. The little, tiny tips of her nipples were so alluringly precise. There was no denying that this was not a boy.
Upon closer inspection, Lee had noticed some little chips had been taken out of the stone. Kneeling down and running his finger across the arcing indentations, he couldn't believe his eyes. It didn't make sense, but there they were. He couldn't get it out of his mind but that they looked exactly like bite marks from human teeth. There was one particularly defined set of indentations, which resembled both the upper and lower jaws, right below the center of the girl's navel, near her pants line, and another set on her left thigh. Checking the boy, he'd noticed his right ear was chipped and the same types of marks were to be found on his head around the edge of the broken ear. He'd come across another bite on the back of his right shoulder by the suspender strap. Lee couldn't for the life of him imagine how such marks could have gotten there.
"Maybe that's why the boy and girl were put so far back in the garden,” he'd thought, teasing himself in an attempt to erase the distasteful feeling seeing the marks had given him. “Maybe they were running away? Or maybe,” he told himself, “there's a gingerbread house hidden back in here somewhere?"
One of the other statues he'd found lurking about the garden was of a full-grown man looking very much like one of the men in the Dutch Masters cigar ads. He had this floppy hat with a big, plumed feather in it, a long, aristocratic nose, and a pointy, well groomed beard. Lee had come across him after working his way around from the south of the spot where the statue of the confused girl in the nightdress was positioned. The bushes and ornamental trees chocked with wisteria had grown in around the man, making him impossible to see from the walkway as it passed the little house running down to the river.
Like the addled-faced girl, this statue wore an odd expression, though entirely recognizable for what it was. The marble man was leering at the young girl. Like a peeping tom he appeared to be positioned so that he was hiding in the bushes. His eyes were wild and his lips almost seemed about to salivate and quiver. Lee could just barely make out the man's white hands ensconced amongst the leaves. Pulling back a branch, he could see the fingers were long and grasping, as though the man was about to reach out to grab at something. Curious to see the whole figure, Lee had spread the thick azalea bushes apart to reveal that the artist had overly endowed the sculpture. At first glance, Lee thought what he saw in the leafy shadows was what was called a codpiece, worn by gentlemen way back in the days when tight breeches had been the fashion. But again, the detail was a bit much. In this case, unlike the shirtless little girl, he doubted Maggie would have protested too much. Maybe it was because he was hidden in the bushes, but even though Lee had looked as best he could, he'd not come across any of the toothy looking chips taken out of this particular sculpture.
His curiosity piqued after seeing the children and the peeper, he had walked back over to the confused looking girl and studied her closely. The front of her was just fine, just the streaks caused by the exposure to the weather, the crusted bird droppings, and a few small patches of mold. But on the side of her neck he'd come across those marks again, a set on the neck just below where the left ear exposed by the artist's rendering of her blowing hair. Walking around, he'd found one more apparent bite, a deep one, low down on the small of her back amid the tops of the cheeks of her derriere.
No matter how Lee had tried to rationalize it, he couldn't escape the fact that what he was seeing were teeth marks. Patty had been a biter when she was little. If she didn't get what she wanted, look out. He'd seen these same marks many times on his own arms and hands. He knew what they were. But that didn't make any sense, the artist surely wouldn't have put such effort into making such finely detailed sculptures and then mar the forms with something so bizarre. One thing he was sure of though, was that none of the marks looked all that old. They were weathered, just like the rest of the stone, obviously not having been made recently, but they weren't as old as the original cutting and polishing. The tour guide at the museum had explained briefly about the patina acquired by stone as it aged. It was just like how some metals rusted, but with stone the process was slower. The exposed marble inside the indentations made by the crowns of the teeth was just slightly enough whiter to notice a difference in the patina. That meant that whenever, or however they happened the original artist had not been the one to put those marks there.
CHAPTER TWO: BLONDIE
The sun was at its worst when he broke for lunch. Lee had retrieved his brown bag with its peanut butter and jelly sandwich, potato chips and dill pickle, from the shade of the porch trellis along with the glass of water Brenda had left for him as she had promised. Not feeling comfortable to eat his lunch in the porch, he ambled over and sat down under the shade of one of the ornamental Bradford Pear trees, which had created a nice, round shadow on the grass. He settled down leaning back against the tree, being extra careful to keep the glass of water Brenda had left for him from spilling by holding it between his knees.
Tearing into the sandwich he chewed hastily, the melty peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth. A big gulp of water fixed that problem real quick. Taking a little time as he chewed, he looked down his legs to his bedraggled tennis shoes clotted with dried dirt. He wouldn't dare wear his new PF Flyers to do this work. To his right, Lee could look around at the garden, appreciating how close he was to the end of the job. He figured he was at the point where he could stretch out the rest of the day with only half loads in the wheelbarrow, as all he was doing now anyway was filling in and patting down soil amongst the scattered rose bushes around the lawn.
Letting his gaze drift left towards the river, he didn't let his eyes linger on the little house, bleaching white out in the sun. Why it looked so odd and disturbing, he couldn't for the life of him figure it out. There was something about it which just wasn't right somehow, like one of those trick perspective drawings where you think you're looking at one thing and then suddenly it changes, leaving you feeling dizzy.
Still, though, he couldn't help glancing inside every time he passed, as afraid not to look as to just pass it by. He'd seen nothing out of the ordinary today, or yesterday for that matter, except of course, for Mrs. Ballard, sitting in there like a stone, dripping sweat and her face turned to watch the door in the back wall. That was really strange, even disturbing, but not out of the ordinary.
"Hey!” a deep voice boomed out. “You don't mind if I join ya?"
Without waiting for an answer, Blondie hunkered down into the remaining shade and set a beaten metal lunch pail down on the faded legs of his overalls.
Lee moved over and stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth, wadding up the plastic wrap and then sticking it down in his bag.
Blondie laughed. “You're a hungry one, ain't ya'?
Lee couldn't talk, only nod, chew and hope the peanut butter wouldn't choke him before he could loosen it up with another drink of water.
; With his thumbs, Blondie flipped open the two front latches side-by-side and opened the lunch box. Inside Lee could see a couple of pieces of fried chicken, an apple, and a big, melty wedge of chocolate cake wrapped in wax paper.
Blondie had already finished off the first drumstick, sucking it clean like a Popsicle, even before Lee could unstick his mouth to swallow the last of his sandwich.
"I seen you before.” He fished out another piece of chicken. “You was with your daddy. Y'all was at one of the football games here a while back.” Blondie spoke as he ate without looking at Lee. “He was that fast white boy who played runnin’ back. They had ya'll come out on the field for the anniversary of the big game."
Lee nodded. The state championship team his dad had played on his senior year in ‘46 had been a big deal around these parts. They'd had a big to-do at the stadium four years ago to commemorate the anniversary of Lenoir's only state championship team. He'd got to go out on the field with his dad and stand with him, and the mayor had shaken his hand, too.
"Been a while though. Last time I seen your daddy was when he was in that big wreck a while back.” Blondie had a peculiar tone, which made him sound like he was both asking a question and a making a statement. “I bet you didn't know that, did ya boy?"
Lee chose the potato chips from his brown bag. He tore open the top and held out the bright, yellow and white bag offering to share with Blondie.
"Thanks, no. I got me plenty,” the big, black man shook his head. Tossing the next stripped chicken bone in the lunch box he produced a cloth napkin and wiped his mouth.
Lee poured out a few chips into one hand then picked out a large unbroken one and relished the salty taste as he slowly sucked the chip trying not to break it while holding it in his mouth.
"Hell of a wreck. I cain't believe no one got killed."
Lee knew exactly what Blondie was referring to. More than a year ago, late at night, on the way home from work, his dad had t-boned a Chrysler Imperial at the intersection of Broad and Main.
Lee had never actually come out and asked, and his dad had never said, but he'd heard that his dad was racing some redneck from Manseville who'd come into town looking for action. He did know though, that his dad had to be cut out of their Chevy. The front of the car was crushed in like an accordion and the hood had folded up like a big letter Z. One reason the man in the Chrysler Imperial was saved was the fact that his huge car was almost double the weight of their Chevy. More importantly though, was that he was so drunk he'd just flopped around during the impact like a rag doll. Unfortunately for Lee's dad, the Imperial's driver was knocked unconscious and was carted off to the hospital and didn't receive a DWI charge or even a ticket, for having caused the accident by running a stop sign. The cops didn't pay so much attention to drunken driving as they did to racing. In this state, racing was about the most illegal thing you could do in a car. The redneck from Manseville who hadn't let Lee's dad get over when the Imperial ran the stop sign had just kept going, leaving Ted to take the blame.
Except for not getting killed, all the bad luck had been on his dad's side, as he had missed more than a month of work while recuperating. And to add insult to the injury, the Imperial's driver hired a lawyer who had forced Ted to take a loan to pay for the repair of his client's car. Finally to cap it off, they now didn't have the money to buy another car of their own, and the family had been on foot or at the mercy of friends and neighbors. Uncle Ed had loaned them his second car for a while, but when his wife had gone back to school for a graduate course, she'd needed the car to get to and from the university. None of this had set very well with Maggie, who didn't seem to have any friends at all despite having lived in Lenoir her entire life.
Lee looked up at Blondie. “Yeah, So?"
He returned Lee's stare for good measure and fished out his last piece of chicken.
"Hell of a wreck. That's all."
All too quickly, Lee's chips were gone, and he was down to sucking on the dill pickle.
Blondie waved his arm towards the flowerbeds scattered around the grounds and the trellis along the house.
"You do all this?"
Lee took a bite and nodded.
"How long'd it take? More than a week, I'd bet? What's she payin’ ya?"
Lee looked up at the big man.
"Okay. Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to get personal. Just wonderin'.” Blondie was done with his chicken and now just wiped his greasy hands on his sweat soaked pants before grabbing the apple. The apple had looked big sitting in the lunch box, but had appeared to shrink considerably once Blondie had it in his huge hand.
"Yer’ doin’ a hell of a job boy. That sour old lady said somethin’ to me once ‘bout this job a while back, and when I told her what I'd want to do it, you'd a thought I'd just stomped on her toe."
This was followed by a massive crunch of the apple.
Lee stuffed the last of his pickle into his mouth.
Still chewing on the apple, Blondie said, “I'm tellin’ ya’ that's a hell of a job for even a grown man. Yer kinda feisty, ain't ya?"
Lee sucked on the pickle and shrugged. He always felt awkward when an adult paid him a compliment.
"I guess you've seen all that junk they got back in that maze Mrs. Ballard calls a garden? You seen that ugly, pink fountain?"
"Yeah,” Lee couldn't help but grin. “I saw it. I turned it on. It peed at me."
Blondie's eyes got wide. “That thing works?"
"Sort of,” Lee replied. “It makes a lot of noise."
"'Bout the ugliest damn thing on the face of the Earth.” Blondie shook his head. “Amazing what white people will spend their money on. Bunch of crap.” He shifted his legs and scooted back in, getting a bit more out of the sun. “You know, I've been workin’ ‘round here for the Ballards a long while. Shit, you know that old lady's ‘bout as crazy as her old man ever was. You ever seen anything like her sittin’ out in that little house yonder? Gotta be sweatin’ like a pig."
Lee and Blondie both looked over at the little house standing white and naked in the sun.
"'Bout beats anything I ever seen,” Blondie added, polishing off the apple.
Lee's water was almost gone, so he was saving it, swishing around the remaining ice to help it melt.
Blondie fished out a Thermos clipped to the top of his lunch box, screwed off the lid, which also served as a cup, and poured out some cold tea with flecks of ice floating around on top.
"Nuthin’ like cold sweet tea on a hot day.” He drained the cup and immediately refilled it. He pointed one of his huge fingers towards the little house.
"You know, I worked on the crew that built the bomb shelter that thing's sittin’ on. You know about that bomb shelter, don't ya’ boy?"
Now here was a subject Lee was interested in.
"You've seen it?"
"Seen it? Boy, I ran the backhoe that dug it. We dug it out ‘til we hit bedrock on the bottom ‘bout fifteen, twenty feet down. There's limestone down there. Did you know that? Stuff runs all over ‘round these parts, caves and seeps and such; like an ant nest all through here. Anyway, we poured four truckloads of cement into the concrete and steel walls. Each one's more'n three feet thick. Come judgment day, God might blow up this whole evil Earth, but one thing I can guarantee ya’ is that that thing'll still be buried right where it is."
Blondie let loose with a wheezing, high tittering laugh. It just didn't sound right coming out of a man of his size.
"I'd sure like to see it some time,” Lee said.
"I'm tellin’ ya they got everything down there, you name it they got it. Old Mr. Ballard was as crazy ‘bout the Russians as he was ‘bout them poor ol’ cherry trees. He was always goin’ on ‘bout the Reds infiltratin’ and the Commies poisonin’ our water and degradin’ our morals. I think he hated them communists worse than he did us coloreds."
Using both hands, Blondie gingerly lifted out his piece of cake and peeled back the wax paper. Quite a bit of the chocolate icing had
come off and was stuck to the paper. Carefully, balancing the cake between his fingers, he lifted the paper to give it a lick. He stopped just short, changed his mind, and held it out to Lee.
Lee smiled, but shook his head.
"Go ahead, boy.” He hung the wax paper out at Lee. “Take it. I know you want it."
"Thanks!” Lee said. Then eagerly but carefully, he took the chocolaty paper, and holding it out flat by two corners he began to clean it off with long swipes of his tongue.
Blondie laughed his queer laugh, then slid the entire piece of cake into his mouth, smacking on the tips of his fingers while closing his lips.
Lee licked the paper clean, doing quiet justice to whoever had made the cake. He stuffed the wax paper into his brown paper bag and finally wadded up the whole thing. For a long, quiet time he and the huge black man with the yellow-white hair sat under the sparse shade of the bush, not saying a thing, just enjoying being out of the sun.
Out of the blue, Lee turned to Blondie and asked, “You ever seen anything strange around here?” He didn't use Blondie's name, as he wasn't sure if he liked people to call him that, and he didn't know any other.
Blondie obviously hadn't been expecting this question.
It took him a moment while he considered, then finally said, “We took a lot of bones and strange stuff out of this ground when we dug the hole for that bomb shelter. I ain't no doctor, but I expect I know a human bone when I see one."
Lee's eyes stuck to Blondie face, trying to divine if he was just kidding around.
"There was other stuff too. Really weird, crazy stuff, like this big ol’ ball of dirty, black hair."
"Hair?” Lee echoed, wrinkling up his nose.
"It was nasty. About this big.” Blondie held out his hands with his fingers spread as if he were holding something about twice as big as a basketball, and real smelly. Dropping his hands he added, “I'd imagine you found some bits of bone and stuff too, since you been workin’ in the old pile of dirt we dug out."
Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House Page 3