The Night Gift

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  That was hardly my problem. I moved a little, surprised that I could do it even with the ice cube. I said wearily, “I haven’t. I wish you would shut up.”

  “Well don’t be so polite,” she grumbled. She kicked her shoes off and started looking for something, opening drawers and slamming them, picking things up and looking under them. She asked finally, “Have you seen my swim goggles?”

  “No. I don’t know. Look under your bed.”

  She went down on her knees. Her voice rose. “Well, what—Who put all this stuff under my bed? Here’s my goggles, and all my overdue library books and that blouse I was looking all over for this morning. Did you—What’d you do that for?”

  “I was trying to find the floor.”

  “Well, Joslyn—” Her voice squealed irritably, and I found myself on my feet before I even realized I moved.

  “Well, God damn it,” I shouted, “how am I supposed to walk in here?”

  Her head came out from under the bed, flushed, surprised. I went out, down the stairs, out the front door. I walked above the flowing, oblivious evening traffic, across the park where kids squealed as they pushed each other down the slide, kept walking until I found myself in front of the deserted house. I didn’t even check to make sure no one could see me. I just went in and closed the door.

  The house was dark, still, musty. I took a big battery-operated lantern of Neil’s we kept by the door and went to the back room. I didn’t turn the light on for a while; I just sat on the floor in the dark. After a while I started to think.

  I tried to figure out, from the time Neil had met Barbara on the mountain, what she had done to make him touch her face like that. She liked him, but she always seemed to be thinking more about Joe than about Neil. Girls were always chasing Neil, but she didn’t even have to touch him; he had reached out for her. It didn’t seem fair. She hadn’t even cared until that day; she had never smiled at him like that before. She knew I liked him, and she would have been happy if he had begun finally to care for me. But he had fallen in love with her instead. It didn’t make sense. I chewed on a knuckle and knew deep in me that I would have done anything—dyed my hair black, memorized my history text—to make him feel that way about me. I couldn’t figure it out. I gave up finally and turned on the lantern.

  Neil’s fish leaped out at me: red, orange, lemon yellow; then Claudia’s flowers with their strange red stems and giant faces. Barbara’s galaxy looked mysterious against the black wall. My banners trailed down from the ceiling, the silver stars and yellow sun glinting in the light. The little tree in the center of the room looked strange surrounded by giant sunflowers and painted fish, and big gold blossoms on the floor. I reached out and felt the dirt under the tree, then added a little water from a can we kept for it. The wind chimes, glass and copper, hung motionless from the ceiling, above my head. The room was awkward but beautiful, half-finished, half-full of the things we had put into it, full in our minds of the things we were still going to do. I drew a deep breath, feeling better. I didn’t feel cheerful; I just felt as if I might live after all, maybe.

  When I got outside, I was surprised at how late it was. The sun had gone down, but it was still fairly light. I knew I would get asked where I had been, but I didn’t care enough to make up a plausible lie. The stars were out by the time I got home. I could see my mother washing dinner dishes through the window. I opened the door, and the TV blared out at me, mixed with the drum of Brian’s stereo.

  Erica asked curiously as I came in, “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out.”

  I went into the kitchen. Mother, mopping up the cupboards, arched a brow at me.

  “Where have you been?”

  I sat down at the table. My tongue stuck suddenly to the roof of my mouth, so I couldn’t answer. I made a face in some spilt sugar with my finger, then realized she was standing over me. Her voice changed suddenly.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I didn’t look at her because if I had looked at her I would have cried and told her, as if she could have done anything about it. I was too big to be hugged, and this hurt more than a scraped knee or a nickname, and all my pride made my tongue stick to the top of my mouth like peanut butter. So I drew a breath, realized thankfully that I wasn‘t going to cry, and said, “Nothing. I just don’t feel too well.”

  My voice sounded distant and thin. She felt my face.

  “You don’t feel feverish. Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have dinner?”

  I shook my head. She opened a cupboard and I said, “I’m not hungry.”

  She closed the cupboard and stood silently looking down at me. Then something horrible happened. Brian came in from the backyard, and Neil was right behind him.

  “Is there any ice cream?” Brian demanded.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still hungry.”

  “I’m a growing boy.” He opened the freezer. Neil smiled cheerfully at me, but his eyes were bright with some thought, and he wasn’t really seeing me at all.

  “Hi, Joslyn.”

  I felt as though a giant hand had got hold of me around my middle and squeezed. I swallowed and whispered, “Hello.” His brows went together; and I knew right then that if he asked me what was wrong, I would either throw the sugar bowl at him or cry. So I got out fast. I went upstairs and tried to read my science book, but it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

  I drifted fuzzily through the next day. I stared blankly for forty minutes at a history test, which demanded to know such irrelevant things as who invented the cotton gin, and what some “cross of gold” speech had been about. In science and math I stared out the window. I cut P.E. and Spanish, which Barbara and I had together; I sat in the library thinking glumly about Neil and wondering who had invented the school system anyway, and how I was supposed to be interested in amoeba and unknown numbers when someone I loved didn’t love me back. I racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done wrong with Neil, what I should have done and didn’t, what I had done and shouldn’t have so that he didn’t care for me; but I got nowhere. I was left with the bare grey fact: he liked Barbara better than me.

  Well, so did I sometimes, but the thought didn’t make me feel any better.

  I went home by myself again that day. I went upstairs and lay down and switched on the radio. Erica came in after a while and dumped her books on her bed. With unusual tact, she didn’t say anything. The phone rang, and when I didn’t move, she went down to answer it.

  She came back up and said, “It’s for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Barbara.”

  I didn’t move for a moment. Then I rolled off the bed, sighing. After all, it wasn’t Barbara’s fault.

  “Joslyn?” Her voice was hesitant. “Are you all right? You left so fast yesterday. I didn’t see you all day today except at homeroom. Are you sick?”

  “No. Yes.” I couldn’t make up my mind for a moment, then I decided I was. “Cramps.”

  “Oh.” She drew a breath; her voice steadied. “Well, where were you during P.E.?”

  “I cut. You know Miss Grovenor, she wouldn’t excuse you from tennis if you were on the thirtieth day of your ninth month.”

  “Why didn’t you wait for us after school? I saw you leave.”

  “I just—didn’t feel good.”

  “Neil could have driven you home; he drove us home.”

  I almost hung up. But it was Barbara, so I drew a calm breath and said, “Oh well. I’m home. I’m just going to rest.”

  “Okay. Joslyn, you should see what I made for Joe’s room—a giant patchwork pillow so he can sit on that if we can’t find a rocking chair.”

  So Neil hadn’t told her about his chair yet. I asked, just to be nasty, “Did he explain about the price of the sea horse?”

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Sort of. We—he—sort of. Yes.”

  I let it go. “Okay. Well, I feel awful and I’m going to go collapse. I’l
l see you later.”

  “Okay. Joslyn—”

  “What?”

  She stuck. “I hope—I hope you feel better soon.”

  I went upstairs again. But I had barely gotten settled when the doorbell rang. Erica, who was downstairs, answered it. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and for one brief, desperate moment I prayed for it to be Neil. But it was Claudia.

  She sat down on Erica’s bed and said, “Are you sick? You didn’t come home with us yesterday or today. Are you mad about something?”

  I chewed on a corner of my pillow case a moment. “No. I’m not mad. I just felt like exploding, and I didn’t want to do it in front of Barbara or Neil, so I thought I’d keep out of their way.”

  “Oh.” She took it with outrageous calm. “That’s a good idea. I thought it might be something serious.”

  “This is serious. I wish I weren’t human—I wish I could walk out of my skin—”

  “Well, Joslyn,” she said comfortingly, “you’ll find someone else.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. No one. Ever.”

  A faraway look came into her eyes. “It’s like Arthur and Launcelot only backwards, and you aren’t married. You aren’t mad at Barbara, are you? That would be terrible.”

  “I’m not mad at anybody. I’m just totally—uncomfortable.”

  She nodded. “That’s the way I feel all the time at school. But I’m used to it. I’m glad you’re not angry. You’re all my best friends, and I couldn’t stand it if you were. How did you do on that history test today? Wasn’t it easy?”

  For a moment I couldn’t even remember it. Then I said, “Oh. I flunked it.”

  She stared at me in horror. “Joslyn—”

  “Well, I couldn’t concentrate! How can I concentrate on McCormick reapers and carpetbaggers at a time like this?”

  “Yes, but that was a midterm! You can’t just flunk midterms!”

  “Why not? What earthly use is knowing who invented the McCormick reaper to me? I don’t even know what a reaper is.”

  “It’s a harvest machine,” she said mechanically. “It reaped—You know, harvested. As you sow, so shall you reap. You shouldn’t have flunked that test, Joslyn. It’s a third of your grade.”

  “I don’t care!” I stopped because I was shouting at her, I turned over on my stomach and put the pillow over my head. I said in the dark, “I’m trying to be reasonable. I’m trying to be understanding. I’m trying not to blame anybody, or be angry, because it’s no one’s fault. But it takes all my effort and concentration to do it, and I simply haven’t got any left over for passing history midterms.”

  I heard her sigh. She said in a small voice, “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “I know, but I have to watch.”

  We were silent a little, then I came out from under my pillow. Surprisingly, I felt a little better. I said, “Well, I’ll study hard for the final.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Okay.” I sat up, brushing at my hair. She was frowning at me anxiously, so I added, “I’m all right now. I’m human again.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. I was going over to the house tonight. My mother had an old glass oil lamp in the garage that her grandmother gave her. It’s pretty, especially with colored oil in it. She said I could borrow it. Is there anything you want me to take over?”

  “Oh. I have some candles that have been around for ages. I’ll go with you.” I knew she didn’t like sneaking in and out of the house alone. She cheered up.

  “Okay. Shall I meet you there?”

  “Can’t you stay for supper?”

  Her face went stiff under her smile, and I knew what she was thinking: Erica, our father, Brian and his stray friends—they would look at her, talk to her, and she would be expected to talk back with her unwieldy, hollow voice.

  She said nervously, “My mother is expecting me—”

  “Call her. Please stay. It felt good talking to you.”

  She eyed me, surprised. Her shoulders went back, and she swallowed.

  “Okay.”

  She was fine when we went down for supper. She talked to Mom a little while I shredded lettuce for a salad. She clammed up when Erica came in, but Erica was so busy talking herself that nobody noticed. My dad came home, and Claudia looked uneasy; but he was pleased to see her since she didn’t come often, and that cheered her up.

  She offered to help set the table, and she was carrying some plates, her head turned to listen to something my Dad was saying, when Brian barged in, a monkey wrench in one hand, saying, “Dad, where are the battery cables? George Harmon’s car—”

  I don’t know how he did it, but somehow the monkey wrench got tangled with the dinner plates Claudia was carrying, and they smashed in a hundred pieces all over the floor.

  I’ve never heard that house so quiet, not even at midnight. Claudia’s face was brick red; she was just on the verge of crying, and if she cried, I knew she would be too embarrassed ever to come to the house again. I wondered if she would ever forgive me for inviting her to supper. Brian looked stunned, as though he had hit her with the wrench instead of the dishes. I heard a funny snort and turned. Erica was rolled in a long-legged ball beside the table, trying to stifle her laughter in the tablecloth.

  “It was—it was so funny,” she whimpered. “Bri-Brian’s wrench just banged into the bottom of the dishes, and they just sailed up like pancakes—and you all—you all look so funny—”

  My mother drew a breath. “Erica, if you keep pulling that tablecloth, you’ll have the butter in your hair.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claudia whispered. I had a sudden, horrible thought that her voice had vanished for good.

  Brian, standing helplessly in the shower of crockery, said, awed, “Oh, wow.”

  Claudia bent miserably and started picking up the pieces of china, and he knelt down promptly beside her to help.

  My mother said dazedly, “Don’t do that. Joslyn, get the broom.”

  “I’ll sweep,” Claudia whispered, but Brian’s voice ran over hers.

  “It’s a cataclysm.”

  “So are you,” I said crossly, giving him the broom. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to wave a monkey wrench in the kitchen?”

  “She never did.” He took a sliver of china in his bare toe, then, and swore. Erica giggled. I heard a long sniff from Claudia, and my heart went cold.

  “I’b sorry—” she wailed, still kneeling on the floor, and I could see the tears running down her lowered face. Brian stared at her, shocked. Then he knelt down again, fast, and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “What are you crying for?” he said. “I’m the clumsy one. I’m the one with the sliver in my toe. I’m the one with the irate mother—I’ll be lucky if I get fed after this. You’re just a victim of circumstances. Actually, I planned the whole thing. I had this wild, destructive impulse to just—wop those dishes with the wrench and listen to them break. Besides that, I was practicing for when I learn to play a kettledrum. Besides that—” He leaned over and whispered something in her ear. And with the tears still falling as she sniffed, she gave a little hiccup of a laugh.

  I took a breath and realized that for a few moments I hadn’t been breathing. I took the broom from Brian. “If you’ll both get out of the middle of the kitchen floor, I’ll sweep.”

  Our mother found her voice. “I’ll feed you,” she promised Brian. “Only please get that wrench out of my kitchen.”

  “Okay, but where are the battery cables? George Harmon’s car is dead—”

  “In the garage,” Dad said, “Where else would they be?”

  “No, they aren’t,” Brian said. “Sir.”

  “Well, where—Oh. Look in the trunk of my car. And get some shoes on!”

  “Yes, sir,” Brian said tolerantly. He picked his way carefully out of the broken china. I poked the broom at his feet as he left, and he pummelled me abs
ently. My dad left the scene to us, fleeing with his drink into the living room.

  My mother said, “Don’t worry; they weren’t especially good. Claudia, you have shoes on; would you mind putting these bowls on the table?” She gave Claudia a stack, and Claudia, too nervous even to sniff, got them safely to the table.

  She didn’t talk during supper, but at least she was still there. I collected candles after we ate and put them in a grocery bag. There was a big yellow round one like a sun, and a couple of sand candles, and one shaped like a hamburger that Brian had given me for Christmas. I told my mother I was going to walk Claudia home, and she told me not to stay long. So we hurried, going across the overpass and the park, because the sun had already set. There was no one on the street when we reached the house, so we went in quickly. The moment we stepped in the door, I saw by the dim streetlight, on the living room floor that we had cleared: a crumpled bag, a newspaper, and a wine bottle three-quarters empty.

  I heard Claudia stop breathing. I couldn’t hear a sound in the house, but I was afraid to move. I was afraid that some drunk wanderer had heard us coming and was hiding in the dark behind a door or a corner, holding his own breath and waiting. I could feel the hair prickling up all over me, as if I were a cat. Claudia turned suddenly, reached for the door knob. It pushed back against her from outside, and we both squealed.

  “Claudia—”

  It was Neil. I gripped him in relief, hissing, “Neil, I think there’s somebody here—”

  Barbara eased in behind him, her hands full of something. Neil’s head turned towards the bottle and the newspapers. He picked up the lantern beside the door and whispered, “Okay. I’ll check.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Barbara whispered, but he shook his head.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. He turned and we all trailed behind him, following the dim, pale outline of his head while he moved soundlessly toward the kitchen. No one jumped out at him from the doorway. He moved to the bathroom, but there was no one crumpled in a corner, waiting to spring out, ragged and drunk. That left Joe’s room. My stomach gave a lurch then, not in fear of whatever might be hiding in the dark, but in fear of what might have been done to the room itself. The first things Neil’s light caught were my banners hanging placidly from the ceiling. They looked all right, and I started breathing again. There was no one in the closet; there was no graffiti all over the walls. The plants were still in their pots. I heard Barbara’s breath loose in a sigh.