Bingo

by Rita Mae Brown

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “You were dumped in an orphanage in Pittsburgh. Gas rationing was in effect. The war, remember.”

  “I don’t remember a thing.”

  “Chessy took up a collection of gas coupons and drove from Runnymede to Pittsburgh over those awful roads. Juts had pneumonia, so Louise accompanied him. They lied to get you out, said they were your parents. They liberated you and on the way home a blizzard hit. You weighed five pounds, which must have been what you weighed when you were born, and you’d been in that place about a month. The orphanage doctor told Chessy not to take you, you wouldn’t live, and Chessy said, ‘By God, she will live!’ You had to be fed every three hours. All across Pennsylvania and Maryland your dad and Louise pulled into gas stations, farms, wherever there was a light. Total strangers gave you milk and heated it. That, my dear, is a miracle. Your mom and dad got up around the clock with you for three months after they brought you home and you lived—triumphantly, I might add. Fate—and miracles.”

  “You’re right and I forgot.”

  “I don’t remind you to make you feel guilty but only to reassure you. You have been blessed and loved and you’ve grown into a productive, responsible citizen.”

  “You’re being sweet to me.” I smiled. “Tell me a miracle that doesn’t involve me. A miracle about you.”

  He thought awhile.” Let me tell you something I never told anyone but Bob. You know I was in Korea.”

  “Yes. How come you didn’t say you were a homosexual to get out of the army?”

  He tossed his lilac head. “Just because I’m a homosexual doesn’t mean I should be excused from service to my country. I’ll have none of it. The armed services are so wrong on that subject I scarcely know where to begin. I just lied. I never admitted to being gay and at that time I wasn’t quite as willowy as I am now, my sweet. Anyway, I was shipped over and assigned to combat.” He reached over and sipped his after-dinner liqueur. “One night I was on guard duty and it was colder than a witch’s tit. The snow crunched underfoot and you know how crystal-clear winter nights are. The stars were brilliant and a half moon shone overhead. My feet tortured me but I kept pacing. A little gust of wind came up and a swirl of snow enveloped me, then dropped as quickly as it had risen. I saw not fifty feet in front of me a Korean soldier. He must have been my age, about eighteen. We simply stared at each other in disbelief and then he raised his rifle and I raised mine. I don’t know who started firing first but we emptied our rifles and neither one of us hit the other. I was so scared I peed myself and I will not admit that to another human being. Once our rifles were empty we stared at each other and then he ran away. It was a miracle we didn’t kill each other, and I had a great revelation that night. If human beings cannot find a way to settle their differences without resorting to violence, then we deserve to die. There is nothing noble about killing another human being because he’s in a different uniform, because he worships a different God, because you’re squabbling over real estate, and isn’t that what wars are about? It’s grotesquely wrong, Nickie, so wrong that anyone, anywhere on earth who attempts to justify it is serving dark gods.”

  His face, impassioned, changed before my eyes. His protective, queenie mannerisms melted away. Mr. Pierre was a man, a real man. I’d never seen him that way before.

  “What are you staring at?” he asked.

  “Nothing, nothing—I was thinking about what you said. I think I agree with you but if someone walked through that door and tried to hurt us, I’d kill him if I could.”

  “So would I, but I’m not talking about deranged individuals. I’m talking about organized violence which the state justifies under the umbrella of patriotism. When one whole group of people subjugates another, whether by the gun or the club or more sophisticated techniques, it’s evil. I could have killed that boy in Korea—hell, he probably didn’t know why he was there any more than I did. I’d have his soul on my conscience to this day.”

  “But would he have your soul on his conscience?”

  “I don’t know, but if his conscience is less than mine, it still doesn’t make killing him right.”

  “I’m not arguing, but you said you didn’t want to be excused from serving in the army.”

  “I don’t. Until the entire human race matures enough to realize that war is more than evil, it’s the road to total extinction, we’ve got to have a standing army. I think there should be universal draft across the board, no exceptions, men and women alike. Serve two years, from eighteen to twenty, and then get on with your life. It would certainly be one way to get people to learn about one another. I met men in the service I would never have met in civilian life and I acquired a little discipline and self-confidence in the process.” He crossed his feet, warmed by cashmere stockings. He was warming along with his feet. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. We, the collective ‘we,’ operate on the crisis mentality, and what bigger crisis is there than war? It gives people a single, overriding common purpose. Why can’t peace be a single, overriding common purpose? Why do we wait for a crisis to pull us together? Let’s pull together for peace. Let’s control events instead of letting events control us.”

  “I’m glad that Korean kid didn’t launch you into eternity.”

  “I’d miss the opportunity to marry you. You are going to marry me, of course.”

  “Let’s talk about that. Are you expecting that we’ll live together?”

  “You can’t raise the baby alone. Besides which, darling, someone’s got to redecorate your house. My house is paid for, so we’ll rent that out and the income will pay for your mortgage.”

  “Mr. Pierre, I can’t take your money.”

  “What else am I going to do with it? How many trips can I take? How many cars can I buy? How many times can I redecorate the shop or this house? You’d be doing me a favor. I wouldn’t be squandering my money. Let’s say I’d be investing in the next generation.” I didn’t say anything so he continued. “Nickie, as husbands go we know I shall leave a great deal to be desired. But as fathers go I won’t be found wanting. And I’m alone. My life has never been the same since Bob died. For a while there I lost the reason to live. I plodded along by rote, if you will.”

  “That’s what Mom says too.”

  “It takes years for your heart to heal after the death of your mate—and I miss him. I’ll always miss him. But again, Fate—the Fates—are kind. They saw two alone people—and note I said alone, not lonely—and they gave us a baby, a reason to make a family. Someone to worry over and dream about. Two someones. You and the baby. People don’t have to sleep together to be a family. They only have to love one another and I already love you.”

  “I love you too. I don’t think I’m going to be much of a wife,” I said quietly.

  He waved his hand. “I know, darling. I’ll be a better wife than you will.”

  How kind of him not to fuss. I was beginning to look forward to life with him.

  “Well—when do we get married?”

  “As soon as possible, so we’re close to nine months when our cherub arrives.”

  “I don’t want a big wedding. I don’t think I could stand it.”

  “We’ve got to have your mother and Louise. We’ll ask Louise at the last minute so she doesn’t have the time to work up a major tantrum.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sunday.”

  “This Sunday?”

  “Twelve noon on the dot.”

  “Can we get the church?”

  “I’ve made every arrangement. We only need to get our blood tests and Trixie will do a rush job.”

  “Okay.” I gulped.

  “You know the first thing I’m going to do after we’re man and wife?”

  “What?”

  “Take a blowtorch to your wardrobe.”

  43

  OVEREDUCATED AND UNEMPLOYED

  WEDNESDAY … 6 MAY

  Kenny was being shod, so I couldn’t ride him. I did go down for my bloo
d test. That took five minutes. I ran more errands. I got vitamins for Kenny, a new collar for Lolly Mabel, catnip for Pewter. I bought a load of mulch for my garden and arranged delivery. That was before lunch.

  At lunch I zipped into Mojo’s. Arnie Dow and Michelle were sitting at the counter. When I came in we grabbed a booth. We opened our conversation with lots of banter but as lunch wore on, so did we. We were utterly miserable without our paper.

  After lunch I whipped myself into a frenzy gathering items for the Blue and Gray Hunt Club newsletter but it wasn’t the same as putting out a real paper.

  This was going to be harder than I thought.

  44

  GIN

  THURSDAY … 7 MAY

  I’m going to win. I give you fair warning.” Louise peered over her cards.

  “Ha, dream on, Wheeze.” Mother pulled another card off the top of the deck.

  Since they lost their tempers without shame, playing gin was risky. I was painting Mother’s dining room. If Ed was going to live with her I didn’t see why he couldn’t do it, but painting was better than moping around the Square so I went ahead. The double French doors stood open from the dining room to the living room which allowed me to see and hear everything. Aunt Louise surprised me. After her initial sulking, pouting, and raving, she’d calmed—quickly, for her. I was sure that when Ed moved in she’d provide us with some spectacular displays of pique. Still, it was unnerving that she was so in control of herself.

  “Ursie joined the PTL Club.” Mother discarded.

  “Ursula Yost?”

  “Pass the ’ludes.” Mother said.

  Where did my mother hear such things? I didn’t even know she knew about Quaaludes.

  “Ha. Ha.” Louise pronounced this in a manner to suggest she thought it unfunny. “I was the one who told you about sedation. She’s out and about.” She turned toward me. “And if you know what’s good for you, Nickel, you’ll lay low.”

  “I will.”

  “How much money did the show make?” Louise brushed away Pewter, who stuck her paw in the peanut bowl. The cat managed to get one peanut out of the bowl and proceeded to knock it around the room.

  “That cat is so noisy. Julia, don’t you think Pewter’s a noisy cat?”

  “Eleven thousand four hundred and twenty-eight dollars,” I answered.

  “You made that much?” Mother was impressed.

  “Does the skunk get a cut?” Aunt Louise was in good form today.

  “No, but I’ll invite her back for next year.”

  “I never saw anything like that in my life.” Louise threw down a card. She wasn’t paying much attention to the game. “Do you remember the time the possum crawled onto the altar in church?”

  Mother laughed. “That was something.”

  “How old were you?” I called down from the ladder.

  “I can’t speak for my sister but I was nine.” Mother gleefully threw down a card and her hand. “Gin!”

  “Nickie distracted me. That hand doesn’t count.”

  Mother marked her game pad.

  “I said, don’t count it.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  Louise pushed the cards together and shuffled. “You can count it but I’m not.” She made a notation on her own pad. “Saw Charles Falkenroth today. He looks bad.” Her voice dipped into her toes on “bad.” “Have you seen him?”

  “Not since last Friday,” I replied.

  “Are you going to deal or what?” Mother rapped the table, making Lolly and Goodyear bark. Pewter huffed her fur.

  Louise doled out the cards. “He looks bad, I tell you. Any word on Jackson Frost?”

  “Regina called and told me he’s working a half day today.”

  “So soon,” Mother drawled. Her eyes never left the cards. Mother could remember which cards were pulled and which stayed in the deck from hands she had played sixty years ago.

  “It was a mild heart attack.”

  “Scared him plenty, though. He felt Death’s sour breath on his neck.” Aunt Louise was in her element when there was a medical prediction or a tragedy to be reported.

  “Pay attention.”

  Louise returned her concentration to the game. I painted in peace until Wheezie shattered it with a too-loud “Gin!”

  The games continued, with Mother winning more than losing and Wheezie getting steamed but still holding on to her temper. I was proud of her.

  Louise bent the tip of a card. “Hear what happened last night at the North Runnymede town meeting?”

  This caused a pang. If I’d been working I would have gotten a full account last night from the reporter who covered the meeting, and it would have been replete with details we couldn’t print.

  “Bucky Nordness gave a report on the condition of the police force with a lengthy recap of his service. He oozed humility. Millard Huffstetler said, ‘Don’t be humble. You aren’t that great.’ ”

  “Millard said that?” Mother smiled. “Good for him.”

  “Birds do it,” Louise sang.

  “Bees do it. Even overeducated fleas do it.” Mother picked up the next line.

  They sang and played cards. Seeing those two white heads bent over their cards, I imagined them as children, singing and playing cards at the kitchen table. Each sister, a coincidence of the flesh, became the other’s reality check. Over the decades they shared experiences, associations, the geography of the town itself. Mom and Aunt Wheezie weren’t mirror images of each other but it was impossible to imagine one without the other. When they were this peaceful, they were adorable.

  45

  BLOWOUT BINGO

  FRIDAY … 8 MAY

  The parking lot at Saint Rose of Lima’s overflowed at six o’clock. By seven, game time, the stragglers who came in said there wasn’t a space left at the Clarion’s old parking lot and even the side streets were packed.

  The Fourth of July parade got crowds like this, and for Father Christopolous this was the Fourth of July. The good priest bought a blackout bingo card for himself, a huge sheet with four cards on it, and he sat up front by the door.

  Those people able to walk or be carried squeezed into the hall.

  David Wheeler was there, as was Bucky Nordness. Bucky was already being a pest by insisting that this gambling was on Pennsylvania premises. As though we didn’t know.

  Our gang, dressed to the nines, filled up one long table: Mom, Ed, Wheezie, Orrie, Mr. Pierre, Michelle, Roger, Thacker and assorted BonBons, Ricky, Decca, Sonny and Sister, Georgette—I think BonBons rose from the dead, there were so many of them—and Max, Georgette’s boyfriend. Also, at our table, to my delight, were Regina and Jack and, to my astonishment, Diz Rife. He was seated next to Louise. Mom and Mr. Pierre saved me the seat on the other side of Louise. Arnie Dow and the boys from the back room were there. Even Ursie and Tiffany and Harmony were there. Said they needed the money. Peepbean quickly pressed his fiancée into service as a card counter because of the huge numbers of players. Millard volunteered to help also.

  Goodyear lay under Mom’s feet. Lolly crawled on her belly under the table until she touched noses with her dad. Pewter, even before the game started, prowled up and down our table in search of tidbits. No flies on Pewter. She knew the BonBons were loaded with food and the children couldn’t resist her. Her purrs were deafening until Mutzi took over the microphone.

  “Pot’s already seven thousand and twenty dollars!” He placed the .38 beside him if for no other reason than to irritate Bucky. The money was on the Ping-Pong ball table. The glass Ping-Pong ball machine, lid off, sat on top of the table and the money was next to it. Mutzi showed us the pot to whet our appetites. “Now you regulars know the rules, but for you newcomers, welcome to Saint Rose of Lima’s Friday night bingo. Here’s how blackout bingo works. In order to win you must black out all twenty-five numbers on one of your four cards.” He held up a sheet which demonstrated the concept. “Naturally, this game can take some time but we’ve got plenty of that. Are you ready!�
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  We shouted in unison, “Yes!”

  “Okey dokey, smokey.” He turned on the Ping-Pong ball machine and snatched the first ball. “Number twenty-nine, number twenty-nine, to win is divine.”

  Ed dabbed twenty-nine. We each examined our cards nervously. I was surprised, delighted, at Aunt Wheezie’s behavior. Granted she was being ooey-gooey to Ed Tutweiler Walters, but she wasn’t snarling or attacking Mom with her dab-a-dot. In fact, she was almost ooey-gooey to Mom.

  “One. The number one will give you fun.” Mutzi’s voice betrayed his own excitement.

  Verna played three sheets. She paid twenty dollars apiece for those sheets and when you figure in the children, the BonBons had invested a lot of money in this bingo game. I could see Diz on the other side of Wheezie. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. It occurred to me that Diz had probably never been to a bingo parlor. Michelle was bent over her card in total concentration. Roger wasn’t looking up either.

  “Fifty-eight, fifty-eight, win this card and be my date,” Mutzi sang out.

  Forty numbers must have been called. My sheet had dots sprinkled over it but so far I was nowhere close to winning.

  Ed’s card showed promise and Mother’s, too, but Mom was generally lucky in cards and games. Mutzi, to celebrate the blackout bingo game, wore a green Day-Glo string tie. Even Peepbean was dressed better than usual. He’d changed from his painter’s pants into chinos. Goodyear began to snore under the table and Mom gave him a light shove with her toe. The dog grunted and stopped. I heard Lolly’s tail thump. She was happy about something. I ducked my head under the table and saw the reason: Decca BonBon was feeding her part of her hot dog and Verna was too engrossed in the game to notice. As no one had fussed over Mom and Ed, I guessed that no announcement had been forthcoming as to their intentions. The BonBons knew; Orrie, Mr. Pierre, and I knew, which is to say that everyone in the room knew but had been told to keep it a secret. They were probably wondering, would Juts spill the beans tonight?