The days of a sound sleep and waking to the crack of an early sunrise were a mere memory to his spiraling mind. He often would get out of bed, leave the house, and walk the tree row at night, just thinking. He thought a lot. His mind was tortured by the hazy image of his daughter lying still in the short grass as his family looked at him with hateful woebegone eyes as if he was a
monster. He tried to get those images out of his head but their swollen tear-filled faces haunted his nights.
During the day he could keep his mind churning with the fever of work by chopping logs and tilling fields, but at night when his thoughts became idle, his mind revolved back to the faces of his loved ones: the broken lamentation of his little girls; his wife gathered in a mass of sorrow; and the lonely solitude of his daughter, whom he had crippled for life. He wandered the hedgerow like a leper. He was banned from the society of his own family, which stared at him with loathing glaring eyes.
All the while he felt even more hate for himself, reminding himself of that fact each day while looking deeply into his own lifeless eyes in the mirror as he shaved. Eventually, he found himself growing a beard rather than looking into the eyes that were not his own. He fought sleep like a man fights being caged. His dreams were a prison which he could neither escape nor avoid, churning and rumbling like rolling thunder across his hard cruel mind.
One night Paul curled onto his side, wincing as he felt a heavy blunt blow to his abdomen. His eyes slit open just enough for him to see the sky was afire. The roaring crackling sound of the blaze was deafening. He could see the horizon bubbling like a cauldron. Blistering red, simmering orange, and a seething dismal black were harsh and dense over the tumultuous land. Another kick struck angrily into his side! Then another! He tried to moan from the searing pain but his voice was gone. He could make no sound whatsoever. He felt like he had been laid on hot coals.
He tried to turn over. The feeling changed as if he was pressed against a bed of sizzling nails. Birds of prey circled the damned sky, swooping down and cackling the closer they got to him. Their laughs were high-pitched and made him shudder as they ascended back into the burning sky. There were no houses, trees, or rocks. There was only the darkness which was lit by the fires of the heavens.
Each way he rolled, he was kicked relentlessly, pounding his stomach and his sides. He had to pry his eyes open as the heat had almost melted his eyelids together. Amidst the fury of the flame, the meager light of the world and dark demonic shadows, he could make out a single solitary figure. It was a child. It was a girl. Bernice was kicking him with a lifeless grinding hate in her merciless eyes.
Paul sat up quickly in bed and was snapped from the personal hell of his own malicious mind. He panted as his lungs heaved in his chest. He could feel a cool breeze flowing over his body, which was coated by a thin slimy layer of sweat. He lay back down and found that his pillow was soaked with perspiration. He flipped it over, resting his head against the freshness of the other side.
He stared out the window as the sheer curtains fluttered inward on the sinewy breath of the evil night. Soon the hazy purple mist would give way to the mild bright yellow that would climb the trees and it would be dawn.
He looked and hoped for the dawn.
11
In the simmering heat Sarah and Clarene sat sluggishly on a couple hunks of granite that outcropped over the stream. Lazily, they lounged on the rock ledges. The heat of the sun warmed the rocks as they let their feet dangle in the coolness of the tranquil waters. Two rabbits darted playfully across the thin unshaded grass on the other side of the narrow brook yet the two girls hardly noticed as sad numbing thoughts combusted in their minds.
"Do you remember the time . . . ," Sarah started off excited and then her voice lost its gayness and trailed off.
"Remember what?" Clarene charged. She was happy to start talking; when it was quiet, she felt a strangeness in her stomach.
"Nothing."
"No, really. What were you going to say?"
"Do you remember the time Bernice cracked Pa over the head with the milk bottle?" Sarah asked. There was no vibrancy in her face. She said it almost as if it were in passing.
"Sure, I do," Clarene chuckled. Her laugh was somewhat infectious and it brought a subtle smile to Sarah’s cheeks. "Do you remember why she did it?" Clarene wondered.
"You remember why," Sarah croaked. A sudden look of fright came over her face as she swatted at a couple bees that buzzed about her head.
"I know," Clarene admitted with a sigh, "but I like to hear the story. Tell me, again!" Her face lit up at the thought.
"Okay," Sarah glibly feigned a sigh. If she had her druthers, she would rather tell a funny story about Bernice than have the empty image of her lying in her bed. "It seems Pa was sleeping on the couch," Sarah paused. She frowned and winked at Clarene with the type of wink someone uses when she is too polite to use the actual and more accurate phrasing. "The milk bottles needed to be taken out for the milkman to collect the next morning. Mama had told Pa to take them out, but he had, let’s say, forgotten. Mama was rushing around cooking dinner, sewing a button on my dress, and trying to clean the house. She thought she had told Bernice to put the bottle on the porch and then to wake up Papa, but actually Mama forgot to tell her to put the bottles on the porch. She just handed her the bottle and told her to go wake up Pa." Sarah started to laugh. "You know Bernice, she always does exactly what Mama tells her to do without even thinking. I didn’t see it. All I saw was Bernice march out of the kitchen and into the living room, and then I heard a thud and Pa started bellowing, ‘OUCH!’"
Bernice came running into the kitchen and ducked behind Mama. Pa was right on her tail, grabbing at her hind end, yelling and moaning." The two sisters were both laughing and playfully splashing their feet in the water. Drops of crystalline liquid splashed up out of the water. Sunlight glanced off the spray and across the prism of the effervescent mist while the large globs dropped effortlessly back into the rippling waters. "Even Pa started laughing after that."
"He had a knot on his head for a week. It looked like a bump on a log," Clarene retorted. The sisters laughed until they could barely catch their breath. It felt so good to laugh. It had been months since they felt a true happiness because whenever they were around Bernice, being happy almost felt like a type of betrayal, as if they had to share in her solitude.
The swelling of the smiles and twitter of their souls faded. Then their faces shrunk and turned gradually back into stone.
"I wish Bernice was here," Sarah admitted. The stream had calmed again, wrapping around their ankles as their feet blurred under the glass top of the water.
"Me, too," Clarene agreed.
"Hey, I got an idea!" Sarah barked.
"What?" Clarene noticed the sudden liveliness in Sarah’s blissful eyes.
"Go fetch a pail." Sarah sprang up, dusting off her hand’s as she stood tall.
"What fer?"
"Just go get one. I’ll explain later." Sarah started cramming her hands under the surface of the water, rummaging through the stones of the creek bed. With her pigtails flopping across her neck, Clarene dashed off. Sarah started piling rocks on the ledge. Their flat wet faces glistened like diamonds in the sunshine. She pulled several more out and soon had a small pyramid of rocks of all shapes and sizes. They were like people. Some were short and round, some tall and thin, some were average, and others were beautiful. Sarah sat back on her haunches and grinned.
"Here you go! Here!" Clarene rushed back through the tall grass. She tripped but bounced right back up and ran the rest of the way to Sarah’s side. Her knee was scraped open. A pinkish red raspberry capped her knee and a trickle of blood slithered down her shin.
"Clarene, you’re bleeding!" Sarah blurted.
"Oh, well," Clarene said with complete indifference. This was not her style. Clarene used drama like a vaudevillian mime. Any chance she got, she cried.
"Okay," Sarah smirked. "Here!" She took hold of the bot
tom of Clarene’s dress and rolled it up, making a basket. "Put these in here," she said as she started piling the little stones into Clarene’s dress. Clarene acted likewise, holding out her dress carefully to avoid losing any of them.
"What’s the bucket for?" Clarene asked. Her face was starving for details.
"You’ll see," Sarah said as she stepped down off the huge rocks into the water. She scooped the pail under the water and brought it back up. The shimmering water contrasted with the darkness of the rusty pail. Then she stepped back onto the ledge. The water sloshed slightly and dripped out of a few holes that were in the side of the pail by the handle.
"Let’s go." Sarah strode quickly towards the grass, concentrating on not spilling the water. It swayed back and forth like the seas under a growling sky. "Follow me," Sarah whispered.
They opened the screen door slowly, but it still creaked on its hinges. Paul was sleeping on the couch. One arm rested over his face while the other hung like a broken branch off the side. Sarah and Clarene tippy-toed across the floor. One stone fell from Clarene’s dress as Paul was in between snores. As it clattered noisily on the floor, the shallow sound echoed like unexpected thunder in their scared minds. They stopped and hastened a glance back at their father but he grumbled something and started snoring again. They started to breathe again and rushed through the room.
"Bernice?" Sarah stuck her head into Bernice’s room, trying not to smile.
"Yes?" Bernice rolled her head away from staring out the window and fixed a welcoming smile across her sunken cheeks.
"Close your eyes," Sarah gushed.
"Why?" Bernice pouted.
"Please! Close them!" Sarah pleaded.
"Okay." Bernice closed her eyes. Sarah motioned Clarene to follow her and they crept quickly into the room. Sarah reached into Clarene’s dress, pulling out a few rocks. She started laying them around Bernice. They touched her arms. Then her shoulders. Then her neck.
"Oh, what is that?" Bernice gasped. "It’s cold!" A gleeful smile spread across her tired face.
"Keep your eyes shut," Clarene said with merriment in her tone.
They placed all the rocks around Bernice’s body, letting them touch her skin. Goose bumps began to spring up on her arms. The hair on her neck started to rise as the smooth hard rocks rubbed against her skin.
"Give me your hand," Sarah said. She took Bernice’s hand and placed it in the pail.
"Oh! What is that?" Bernice quipped.
"It’s water," Clarene giggled.
"What’s in it?" Bernice started to open her eyes and her cheeks crinkled as she tried to peek out from under her eyelids.
"Tadpoles," Sarah confessed.
"Really?" Clarene leaned over and looked in the bucket. Dark little shadows darted around the clear water like tiny oil slicks.
"Wow! What is all this?" Bernice asked. She plopped her hands into the water, chasing the tadpoles with her fingers.
"We were at the stream and missed you. I realized it’s not as much fun being at the stream without you." Sarah compassionately touched Bernice on the shoulder. "So I thought we would bring the stream to you!" she finished triumphantly.
"Thank you," Bernice said in reflection.
They all shared a laugh as Bernice splashed the water about as she dug her hands into the pail.
"Be careful. Pa will get angry if you get too much on the bed," Sarah warned.
Just outside in the hallway Paul leaned against the wall. His timid grin sank into a desolate somberness as he heard the fatal words of his daughter. He was no longer a part of their lives. He was now a whisper, a murmur in the dark, and a secret behind closed doors. He was a stranger.
He shuffled silently away with a dense emptiness in his chest.
12
Angela hurriedly ran the dishrag over the faces of the plates, slopping in the murky dishwater. Mr. Davidson slunk into the room. He stood very close to her, letting his groin rub next to her thigh. Angela could feel his breath on her neck as he ground closer to her.
"You seem very good with your hands, Mrs. O’Grady," Mr. Davidson said with a sinister growl.
"Is my daughter here yet, Mr. Davidson?" Angela asked anxiously. She splashed around the water, trying desperately to finish the last couple dishes.
"Oh, please, Angela, call me Lester," Mr. Davidson said. He brushed the back of his skinny hand across the apple of her cheek. She pulled slightly away. "Oh, don’t be so shy," Mr. Davidson said smugly.
"I’d just like to get my work done and get home to my family, Mr. Davidson," Angela quipped.
"Family?" Mr. Davidson chuckled with a sneer in his voice. "You call that a family. Your husband is the town drunk, your daughter is a crippled freak, and hell, I saw your other daughter singing in here and she looks to be the next town floozy," Mr. Davidson hissed into her ear.
"Mr. Davidson," Angela spun around, facing him as she looked down into his sinister beady eyes.
"Tut-tut, Angela," Mr. Davidson warned, "you need to watch your temper. You need to be a little nicer to me." He combed his hands through her long locks.
"But, Mr. Davidson," Angela sighed.
"We need to understand a few things. First of all, if you are nice to me . . . I’ll be nice to you." Lester slid his hand down her neck and pulled her closer to him. His lips quivered. He pressed his lips against hers. She tried to push him away but he held tight to her neck.
"Mr. Davidson," Angela pleaded. She pushed him away and gasped for breath.
"That wasn’t so bad, now was it?" Mr. Davidson grinned horribly. He backed away and pulled a chair into the center of the room. He sat down and patted his lap. "Come sit on Daddy’s knee," he said roughly. There was coldness in his eyes.
"Mr. Davidson, what would Mrs. Davidson say?" Angela blistered.
"Shut up!" Mr. Davidson shouted. His eye was pulsating as he lowered his head and leered at Angela. She felt a shiver go down her spine. "Now," he tried to let his face loosen, forcing a jolly smirk back onto his face, "come on and sit on my lap!" he jeered, trying his ploy once again.
"Mr. Davidson," Angela whined like a child.
"Mrs. O’Grady," Mr. Davidson snarled, "do you need the money I pay you?"
"Yes," Angela whispered.
"Do you? I didn’t quite hear you. Do you not have a cripple under your roof, Mrs. O’Grady?" Mr. Davidson said viciously.
Angela simply nodded and walked over towards Mr. Davidson. He was patting his thin thigh. Slowly, Angela hovered over his leg like a bird over an egg. He pulled her hard down onto his lap and she shifted uncomfortably as she felt the swelling in his pants.
"Oh, that’s better, Mrs. O’Grady," Mr. Davidson moaned. He let his eyes roll back in his head and slowly his eyelids closed. He nuzzled his frail chin against her bare shoulder.
"Mr. Davidson . . . ," Angela barely got out.
"Shhh!" Mr. Davidson fumed. An evil frown cut harshly across his face as she disturbed his imagination. He reached across her bosom, fumbling as he started to undo the ragged buttons of her blouse. With each pluck of the buttons, her body quivered with anxiety. She closed her eyes and bit her lip hard. A putrid sour taste was in her throat and her mouth began to water as if she was about to vomit. I hate you! I hate you!, pounded inside her brain. She wanted to scream. She needed to run, but her legs were stiff and her voice was lost.
"You can be more friendly than that," Mr. Davidson whispered. He took her hand and placed it across his upper thigh and made her massage his groin. He groaned and his entire body became rigid. When he moved his hand off hers, she quickly tried to snap her hand away. He grunted forcefully, ripping her hand away from her side, placing her hand back on top of his lap. "Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this. I’ve seen you staring at me," he snorted.
Angela rolled her head away and let her eyes open slightly. Through the misty tears that fogged her vision she could see Sarah’s face through the crack in the partially closed door. Her lower lip began to tremble as she saw
the fear in Sarah’s petrified face. Then Sarah darted away from the doorway and Angela began to sob. She was mortified. Mr. Davidson dug needfully under her worn bra. She could now feel the grotesque sweaty palm of Mr. Davidson squeeze her naked breast. The fear slammed hard against Angela’s mind till she could no longer hear any sounds but the anxiety that deadened her senses. In the midst of the pain, sorrow, and disbelief, she started to hear a commotion out in the hall. It was a distant sound, but a familiar voice.
"What is it?" Paul’s voice sounded suddenly from the hallway. "Why does she need to talk to me?" Paul asked. Sarah pushed him through the doorway. He stood momentarily stunned. His face broke open and awe was etched across his jaw. Angela was quivering noticeably, in shock, as Mr. Davidson was in a trance. A pitiful glow oozed from his face as if he was staring off into a warm gentle sunshine.
"MR. DAVIDSON!" Paul shouted with rage in his voice. His breathing became raspy as he huffed.
"Mr. O’Grady!" Mr. Davidson body began to quake as he tried to take his hand out of Angela’s blouse. He pushed Angela off his lap and fell out of the chair. "This is not what it looks like!" Mr. Davidson began crawling away, slapping his hands across the tile floor as he struggled to get away.
"YOU BASTARD!" Paul screamed. He sprung like a coiled spring at Mr. Davidson, lashing with his heavy fist at the scrawny fiend’s back, landing colossal blows across Mr. Davidson’s bony spine. The man scurried through the back doorway and into the hallway. He stumbled to his feet and crashed through the doorway to his office, slamming the door behind him. Paul reached the office door as it swung shut, latched immediately closed. Paul pounded crazily on the door. "Come out here!" Paul bellowed.
"I’m sorry! I’m sorry!" Mr. Davidson groveled from the other side of the door.
Paul turned and saw Sarah clinging to Angela’s feet. Paul walked back into the other room. He took Angela’s tattered blouse and draped it back over her shoulders. His hands shook as he tried to button her blouse. He couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t know why he tried to straighten the blouse, but he nonetheless buttoned the last button and folded the collar closer to her neck, like closing drapes.
Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise) Page 16