by Rachel Simon
Maybe you should try warm milk, Madeline suggested.
Screw warm milk.
Or relax your tongue. I read that somewhere — you just relax your tongue and everything else follows.
Sure.
Suit yourself.
Outside, Mr. Conover’s mutt, Chessie, ran barking through the yards like she always did, and the birds went wild. They flapped up to their hideout under Mrs. Lubbock’s eaves and huddled, cooing. For a few mintues, the dog growled and barked at them, then she turned and galloped home, her tags jingling. The birds began squawking and screeching then, chattering like a meeting of angry neighbors. And every peep right next to Madeline’s room.
Damn birds! the man said, and leapt out of bed.
Window’s already closed, Madeline said, still facing the door.
The curtain hooks squeaked as he drew the curtains shut, but the bird squall sounded as loud as ever. How can you stand this? he said. I thought pigeons were bad. You got any rat poison?
No, Madeline said. Besides, it’s not the birds that’re bothering you. You’re just too wound up. You relax, you’ll fall asleep.
I’m relaxed.
Next door, the pipes shuddered as Mrs. Lubbock turned the water off.
Look, Madeline said, why don’t you go soak in the tub? That’s what I always do.
The man said nothing for a minute. The sparrows’ lilting voices took off and fluttered away, growing dim. Then the chickadees followed. The cardinals held on longer, cheer-cheering softly. Damn birds! the man said again, then banged on the window, and the birds flapped away.
Now everything was quiet. So what do you say? Madeline asked.
The man sighed. Maybe I will. But don’t think this means you can get away. I’m keeping you in sight.
Like I can go anywhere.
When the man shuffled into the bathroom he untied the rope from his wrists and knotted the ends to the legs of the tub. Then he stripped off his brown jacket and dumped it on the tile floor. The door was wide open. He turned on the faucet and peeled off his hat and clothes, piling them on the jacket. Everything had a brown tint to it, especially the back of his T-shirt and underwear.
Madeline had never seen what she was seeing at that moment, and it was not what she expected. For one thing, there was so much hair, all over, especially in that place where she had begun to wonder lately if boys had any. For another, his sides were so flat. He looked like a board. But he was all right, except for his skinniness and the scab running down one of his legs, the kind of scab she figured you get from sliding into home plate.
He tested the water with his toe and added more hot.
Try the bath crystals, she told him. They make it much nicer.
He glanced at her, not smiling, and turned and picked through all the shampoo and shaving cream along the sill until he found the crystals. He dumped the whole bottle into the tub and stared at the water. Bubbles crept over the top of the porcelain.
After he climbed in, he lay back, his head resting against the smooth side, his feet perched on the faucet. Ahhh, he said.
Nice, huh, Madeline said.
Where’d you get this stuff?
My boyfriend gave it to me.
Generous guy.
Bathwater splashed a bit and then settled down.
You’re on the run, aren’t you? she said. You escape from jail?
Never got that far.
How far’d you get?
He sighed and cleared his throat. In a few hours I would’ve been there. They were getting me ready and then that blizzard blew a tree into the courthouse and the lights went out. That put some serious confusion into the proceedings.
And you escaped.
So to speak.
My boyfriend was in jail.
Which jail?
Some place upstate. I don’t remember the name.
What was he in for?
Pulling some guy’s arms right out of his sockets.
Why’d he do that?
The guy was calling me names. My boyfriend takes care of me. You got a girlfriend?
So to speak.
She take care of you?
She’d been a real girlfriend, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
You loved her?
I would’ve sold my legs, if it’d have made her happy.
What’d she do — cheat on you?
The man pulled a washcloth off a side hook and soaped it up. You love your boyfriend?
Sure.
He still in jail?
He’s getting our house ready. He’s coming by for me this afternoon, so I can help him paint.
Well, we’ll just take it easy till then.
The sun was gone from the window, so it must have been early afternoon. All Madeline could hear was the man sloshing around. I have this water music, she said. On my tape player. It’s real nice.
You stay where you are.
She inched her foot across the carpet and pressed the start button with her big toe. The ocean crashed on the sand, and waves rocked back and forth.
What do you think? Madeline asked.
Nice.
He gave me that too. You know, From Here to Eternity.
He takes good care of you. The man swallowed hard. Wish I could say the same for my girl.
I wish you could too, Madeline said.
What’re you going to do with me? she asked. The man was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving with Pop’s razor. When you leave, that is.
He shook the shaving cream off the razor. Don’t ask me.
Well, you look a lot better now, with your hair clean.
Feels better too. He dried off his face with a towel. During the bath he’d opened the window a crack to let out the steam. Now he walked to the window and flung the razor outside.
Shame you’ve got to put those filthy clothes back on, Madeline said.
No problem, he said. He withdrew the scissors from the pants, tossed the clothes into the tub, bent down, and scrubbed them with the soap. Then he pulled the plug out of the drain, and rinsed the clothes under the faucet. He wrung them out, carried them and the scissors into the bedroom, and lay all that needed to dry on the radiator.
When he turned to her, he was naked and the scissors were in his hand, pointing down at an angle. Why aren’t you scared of me? he said. Aren’t you afraid of what I might do?
You seem like a decent enough guy.
He walked over to the bedpost and, still holding the scissors in his hand, untied the knots, working his fingers between the clothesline and Madeline and pushing out until he loosened the rope. The white spiraled to the floor.
I knew a girl like you once, he said.
Did you like her?
She made me laugh.
What happened?
She wasn’t smart enough to handle me. She thought she was. She thought she held all the cards. He lay back on the bed and set the scissors beside him, under his hand. I took care of her.
What’d you do?
The man shook his head. She’s in her place now.
Even from where Madeline was standing, by the post, she could smell the man. He smelled like peach. She walked around to the bed and sat down by the pillow. Aren’t you afraid of what I might do to you? she asked.
He laughed.
Well, aren’t you? she said.
He laughed even harder. I’m the one with the scissors, he said. He wrapped his fingers around the blades. Besides, I’m bigger and stronger.
Hand-to-hand combat, I don’t stand a chance.
Especially if you want to protect that little baby.
She gave the room a good scan, then stood up and picked her blanket off the floor. She lowered it onto him, from his feet to his head. You go back to sleep, she said.
He kicked the blanket down, so all it came up to were his knees. I don’t like to be covered, he said.
Madeline looked him over, from top to bottom and then all the way back up. His hair was just the right color agai
nst the ice green pillows, his skin looked smooth and pink. He closed his eyes and breathed slow and easy.
Every few breaths, he snored. The snoring shook Madeline up the way a fleck of dust on a record shook her up and reminded her that she was listening. He was curled with his knees near his chest, and his hands were balled into fists, and one fist held the scissors. Sometimes the man spoke. Let me in there, he said once. Then, a few minutes later: Perfect. Perfect. What luck.
Later, during a bad dream, when he was shouting so angry she thought he was swearing — only the words were Mary Jane! and Cut it out! — Madeline lowered her fingers to his head. He was sweating up through his hair. No! he called out, jerking his head as if to throw her off, but she kept holding on and he stayed asleep. Slowly she ran her hand over the crown of his head toward his face, combing his hair. It was damp and fine. There were places where his scalp was tough, and bending closer she could see it was tan there. Maybe a scar.
When she heard the car come to a stop in the driveway, she reached over and tugged on the handle of the scissors. His fingers loosened, and Madeline pulled the weapon away from them. He cleared his throat and moved his tongue around in his mouth and drew his arm to his chest. From him came a mix of peach and sleep. Madeline inhaled. So sweet and lovely. She tucked the scissors under the mattress where she was sitting and leaned back. Downstairs the front door slammed shut, and Madeline gazed toward her open bedroom door.
Her pop made right for the stairway. His footsteps were heavy enough on the stairs to wake the dead, but her visitor slept on, and Madeline was not going to wake him. At the top of the stairs Pop called out, Where are you, honey? You taking a bath? He trudged down the hall and paused just before he reached her room. Then he stepped into her doorway. Madeline was sitting on the bed, her arm resting on the shoulder of a naked man.
Who’s this? her pop said, pointing.
The man rustled and his fingers came out of their fists.
Pop stepped closer. Who’s this man here? he asked.
The man rolled onto his back and looked up into her father’s eyes.
Pop, Madeline said, this here’s the daddy.
What? the man said, still groggy. He rubbed his eyes.
Pop, he came here to propose to me. He’s come to be with me. He’s come here to stay.
The man was looking right at Madeline. It seemed as though the film had finally come off his eyes, so he saw her at last, and she felt as if she could finally see him — or she would, once she cut through his glazed look of shock.
Since Nanna Came to Stay
“Look at the floor,” Nanna said to Beth, pointing through the legs of party guests which seemed to the two of them, low to the linoleum as they were, like beach pillars planted exactly where they would block the view. Beth, six years old, stood next to her grandmother, who sat ankles crossed and alert on her favorite chair beside the stove. She peered through the spaces between the stockinged and trousered legs. “From this angle,” Nanna whispered, “you can see right through the floor — the way you can see through glass if you shade your eyes at night.” She lifted her wrinkled hand, dazzling with all her rings, and squinted as if she were looking for a ship. “And if you stand just right you can see all your father’s girlfriends swimming around under the floor. See?”
Beth leaned against the webbed beach chair — the chair Nanna carried on walks, to the mall, the supermarket, and now into the kitchen at Beth’s parents’ party — shielded her eyes from the fluorescent light of the kitchen, and scanned the room. Nanna was tinier than any lady Beth had met before, and the seat of her chair was only a few inches from the floor, so when Beth stood beside her seated grandmother at this party, their eyes looked out to the world at precisely the same level. And of course Beth would stand beside Nanna here. For the past six months, Beth had stood beside Nanna everywhere.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Nanna said, smiling at the scene under the tiles.
“I’m not sure I see them.”
Nanna pointed. “I think that one is the sweetest. Such black hair. And so long. But all their hair is long, isn’t it. Richard always did like it down to the waist.”
Beth tilted her head this way and that, her own hair brushing the bow on her back. She wiped her bangs from her eyes as she strained to make out the women in the floor. There were Mrs. Wilson’s black heels and Mr. Ahern’s brown loafers and Miss Candlebury’s sandals. And the white floor underneath. “I can’t see them, Nanna.”
“But there they are, half a dozen, clear as day. And their hair, billowing around them like sea flowers. Such lovely creatures. That was always the case with your father. Martin had good sense and endless creativity, but Richard was so traditional. Men had to be men and women women. I’m still surprised he lets your mother work.”
Beth thought she made out the crest of a blond head, but it turned out to be a fallen potato puff. “Nanna, why would Daddy’s girlfriends be in the floor?” she asked.
“Because,” Nanna said, resting her hand on Beth’s organdy sleeve, “he has to stash them somewhere, hasn’t he?”
Beth hadn’t known that her father had girlfriends, or that girlfriends were even something daddies had. But if Beth could have girlfriends, then she supposed her father could have girlfriends as well, and they would have to live somewhere. “I guess so.” Beth bit into a cube of cheese. It had a funny taste that reminded her of pigs, which she no longer ate since Nanna told her about a pet pig, now buried in Uncle Martin’s yard. Beth stretched her mouth into a grimace but swallowed anyway.
“If you don’t like it,” Nanna said, extracting the rest of the cheese from Beth’s hand, “get rid of it.” She glanced beyond Beth’s side toward the living room, then flung the cheese in the opposite direction, behind the stove. It had good company there: the tasteless morsels (“That’s all they have at this shindig — morsels!”) from tonight, plus all the pills she’d asked Beth to hide since she’d moved in.
She turned to Beth, grinning. Beth always thought of Nanna’s face as being like the masks her parents had on the living room wall. She couldn’t read yet, but they’d told her the names: Comedy and Tragedy. Nanna’s face was doughy, with all kind of folds, and it was always Comedy or Tragedy, the only exception being when Nanna was asleep, and then it was just one big open mouth, sucking in the air as if it were a sinkhole.
Richard came into the kitchen then. Nanna and Beth recognized him by the cuff of his trousers. Richard always wore nice clothes. These pants had lines on them which reminded Beth of long, skinny combs, Nanna of rake marks in the dirt, and Marie — Beth’s mother — of an accountant. They heard what Marie thought before the party, when she and Richard were fixing up the living room and Nanna and Beth were in the kitchen, discussing the best place to set up Nanna’s chair. “Shh,” Nanna said, a vertical rubied finger to her lips, then to Beth’s. “But I am an accountant,” Richard said.
“You don’t have to look it every minute of the day,” Marie said. “If you considered wearing something else, it might help separate you from the office.”
“Don’t remind me of the office,” Richard said. “I’ve seen little glitches in the books before but never a hole the size of Cincinnati.” He carried a bowl of stuffed mushrooms toward the kitchen but stopped short in the archway. “Mother, what is Beth doing with that umbrella?”
Nanna and Beth had set up beside the stove, and Beth was screwing a pink beach umbrella to the back of the folding chair. “I would do it, Richy, but, you know, my hands …” Nanna held up the ringed fingers that after bedtime in the moonlight she and Beth agreed resembled miniature trees.
“You cannot have an umbrella on your chair at this party,” Richard said.
“But it’s a beach party, Daddy.”
“No,” Richard said. “It’s a bon voyage party. A have-a-good-vacation party.”
“Point Pleasant is a beach,” Nanna said. Then with one hand she swept her bifocals into her lap while with the other she slipped on a
pair of purple sunglasses. She crossed her arms against her chest. Richard stared fiercely at her for a minute, then shuffled out of the room.
Now Nanna and Beth had been huddled beneath the umbrella all night. Beth wore her star-shaped sunglasses, though to see what Nanna saw in the floor she had pushed them to the top of her head. Wally, Richard’s boss, kept bringing them foaming drinks, and they rested the Hawaiian god mugs along the armrest of the chair, sipping from time to time. A few guests — Richard’s business associates, Marie’s coworkers at the clothing store — came up to say hello, but because the Nanna and Beth party was a crouch too low for everyone except Nanna and Beth, no one stayed very long. Which gave Nanna and Beth complete freedom to talk about people, something Nanna dearly loved to do.
As they watched Richard stride through the crowd, across the kitchen, Beth noted how men parted, almost bowing, to let him through. “He’s the king!” she said. Her father walked briskly, his bald head gleaming as if he wore a cap of light. “You think so?” Nanna said. “I don’t know …” But then Nanna’s attention was caught by a skinny woman with a long neck. “Doesn’t she look like a crane?” Nanna said. “Except for the nose,” Beth said. (Nanna had shown her pictures of cranes in a book.) “It’s not long enough.” Nanna contemplated the profile while Beth nibbled on a pastry. “Yes, I see what you mean. Now over there” — she pointed to a beak-nosed man eating crackers across the room — “I’ll bet he gets invited to banquets in bird sanctuaries for Thanksgiving.” “Yeah,” Beth said.
In the corner, Richard had settled onto a breakfast stool, where he was talking to Charles, his best friend from work. Richard was saying something Beth could barely hear, but with such force that his head bobbed forward with each word, and Charles kept wiping his face with his hand as if he had a rash over his mouth. When Richard paused, Charles asked a question that began with the sound ex, and Richard nodded, eyes down.
Nanna’s gaze meandered once the birdman migrated from the room. “Oh, look,” Nanna said, directing with her chin.
Beth followed the chin to the floor below her father’s chair. The light glared terribly. “What do you see, Nanna?”