Tomato Girl

by Jayne Pupek

  “Leave her alone,” Daddy told Tess. “I’ll take care of Ellie and come back to help her.”

  UPSTAIRS, TESS HELPED Daddy pull off my wet clothes and lower me into the bathtub. Tess offered to bathe me, but Daddy said no, he’d come too close to losing me to leave me just yet. Tess kept apologizing. “I didn’t mean it … It was an accident …”

  Daddy reassured her. “I know. Nobody is blaming you. Please, just go rest and let me take care of Ellie.”

  Tess didn’t leave the room. She sat on the toilet and waited while Daddy bathed me.

  As the hot water poured over me, I began to cry again, tears for my drowned chick and for the dead baby in the cellar. I cried for Mama, left alone at the bottom of the stairs, and for Daddy’s worried eyes. I even cried for Tess, sitting on the toilet with her hopeless face in her hands.

  Daddy cried, too.

  He washed me gently, as if I were a new baby, rubbing soap in my hair, and over my skin. His hands made my blood flow under my skin, and I began to feel warm again, at least on the surface. No amount of warmth could reach the places inside where I felt hollowed out. If someone peeled away my skin, I knew they’d see a rib cage and nothing more, just a dark empty hole where my lungs, stomach, and heart used to be.

  After drying me with a clean towel, Daddy dressed me in pajamas and combed the tangles from my wet hair. He tucked me in bed, wrapped me in thick quilts, then kissed me before he went downstairs. He didn’t try to explain or say anything to make it all better. He knew he couldn’t. There are times when words won’t make a bad thing better. Those are the saddest times of all.

  As I began to fall asleep, I heard scuffing sounds and voices arguing. Daddy’s voice deep and even; Mama’s shrill and rising, always rising. Mama said all the bad words. Faster and louder. She wouldn’t be quiet. Daddy shouted, “I’m warning you, Julia. You have to control yourself.” More bad words, loud and sharp.

  I plugged my ears with my fingers as Mama’s cries rose through the floorboards and threatened to drown me again.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening, I floated in and out of sleep. Several times I heard Mama wander into the hallway, asking to see me.

  Daddy kept watch in the hallway. Each time Mama came near, he guided her back to her room.

  In a way, I was glad he kept Mama away. Part of me wanted to run to my mother, to climb onto her lap and have her stroke my hair and tell me everything would be fine. But that mother had disappeared like a magician’s dove. I didn’t know the magic words to bring her back.

  DADDY BROUGHT ME chicken soup in a blue bowl with saltine crackers and a glass of milk. He propped me up in bed, my head against my pillow, and spooned the noodles and broth into my mouth. The soup tasted good and familiar. I felt safe with Daddy beside me. I wanted to tell him everything then, about how I hadn’t gone to the cellar to get Mama the onion, how the baby had died and I’d put it in the freezer. I wanted to tell him how sad I felt about Jellybean, and how hard I wished Tess would go away.

  Instead I swallowed the warm, salty soup and tried not to cry again.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Tess brought a shoebox into my room. Wearing a black dress and a dark scarf tied around her head, she climbed onto my bed. Bright sunlight shone through the window telling me I’d slept very late.

  “I think we should bury Jellybean. Seems only fitting, but I’ll leave it to you to decide,” she said.

  “He’s inside there?” I rubbed my eyes, still swollen and sore from the tears.

  Tess nodded. “Last night, after everyone went to sleep, I took the new car back to the river. I walked the edge of the water until I found Jellybean’s remains.”

  I sat up in my bed. The way she said remains made me scared to look. Sometimes turtles and fish feed on small, dead things. “Does he look bad?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Tess assured me. “I got to him before anything else did. I fixed him as good as I could, Ellie.” She almost sounded proud of herself, and I wondered if she could even see her own fault.

  I took the box from her hands and steadied it on my knees. Part of me didn’t want to see, and I almost decided to tape the box shut and not look. Maybe it would be better to remember my chick as he’d been only days before. Another part of me wanted to see him inside the box, to make myself face the hard good-bye. My little chick deserved that much.

  Opening the cardboard lid, I peeked inside, slowly at first, until I saw Jellybean, his tiny body laid out on a bed of Daddy’s white handkerchiefs. Tess had tied a little black bow around his neck and placed one of my embroidered doll pillows under his tiny head. I touched him lightly, tracing his cold, stiff body with my fingers.

  “I thought we could bury him beneath the crab apple tree.” Her voice sounded hopeful, like a question.

  I nodded. “That’s a nice place. He’ll like it there.”

  Tess left the room to make plans with Daddy for the funeral. She came back a short time later and gave me the details. I heard her voice, but my mind could barely focus on words.

  While I brushed my teeth and dressed in dark clothes, Daddy put Mama in her room and went for Mary Roberts.

  MARY GAVE A fine eulogy, the best one since the summer we’d buried the gray tomcat we’d found dead in the road. She recited lines from the Bible, and the parts she could remember of a poem that began, “I heard a fly buzz when I died,” which didn’t exactly fit, but was a nice gesture.

  Daddy took a shovel from his shed and dug the grave, a perfect little rectangle under the crab apple tree. I wished Mama could have been there, but Daddy said no, and I knew he was right. Still, I wished she was there.

  Tess held the box until my part came, which was the hardest. Because Jellybean belonged to me, I had to lower him into the open ground and throw in the first fistful of dirt. No one else could do it, only me.

  My hand shook as the grainy, black soil slipped through my fingers to pepper Jellybean’s box. This is the part where everyone most wants to cry, when the dirt covers the coffin. It is final then. The one you bury in the ground isn’t coming back.

  Mary Roberts wrapped her arms around me, and I hid my face in her soft hair.

  Daddy shoveled the rest of the dirt in place while Tess arranged wildflowers in a blue Maxwell House can and sang “Amazing Grace,” her high, clear voice lifting through the leaves.

  For a long moment, I closed my eyes and wished a heaven for my little chick filled with yellow sunflowers and perfect blue skies.

  Then I heard a door slam, and I opened my eyes. Over Mary’s shoulder, I saw Mama walk out of the house, still dressed in her soiled gown.

  Before the funeral, Daddy had wedged Mama’s door closed. Somehow, she’d worked her way free.

  Mama ran across the backyard, toward us, her arms lifted in the air like a bird about to fly. She screamed, the sound sharp and deep, like a wild animal. Her voice startled us all, even Daddy.

  For a moment, no one breathed. That is what happens when you see something you know is true, but cannot believe. The blood doesn’t want to move through your veins. Your lungs don’t want to take in the next breath. You forget to swallow and nearly choke on your own soft tongue.

  At the grave, Mama fell on her knees and plunged her hands into the loose dirt. “I told you not to put my baby in the ground. You lied to me,” she yelled, looking at me, her eyes glassy and wide. Her hands scooped away dirt from Jellybean’s grave. She spoke into the ground, softly, her voice quivering. “It’s all right, baby. Mama hears you. Mama will take you from this dark hole.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  AT THE GRAVE

  DADDY’S EYES NARROWED into dark slits above his unshaven cheeks. His hands tightened on the shovel handle, stretching his knuckles white.

  Mama pressed her face into the dirt, loose soil muffling her cries.

  Daddy looked up and threw the shovel, hurling it high into the tree. It caught on a branch and dangled there, swinging back and forth.

  “Why are you doing this,
Julia? Why?” Daddy fell to his knees and leaned over Mama’s body. He clenched his fists and spoke to the back of her head. “How much more of this do you think I can take?” Tears ran down Daddy’s face.

  I’d never seen my father so broken. No matter how Mama behaved, Daddy had always been the calm one. He and I had always worked together, handling her moods. We did the cooking and cleaning, and answered the door and telephone. We kept people far away when she had her spells, talked softly to her, and didn’t argue or scold. What would happen if Daddy gave up?

  Mama clawed at the grave where she thought we’d buried her baby. She dug quickly, pawing the dirt with both hands the way a dog digs up a bone. “I just want my baby, Rupert,” Mama cried. “Why did you bury my baby?” Her face was caked with dirt.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Julia. I don’t know what you mean!” Daddy’s voice sounded more hopeless than angry.

  “You do know, you all know.” Mama looked at each one of us; her accusing eyes moved from face to face. “Standing around here like you don’t know you put my baby into the ground.” Then she looked back at Daddy, “You brought your whore into my house, and now you want to take my baby from me. I want him back, Rupert.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I want my son back!” Tears flowed down her face, leaving furrows on her dirty cheeks. Her trembling shoulders curled forward as she struggled to dig.

  Tess and Mary Roberts stood under the crab apple tree, their faces pale. Tess chewed on her thumbnail, while Mary’s knees turned inward like they do when she’s afraid. Daddy hung his head, defeated by my mother’s words. No one seemed to know what to say or do.

  I knew. The baby wasn’t a mystery to me.

  Kneeling beside Mama, I whispered. “The baby isn’t in the grave, Mama. Look, I’ll show you.”

  Her sobs quieted. A puzzled look crossed her face.

  My hands shook as I dug into the cool, black dirt. Putting Jellybean into the ground was hard enough. Bringing him up from his grave to show Mama was almost more than I could stand, but I couldn’t fail. Not this time. I kept digging.

  When my fingers hit cardboard, I wiped the fine layer of soil away with the back of my hand, then opened the lid. “Here, Mama, look,” I said, scooping up my dead chick. His stiff little body felt light as I lifted him to my lips to kiss his head.

  I still loved him, and could imagine how Mama felt losing her baby. But I knew Jellybean was gone for good and belonged in the ground. Mama didn’t know how to let her baby go. Maybe she’d see Jellybean and understand.

  “Jellybean drowned,” I explained, handing her the chick. “It’s Jellybean we buried, not your baby. Your baby is still safe. He’s in the same place you told me to lay him, sleeping like an angel.”

  “What the hell?” My father’s eyebrows knitted together as he tried to make sense of what he heard and saw.

  Mama smiled a little, rubbing Jellybean’s dead body. Her hands smudged his clean body with dirt.

  I wanted to cry.

  I wanted to take him away from her.

  “Oh, Ellie,” Mama said, her bottom lip quivering. “You lost your baby.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes, I lost my baby.”

  Mama turned her head to look at Tess. “You! You came to my house and cursed it! You, you baby killer!”

  Tess trembled under my mother’s words. “I’m not a baby killer!” she screamed. “Jellybean was an accident. I didn’t mean for him to drown. You’re nothing but a crazy woman, and you want to drive everybody else crazy!” Tess spat words in a shrill, shaky voice.

  “Tess, don’t,” my father’s voice snapped.

  Tess broke into tears. She wasn’t used to my father speaking harshly to her. She hid her face in her hands and ran toward the house.

  “I’ll be right back,” Daddy said. He stood up and followed Tess inside, leaving Mary, Mama, and me alone.

  With each step he took, I felt my heart sink lower in my chest. I wanted to call after him, “Please, Daddy, stay with us. Mama needs you. I need you.” I kept quiet, though. I knew what he’d say, and wasn’t ready to hear those words.

  Mama pressed Jellybean to her breast and hummed. She looked at Mary and offered a half smile. “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing today, Miss Mary.”

  Up until then, Mary hadn’t said anything. When she finally spoke, her words stuck to her tongue. “Th-thank you, Mrs. S-an-Sanders.”

  “I’m sorry I look such a mess, Mary. I haven’t been well, you know.”

  Mary nodded. “Ellie t-told m-me about your f-fall.” I hadn’t heard Mary stutter since first grade.

  “Oh, yes. And I meant to thank you for the lovely cake.” Mama combed her fingers through her hair, tucking a tangled strand behind her ear. “You will tell your mother how much I appreciated it, won’t you?” Mama suddenly laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Your mother is an amazing baker,” Mama said, her voice too loud and high pitched.

  “I’ll t-t-tell her,” Mary struggled to speak. “Do-do you want m-me to br-bring you the r-recipe?”

  “How nice. Yes, I’d like that, Mary.” Mama giggled again.

  Mary looked down at her leather T-straps. She seemed not to know what else to say. “I g-guess I sh-should be going h-h-home now.”

  Mama smoothed the front of her gown as if trying to appear more presentable. She looked at Mary, then paused. Her eyebrows raised as she spoke. “Mary, would you like to see my baby before you go?”

  Mary stuttered, “W-well, uh, well, yes, I g-g-uess so.” You could tell from Mary’s voice that she didn’t want to see the baby. Her words came out flat and tight. It’s only a matter of habit that when a grown-up offers to show you something, you agree to look.

  Mama looked at me and smiled. “Ellie, be a good girl, and take Mary to the cellar to see the new baby.”

  MARY AND I HELD HANDS as we walked down the basement stairs. I didn’t want to leave Mama alone, but I knew she’d only become angry if I didn’t take Mary to see the baby. By the way she’d laughed and played with her hair, I wasn’t sure about Mama’s mood or which direction it might take.

  “Does your mother really have a b-baby down here?” Mary asked. Away from Mama, Mary’s stutter was not as bad.

  “Yes, but it almost doesn’t look like a baby.”

  “What happened to it?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

  The air at the bottom of the stairwell felt cool and damp.

  I held the door open for Mary. “She was bleeding. It died inside her somehow, and came out dead. She wouldn’t let me tell Daddy or even call a doctor.”

  Mary stepped inside and reached for the light switch on the wall. The bright bulb burned overhead.

  “Why didn’t she bury it? A b-ba-baby should have a funeral, Ellie.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “In a way, Mama seems to know it’s dead. She cried, and didn’t want Daddy to know. But another part of her doesn’t believe the baby is gone. She thinks it’s safe here, but then she worries about it being cold and afraid in the dark. I know it doesn’t make sense.”

  “This gives me the creeps,” Mary said.

  “It gives me the creeps, too, but I don’t know what to do.”

  Mary didn’t answer, having finally come up against a problem she didn’t know how to solve any better than I did.

  I felt grateful that she’d agreed to come with me. I’m not sure I could have been so brave if it had been Mrs. Roberts’s dead baby in the cellar. I patted her shoulder. “You don’t really have to look at the baby if you don’t want to.”

  “I think I’ll go home now,” Mary said. She turned around and walked back upstairs. The door shut behind her.

  I sat cross-legged on the cold floor and sucked my thumb. It still fit perfectly in my mouth. My skin tasted like dirt from digging up the grave, but the feel of my thumb against the roof of my mouth comforted me, and I needed comforting now more than ever. Mary probably won’t want to be friends anymore, I thought. Who would want a f
riend whose mother keeps a dead baby in the freezer?

  No one. Not a girl like Mary Roberts, that was for sure. She could do better.

  She’d tell her mother, who’d tell the whole town, and everybody would point at me and say, “There goes the girl with the crazy mother.” I’d be laughed at like the retarded boy at school. I’d be the girl nobody wants to sit next to, the girl who never gets a valentine, the girl nobody picks to play games with.

  In my whole life, I’d never felt so alone.

  I curled up in the corner and closed my eyes. For once, I wasn’t afraid of what bad dreams might come while I slept. I knew now that bad dreams can find you even when you’re awake.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  THE JAR

  I WOKE TO SOMEONE knocking on the cellar door. I thought maybe Mama had wandered down the stairs to see the baby, too.

  “Ellie?” a girl called my name.

  Was I still dreaming?

  “Mary?” Mary had come back. I hurried to my feet and opened the cellar door wide. “Mary!”

  She smiled and held up a Mason jar filled with clear liquid. “Here,” she said.

  “A jar of water?” I didn’t quite know what to say. Still, she’d come back when she didn’t have to, so I pretended to be pleased. “Thank you.”

  Mary smiled and sat down on the floor. “No, silly. It’s not water. It’s formaldehyde.”

  “Formaldehyde?” I felt even more confused as I sat next to Mary.

  Mary nodded. “Remember my brother’s biology set? The jars he keeps on his bookshelf?”

  “The ones with the crayfish and fetal pig?” Remembering the stiff little creatures made my skin prickle.

  “Right. He has a black snake now, too; its skin is partly shed. And there’s a toad with one mashed leg from when we ran over him with the wheelbarrow. Anyhow, I emptied out the formaldehyde, then put water in so my brother wouldn’t know.”