The Pale-Faced Lie

by David Crow

  The anger smoldering inside me kept me up most of the night. Sam didn’t sleep either, thrashing under the stinking garbage. The reeking liquid saturated his sheets and pajamas and began leaking onto the tile floor. In the morning, the stench and the sight of my brother climbing out of the garbage made me cry.

  Sam took a shower but couldn’t get rid of the stink. Mona demanded we clean our room before school, as if it were our fault, but the rotten smell stayed. While we stripped Sam’s sheets and swept and scrubbed, Mona sat Sally down in the kitchen and cut her long hair nearly as short as mine. Mona made a show of replacing all of Sally’s dresses with boys’ clothing, mostly jeans and T-shirts, as if to remove any vestige of being a girl. Lonnie’s mouth dropped when she saw seven-year-old Sally looking like a third little brother.

  Wearing my faded cotton pajamas to school that day hardly bothered me. Sam had it so much worse.

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK, MONA HANDED me a letter addressed to Miss Brezina, my seventh-grade homeroom teacher. After class, she read it to me:

  Dear Miss Brezina,

  I am adopting the Crow children in order to give them a Christian home and discipline, which they sorely lack. Would you please outline David’s behavioral problems that need attention? From what I have already learned, I feel certain he needs a great deal of guidance. I look forward to hearing from you.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Crow

  “You must be so happy, David,” Miss Brezina said, lightly touching my arm. “I’ll write Mrs. Crow a letter so she can address your needs.”

  There could have been nothing worse for me than having my strict Franciscan teacher spilling her guts to Mona. Still, I hoped that Miss Brezina wouldn’t outline all that I’d done wrong.

  The next day she beamed as she handed me a sealed envelope to give to Mona and Dad. “You may not think so now,” she said, “but this letter might save you from a world of trouble. Your father and stepmother will help you work on serious problems with your behavior. I am proud to have played some part in this. Please have them sign it and return the bottom sheet tomorrow.”

  When Miss Brezina was out of sight, I ripped open the envelope and read:

  Dear Mrs. Crow,

  I’ve interviewed David’s teachers and am sorry to report that he has been a consistent troublemaker. Teachers have complained frequently, but Mr. Crow never responded. I’ve prayed for this day. God bless you and Mr. Crow for taking this step. Please sign this letter acknowledging receipt, and let me know if you wish to have a conference. We have much to discuss.

  With warmest regards,

  Miss Constance Brezina

  There was no way I would allow Mona to get her hands on that letter, so I forged Dad’s signature using a technique he’d taught me years before. Since our days in Gallup, I’d forged every report card and letter from the school by placing his signature under clear glass and then copying it by tracing the letters with a felt-tipped pen. I watched him do the same thing many times. The duplication had been so perfect, even he couldn’t tell the difference.

  The next morning, I handed my teacher the return envelope.

  She opened it, and her eyebrows gathered in concern. “Your father signed the letter, but there’s no comment from him or Mrs. Crow. I thought they would ask for a conference so we could work together on your behalf.”

  “Dad signed it and told me to do better,” I said calmly.

  That might have worked if I’d left it at that—but I couldn’t.

  The next morning, I got to class early and brought a tube of wood glue I’d taken from Dad’s car. After carefully spreading a thin layer on Miss Brezina’s chair, I waited for her to sit at her desk to take roll. She sat for several minutes, reviewing the class roster and explaining the day’s assignments, before lifting her enormous ass off the chair.

  As she rose, the chair rose with her, and the dress made a long, steady ripping noise. She spun around like a clumsy figure skater, with the chair following.

  The class exploded into laughter. Even Gilbert grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. Miss Brezina didn’t need to ask who was responsible. She pushed the chair away, gathered the back of her torn dress in one chubby hand, and grabbed my upper arm with the other.

  “I don’t believe Mr. or Mrs. Crow read the letter I sent home. I’ll call Mrs. Crow at lunch to discuss your behavior, including the insensitive thing you did today. Do you think what you did was funny?”

  I sure as hell did, as did my classmates. When I got to the cafeteria, Henry was spinning between tables, imitating Miss Brezina perfectly. To duplicate the sound of her dress ripping, he made fart noises with his mouth. Henry swore he saw some meaty flesh, “like a Brontosaurus drumstick.”

  Miss Brezina and Mona would have a lengthy discussion, but I told myself I didn’t care. There wasn’t much else Mona could do to make my life worse. Besides, Dad would be impressed with how well I forged his signature.

  That afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and saw “Forged letter” and “Brezina dress” written in separate boxes on the punishment board.

  Mona caught me reading the new entries. “Your father and I didn’t receive a letter from Miss Brezina. She brought her letter to me at the hospital this afternoon and told me what you did to her today. Do you have an explanation?”

  I wanted to tell her how much I hated her and her Nazi rules and that I had decided to have as much fun as possible at the expense of every idiot in Fort Defiance, including her, but I didn’t say a word.

  That night at dinner, Mona put the letter on Dad’s plate. He’d already heard about my day. He held the letter in the air, staring at his perfectly duplicated signature.

  “You’d have made a damn good counterfeiter.” He smiled, stealing a glance at me while holding the paper up to the light. “You could’ve taught some of the cons in the Q a thing or two.” He put the letter on the table, next to his plate. “What was the expression on the old battle-ax’s face when she realized you glued her ass to the chair?”

  I rose slowly from my seat at the table and spun, imitating Miss Brezina’s awkward spin mocking the disgust she had on her face. I copied Henry’s ripping noise. We both laughed, but Dad laughed harder.

  Mona ignored Dad and glared at me. “What you did today was reprehensible,” she said. “The poor woman was trying to help you.”

  I dropped back onto my seat at the table. “I knew Dad wouldn’t care. He never has before.”

  Mona’s eyes flashed with anger. She grabbed my wrist, pulled me off the chair, and dragged me to the punishment board.

  “You’re grounded for the next nine weeks from all activities except for delivering newspapers. You’ll pay for Miss Brezina’s dress out of your paper route earnings and apologize to her in front of the class.”

  The next day, apologizing was the most fun of all. It reminded everyone of how ridiculous Miss Brezina had looked, and wide grins broke out all over the room. The hard part was keeping Henry from bursting out laughing, which always made me do the same, but we managed.

  My rage toward Mona grew. In a fit of fury, I threw a cherry bomb in her purse while she was in the bathroom. Mona and Dad rushed into their bedroom under a haze of dark smoke and brown and white confetti, which used to be her Benson and Hedges cigarettes. Dad’s neck and eyes bulged as he yanked off his belt and pushed me down the hall into my room.

  “Why did you do it?” he boomed.

  “It was an accident.”

  “That was no accident. Don’t lie, don’t beg, don’t dance, and don’t cry, you little bastard. I’m going to beat the living shit out of you.”

  Every ounce of Dad’s strength went into smashing that belt against my butt and legs. He swung until exhausted, breaking a record number of blood vessels. Not a single nerve ending below my waist was spared. But I didn’t care and began plotting a way to get back at her without getting caught. Dropping a cherry bomb in her purse was stupid. My emotions had gotten the better of me.

  “T
hurston, I know you dislike corporal punishment,” I heard Mona tell him afterward, “but it’s the only thing that will make him become a responsible adult. In time, he’ll thank you.”

  Mona reveled in satisfying Dad’s need for taking out his aggression on his sons’ asses. There was no way I could have hated her more, but I tried.

  CHAPTER 33

  MANAGING DAD HAD ALWAYS BEEN A PROBLEM, but he never cared how destructive I was as long as he didn’t know about it or he thought a prank was clever. Mona, on the other hand, watched every move I made. In the short hour between the time my paper route ended and Mona got home, I obsessed over how to use my precious time. One day, I stopped by to see my friend Richard Kontz, who lived with his parents and eight siblings in the postmaster’s house.

  His father invited me to join the 4-H Club, which he led in their backyard, and penciled me in on the Little League team he coached. Our first 4-H project called for raising a sheep. When I told him about the grounding, he said, “I’ll reserve a sheep for you to feed, clean, and shear in our yard before your parents get home. You can keep the profit you earn from the sale.”

  That hour went by so fast. It seemed like five minutes. I couldn’t wait to return the next day. When the Kontz children and I made mistakes, Mr. and Mrs. Kontz didn’t yell, hit, or write outlandish punishments on a board. All they had to do was show disappointment in their loving, dark eyes. I wanted to please them, trusting they had my best interests at heart.

  But when I did well, like hitting a home run, Mr. Kontz’s face lit up, and he gave me a huge smile. Over time, I learned from Richard that his dad had fought the Japanese in the Pacific, including the bloody Battle of Guadalcanal, but he never talked about it. That would be bragging, and Mr. Kontz would have no part of it—the complete opposite of my dad.

  Mrs. Kontz couldn’t have been kinder to me. One afternoon, she took me aside and held my shoulders in her hands. “If you follow the rules, and I know you will, you can always come to our house when you need a place to go.”

  Apparently, Richard had shared some of the punishments I’d told him about. For the first time, I understood what a family should be. The Kontzes were poor, and they weren’t perfect, but they loved one another the way Evelyn had loved me. My mood lightened the instant I saw any member of the family, whether at school or on the street.

  I continued my sneaky rendezvous in my friend’s backyard for several days. Then one afternoon, Mona came home a few minutes early and found I wasn’t there. The moment I came in the front door, she said, “I saw you running from the Kontzes’ house. You are grounded from seeing them or anyone else. You can’t do anything but school and your paper route.” She bared her teeth like the mad dogs in Mud Flats. “I will break you.”

  “Never, ever, ever, ever.” I stomped down the hall into my bedroom.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I SNAGGED Dad’s matches he kept next to his Prince Albert pipe tobacco and brought two cherry bombs to school. When I got to science class, Mr. Treba, our teacher, held up a tube of mercury and said, “This beautiful silver liquid is valuable and dangerous. Be very careful with it.”

  No one saw me light the short green fuse and roll the cherry bomb toward Mr. Treba’s legs. It stopped at his feet and BOOM! His hand jerked upward, and the glass vial shot into the air. It smashed on the floor, and liquid mercury marbles rolled across the linoleum. Mr. Treba moaned and fell to his knees, crawling to pick it up, but the mercury ran through his fingers, like water on a sizzling skillet.

  “Who did this?” Mr. Treba shouted.

  The classroom held a collective breath. He stood and walked over to me. “Empty your pockets, mister.”

  Mr. Treba tossed the remaining matches and my extra cherry bomb on his desk. “I’m taking you to the principal’s office, Mr. Crow,” he said, squeezing the back of my neck to steer me out of the room. “Do you have any idea how expensive and toxic mercury is?”

  Mona’s pinched face and Dad’s pulsing vein flashed in my mind. “If you won’t turn me in, I’ll pick it all up and promise not to do it again.”

  “It’s too late for that, buster!”

  In the principal’s office, Mr. Lee ordered me to sit down. Mr. Treba folded his arms and scowled at me.

  “I’m calling Mrs. Crow right now, and we’re going to get to the bottom of the trouble you’ve been causing.” Mr. Lee seethed at me, looking like he could easily punch me in the face.

  “Mrs. Crow, this is Mr. Lee, the school principal. David caused a major problem at school today. We need to schedule a meeting in my office tomorrow, with you and Mr. Crow. What he did today is serious, and I’d rather discuss this in person.”

  That night, the punishment board stood idle, awaiting consequences after the meeting with Mr. Lee. During dinner, Dad laughed when I mimicked Treba crawling on his hands and knees, grabbing for the mercury. Mona tossed me one of her menacing stares, but she didn’t comment.

  The next morning, Mr. Lee sent for me after roll call. When I got to his office, I found Mona sitting on the couch, balancing a notepad on her lap with the Fort Defiance Indian Hospital logo at the top. She wore her official nurse’s uniform, a white dress with her lieutenant insignia on the shoulder. Next to Mona on the black couch sat Miss Brezina holding a manila folder with “David Crow” written in black magic marker. She wore a new skirt, crisp and clean, probably purchased with my newspaper money. Mr. Lee directed me to sit in the chair across from the couch.

  True to form, Dad didn’t attend the meeting, leaving it up to Mona to represent the Crow family.

  Brezina handed the folder to Mr. Lee. “Mrs. Crow,” he said, “I’d like to go over David’s behavioral issues, though we’ll only scratch the surface of everything he’s done.”

  Mona’s solemn green eyes never blinked, nor did she glance at me.

  “David, what happened in science class yesterday?” Mr. Lee said.

  “I didn’t know Mr. Treba would drop the beaker of mercury,” I said, hoping for mercy yet again.

  “Just what did you think would happen?”

  “He would laugh.”

  “We know about Miss Brezina’s skirt, don’t we?”

  “Yes. I paid for it and said I was sorry.”

  Miss Brezina fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch, straightening her skirt and pulling her knees together.

  “Several teachers have reported things placed in their purses, missing supplies, grades being changed, assignment sheets missing. Mr. Jackson, your PE teacher, said you pushed Willie’s head in the dirt while he was doing his push-ups. Why did you do that?”

  “I’d been waiting for a chance to get even with him. He thinks it’s cool to put half a tube of Brylcreem in his hair, and I wanted to see his head covered in dirt. Everyone laughed.”

  “Why did you have to get even?”

  “Willie and three other boys held me down on an anthill.”

  “You should have reported that. I would have talked to Willie and the other boys.”

  What an idiot. He knew the rules on the reservation. Survival depends on never snitching.

  “Mr. Brady said you yell dirty words in Navajo during his class. Who taught you these words?”

  “Some of the Navajo boys said it’d be funny if I yelled them in class.”

  “And you believed them?”

  I nodded and laughed.

  Mona hunched her shoulders. It was the first indication she wasn’t a mannequin.

  “Tell me the names of the boys who taught you,” Mr. Lee said, his pen poised to write.

  “I can’t remember.”

  Henry had worked with me for hours to get the pronunciation just right. My friend Jim laughed hard when we practiced, making it seem funnier.

  Mr. Lee stared at me for a second before returning to the folder. “You placed glue between each page in Joe’s notebook, which had a year’s worth of his beautiful drawings. You ruined them.”

  I never had a prouder moment than getting even with the bastard.


  “Joe had it coming. He’s one of the boys who held me on the anthill. And he helped beat me up plenty of times on my way home when we lived in Mud Flats.”

  “You dropped one of your large red firecrackers into the toilet after flushing it, blowing the porcelain top off. Water spewed everywhere. The bathroom filled up with smoke. The toilet top had to be replaced.”

  My timing had been perfect. I’d laughed until tears ran down my face. Every kid in school loved it.

  “You were asked to write a paper apologizing for gluing Mr. Allen’s grade book facedown on his desk. Instead you wrote about”—he looked at the file—“hogan and trailer kids, gangs, BB guns, rabid dog packs, Mud Flats, stupid white teachers, and Navajo teachers who aren’t fair. You even made fun of drunks.”

  Mona leaned toward me, her face inches from mine, her tiny, ferret-like teeth bared and her deep-set frosty eyes boring into me. Every word I’d written was true.

  “David, your behavior better change—and change fast.” Mr. Lee closed the folder. “Mr. Allen thinks you’ve acted out because your father recently married Mrs. Crow.”

  Yeah, well, we all hated her. Sam hadn’t laughed since the night he got trash dumped all over him, nor had Sally after her hair had been sheared like a sheep. Lonnie counted down the days like it was a prison sentence. How could Dad have done this to us?

  Mona rose from her seat and put her notepad in her purse. “I promise these problems will cease immediately.” She glowered at me. “David’s father and I will see to it.”

  At dinner that night, Mona and Dad ignored me. As we cleared the table, Mona wrote on the punishment board, “David is restricted from all activities until further notice.”

  Except she didn’t take away my paper route. I guess she saw it as work. If Mona had known how my route kept my sanity, it would have been the first thing to go. Other than killing me, Mona had nothing else to take from me.

  It was time to up the ante.

  CHAPTER 34

  OUR APARTMENT WENT DARK EVERY night by nine o’clock. When Mona came in to check on us, she looked at the bottom bunk to see Sam, but without a step stool, she couldn’t see me up top. About a week into my incarceration, I slipped out of the house and rode my bike in the light of a full moon to Mud Flats. My desire to escape was so strong that I didn’t care about the danger.