Cursed Be the Child

by Mort Castle

  There were appreciative chuckles, but Missy wasn’t so sure she liked Pastor Norton’s joke, if that’s what it was. Was he making fun of college? Her dad taught college. He was a professor, and a professor was probably more important than a minister—at least as important.

  “Anyway,” Reverend Norton continued, “there were those awkward minutes you always have with people you haven’t seen in a long time, and then we relaxed and started talking about, what else, the good old days. In the good old days, I had hair down to my shoulders and I played guitar. I was our campus’s imitation Bob Dylan.” He ran a hand over his head. “Everyone agreed I look much more distinguished bald than I did hairy.”

  Now that was kind of funny, Missy thought. Just being bald was funny!

  “Not long after that, we got into the ‘whatever happened to. . .’ game. You know how that goes. Whatever happened to Jim? And somehow, even though nobody’s seen Jim since graduation, somebody knows what happened to Jim. Jim got married and divorced and married, and he’s selling aluminum siding. Peggy, the rebel, SDS member, is in real estate. Morris is in franchise foods, Lucy got a PhD in chemistry and teaches at MIT, Hank took over the construction company when his dad died…”

  No!

  The voice was quiet, but clear in Missy’s mind. Lisette! No, that was wrong! Lisette only came at night. Lisette was…

  I am…

  “…and then our conversation grew more serious. It was late, and that seems to be a time to talk about serious things. Wasn’t it a shame about Chuck? It was so hard to believe what happened to Chuck. He was only 28, a man who had everything going for him—looks, brains, money. You’re not supposed to have a fatal coronary at twenty-eight. You’re not supposed to die.”

  No!

  As though pondering a mystery and denying its existence at the same time, Reverend Norton slowly shook his head. “Life is what we know, what we have, the dearest gift our Lord has granted us, and then, here’s a monstrous, inexplicable insult to all that we, as mere mortals, understand. Death invades and overpowers life and there is an ending…”

  Oh, no…

  Missy’s eyes stung with the promise of tears. She felt sad and afraid and angry, and she did not understand at all. It was Lisette who was sad and afraid and angry—she knew that—and she was not Lisette.

  I need to live! I will live!

  The scream swelled, an expanding balloon of furious sound that filled Missy’s mind. She was dizzy. She felt as though she were dreaming but didn’t think she was. She couldn’t be sure of anything—except that Death was terrible and wrong.

  I will live!

  Reverend Norton solemnly said, “In the midst of life, we are in death…”

  Missy nudged her mother. When Vicki leaned her head down, Missy whispered in her ear, “Mom, let’s go home.”

  “Shh,” Vicki whispered back, “it will be just a little while longer.”

  Reverend Norton’s voice became less intense but no less thoughtful. “Toward the end of the evening, I took out my guitar, and we all sang the way we used to. There seemed to be only one song we could all remember the words to. ‘Down in the valley, the valley so low…’” The minister’s brow wrinkled. “Naturally enough, with my religious calling, that got me thinking about the valley we all walk through, that lonesome valley of the shadow of death.”

  I won’t die! Mama, Mama, don’t let me die!

  Missy wanted to tell Lisette to shut up and quit blubbering for her mother.

  But she couldn’t. Her own secret voice, the one that said whatever she wanted it to inside her mind, the special voice she used to talk to Lisette, that voice was hardly even a whisper.

  Then it became stronger. It changed, and it was not her voice at all.

  It was Lisette’s voice.

  It was Lisette who jabbed Vicki Barringer’s ribs hard with an elbow. It was Lisette who moved Missy Barringer’s tongue and shaped the words, “Mama, please, let’s go.”

  “You behave yourself, young lady.” Vicki harshly whispered, glaring.

  Reverend Norton said, “Awake or asleep, we dwell in the valley of the shadow of death…”

  No!

  “What is wrong with you?” Vicki whispered in Missy’s ear. “If you don’t settle down, young lady, the minute we get home, I’ll give you something you’ll remember.”

  “…death comes for us all…”

  Mama would not save her. Mama would not help her. She could call and call for Mama, but Mama never came. Mama died and left her. Mama never came, and she was mad at Mama for going away…

  “…and with the ending of life…”

  …hated her, hated Mama…

  “…with the final breath and the final thought…”

  Death was here! And she had to go away, had to get out of here…

  “No!”

  Startled, Vicki saw her daughter stand up, drop her purse and shout again, “No!”

  She felt the stares of Grove Corner Presbyterian Church and the hot flush of embarrassment suffuse her neck and scald her cheeks.

  “No, no, no…Noooo!”

  Reverend Norton stopped speaking.

  In a stammered whisper, Vicki, rising, tried to apologize, to explain to Laura Morgan. She realized she was too humiliated to find words of apology and had no explanation for her daughter’s tantrum. Terribly embarrassed, she wished the floor would crack open and swallow her.

  She had to get Missy outside at once.

  On the concrete steps of the church, heart pounding, Vicki demanded, “What in heaven’s name…?”

  Then she stopped, paralyzed by uncomprehending anger and shame. She glared at a red-faced little girl, eyes narrowed to furious slits. The child’s mouth opened, and a new scream began.

  A strange thought flashed through Vicki’s mind: This is not my daughter.

  Then Vicki slapped the little girl’s face.

  — | — | —

  Thirteen

  I wish you would go away!

  No, Melissa, I won’t go away.

  I can make you, Lisette! You’re only an imaginary friend. You’re just like a game of pretend, and when I stop pretending, then you have to leave.

  I’m as real as you, Melissa.

  I’m going to quit pretending right now. One two, three! You’re all gone.

  I am as real as your hair, Melissa. I am as real as your blood.

  I said you’re all gone. That’s the end of the game.

  Listen to me, Melissa…

  I won’t! I don’t have to!

  You will listen to me, Melissa.

  Please, just go. Okay? Lisette, the game’s over. Lisette…

  What, Melissa?

  This isn’t a game.

  No.

  But I don’t want you here anymore. I don’t like you, Lisette! You scare me! I wish you would die!

  Don’t say that! Don’t you ever say that!

  You’re not a good friend. You’re bad! You do bad things. And you make me do bad things!

  I’m not bad, Melissa.

  Yes, you are! It was you who made me…It was you who started hollering like that in church. You made Mom slap me, and she never ever slapped me before. Not that way, anyhow. Not in the face.

  Mama’s bad.

  And I can’t even tell Mom it was you. I can’t tell anyone. You won’t let me!

  Mama hit you. She’s bad.

  You shut up! That’s my mom!

  Mamas do that. They do bad things. They don’t come when you cry for them. They leave you all alone.

  My mom is good!

  You’re mad at her now. She hit you in the face.

  Yeah.

  And you hate her.

  That’s a nasty lie.

  You told her you hate her. You know you did.

  Yeah, I did, but so what? That doesn’t mean I don’t love her, too!

  She wanted to talk with you. You told her to go away.

  That’s because I was angry!

  You w
anted to hit her in the face the way she hit you. You still want to hit her in the face.

  Maybe I do. I don’t know.

  That means you hate her.

  No! I don’t know. You get me all mixed up.

  Mama is bad, and you hate her. It’s Daddy you love. Daddy never hits you. Daddy loves you.

  Sure, I love both Mom and Dad.

  Daddy loves you, and you have to be nice to him so he will always love you.

  I am nice to Dad. I’m always nice.

  You have to be extra nice to Daddy, a special kind of nice.

  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  I’ll teach you.

  — | — | —

  Fourteen

  He knocked. When there was no answer, he turned the knob and opened the door wide enough to slowly slip his head inside.

  Missy sat cross-legged on the bed, hands on her knees, head bowed. She’d changed out of her good clothes as soon as she got home, carefully hanging the dress in the closet, and now she wore jeans, a Care Bear top, and a forlorn expression.

  “Yoo-hoo.” She was, Warren knew, deliberately not turning to look at him, wanting to let him see just how miserable and unhappy she was.

  “I said, ‘Yoo-hoo.”’ He stepped into the room. “Or should that be ‘Yoo-whom?”’

  He’d hoped for at least a hint of a smile. She usually thought he was pretty damned funny. Maybe a touch corny, as she put it, but funny.

  Well, this was serious business, after all, so serious she wasn’t even seeking the furry consolation of Winnie-the-Pooh, who lay on her pillow. He sat down at the foot of the bed. Quietly, he said, “Mind if I keep you company for a while?”

  The suggestion was met with a shrug.

  “You’re feeling pretty crummy now, I’ll bet.”

  A slight nod affirmed it.

  “I understand,” he said. “That’s what happens when people who love each other hurt one another’s feelings.”

  “She hit me in the face,” Missy said tonelessly.

  “I know,” he said. That certainly wasn’t like Vicki; she must have really become totally unglued. He had been uptown buying a Sunday newspaper when Vicki brought Missy home from the church disaster. When he returned, there was Vicki at the kitchen table, brooding and looking not a great deal different than did Missy right now. She’d told him the story, blaming herself for losing control that way and hating herself for it; even a whack or two on the rear when absolutely needed was rare with Missy. Honest to God, Vicki confessed, she felt like a child abuser.

  But the capper for Vicki was when Missy yelled, “I hate you!” as she ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door hard enough to register on the Richter scale.

  “How about you and I talk about it?” Warren said. “After all, I’m on your side, you know.”

  “I thought you’d be on her side.”

  “Hmm, maybe a bad choice of words. Try it this way. I love you. You’re my kid. I love your mom. She’s my wife. We’re a family. We all love each other, don’t we? So, the way I see it, that means we’re all on the same side. We have to help one another any way we can. Understand?”

  “I guess.”

  He tapped her on the shoulder. Missy looked directly at him. “Sometimes listening can be a big help. I’m a good listener. Anything you want to say?”

  Missy nodded emphatically. “Why did she hit me in the face?”

  “Because she was super upset. She lost her temper. She acted without thinking. Of course, you gave Mom pretty good reason to be so upset.”

  Missy said, “I guess.”

  “What got into you in church to turn you into a junior wild woman, anyway?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he said. Personally, he thought it quite possible that Missy’s built-in bullshit detector had suffered an overload. What kid who hadn’t been brainwashed into believing all that God crap would voluntarily waste time in church?

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Missy said. “I can’t.”

  “That’s all right. We all have things we want to keep to ourselves.”

  For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him something, so dark a secret that it clouded her face. Her lips actually moved.

  But when she said nothing, he said, “You know, Mom did try to talk to you. She wanted to tell you how sorry she was. You think it might be a good idea to go downstairs to her and let her talk to you now, maybe work out a few things between you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I’d like that, Missy,” he said. “You could do it for your good old man who loves you heaps and barrels and bushels and all, couldn’t you?”

  “I love you, too, Daddy,” Missy said. Suddenly, she scurried to plant herself on his lap and leaned against him. “I’ll always love you.”

  “And you can be sure I’ll always…”

  She put her hand on his chest, gently petting him. Then, slowly, her hand rose, and her index finger lightly slid up his neck, tickling the flesh just beneath his chin. “I love you so much, Daddy, so very, very much, and I want to do nice things for you.”

  Warren’s guts knotted.

  Missy wriggled, as though snuggling into heavy blankets on a cold winter’s night. “I have a secret to whisper in your ear.”

  She put her chin on his collarbone and rubbed her cheek against his. Her lips brushed his ear. She breathed, “I want you to love me. Love me, and I’ll do…anything.” Then the tip of her tongue wetly flicked into his ear.

  Jesus!

  Warren swung her off his lap and plopped her down on the bed as he stood up. The look of surprise instantly disappeared from Missy’s face to be replaced by a teasing look, like the goddamn teen queen who knows it all, has done all of it at least three times, and wants to teach it all to you!

  He fumbled for his wallet in his back pocket and fought to keep his voice even. “Here’s ten dollars, Missy.” He handed her the bill. “How about you take your mother out for a late lunch and—well, talk about what you have to talk about.”

  “Whatever you want, Daddy.”

  He wanted to get the hell out of there, that’s what he wanted.

  He grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

  He wasn’t quick enough not to hear her, “I love you, Daddy.”

  “Where have you been? You’re…You’ve been drinking!”

  Nodding the loose nod of drunkenness, Warren said, “Observant as hell.” He smiled sloppily. “Sometimes that’s one of your most endearing traits, Vicki. Other times, it’s a pain in the ass.”

  “It’s almost midnight!” Vicki shouted, rising from the living room sofa. “Without a word to me, you take off like Jack the Ripper’s after you, and then you come home like this!”

  Warren put a finger to his lips. “Shh, hold it down, Vick. You’ll wake the kid.”

  “No,” Vicki said, “no, I told you I wouldn’t go through scenes like this again, Warren. I’ve had enough of it.”

  “Aw, poor Vicki had a real shit day.” With his thumb, he tapped himself on the chest. “Maybe my day wasn’t a passport to paradise, either, ever think of that? Of course not. What do you know about what it’s like to be me?”

  Eyes blazing, Vicki said, “I know you, all right. You’re an alcoholic…”

  “I’ll drink to that!”

  “…and if that’s what you’ve chosen to be, that’s your decision. But you’ll do it without me.”

  He couldn’t stop himself—and didn’t want to. “And you’ll get along without me very well, right?” He smiled. “I can name that tune in three notes. You’ll find some fine feller to keep you from the lonelies, a shoulder to cry on, someone to fill that empty space in your heart, and”—he winked—“and that ain’t all, folks.”

  He made a show of scratching his head and raising an eyebrow, as though a thought had just at this moment occurred to him. “I never did ask. Was Greenfield, old Davey boy, my pal and my colleague, any good in the sack?”
r />   Rage twisted Vicki’s face. “You…you…”

  “Too bad you can’t swear worth a shit, Vicki,” Warren said. “You’d be surprised—times like this, it helps. But you’re just too goddamn nice to put dirty words into your mouth, aren’t you? You know, I never did figure out how Nelly Niceness wound up doing the dirty deed with David. That wasn’t nice now, was it?”

  She took a step toward him and raised her hand.

  Quietly, Warren said, “Going to slap my face, too?”

  In slow motion, her arm dropped. Then she said, “You bastard!”

  “See, sometimes it feels right to swear.”

  She marched out of the living room. At the foot of the stairs, hand on the banister, she turned her head to look at him with cold detachment. With no expression in her voice, she said, “Don’t come up to bed, Warren. I’d rather wake up to find a corpse alongside me than you.”

  “Hey, I live here too, sweetheart.”

  “You take one step into the bedroom, and…”

  “You’ll slap my face?”

  “I’ll telephone the police.”

  He thought about that. No sense bothering the police with a simple domestic disturbance. He was a public spirited citizen, a conscientious member of the community.

  “Good night, dear,” he said, as Vicki started up the stairs. “Always enjoy our marital chitchats. And by the way, fuck you very much.”

  He expected to hear the bedroom door slam, but he didn’t. Of course not. Vicki wouldn’t want to wake…

  Missy! Jesus!

  It was Missy who’d triggered this binge.

  He ran his hand down his face. Oh, Jesus, he was seriously fucked up and not just booze fucked up.

  Crazy-sick-nut-case fucked up.

  All right, then… He’d spent the day trying to drown his problems, but he was alcohol courageous now.

  He went into his study, turned on the light and sat at the desk. A sheet of paper was in the Underwood. There was nothing on it.

  He pulled open the right-hand desk drawer and took out the pistol. The .25 caliber automatic felt small and perfect in his hand.

  He didn’t doubt himself at all. He felt calm, almost relieved.