The Wisdom of Perversity

by Rafael Yglesias

  “It’s Alpha Centauri, an Earth colony in outer space.”

  “Was it his idea?”

  “My idea,” Jeff said. It was both their ideas, but he was tired of his mother’s always telling him Brian is so bright. “I rolled a paper into a cone around the magnifying glass Dad brought me from the store. Looking through my magnifier-telescope, you can skim over the blocks and LEGOs. They get big and strange, just like another planet.” A civilization, Brian kept bugging him to call it since that was their idea, to build a better civilization on another planet because Earth had been destroyed in a nuclear war. Brian was right, but annoying. “Civilization. Another civilization,” he repeated to his mother, hoping that might convince her to spare it. They needed a name for their civilization, he kept telling Brian; calling it civilization was dumb.

  “Put as much of it in the closet as you can. And put back the things you took from the kitchen. You can rebuild it with Brian when he comes over. He’s coming over today, right? You told me he’s keeping you company today.”

  Instead of speaking the lie, Jeff nodded.

  “Good. Cousin Richard said he would take you both out to lunch when he stops by. He was very disappointed Bri didn’t come to the museum after he went to all that trouble to arrange a special tour.”

  Defeated, Jeff walked to his room, moving slowly, the slowest ever, intent on making sure that he placed heel to toe with no space at all, a line of Keds. He didn’t look up until he could see Alpha Centauri. The wooden blocks, LEGOs, frying pan, Heinz baked beans cans, and Matchbox cars looked pretty good even without squinting through the paper cone and magnifying glass. Best thing they’d built so far. He was very sad to destroy it. He felt like crying, but he wasn’t a cry baby.

  He decided he wouldn’t destroy Alpha himself. Maybe he’d leave that to Hattie. This was a terrible, bad, really bad thing. No way he and Brian could ever put it back together and make it look so good. If only he could take a photograph. No! A Polaroid. Then he and Brian could rebuild later that day! Cousin Richard owned a Polaroid Land Camera. Such a boss name. Sam had used it . . .

  But he didn’t want to think about that anymore.

  What if he owned his own Polaroid Land Camera! Wow. Instant pictures. The way I saw it. Just now. You say I didn’t. There it is. I win.

  It was itching again. He backed up against the doorknob and rubbed. That didn’t reach the spot. He scratched through the denim with his hand, but even touching it that way felt really yucky.

  The phone rang! This early had to be Bri. “I got it!” he shouted. GO!

  Races out, past pirate’s cave. “TAKE IT IN HERE!” the parrot screeches. GO top speed. Faster than fast. Skids WAY OUT WIDE from hall to living room, staggers on rug, starts to . . . FALL . . . catches dining table corner, and . . . DOESN’T!

  The phone had stopped ringing. Ma must have picked up. GO!

  Top speed to white kitchen phone, FLIPS receiver way UP, catches it neatly in palm. “Bri! Come up!” he yells loudly, hoping to break her nosy ears.

  “Stop shouting!” Ma shouted from bedroom extension. “Brian, where did you say your father was taking you?”

  “To visit my grandma in the Bronx.”

  “You’re going to church?” she accused.

  “On Wednesday?” Brian sounded confused.

  “Don’t Catholics have Mass on Wednesdays?”

  Jeff couldn’t stand this. “Bri! Come up. Alpha Centauri is in danger. We have to save her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ma said. “So you won’t be here for lunch, Brian?”

  “I can’t come up today,” Brian said.

  Jeff spoke really fast before Ma could stop him. “Bri, before you go to your grandma’s come up and help me put Alpha Centauri away so we save as much of it as we possibly can, okay?”

  “Good-bye, boys. Jeff, don’t stay on the phone. I have to make a call.” On the line, there was clatter, like dishes being stacked, his mother hanging up. Maybe. He had seen her bang the phone like that against the night table, then hold it up to her ear, listening in while his father was on the kitchen extension with Uncle Hy. So he chose his words carefully: “Ma says I have to get it off the floor so Hattie can vacuum. You have to help me take it apart neatly so we can rebuild.”

  There was a silence.

  “Bri?”

  “Is your cousin there now?”

  “Just me and Mom. Dad’s at the store, like always, and Ma has to go out at ten. It’s not a school holiday for them.” The boys had all week off, a combination of Passover and teachers’ break. Already two days of the heaven of no school were gone.

  Brian asked his mother for permission to come up for an hour, got it, and hung up.

  Jeff opened the front door. He angled himself to see a portion of the stairs. He tried to guess which part of Brian would appear first. He decided the head.

  But no. Bri’s left arm appears first, pulling him up the bannister. Just the arm. Then head. Body. Legs last—the opposite of what you’d think!

  Brian was all dressed up for a visit to his grandma in gray wool pants, white shirt, a stupid-looking tie, too long for his body. His hair was all slicked down. He looked like one of the Little Rascals.

  “Mom said I can’t get my clothes dirty so I can only tell you what to do,” Bri said while they walked to his room. Brian called in a hello to Harriet. She stupidly asked again about why Brian was seeing his grandmother on a Wednesday.

  When they reached Jeff’s room, they stopped and stood and stared at their creation of wooden blocks, frying pan, two Heinz cans, LEGO buildings, Matchbox cars and plastic soldiers. It took up three-quarters of the room’s floor. Brian said, “Oh! I forgot. We should call our civilization New Athens.”

  “Why?” Jeff demanded.

  “Cause it’s an Earth colony founded by America. Athens was the first democracy and it’s a real democracy. All the citizens make decisions, like in Athens, no leaders. So—New Athens.”

  Jeff thought the name was very boring. Brian could be like that, like a teacher, no fun. “So how we gonna save it? Ma said I was allowed to put as much as we could in the closet.”

  Brian tried to make a Bronx cheer. Sounded more like a fart. “That won’t work.”

  “I know,” Jeff said. “We should just let Hattie destroy it.”

  “Wait!” Brian got excited by some idea which Jeff could tell he really liked because as he explained it he kind of hopped and flung his arms about like a spaz. Brian inspired was a goofy sight. “We could just slide this part under your bed and separate this side, put that in your closet,” he said. “Then see? We’d only have to—”

  “Break up the highway and park!” Jeff got it. “That’s the easiest part to rebuild.”

  Brian was so eager he forgot his promise to his mother, got down on his fancy pants’ knees, and carefully began separating a third of the wooden blocks from the rest. Jeff concentrated on making sure the frying pan, cans of beans, LEGOs buildings and Matchbox cars were completely on one side of the separation. His bed had been stripped by Hattie so they didn’t have to lift blanket or sheets to clear a path to push it under the box spring. They flanked the severed section, ready to push together. “On three,” Jeff said. “One, two, three . . . GO!”

  Doesn’t slide. Tumbles. Blocks clack hard on floor, a BIG crash.

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” his mother shouted after the crescendo: frying pan whacking into a Heinz can, denting it badly. Jeff squinted, narrowing his vision to the NZ of the label and the pathetic dent.

  “Fuck,” Brian said. He kicked over the one tower still standing, a Heinz can surrounded by blocks, topped by a plastic soldier.

  Jeff put out his hands and arched. He dove at New Athens like it was a swimming pool. He kept his eyes open until he hit. His hand plowed through most of it and broke his fall. One of the blocks caught him in the cheek. That hurt. New Athens collapsed gently around him. He rolled onto his back, a Matchbox car digging into his spine; he looked up at Bri
an.

  Brian grinned at Jeff lying in the wreckage. “It’s the end of civilization,” he said, and that was so funny Jeff couldn’t stop laughing the first time he tried to.

  Brian said, “We’d better clean this up.”

  “Let Hattie do it,” Jeff said, thinking that would serve Mom right because Hattie would be angry. Maybe charge extra for staying longer.

  They went to the kitchen and drank Yoo-hoos. They argued about last night’s Batman and Robin episode (Brian thought it stupider than usual; he thought it was pretty funny) until the phone rang and Ma called out that Brian had to go home.

  After Bri left, Jeff went to his room to fetch the new Batman comic, which featured the Riddler. He didn’t really like this issue because riddles were like school problems: no fun, just tricks to make you feel stupid. Maybe he would like it better the second time. Fetching it, he dashed in and out of his room, eyes half shut so he wouldn’t have to look on the wreckage.

  He settled down to read in the living room. Hattie came back from the laundry machines in the basement. She had a blue hairnet over the stiff mass of rusty brown hair that looked like it had been ironed. She stopped for a moment in the foyer with her basket of folded sheets and stared at Jeff. She seemed about to ask him something.

  Did she count the underpants? That’s stupid, she doesn’t know how many I have. He returned her suspicious glare without any trouble: she didn’t know anything. Sure enough, Hattie never said a word. She groaned, bending her round body over as best she could, picking up the laundry and heading toward the bedrooms.

  He moved to the kitchen to get himself a second Yoo-hoo. That was one too many. His mouth was too sugary and his stomach got tight—he felt a round little ball inside, a Spalding pinky, like when it wasn’t happy. He wanted to be in his room but didn’t want to watch Hattie pick up the end of civilization. He had to keep shifting on the twine bottom of the kitchen chair because he was so itchy up in there.

  He read all of the Batman again and didn’t like it again.

  “Your mama wants you,” Hattie said in a very sad voice. He hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen. She didn’t look at him. She waited until he got up and walked past her, making sure he went.

  Ma was going to make him put New Athens away. He had known all along that would happen, but he wanted her to have to make him. For doing it himself, he could get something out of her.

  His mother was sitting up at the foot of the bed, not on the side like usual. Her back, neck, and head were thrust straight up by the neck brace. She was staring in his direction but not at him, as if he were invisible. Then he noticed his fitted bottom bedsheet was on her lap, folded up like a flag.

  For the rest of his life Jeff could recall perfectly the still image of his mother in this pose. At first, he was baffled by why she was holding his bedsheet. He also remembered this sensation for the rest of his life, a spooky lack of unawareness of danger at the very height of being in danger. “What do you want, Ma?”

  She unfolded his bedsheet. There were three pale, round red stains and a fourth paler, thinner, just a streak. “Jeff . . .” she began in a quiet voice, unlike herself, and unlike herself she didn’t go on. He had not noticed the stains when he woke up and immediately wondered what he could have done to hide them if he had. She lifted the bloody sheet. Underneath was a pair of his Jockeys, not the one he threw out, this one was from Monday, after his Sunday with Cousin Richard. He had rolled that into a ball and shoved it deep in the hamper because it was a little poopy. She turned it inside out, tilting it at him. Beside the brown stain there was a deeper color, a crescent of red he hadn’t seen. He looked at the floor.

  “Is your tushy bleeding when you go to the bathroom?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” One of the oak boards was two shades darker than the others. Its edge was splintered.

  “Are you bleeding today?”

  He shook his head. He counted seven-and-one-half floorboards until Mom’s bedspread shadowed the rest.

  Her voice was gentle and strangely calm. It scared him. “Go to your room, Jeffrey, take off your clothes, put on your bathrobe and bring me the underpants you’re wearing.”

  He shook his head.

  “Jeffrey, I’m not angry. If you’re bleeding from your tushy, that’s very serious. I have to check.”

  “Hattie,” he mumbled.

  “She’s cleaning in the kitchen. She won’t come back here until I call her.”

  His robe was on the hook in the bathroom so he undressed there. His Jockeys were clean, white and perfect. He felt more confident there was nothing really wrong as he returned to his mother’s bedroom.

  She had put the dirty sheets and underpants on the floor all balled up so you couldn’t see the yucky parts. “Give them to me,” she said.

  He handed over today’s Jockeys. She turned them inside out and brought them closer to her bedside lamp. Because of the neck brace she had to move her entire upper torso, moving stiffly like Frankenstein. She put them aside and returned to him.

  “When did you start bleeding, Jeffy?”

  He looked at her knees, following a blue vein running along one side and down her calf. He shrugged.

  “Sunday? After your day with Cousin Richard?” Now she sounded like herself—angry.

  “Ma, can I go now?”

  She put her open hand on his cheek. He flinched, but it was a caress. Her palm lingered. He glanced up. She was all teary. He looked down at her knees. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said, leaning close. The hard plastic of her brace bumped his shoulder. “I need to check your tushy,” she whispered, then tugged at the robe’s belt, undoing it. “Lie facedown on the bed, sweetie. I have to make sure it’s stopped.”

  Putting his face on the scratchy afghan blanket, he smelled potatoes. She lifted his robe. The air was cool on his behind. He clenched. “It’s okay, Jeffy. I’m just going to make sure you’re not hurt,” Ma said. Two warm hands landed on each cheek. They parted him gently. His legs shot out, knees locked, toes pointed. “Relax, honey,” she said. Her hands tugged him apart. “I need to make sure you’re okay.” He dug the edges of his top front teeth onto the bottoms so hard they hurt. He opened his lips and champed down even harder. The edge of the scratchy afghan slid into his mouth. “Relax, sweetie. Please. I’m just going to look.”

  He stopped pointing his feet, unstrung his calves, bent his knees, let his belly sag. He took a deep breath of the potato blanket.

  The cool air touched him there. The itchiness got worse, just for a second. He felt her lean in to look. She moved his cheeks a little up, a little down, to one side, the other. Then she let go and covered his behind with the robe. “Okay, sweetie. You can get up.”

  Back on his feet, he kept his head down. He tried to figure out why the blanket smelled of potatoes.

  “Did Cousin Richard hurt your tushy, baby?” she asked in that weird, kind voice.

  He nodded up and down, eyes focused on pale oak floorboards.

  “On Sunday?”

  He nodded. “Can I go?” he asked.

  “In a second. At his apartment?”

  He could look up now. Ma’s eyes were squinting still but no longer wet. Her painted brows were in an angry line. They were above where her real eyebrows should be. He wondered whether her real eyebrows would have made a line. He nodded.

  “Wasn’t Sam also there?” she asked irritably.

  That pushed his face back down to his toes on the oak. He nodded.

  “The whole time?”

  He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “Can I go?”

  The gentle hand returned, caressing his cheek. “I love you, Jeffy.”

  He nodded and kept his eyes squeezed shut.

  She held his chin and leaned close. She kissed his cheek so softly it was like the wind was kissing him. “No one will ever love you more,” she whispered. “You’re the whole world to me.”

  “I love you, Mommy,” he whispered back, still blinded.

&
nbsp; She let him go. “Close the door and play in your room until I call for you. Don’t worry about your tushy. It’ll feel better soon.”

  He shut his door but didn’t lock it. He got started on rebuilding New Athens. Hattie hadn’t vacuumed, but he was sure Ma wouldn’t make him take it apart again.

  All his worries fell away while he worked. Until he heard the doorbell ring and knew it was Cousin Richard. But he didn’t worry about him for long because the reconstruction was going great. He was sure he could remember how to fix all of it. His confidence remained high until he did something wrong with the underpass entrance to the Hall of Government. He couldn’t make a smooth circle. It kept breaking. Probably Brian would remember. He never forgot anything.

  Jeff went to work on the other side, where the outer buildings were easy to do. He was almost done with them when Ma knocked and opened his door. Her neck brace was off. She was wearing a dark blue and white patterned dress she usually wore to temple. Cousin Richard was behind her, hanging back in the hallway.

  “Hi, Jeffrey,” Cousin Richard called. “I have to go right now, but this weekend I’ll take you and Brian to a Yankees game. I can get us seats right behind home plate. Maybe get Mickey Mantle’s autograph. Okay? Bye for now!” He left.

  Ma stayed. She stared hard at the wooden blocks, LEGOs and Matchbox cars. One cheek twitched uncontrollably, as if only that piece of her skin were angry. “You’re putting it back together,” she said.

  His stomach got tight and hard. Was she really going to make him take it apart again?

  “Sweetie,” she continued in a very angry voice, “I had a long talk with Cousin Richard. He is very sorry he bothered you. He promised me it will never happen again. He’s going to make it up to you.”

  He thought about the Land Camera. If he had had one today, he would be able to fix New Athens all by himself.

  “And that . . .” She paused for a second, then went on. “That Sam, he won’t come here anymore. You will never have to see Sam again.”