by Alana Terry
CHAPTER 3
So the next morning I waked up with this really awful tummy ache that was so bad I couldn’t even sit up proper-like. I tried to wake Min-Jung, but she sorta slapped me away, so I called Mama, and she come and fretted over me and felt my forehead and tapped on my belly. One spot was so sore where she touched me that I called her a word I shouldn’t have, but I musta been pretty bad off ’cause Mama didn’t even go for the spanking spoon after I said it. She just kinda stared out the window like she might bring Papa home from fishing sooner that way, and then she looked at Min-Jung still sleeping, and I wondered if Mama wished it were my sister who was sick instead of me, on account of me being the boy in the family and all.
Anyway, I was so bad off I hadn’t even thunk about the ghost food yet, but that musta been what Mama was most worried about ’cause as soon as she left my bed she hurried to the front porch, and when she saw that the baby’s dinner was all gone, she let out this big happy sigh that sounded kinda like the whole class does when you tell us something hard’s not gonna be on the test.
So the porch was empty— I guess that mudang took everything, the bowls, plates, there weren’t nothing left there — and Mama said, “Things will get better now.” And the way she said it, you woulda believed it too, unless you knowed like I did about the curse.
I’ve done some naughty things, Teacher, believe it or not, but I’m no liar. ’Least not so bad as someone like Chuckie Mansfield. See, I wanted to tell Mama about me going out on the porch that night. I coulda explained to her how the ugly mudang put some sorta spell on me and asked Mama to go give the witch some money so she’d take that curse off my stomach, except I knowed if I did that, it would make Mama sad again. She was all happy now, thinking the baby had come in the middle of the night and ate her food up, only it had been that old witch and not a ghost at all, and I didn’t have near as much of the noodles as that mudang did neither, so why was I the one with the curst stomach all of a sudden?
Anyway, Mama stood there staring at that empty porch looking so happy-like, I didn’t have the heart to do nothing, and I didn’t have the energy, neither, I was so sick. I was tired, but I was scared to fall asleep again, scared that the witch would show up in my dreams to place even more spells on me, and I knowed enough back then to understand that curses aren’t like a broken leg where it’s either broke or it’s not. ’Cause you could have one bad-luck hex on top of another, just like sometimes you get a cold in the nose, and then on top of that you get that hurt in your throat, and then before you know it the doctor’s poking around with his flashlight and giving you medicine for your ears. So that’s why I didn’t want to fall asleep, because I knowed my stomach was already curst, but I thought maybe it was like when you eat a fish that’s gone a little rotten, and you feel bad until it all comes out, but then you’re back to normal hunting for bugs again before you know it. I was hoping it was only a little curse, see what I mean, the kind that would sorta fall out of you the next time you used the outhouse or something.
Well Pastor, I figure he’d say you don’t need to be scared of no dreams, but he don’t know what happened to me next ’cause I never told him. And if you tell him first, maybe that’ll change his mind about what you should or shouldn’t be scared of, ’cause this dream was so bad I’m not even going to put it down for you. I wouldn’t write it out even if Chuckie Mansfield dared me to do it on Grandmother’s grave. All you need to know is it was a really bad dream, but you probably figured that out by now.
So anyway, I waked up from that dream and ’course I was crying, and I was feeling even worst now too, ’cause you remember what I said about curses building up like a disease? That’s how it was. So now I didn’t only have that awful pain in my belly, I was sweaty and it felt like someone was trying to boil my brain inside my head. Well, Mama come over when she heard me crying, and ’course she wanted to know what my dream’d been about, ’cause she wanted to know if maybe that old mudang lied and the ghost baby was still haunting us like before. So Mama — she always believed in them things like spooky dreams and stuff and nonsense like that — she said, “Did something bad happen?” And part of me wanted to tell her the whole nightmare so she could say something like there, there, it was just a bad dream, only I knowed Mama and there was gonna be more to it than that.
Soon as I told her something bad happened, she asked if it happened to someone we knew, and I nodded again because then it weren’t only my tummy and brain that hurt but my throat too so I didn’t feel like talking proper-like, and she said, “Well, don’t tell me until after lunch.”
So that meant I had to spend the rest of the morning waiting around for lunch, which ’course I wasn’t gonna eat on account of my stomach feeling like it got fire pokers wedged up every which way, and I couldn’t even tell Mama the dream so she could say it was nothing. So that set me off worrying even more than before, and so I held Mr. Mittens and he and I sorta talked a little while Mama stayed busy around the house, and before I knowed it, I was telling the dream to him. I stopped halfway through ’cause I remembered all of a sudden what Mama always said about how telling the bad parts before lunch might make them turn real. So ’course I was shivering now, not only from my chills but from being so afraid-like, and I wondered if telling half of a bad dream could still make it come true, and I started to hope real hard that it wouldn’t count since I just made a mistake. And then I got to thinking that since it weren’t no one but Mr. Mittens I told, maybe that weren’t such a bad deal after all. Maybe it only counts if you tell another human person. ’Least I sure hoped so.
Once right after I moved here, I got sick in my stomach and couldn’t keep nothing down. The doctor, he checked me out and said it weren’t nothing worrisome, it was probably because I wasn’t used to the different way of eating, and by that I figure he meant I wasn’t used to getting fed regular-like. Anyway, he gave me some chalky pink medicine so my appetite came back even fuller than before. Pastor joked it was easier to feed me when I was sick, only I knowed he was teasing in a good way so it didn’t hurt my feelings none. Well, it was different back in the old days when my stomach got curst and we didn’t have none of that medicine or any other kind, ’least none we could pay for. I could nearly see that food in my belly sorta rotting on account of the witch’s curse, and I could hardly focus on anything Mama was saying or doing, and I wondered if maybe I accidentally told Mr. Mittens about my dream after lunch instead of before ’cause my brain was scrambled and everything was confused. Mama come over and felt my forehead and said I was burning up, except that didn’t make sense because I was shivering like it’d been the middle of winter with no fire.
So like I said, I’d lost track of time by now, but Mama sure hadn’t. It musta been right at noon when she bustled over and gave me a little shake, and before she even felt my forehead she said, “It’s time. Let’s hear the dream.”
If I hadn’t been suffering from a curst stomach, I probably woulda tried to run away because I didn’t want to talk to her about it. I didn’t want her to see me looking guilty neither for having snitched to Mr. Mittens, ’cause now I was certain it was still morning when I first blabbed it. It’s just my brain was so fuzzy-like, it was hard to think she expected me to keep track of all the rules, and with my stomach being curst too, how was I supposed to know if it was before or after lunchtime anyway?
Well Mama asked me again, and she sounded a little angrier this time, like if I took too long to get it out she might go for the spanking spoon, fever and curst stomach and everything, so I finally told her what happened.
“That’s all?” she said with this kinda happy sound in her voice I couldn’t figure out.
I nodded, ’cause even though moving my head made me dizzy, it was still better than using my voice too much, and I was starting to figure that my throat must be curst now too, even though I never did figure why my stomach got curst first when the food has to pass through your throat before getting there. Maybe you could explain i
t to us one day in science.
So Mama made me tell her the dream again, and she made me swear on the Dear Leader that nothing else bad happened in it except what I already told her, so I swore, and she gave a little laugh, and she looked at me and said, “Don’t you know anything? If you have a dream about somebody dying, it’s good luck for them.” She gave me a little hug like it was the nicest thing in the world for me to dream about something so terrible happening to Grandmother, and she sprung up from bed and was going for some shoes before she said, “That’s right, you’re sick.”
I was feeling so tired by then, and so relieved I hadn’t killed Grandmother by accident, I didn’t really mind when Mama decided to run over to tell Grandmother the good news without me. “You want to take another nap anyway, don’t you?” she said. I could tell Mama really wanted to go, and truth be told I was a little embarrassed to have Grandmother know I dreamed something so bad about her, but Mama was halfway out the door before I could answer anything back, and by then she was saying, “You be a good boy and take a nap now,” and then she was gone.
So it was me and Mr. Mittens for a while, and we stayed in bed even though I think Mr. Mittens woulda liked to get up to hunt for bugs outside, but he understood how tired you get if you have a curst stomach and curst throat on top of that. Anyway, I was glad to learn nothing bad would happen to Grandmother and that maybe I had even helped bring her good luck, so I spent a good part of that hour with Mama gone wondering what sorta nice things must be coming her way. A new husband, maybe? I never met my grandpa, so it didn’t feel wrong for me to wish for her to marry someone else, hopefully someone rich and funny who liked kids as much as Grandmother. I was thinking about all the candy that would fit into two sets of pockets instead of just one when the front door opened. It was too quiet a noise for it to be Min-Jung, who was always slamming things around those days, and it weren’t Papa neither, on account of there being no fishy smell. So I lain in bed wondering who it was, thinking maybe Grandmother come to introduce me to my new rich grandpa or something, except that’s not what happened.
“Get up, Woong.” I had never heard Mama talk that way, kinda like each sound hurt her coming out so she was trying to save her voice.
“Is the doctor here?” I asked, ’cause I still hadn’t been able to stop shivering, and I wondered if maybe there were some medicine that could take away the chills even if they couldn’t do nothing to fix the curse in my stomach.
“I need you to come with me to Grandmother’s.”
Well, that gave me a short burst of energy ’cause maybe it really was a new grandpa I was gonna get to meet after all, only why would they make me go all the way over there if they knowed I was sick? Had Mama forgotten to tell them? I sat up in bed, but I was kinda swaying-like, and Mama got me by the arm, and her fingers pinched me on the spot where the mudang bruised me up the night before, so I tried to squirm away, but each time I moved it made me sorta seasick like if I were out with Papa on the boat and the wind come up.
“We’re going to your grandmother’s,” Mama repeated. “You have to help me prepare the body.”
I didn’t know what she meant, not yet ’least, but I sorta managed to slink out of bed, and after a few rounds at the spanking spoon and more threats, I figured I could muster up the strength it would take to walk.
Pastor says Chuckie Mansfield is dead wrong, and it’s all right for boys to cry, especially if something particularly sad happens to them like your grandmother dies the morning after you got yourself curst, but I figure it’s been a long time since Pastor’s been a little boy himself, so maybe he don’t know what he’s talking about no more. Well, we got to Grandmother’s house, and Mama was near dragging me by then on account of me feeling so tired and still seasick, but I tried to act like I was ok because maybe Grandmother and her new rich husband didn’t know how sick I was, and then I got to thinking that maybe some candy was what my curst stomach needed. Well, there weren’t no candy inside, and I didn’t see Grandmother neither, ’least not at first. Not until Mama drug me to the bedroom, and there she was all lain out like she was taking a nap, only she looked so uncomfortable-like I wondered if she’d be sore when she waked up ’cause she sometimes complained of pains in her joints like old folks do.
Well Mama, she pulled back the blankets and started unbuttoning Grandmother’s clothes, and curst throat or not, I started to yell at her pretty angry-like, “What do you think you’re doing?” Mama didn’t answer, she just yanked the blankets down more and started wiping Grandmother down like she was dirty floorboards that needed a good scrubbing.
Well, I waited for Grandmother to wake up and give Mama a good yell on account of treating her so rough, except she didn’t, and that’s when I flung myself onto the bed and tried to scratch and kick Mama and squalled for her to leave Grandmother alone, and I was crying and I was screaming even though my throat felt like somebody scraped the back of it with a nail back and forth all day long. Mama started pounding me and threatening me, only she was crying too, and when I saw them tears, I got all quiet-like and curled up by Grandmother’s feet and shut my eyes hard so I didn’t hafta look no more while Mama finished her work.
Pastor’s kinda funny because I know he’s a smart man, but if I were to tell him about everything, about the crying baby ghost and the curst food and what happened to Grandmother, I figure he’d come up with some fancy talk to explain to me why it has nothing to do with the hex that old mudang put on me or the dream I had that morning that I weren’t supposed to tell no one, not even Mr. Mittens. But if the Son of God can look at a dead man who’s stinking away in his grave and tell him to be alive again and he does it, then why’s it so hard to believe that an old witch can put a curse on you, and not only you but your whole family, too? Because it wasn’t just Grandmother, you know. Twice after the funeral, Mama had accidents in the kitchen. She said they woulda burnt the house down except it didn’t on account of her borrowing one of cranky Mrs. Nosy’s good-luck amulets. It was around that same time that Papa’s net got tore and that might notta been too bad, only he got his arm stuck too, so it broke the bone real good ’til his arm was twisted near completely backwards. I guess Pastor might say them were all cases of bad luck — except he wouldn’t use the word luck of course, he’d talk about the Bible saying it rains on the good like it rains on the wicked and stuff and nonsense like that.
But Pastor’s never seen a flood like we were about to get neither, so I don’t expect he’s knows much what he’s talking about when it comes to that sorta thing.
CHAPTER 4
So by the time Grandmother was stiff in the ground, Papa couldn’t fish no more with his arm being broke, Mama nearly burnt the house down twice, and even though I got over my chills and fever, I couldn’t never quite shake the feeling of being kinda sick to my stomach. ’Course, that coulda been on account of the famine that’d started as much as on me being curst, but after everything that happened to us, you can’t tell me it weren’t because of that wicked old mudang and her hex.
With Papa’s arm all busted up and his net broke too, we didn’t get no fish after that, not to eat or to sell neither. Folks started talking more and more about the drought. It was the middle of summer, but hardly nothing growed. When me and Min-Jung took walks to look for roots or whatnot, we got along better than ever on account of me suffering from hunger-weakness so I couldn’t pick on her, and her being too hungry and grumpy to worry about pounding me. We still cuddled at night too, her and me and Mr. Mittens.
Mama started to do whatever she could think of to bring good luck back to the family. I didn’t see the witch no more, but Mama went out more than once with herbs or other stuff and nonsense to trade the old woman in exchange for an amulet or two. ’Course I never told Mama about me being the cause of the curse to start with, and as far as I know there weren’t no more talk about the ghost, but I was so tired all the time from the hunger-weakness, I don’t think I woulda cared if that baby crawled up and sat on my
lap, just as long as it didn’t try to touch whatever food we scrounged, and I started missing the days when all we had was plain old fish.
Without him being able to go to work and such, Papa took to getting even more serious-like, and he was always tired. If I were to tell anyone, I woulda let Papa know it was my fault the net tore and he got his arm broke. I wouldn’t be scared of him knowing because he wasn’t one to get mad, but I couldn’t never bring myself to tell him what really happened on account of how sad I figured it’d make him.
So anyway, Papa and Mama and the other adults in our village, they were all talking about the rains and how we’d all take to starving soon if we didn’t get some, and I remember wondering how a boy could starve any more than I was already doing, which just goes to show we hadn’t got to near the worst of the famine yet in those days.
And Mama, she came home every other day with new tricks she said were sure to get the rains to come or the crops to grow or Papa’s arm to heal so he could go back to his fishing, ’cause plain old fish cooked without any herbs at all is still better than a bowl full of watery mush, especially when it’s nearly all water and hardly any mush.
Me and Min-Jung were getting along, like I already mentioned, so sometimes we got to talking about things. Mama never said nothing about Grandmother, not after the funeral, and Papa ’course never really talked at all, but sometimes on our walks hunting for food, I’d ask Min-Jung about Grandmother, and sometimes at night I talked to Mr. Mittens and told him about me missing her, and I knowed he did too, on account of Grandmother being the one to make him in the first place and whatnot.
There’s a hard part about having your grandmother die when you think it’s ’least partly your fault. You don’t feel quite right about acting sad, since if you didn’t want her to die, why’d you go and let yourself get curst in the first place? I still wonder about that dream, too, Teacher, ’cause what Mama said is that when you dream of someone dying, it’s supposed to be good luck, so what went wrong with me back in the old days? Did I mess things up when I talked to Mr. Mittens, do you figure? But then I think about the time after the flood and how hungry she woulda got, and I know Pastor’d tell me I’m evil for saying so, but sometimes I think that maybe she was lucky to die peaceful-like in her sleep instead of having to die slow and painful like so many others, especially them older folks.