by Tamar Myers
The first rule of any siege (beyond denying the enemy entry) is securing a water supply. So I began by filling up my sinfully large bathtub. The purpose of this water was only for drinking and flushing the commode, in the event that Melvin shut off my supply from outside. I bother to mention it because this tub, which I have named Big Bertha, has thirty-two sin-inducing whirlpool jets. At any rate, while the tub was filling I dragged in Little Jacob’s mattress from his youth bed. Then I hit the pantry for food supplies. Hard.
Any rural woman worth her salt has a fully stocked larder, including salt and lard. I took both. The former was to season my food, whereas the second was part of my escape plan, if it came to that. (A greasy body can navigate tight spots better than a dry one can.) But in the main, I took tinned goods: tuna, peaches, pears, peas, tomatoes and even a lonely tin of sardines in yellow mustard sauce that had gone unnoticed for several years. Perhaps the most important items I brought back were the three large jars of extra-crunchy peanut butter, and to go with them, a carton of cheese-flavoured crackers.
At the last minute I remembered a manually operated can opener, a Swiss Army knife, my husband’s medical bag, and most importantly, my King James version of the Holy Bible. I am quite sure that it is this version that Jesus Himself read when he was growing up in Nazareth, so it is of great comfort to me.
You can bet your bippy that as I worked, I kept my keen hearing attuned to the low mutterings of my buddies at the sink. No amount of purposeful pot-clanking, and blasting of water, prevented me from hearing what was being said. So much for them keeping an ear open for Melvin, but at least so far, there was safety in numbers.
‘I don’t care,’ Agnes was saying, ‘she really is being foolish. Just plain reckless. She’s not being fair to the people who love her.’
‘Magdalena is exceptionally resourceful,’ Toy said. ‘She’s one of the most capable women I know.’
‘She’s pig-headed,’ Agnes said.
‘In another time and place, I could see her working for the CIA or maybe the FBI,’ Toy said.
‘Maybe in this time and in this place, you should come back down to earth,’ Agnes said coldly.
‘Is that so?’ Toy said. ‘But hey, do you think that she really wants us to throw out this delicious smelling salad? There’s no telling how long we’ll be gone, and I’m pretty sure it will freeze OK. What do you think?’
I could hear Agnes banging about in the cupboards for a Tupperware container. ‘Here,’ she snapped. ‘Pour it into this and shove it in the freezer anyway. Magdalena can pinch a penny so tight it will beg for mercy.’
‘I’m still alive!’ I called out. ‘I can hear every one of your flattering words. Murdering Maniacal Melvin has yet to get me.’
‘I was provoked,’ Agnes said.
It was an excuse that I understood all too well. Although I believe that I am longsuffering, and do not easily lose my temper, neither do I hesitate to speak my mind. Some people, like Barbara Peters in particular, think that this character trait makes me sharp-tongued and mean-spirited, but I maintain that it does not, because I never say things with the intention of hurting someone.
At any rate, I most certainly did not hold Agnes’s final comments against her. On the other hand, I eschew sentimentality. When it was time for me to bid them adieu, I gave my friends Mennonite hugs (three slaps on the back) and told them I’d be praying for them. Then I gave them each a gentle shove out the bathroom door, starting with Agnes. I was afraid that if she dawdled for a fourth slap I would burst into tears, and she might get a Baptist hug, which would embarrass us both.
Toy stopped just outside the door. ‘Magdalena,’ he said, ‘as you know, I’m not all that religious, but I do remember from Sunday school that Jesus ascended into Heaven from what today is the State of Israel. So should it really come to that, then—’
‘Come to what, dear?’ I said.
Toy’s face clouded. ‘You know what I mean. It.’
‘Sex?’
‘No! Death,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, go on,’ I said.
‘Well, we were talking before about where Heaven might be located. Now I’m the last person to venture an opinion since I’m not religious, but I just remembered hearing my Sunday school teacher say that Jesus ascended straight above what is now the modern State of Israel. So, like I said, if it should come to that, then head southeast, because that’s where Israel is. But you have to cross the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea first before you get there. Just saying it’s really far. But once you get there, I should think that you’re pretty safe heading straight up. Anyway, just a thought from a backsliding Episcopalian.’
I couldn’t resist and gave him two more back slaps for all the useful information. Although he could have been more helpful and given me latitude and longitude coordinateness. But as soon as their backs were turned, I shut the bathroom door and set about Operation Fortress.
Gabe and I remodelled the master bathroom immediately following our last run-in with the diabolical Melvin Stoltzfus. In essence we designed the bathroom to be an impenetrable safe room. It has solid concrete walls that are eighteen inches thick and a steel door. The ceiling is also concrete, reinforced with enough rebar so that it can host a hip-hop competition for elephants. There aren’t any windows, but numerous camera feeds deliver views of the outside world, taken from various vantage points, both along the perimeter of the house, and also from inside. Although the room is soundproof, it is connected to each room in the house via an elaborate intercom system.
Three massive deadbolts on the inside keep the door securely locked. A special filtration system keeps the incoming air pure, and the vents are small enough so that neither Melvin, nor one of his enamoured minions, could possibly crawl through them – even after a year of continuous fasting. And yes, there is an escape hatch, should we ever find ourselves in the position to need one. Of course, I would never divulge that hatches’ location, because doing so would make me even more stupid than I look. And yes, it is designed so that one can only crawl out of the safe room – not in. To that point, Gabe is even smarter than I give him credit for. It was in case I needed to use the escape hatch that I brought the lard.
After I was all squared away, I prayed. First I prayed for the safety of my loved ones, then for my own safety, and then I prayed that if the Good Lord willed it, Alison was still hanging in there and resisting the temptations of the flesh. Because once the walls of that fortress had been breached, there was absolutely no going back to the way things once were. No putting the stopper back in that bottle, so to speak.
As I sat there in my bunker, munching on a peanut butter-covered cracker, and musing about my daughter’s sex life, I heard Susannah’s voice coming through the kitchen intercom.
‘They clearly liked your Australian salad! There’s no sign of it anywhere. The pot’s been washed, and the dishes have all been washed and dried and put away.’
‘Susannah!’ I yelled into the intercom. ‘You’re back early.’
Thanks to a hidden camera, I watched my sister literally jump out of one of her slides. She had to steady herself by grabbing the fridge door handle. I couldn’t see Miriam from that angle of the video feed, but her exclamation of surprises was only slightly less vulgar than my sister’s.
‘Mags,’ Susannah eventually got around to saying, ‘where are you?’
‘I’m in Heaven, dear,’ I said. I was joking, so technically that wasn’t a lie. Even if it was a lie, Susannah deserved it after all she’s put me through over the years.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, sorry sis that I couldn’t hang around to say goodbye, but like they say, you never know when your number’s up.’
Then Miriam’s wheelchair rolled into view and the two women conferred for a moment. ‘What’s it like?’ Susannah said. ‘Do you see Mama and Papa?’
‘I’ve seen Papa flapping about hither, thither and sometimes yon, but so far Mama’s been at choir practice. W
e’re all supposed to meet up later at Cloud Number Nine. By the way, I asked St Peter to check the master enrolment list for future members, and your name is still not on there.’
‘What? Just because I’m a Presbyterian?’
‘No, that has nothing to do with it. It’s because—’ Unfortunately my body betrayed me, and I was overtaken by what was perhaps the longest, and loudest, fit of sneezing that I had ever experienced. Perhaps one of the items that I’d brought in from the pantry had a wee coating of dust and I happen to be quite allergic to dust mite droppings. I’m guessing that the item in question was the tin of sardines in yellow mustard sauce.
‘Aha!’ Susannah shouted, looking all around her. ‘People don’t sneeze in Heaven. Even I know that. Nobody gets sick there.’
‘Maybe this is Heaven-Lite.’
‘Ha, ha,’ Susannah said. ‘Very funny, Mags, except that it’s not. You’re the last person I know who’d make a religious joke. Clearly you’re not yourself. What’s up with you, and where are you?’
‘You’re right, Susannah; I’m not fine. I’m hiding. And guess who I’m hiding from?’
‘Gabe?’ Susannah clenched her fists and began punching the air. ‘So help me, Mags, if that New Yorker touched even one of your mousey brown hairs, I’ll punch his lights out.’
‘Calm down. It’s not Gabe; it’s the love of your life, Melvin Stoltzfus – or as you like to call him, Mely-kins.’
Susannah froze like a statue in our childhood game by that very same name. It took a second for her lips to thaw enough to enable speech.
‘You’re crazy!’
‘That’s beside the point. Come in here where it’s safe, and I’ll tell you what’s been going on while you and Miriam have been playing. By the way, where is she? I can’t see her?’
‘You can see me?’
‘Of course, dear. Didn’t I always tell you when you were growing up that I had eyes in the back of my head?’
‘That isn’t funny. Where are you?’
‘Go get Miriam, then I’ll tell you.’
‘She won’t come.’
‘What do you mean she won’t come?’
‘Well, she won’t come right now. She’s out in the backyard keeping watch for the stars. The last few evenings were either rainy or cloudy, but tonight it’s clear, so she’s determined to see what the sky looks like in the northern hemisphere. Mags, I thought we were in the western hemisphere.’
‘That too, dear. OK, Susannah, so then you come alone, and we’ll make this quick, so that you can get back out there. I’m in the master bathroom.’
‘No way!’
‘Yes, way. Now hurry.’
Susannah and the concept of speed have never met. I can honestly say that she is the laziest woman whom I have ever known, and that includes Tammy Schnell. Even as a tender-footed child, Susannah would stroll along a hot paved surface, with no more sense of urgency than a three-toed sloth going about its day. The fastest I ever saw her move was when she was a teen, and a car full of hormonal boys slowed down in front of our house and honked when they saw her standing in our drive. On that occasion, my sister took three consecutive steps towards the road without pausing to rest.
While I waited for Susannah, I prayed for Miriam’s safety. I also ate the sardines in yellow mustard sauce. Then, because a watched pot never boils – in this case it was my sister – I took my mind off her pokiness by trimming my toenails with the Swiss army knife. I realize that in the telling of my story, some people might find me given to hyperbole; nonetheless, I wish to state the following: upon entering my little hideout, my toenails had been a perfectly acceptable length.
At last I heard her try to turn the doorknob. When that didn’t work she pounded on it with her fists.
‘Open up! Open up, for heaven sakes! I’m your baby sister, I’m not a terrorist.’
‘Stand back,’ I said, as I slid back the three massive bolts. Because the door is meant to keep us safe from invaders, it opens out, not in.
If I’d taken a video of Susannah’s face when she saw the contents of my bathroom, I’m sure it would go viral. But when she stopped staring, she started laughing, and that was a reaction that I found far less amusing.
‘You’re a hoot, Mags. And a holler.’
‘Now step aside so I can close the door.’
‘Like I said before, you’re nuts, Mags. You’re certifiably crazy. You’re wackadoodle dandy.’
‘Am I?’ I said. ‘Consider the facts, toots. Your so-called Sweetie Pot Pie has sworn to kill me and has made three considerable attempts to do so. Everything horrible that has happened here in Hernia during the Billy Goat Gruff Festival, and leading up to it, have been directed specifically at making me look foolish or incompetent.’
Susannah plopped her patooty on a pile of pillows and almost fell backwards. ‘Mags, you’re paranoid. You’re imagining things.’
‘Did I imagine the rattlesnake curled up on the seat of my car? Or the sewage dumped into Main Street just as I was announcing the winner of the festival? Or Billy breaking free and running across the bridge without the wagon?’
‘Oh stop,’ Susannah said. ‘You can’t tie those things to my Mely-kins. The next thing you’re going to blame him for is everyone getting sick from eating the Australian seafood salad that Miriam and I made.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ Susannah said.
‘Don’t say “nothing”, Susannah. What did you mean about everyone getting sick?’
‘Uh, no reason. It’s just that that’s the kind of thing you’re likely to say, that’s all.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really,’ she said, then started chewing her bottom lip. Ever since she was two years old, my sister has ratted out her own lies by her habit of self-mastication. It’s a wonder that she can still whistle.
‘Fess up, missy,’ I hissed, ‘or I’m calling your parole officer, and I’m telling them that you’re a cannibal.’
Susannah laughed. ‘I’m a what?’
‘When you chew on your lip like that you invariably ingest some of your own cells, which are human, and that makes you a cannibal. So there!’
Susannah laughed so hard that she finally fell backwards and lay there kicking her legs in the air like a small child throwing a tantrum. I’d best try another angle.
‘OK, then. I’ll tell your parole officer that you spent the day with a woman who habitually drives on the wrong side of the highway.’
TWENTY-SIX
‘All right, I’ll tell you everything. It’s this: Miriam Blumfield does not wash her hands after using the ladies’ room. She peeled and deveined the shrimp with unwashed hands, and after baking the dinner rolls, she placed the finished rolls in their basket with unwashed hands. That’s why I thought you might be sick. And it’s not like she ran out of time for either of those tasks. She is just plain lazy. Mags, you always thought that I was lazy, but I’m telling you, the last few days with Miriam has been like watching that funny, hanging upside-down animal, that I’ve seen on Animal Planet, move through the trees. The cloth monkey, I think it is.’
‘The sloth, dear.’
‘Nah, Mags, it ain’t a deer; it’s some kinda monkey. It like, barely moves. That’s how Miriam is.’
‘Gotcha. Now run along, Susannah, and tell Miriam that she has exactly two minutes to get her behind in here, or else face the consequences.’
‘Yeah, yeah, don’t get your knickers in a knot. “Knickers” is what Miriam calls “panties”, but I sure as heck don’t know what she’d call that getup that you wear. Maybe “battle armour”.’ Susannah howled while I scowled.
‘Can it, dear,’ I said sternly. Although I must admit that I had missed my sister’s antics during her years in prison, if only in the sense that one might miss having a case of influenza, because it feels so good when the symptoms ease.
‘Hey, sis,’ Susannah said, ‘before you push me out, I gotta tell you about the two giant ducks that Mi
riam and I saw coming out of the pond. The pond in our pasture.’
‘You saw those ducks too?’
‘Wait a minute,’ Susannah said with a snort. ‘Don’t tell me that you saw them! Does this mean that my big sister, Miss-Holier-Than-Thou, Magdalena Portulacca Yoder Rosen, was drinking on the sly?’
‘Bite your tongue! I barely use mouthwash. I haven’t seen those characters, but others have. Were they actually coming out of the pond?’
‘Nah,’ she said, ‘but it looked like it at first, because they were on the far side, behind a clump of cattails. Then they started walking around the pond, and we thought they might be headed towards the house, so we ran inside. But when we checked later, we didn’t see them again.’
‘I see,’ I said, although I didn’t. ‘Earlier you said that they were giant ducks, but now you make it sound like they were really people. Which is it?’
‘Well, people, of course,’ Susannah said. ‘Duh, we were maybe slightly tipsy, but we’re not stupid, just because we both have records. They were people in magenta jumpsuits, wearing cartoon duck masks. Donald and Daisy Duck.’
‘And you could identify the masks all the way across the cow pasture?’ I said.
‘Give me a break,’ Susannah said. ‘I’m not old like you; you probably have cataracts by now.’
‘Did you call the police?’ I said.
Her howls of derision were strangely comforting. At least I had a sister, and she was out of prison, and could now deride me in person, instead of through a thick plate of safety glass. I waited, my heart full gratitude, until she at last ran out of steam.
‘What would I tell the police?’ she finally asked. ‘That there were two idiots in costumes prancing about in our cow pasture? They weren’t harming anyone. Sheesh, you really need to lighten up, Mags, you know that? Maybe you should go to prison. That would teach you the difference between the small irritations in life and the big ones. The small stuff, you gotta let go, or it will eat you alive.’