All Over Creation (42 page)

“I'm going back now! I'm going to get your daddy!”

I didn't want him worrying, so I decided to reply, and that's when the bats took off. They spread their leather wings and dropped, a huge black cloud, swooping through the stream of sunlight and out into the day. The light from the hole flickered like crazy as they flew past. I heard Cass scream, muffled and far away. There were still more bats hanging there, twitching and chirring, and I was afraid to climb toward the opening, because it might trigger another flight, and the last thing I wanted was to be swarmed in the narrow passage, so I sat there, shaking, for a long, long time.

When Lloyd finally arrived, pried away a few more rocks, and dropped into the hole, my legs were stiff with terror and cold. He called my name, and fear made his voice sound hollow. Or was it the echo of the cave? I saw the beam of his flashlight playing wildly across the stone walls, and I tried to answer—
Daddy—
but my voice shriveled. Still, he located me in the dark with the radar of a father, as sure and keen as any bat's, and he crouched down, took me in his arms, and held me away from the cold rock until I thawed against the heat of his chest. His heart was pounding hard and strong. He didn't raise his voice or say a word. Just held me while I shivered. After a while I pointed to the bones.

“Something got eaten.” My voice came out in a whisper.

“Looks that way,” he whispered back. “Little bones. A fox maybe. Or a rabbit. Happened some time ago.”

“That's what I thought, too,” I said, my voice stronger now as I bragged a little. “That's why I wasn't scared.”

“Good for you,” he said. He turned the beam of his flashlight into the darkness. “It's a fine cave you've discovered. A lava tube, and a mighty big one. Want to go a bit farther in?”

With Lloyd by my side I was afraid of nothing! I jumped to my feet and walked behind him, clutching his hand. We followed the beam of light as it danced across the wet rock walls, pausing to examine a stalactite that hung from the knobby ceiling. The tube went on and on, but eventually he turned back. Secretly I was glad.

“I guess we've seen enough for today,” he said.

I nodded and followed him around the twists and bends, toward the small opening of light.

The words of the Proverbs ran through his mind:
It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman, and in a wide house.
But the house was not wide enough, Lloyd thought, and Yumi's vexation ran through it like the persistent hum of an out-of-kilter appliance. It was there in the slam of the cupboard and the clatter of cookware—baking sheets and mixing bowls, pots and—

“Where is that damn pan?”

“Which damn pan, Mom?”

“The damn no-stick frying pan.”

“The damn no-stick frying pan is in the cupboard under the counter.”

“What's it doing there?”

“That's its home. That's where it lives.”

“Don't be cute, Phoenix.”

“I'm not cute, Yummy. I'm never cute.”

Lloyd looked toward the window, trying to judge the condition of the day by the light that leaked in past the drawn shade. Mornings used to be a peaceful time, and breakfasts were delicious when the French girl was cooking. Melvin would come in quietly and raise the shades, then take him to the bathroom, where they'd change the bag and have a sponge bath, while that girlfriend of his tidied up the bedroom so that the bed would be nice and fresh, ready for Lloyd to crawl back into and have some of that good breakfast.

Now the days started with commotion.

“What are you making?” he heard the boy say.

“Eggs.”

The girl piped up. “Grandpa's not supposed to have eggs. It's too much cholesti . . . you know.”

“Cholesterol. He can have an egg now and then. Where's the butter?”

“You shouldn't fry it. He's not supposed to have fried foods.”

“For God's sake, Ocean. Just shut up and eat your granola. Where's the salt?”

“Grandpa's not supposed to have salt. He's on a low-sodium diet.”

“Shit! Now you tell me?”

The boy had gotten into trouble at school and had to stay home. He spent all of his time in front of the television set playing some infernal game his mother had bought him to keep him amused. Lloyd sat in his chair in the living room and watched, but the whole thing moved too darn fast to get a fix on. His heart leaped at the sudden noises, and all the flashes and careening made his stomach upset and gave him a headache. At least the girl knew how to play by herself out of doors. She had joined the 4-H and was raising a chick, which followed her around even into the garden. When the damn bird started eating the pea sprouts, Momoko chased it out with a rake.

The problem was, their mother just couldn't handle things. The house was a mess. She could hardly get three meals on the table in a day. Often Cass Quinn would come over with a casserole, and the two of them talked and smoked cigarettes at the kitchen table. He could smell it from upstairs. Occasionally late at night, he could hear her on the phone. She kept her voice low, but sometimes she'd laugh, and the sound always startled him. He wondered who she could be talking to at that hour. Couldn't be anyone in Liberty Falls—people here had to work and didn't stay up late. It had to be long distance, and he fretted about the phone bill. He felt sorry for her, sorry to be such a nuisance, sorry to have disrupted her nice life in Hawaii. He felt sorry for everyone. He wished he could just hurry up and get well so she could leave, but with Melvin gone, the past few weeks had been trying, and he felt weaker than ever.

He heard her harried footsteps coming up the stairs. She kicked the door open with her heel and backed into the room, carrying a tray with a plate and a glass of milk.

She looked around the cluttered room. “Now, where am I going to put this?” Lloyd struggled to sit up in bed. She put the tray on the chair. She had her coat on, ready to leave.

“I . . .” He paused, unable to go on.

“What?” She pushed the button to raise the back of the bed. “Dad, what is it? Is it your bag?”

He shook his head. “The bag is fine.”

She shoved the pillow down behind him and deposited the tray on his lap. “Good. I'll help you change it when I get back. I have to take Ocean to school. She missed the damn bus again.”

“Wait, I . . . I have to urinate.”

“Oh, Dad! Why didn't you tell me before I got you settled?”

She removed the tray. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed until they touched the floor. He tried to push himself up to a standing position, but he couldn't shift his weight off the bed.

“I need help,” he said.

“But you could do it yesterday! Here, take your walker.”

“It'll be quicker if you help.”

Together they inched down the corridor. Her fingers clenched his arm so hard he thought the bones there would snap. When she released him, he closed the bathroom door behind him, but he could feel her fretting outside. He unbuttoned his pajama bottoms and let them drop. He sat down on the toilet like a woman, hanging his head and covering his face with his hands.

“Yumi,” he said through his fingers.

“You ready to come out?”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “Bring my walker. Leave it outside the door. I'll get myself back to bed.”

It took all his strength just to talk. He could get the boy to help. If worse came to worst, he could sit there on the toilet until she got back.

“You sure?” He could hear the relief in her voice as she headed down the corridor toward the bedroom and then came back again. “Okay, the walker's right here. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold. I'm going into town for groceries after I drop Ocean off. I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'll help you with the bag then.”

“Yumi . . .”

“What?”

“Is the boy going with you?”

“His name is Phoenix, Dad. Yes. I promised him a new videogame.”

“Oh.”

She hesitated. “You going to be okay?”

“Yes . . . Yumi?”

“What?”

“I'd like to go to the garden. . . .”

“Oh, Dad!” she said as if he'd asked to go to the moon. “You'll have to wait until I get back. Or phone Cass. Maybe she or Will can come over and help you.”

He listened to her clatter down the stairs yelling to the kids. When the car pulled out of the drive and the noise of the tires on the gravel grew faint, he started to urinate. Somehow he made it back to his bedroom.

The plate of eggs was sitting on the small bedside table. They were hard as rubber, swimming in congealing butter. He bounced the back of his spoon on the yolk. He drank the milk and wished he had another glassful.

He managed to change into his clothes. His bag was almost full, but it would have to wait. He knew better than to try to change it on his own. He put his shirt on carefully over it.

He used his walker to get as far as the window. Outside he could see Momoko, kneeling in the dirt, roguing a bed of transplants. He couldn't see what she was working on, though. Lettuces probably. It was high time for lettuces. He knocked on the windowpane with his knuckle, then tried to open it. The sash was stuck, the wood swollen. He gave another rap. She was bending over, inspecting the plants, pulling out the off-type shoots. Finally she looked up. He waved, and she waved back, then returned to her culling. The broad brim of her straw hat covered her face.

He rapped the glass again, harder this time, and when she looked up, he waved his arms wildly.
Come here! Come up!
She put down her trowel and got to her feet. He met her at the top of the stairs.

He made her stand behind him on the landing.

“Look!” he said as he held on to the banister and pushed the aluminum walker over the edge. They watched it clatter down the stairs, tumbling to the bottom, where it came to a stop with its feet in the air. Momoko clapped her hands. Certain kinds of chaos thrilled her. Lloyd sat on the top step.

“Now, you come down after me. Hold on tight in case I slip.”

She sat on the step above him and gripped the frayed collar of his coat with both hands, like she was trying to rein in a mule. Holding on to the balusters, he inched himself forward to the edge of the step and then over, down to the next, landing hard on his hindquarters each time. Step by step. Stopping to rest.

“How you get so old?” he heard her whisper when they hit the bottom. He looked up.

“I don't know, Momo,” he said, but his answer seemed to confuse her.

“No,” she said, shaking him by the collar. “How you get so old?”

He smiled. “Well, how'd you get so pretty?”

She chuckled. She righted his walker and helped him to his feet. He followed her slowly out the back door and into the garden.

He was sitting on a bench by the peach tree, in a small patch of sunlight, when the Pontiac pulled up the drive. He heard the car door slam, and then the trunk. He stood up. He wanted to tell Yumi where he was, to show her what he'd accomplished with Momoko's help, but mainly he didn't want her to be mad. He took a few steps, then realized he was starting to sweat. He took the pillbox from his coat pocket and shook a nitroglycerin tablet from it. His fingers were trembling. The little white pill fell onto the dark earth. It lay there like a seed.

He turned and looked for Momoko. He thought he saw her hat among the snap-pea vines on the opposite side of the garden, but he couldn't be sure. He squared off his walker and started toward the house. He could make it, if he just took it slow. But the next minute he felt the rubber-tipped aluminum legs sink into the soil, pitching him forward off the garden path and into the squashes. He lay there. The smell of the soil tickled his nose and felt cool against his forehead. It was his soil, built up carefully with generous rotations of nitrogen-fixing crops, year after year. Recycling nutrients. Never taking out more than you gave back. So different from the way they farmed potatoes now. This soil still had life, Lloyd thought, and with his face down in it, he took a handful in his fist and squeezed it tight and waited for his daughter to find him.

 

 

“It was the bats, Dad.”

He opened his eyes.

“When you found me in the lava tube, remember? I was afraid of the bats.”

She hadn't said a word when she discovered him in the squash patch, just helped him to his feet and back upstairs, and now he was sitting on the edge of his bed holding up his shirt while the angry nub of his stoma dried. She was standing by the window looking out at the fields, and she smiled. “You never asked, and I was grateful.”