Man in the Moon (4 page)

Phase Four—Waxing Gibbous

T
he moon was getting rounder, and so was Mr. Lunas. Mama took to hiding food like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. I could hear her and Daddy arguing late at night. Mama would say that Mr. Lunas was a freeloader and that he had to go. Daddy would jump back at her, insisting that Mr. Lunas was a war hero who deserved our respect and our food. He’d tell Mama that once he got a job, she wouldn’t be so tense. Then she’d start off on why hadn’t he found a job yet, and that digging ditches was respectable work too, why didn’t he do that? That’s about when I’d cover my head with a pillow to block it all out.

I stopped being curious about Mr. Lunas. No sense looking out the bedroom window. He was out there, night after night. Sometimes he sat, sometimes he stood. But his fascination with the moon and sky never changed. It just wasn’t right for a grown man to act the way he did. What the heck did he see up there that we didn’t? I craned my neck, trying to look up too. The window screen pressed hard against my forehead, and I could only stretch it a tiny bit. I couldn’t see whatever it was that Mr. Lunas saw, but I was really aching to. Maybe tomorrow I’d ask him.

When I woke up, the sky was hidden behind gray clouds. The air smelled as damp as the laundry that Mama had hung out on the line. The temperature must have been ten degrees cooler, which made Ricky’s grin almost as big as Mr. Lunas’s growing belly. He nudged me and said, “I bet Mama lets me go outside today.”

Mama stood in her bedroom, ironing clothes. She had the radio tuned to the hillbilly station, and the music crackled each time the sky rumbled from the distant storm.

Ricky put on his “Please, Mama?” face and looked at her with big eyes.

“It’s cool outside today, Mama. You feel it?”

Mama guided the iron over the pillowcase like we were invisible. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, even though a gusty wind caused her bedroom curtains to wave and flap. Ricky gave me a look and shrugged.

Mama sighed. “Go on! I have to hurry and finish this ironing before it comes a storm. I don’t want to get electrocuted.”

As we ran out of her room we heard her call, “But get yourselves back in here before the first drop falls, you hear me?”

We scampered out like two rabbits racing for cabbage. We passed Mr. Lunas, sitting on the back porch. He’d gained so much weight that he filled the whole chair.

“What’re you young ’uns up to today?”

Ricky bounced and jumped like he’d been tied down for a month. “I get to play outside!” The word
outside
echoed through the brown pasture.

“Good for you,” Mr. Lunas said. He tapped his foot and strummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Mama’s radio was turned too low for us to hear, so I couldn’t help wondering what kind of song was playing in his head.

Ricky and I raced to the shade tree, Ricky tagging it first.

“Beat ya,” he said, leaning forward, hands on hips.

I rolled my eyes at him. “I let you win.”

“Uh-unh,” he said, not buying it. He swallowed a deep breath, then let it out slow. “Janine, Daddy ain’t ever going to buy me a go-cart.”

“I told you so, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking sassy. “That’s why I’m gonna build one.”

I swear that boy had mush for brains. “Bullcorn. You can’t build a go-cart. You don’t know how.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, his skinny little body bouncing like a puppet.

“And what are you going to make it out of?”

Ricky didn’t say a word. He just looked at the old flatbed truck sitting in the pasture.

“Why, that ain’t nothing but a bunch of junk!”

“Right,” he said. “But I bet there’s enough junk piled there to put together a go-cart.”

I shook my head. I didn’t know how he could possibly make a go-cart out of a heap of trash. “What are you going to use for a motor?”

“It don’t need a motor, silly. We’ll glide down the hill out front, just like we used to do with that old cardboard box Daddy left in the barn.”

I have to admit, that cardboard box was a lot of fun, even though it was a bumpy ride without much to hold on to. “Let’s go!”

As soon as we started running, Buddy came loping behind. I was happy to see him. For a while there, I thought he’d become Mr. Lunas’s dog.

The sky was getting darker, but we didn’t care. It only made the air cooler. I just knew God wouldn’t let it rain while we were on a mission to find go-cart pieces. We’d spent too many days inside. He had to know that.

Ricky didn’t waste any time climbing onto the truck. A piece of wire caught in the toe of his sandals, but he jerked it off and threw it to the side. He dug into that trash, reaching in and flinging things off like there was gold buried underneath. “Here!” he said, pulling up a long flat board. “We can use this.” He leaned over and tossed it to the ground.

I started searching too, but I had no clue what to look for. I knew that Ricky had his go-cart designed in his head, and if I tried showing him what I thought would make a good one, he’d probably laugh and accuse
me
of having mush for brains. I figured it was safest to ask. “What do we need to build it?”

“Boards and wheels. Like these!” He pulled out the frame of an old baby buggy. The four rubber wheels still looked good, even though the spokes were freckled with brown rust. He tossed it on top of the board.

We worked for a good fifteen minutes with the clouds threatening to cry on us. I hurried, wondering what Mama would do to me if I brought Ricky home soaking wet.

Finally Ricky said, “That should be enough. I think Daddy has some rope in the barn.”

Rope? Why the heck did we need rope for a go-cart? I nodded like I knew what he was talking about. I didn’t want him to take time explaining it while the sky decided to let loose. We piled the boards on top of the buggy frame and scooted it across the pasture. The wheels were too rusty to roll, so it made long ridges in the dirt. Every once in a while it’d get caught on a clump of weeds and we’d have to lift it over. Buddy marched along next to us, his fluffy tail waving like a flag.

As we got to the barn, the buggy bumped against a knot of dirt that was harder than a brick. The boards shifted and almost fell. I jerked my foot up to brace the buggy so it wouldn’t tilt. But that was a huge mistake. I caught my sole on a jagged piece of metal that was jutting out, and it cut a big gash right across the bottom of my foot.

“Shoot!” I yelled, dropping on my bottom and cradling my foot. It stung like I’d stuck it in a hornet’s nest. Blood oozed up, then dripped down. I couldn’t believe it. I’d been so careful not to step on the sticker patch, and now this.

“Can you make it to the house?” Ricky asked, his face looking scared and weak.

“Yeah.” I picked myself up and limped toward the yard, walking on the heel of my foot. I left a trail of blood as I went.

I stayed out back while Ricky went in to get Mama. “Oh lands!” she cried, rushing back inside to get a wet washrag. As I plopped down on the back-porch steps, Mr. Lunas appeared from behind the chicken coop, staring at my foot like he’d never seen one before. I scrunched it closer to me, careful not to get blood on my shorts.

Mama came out with a dripping blue rag and wrapped it around my foot, squeezing it tight. She got on her knees and closed her eyes, rocking back and forth, speaking softly. Of course I knew she wasn’t praying. She was reciting from the Bible. Ezekiel 16:6. Mama said those were the healing words to stop bleeding. But I was wishing she knew the healing words to stop lockjaw. I kept working my mouth, open and shut, around and around, wondering how long it’d take me to starve to death.

Mama opened her eyes and narrowed them at me. “See what happens when you don’t wear shoes!”

“Will I have to get a shot?” I asked, trying not to cry.

“Maybe,” she said, the word dragging out of her mouth real slow.

Ricky and Mr. Lunas both leaned forward, watching what was going on. The blue washrag on my foot turned an ugly shade of purple as more and more blood soaked through. Mama started reciting Ezekiel again. Mr. Lunas smiled as he reached out and wiggled my big toe. “You’ll be all right.” His fingers felt rough, but the wiggle wasn’t so bad. Sort of like one of those nursery rhyme wiggles.

“Yeah,” Ricky said, acting all smug. “And if you do get a shot, they’ll only use a needle about the size of your foot.” He held his hands wide apart like he was measuring my foot; then his mouth turned up in a weasel-like grin. “Ouch!”

“Not funny!” I reached my hand out to swat him, but Mama was still rocking and reciting, and I didn’t want to accidentally hit her. I decided to take a look at the cut instead.

“Mama, you can stop now. It worked.” The cut looked like a pink toothless mouth smiling up at me. The only blood left was on the rag.

“Good,” Mama said. “Now let’s go to the bathroom and doctor it with Mercurochrome. And don’t ever let me catch you trying to hit your brother again.”

Sigh.

As soon as Mama finished bandaging my foot, I went out to the back porch and sat down. The clouds were getting thicker and the sky looked like one huge shadow. I could see Ricky out under the shade tree. He was trying to pull the wheels off that junky old baby buggy. He braced his feet against it, jerking on a wheel with the back end of a claw hammer. I kept wondering if it might accidentally slip and hit him in the head, like something out of
The Three Stooges.
It never slipped, but the wheel didn’t come off, either. Ricky pulled his foot back and kicked the buggy hard.

Then Mr. Lunas appeared right there beside him, bending down and pointing a finger. I guess he was giving Ricky some suggestions on getting those wheels loose. He reached over and spun the buggy wheel. Not hard, though, just about the speed of a record playing on a hi-fi—a scratchy record with a lot of scrapes and squeaks.

Mr. Lunas held out an oil can.

The wheel turned and turned, and Ricky stared at it. Mr. Lunas was right up next to Ricky’s ear, whispering something, I think. Ricky just kept staring at that wheel. I wondered what was so fascinating about it. Everybody had seen wheels turning before. I looked at the spinning wheel too. It turned so fast that you couldn’t tell it had spokes—just one solid circle, whirling on its own. Ricky took the oil can and shot a few squirts into the center of the wheel. The scrapes and squeaks mellowed out, but the wheel kept its momentum. We all kept staring at it. Ricky seemed hypnotized, but all that whirling was making me dizzy. Eventually the wheel slowed to a stop, and Mr. Lunas stood up. Then, just like that, Ricky reached over with that hammer and popped that wheel right off the buggy.

“Wooooooooo!” he shouted, holding the wheel up high. I guess oil was the magic potion Ricky hadn’t thought of. Mr. Lunas had saved the day. Then a clap of thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the rain out of the clouds. Ricky dropped the wheel, covered his head with his arms, and ran for the porch. Mr. Lunas, with his large belly, waddled in behind him.

“Stop!” I said to Ricky as he shook his hands, flinging water drops at me. Ricky grinned and rubbed his damp hair.

Mr. Lunas sat down in the chair across from me, looking out toward the field. “This rain is good for the corn,” he said.

I looked at the towering stalks, which were turning a copper brown. I heard the chickens fluttering in the coop. The cows gave off a low moo, like they were singing praises in a church choir. The wind picked up and the rain blew in through the screen.

Mr. Lunas nodded. “Yep, this is good for
Earth
.”

I suddenly felt prickles as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It could have been from the electrical storm, or it could’ve been the way Mr. Lunas had said the word
Earth
. Like it was a foreign country.

Phase Five—Full Moon

I
t rained all the next day, so Ricky and I spent most of the time in the cave under the piano. We tossed M&M’s at each other, our mouths the target. I got three in a row into Ricky’s mouth. When it was his turn he got two into mine, but then he played a trick on me.

“Ready?” he asked, looking like he was concentrating on his aim.

“Ready,” I said, stretching my mouth wide open.

But instead of one M&M, Ricky threw a handful. A dozen candy-coated dots flashed in front of my eyes and bounced off my cheeks and chin. “Hey!”

Ricky doubled over laughing. “You should have seen the look on your face!” He couldn’t seem to stop laughing. “Your eyes were bigger than drums.”

“You didn’t fool me, you little twerp,” I lied. “I knew you were going to throw a bunch.”

“Did not,” he said, calming down and hugging his knees.

I started picking up the M&M’s we’d dropped. Some were hidden in the creases in my shorts. When I looked back at Ricky, he’d totally changed. He stared out across the room, his face sad, like he’d just lost his best friend.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Ricky sighed. “It stinks.”

I sniffed the air.

“No, I mean it stinks that I can’t go outside.”

“It’s raining, dummy,” I said, seeing the sheets of water washing down the living room windows.

“I know. But I can’t go out when it’s sunny. I can’t go out when it’s rainy. I can’t go out when it’s cold.” He slumped forward and gave me a gloomy look. “I guess I’ll be trapped inside for the rest of my life.”

Usually I would have sung him my sad song about how
I
couldn’t do nothing most of the time because of his skinny little existence, but he looked about as droopy as a wet noodle. I didn’t think it’d be smart to get him all agitated. I actually found myself wanting to cheer him up; I just wasn’t sure if the right words would spill out. “What would you want to go outside for, anyway? It’s muddy and wet and the ground is probably as squishy as oatmeal. I wouldn’t want to be out there right now.”

“But the barn’s dry,” he said. “I could build my go-cart in there.”

“When it stops raining we’ll ask Mama. I’ll even help you build it.”

He nodded an okay, which surprised the heck out of me because I didn’t think he’d want a girl’s help. And I doubted I could come up with any practical ideas, like using an oil can. But I nodded back. “Deal.”

Then, before I knew what was happening, he flung another handful of M&M’s at me. So much for being a sympathetic sister.

Because it was Sunday, Daddy was home, stretched out on the couch watching the Dallas Cowboys play football on TV. An Orange Crush soda bottle sat on the coffee table, wrapped in a cup towel. But if you got close enough, you could smell that it wasn’t Orange Crush in the bottle. And every time Daddy took a sip, he’d wipe some foam off his mouth. It’s a good thing Mama didn’t like football because Daddy would for sure have gotten caught sneaking that beer into the house.

Mr. Lunas paced the floor, back and forth, back and forth. Daddy offered him some pretzels, but he held up his hand, turning them down. I swear if my teeth hadn’t been attached to my gums they would have fallen out right then! That was the first time I’d ever seen Mr. Lunas turn down food! I guess Mama was wrong when she said Mr. Lunas was like an old billy goat and if you turned him loose outside, he’d probably eat all the trash off that flatbed truck.

But he kept pacing, stopping only when Daddy jumped up from the couch to cheer on the Cowboys.

The rain thinned as the day went on. By late afternoon it was just a small drizzle. We had our typical Sunday dinner: fried chicken, creamed potatoes with gravy, and corn on the cob. But we all stayed quiet during the meal, stealing looks at each other. Mr. Lunas sat picking at his food.

“Is everything okay?” Mama asked, looking down at his plate.

“Everything’s delicious, Adele,” Mr. Lunas answered. “I’m just feeling full these days.”

You could say that again! He was looking full, too. If he’d grown a beard and put on a red suit, I bet he could’ve passed for old Santa himself.

Daddy declared that it was the best meal he’d ever had, then patted his belly and scooted away from the table. I helped Mama clear and wash the dishes. Then we all went outside where it was cool.

A sheer layer of clouds still hung up high, but you could see a few blurry stars here and there. It looked like someone had covered the sky with a giant sheet of wax paper. Just over the house hung a full moon, dim, but managing to shine through. Mama was the first to notice it, and the look on her face became as overcast as the sky. “There’s blood around the moon.”

I looked up. Sure enough, a small red ring circled it.

“Does that upset you?” Mr. Lunas asked.

Mama brushed her dark curls back from her face. “It’s an omen. Something bad is going to happen.”

“Oh, Adele!” Daddy said. “You and that superstitious mumbo jumbo.”

Mr. Lunas stayed serious. “Why do you think it’s a bad omen?”

“It just is. Always has been. I can’t name you a time when there was blood around the moon that something bad didn’t happen.”

Daddy laughed. “Something bad happens all the time. Even when there
ain’t
blood around the moon.”

He had a point!

Mr. Lunas ignored him and kept looking at Mama. “This bad thing, is it one of your Bible plagues that you saw in the teacup?”

“Could be,” Mama said. “The symbol of blood is a harsh one.”

“So you’re saying that it’s the symbol of blood that’s bad, right?”

“Of course it is.” Mama’s voice became low and raspy. “When is blood not a curse? It’s red . . . scarlet . . . a wicked, sinful color. When you see a symbol in red, you can bet it’s evil.”

Mr. Lunas cocked his head. “No disrespect, ma’am, but I took a peek inside that family Bible of yours, and every time Jesus talks, his words are in red. Does that make him evil?”

Mama clammed up and curled her fists into tight balls. She sat as rigid as a pole and just as quiet. Mr. Lunas had certainly called her on that. But what he said got me wondering. Why
does
Jesus talk in red?

The mosquitoes finally figured out where we were, which shortened our visit outside. Daddy said it must rain mosquitoes, too, because they’re always worse after a downpour. We all folded up our lawn chairs except Mr. Lunas. “I think I’ll stay out here a spell longer,” he said. “And like I said, Adele, no disrespect.”

Mama huffed as she walked into the house. She headed straight for her bedroom and slammed the door. I went to my room too. I put a record on and leaned back by the window, looking out. Naturally, I was curious as to what foolishness Mr. Lunas was up to tonight. He paced the yard, but instead of walking back and forth like he did in the living room, he marched around in a circle, his hands clasped behind his back. I was sure something was ticking in that brain of his, and I’d have given a whole dollar just to find out what.

Mama banged on my wall after the same record played four times in a row. She always said that drove her nuts, and she just didn’t know how anyone could listen to a song over and over and over. Truth was, I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about Mr. Lunas and what an oddball he was. I turned the record off and peeked out the window again. The moon was pretty high now and giving off a decent amount of light. I could see Mr. Lunas near the cornfield, holding a coffee can. Buddy wagged along with him.

I was suddenly as curious as a bystander at a train wreck. I just couldn’t help it. I had to know what Mr. Lunas was doing out there. Buddy saw me coming out and ran to meet me. I wandered over to Mr. Lunas, who’d set the coffee can down on the ground.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“Making moonshine,” he said, rubbing his chin.

I stood there, stunned for a second. “You’re making homemade whiskey?”

Mr. Lunas let a laugh roll out from that big belly of his. “No. Nothing illegal.”

“Then what have you got in there?”

He looked at me and grinned. “Moonbeams.”

I leaned forward and peeped in, expecting to see tiny lights fluttering around like the fireflies winking in the pasture. But all I saw was a can full of water, my shadow making the liquid look dark and inky. “That’s bullcorn. I don’t see any moonbeams.”

Mr. Lunas moved the can back into the moonlight. “You can’t see them because the water is soaking them up.”

“Why would you want to have moonbeam-soaked water?” I asked. It was the craziest notion I’d ever heard.

“Why would you want gasoline for your car?”

I shook my head to show him what a dumb question that was. “It can’t go nowhere without gas.”

Mr. Lunas gave me one of those big, luminous smiles of his. His grins seemed to have gotten bigger along with his body. “Precisely,” he said.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He tilted his round gray head and sighed. “Eventually.”

I wouldn’t let up. “Where?”

I could see he was weary of my questions, but I was weary too. Not so much of him as of all this weirdness about him. He’d been here a couple of weeks, living in our house—okay, outside our house—and eating our food. So why was he still such a stranger?

“Where I fit in best,” he replied.

I couldn’t imagine where that’d be.

“Have a sip,” he said, offering the coffee can to me.

I took a quick step back, then mustered up the nerve to peek in. It was hard to tell in the dark if it was nothing but water and moonbeams. The surface looked like a transparent shadow. I’d seen Mama put tea bags in a big jug of water and set it out in the sun to make tea, but I’d never seen anybody make tea out of moonbeams before. Carefully taking the can, I leaned closer and sniffed. Smelled like water . . . or what I thought water smelled like. I took a tiny sip.

“Whaddya think?” Mr. Lunas asked.

“Tastes like water. Just water.”

He smiled. “It is water.”

“But shouldn’t the moonbeams taste like something?”

Mr. Lunas took the can and swished the water around some more. “What do you think moonbeams should taste like?”

I shrugged. “How the heck should I know? Marshmallows?”

“Take another sip,” he said, offering it to me again. “A bigger sip.”

I did. Then I took another, and another, and then a big gulp. I’ll be durned if it didn’t taste a little like marshmallows!

“See?” he said, turning the can around and taking a swig from the other side. “Some of the best treats are the simple ones.”

“Everything around here is simple. Simple is just about all we know.”

He offered the coffee can to me again. “Well, who wants to know complex?”

I did. At least just a taste of it, anyway. It could be as sweet as this moonshine.

Mr. Lunas might have been collecting moonbeams, but I was collecting a swarm of mosquitoes and biting flies. And I was plumb tired of scratching. I said goodnight and headed back up to the house. As I got inside, I could hear Mama and Daddy going at it again.

“He’s been here for two weeks!” Mama said, her voice muffled by the walls.

“Adele, I can’t throw him out! He’s our company. He saved my life, remember?”