Raising Demons (9 page)

Friday night I ironed a blouse and washed my hair and did my nails, and Saturday morning I took Jannie to her dancing school and made a casserole of scalloped potatoes and sausage. While I was busy in the kitchen Laurie ran out the front door, calling over his shoulder to say that he was going down to Rob's, and he telephoned later to say that he was staying for lunch. My husband was working in the study, and Barry was in his playpen; Sally hung around me in the kitchen, getting in my way.

I cooked the casserole and then put it in the refrigerator; since I was being picked up at eleven-thirty the best arrangement for the children's lunch seemed to be cheese and jelly and peanut butter and a loaf of bread set out on the kitchen table. I went to get Jannie at dancing school and when I came back my husband came out of the study and asked me if I had noted down where the children were expected to be so he could keep track of them, and anything else I thought he ought to know. I had fifteen minutes or so before I needed to dress, so I went to my desk and took up a pencil.

SATURDAY, I wrote, and then thought. A simple chronological outline seemed best suited to my husband's particular requirements, so I drew a line under SATURDAY and continued: Give Barry chopped vegetable soup and a bottle of plain milk, warmed, for lunch; Sally will have lunch at home (peanut butter, etc., on kitchen table); Laurie lunch at Rob's, Jannie at home. Milk in refrigerator. Sally to play with twins one o'clock, for dinner, home by bedtime. Jannie at Jennifer's, including dinner, home by bedtime, Laurie riding lesson three o'clock, home for dinner, movie evening with Oliver. Barry in playpen 3–5, supper casserole to go in oven 5:30, oven 375 degrees. Barry rice and liver soup and peaches for supper, bottle bedtime. Feed cats, dog. Laurie knows where dog food is. Laurie right to bed after movie, Sally, Jannie jellybeans at bedtime. SUNDAY: Sally home till 3:30, then Pat's party (do not forget birthday present, wrapped, on desk). Sally wear shoes to party, pink party dress (white socks in top left dresser drawer, if none there, blue will do). Comb hair. Bath if possible. Check neck. Laurie at William's, after lunch, ICE SKATES, William's for supper, home bedtime; school night, check homework, early bed. Jannie at Jennifer's, Sunday afternoon, supper, fudge, ICE SKATES, SWEATER. Home bedtime, school night, check homework, jellybeans. Barry Sunday breakfast cereal, bottle, lunch applesauce, cats milk Sunday morning, milk in refrigerator, did you leave casserole in oven Saturday night? Barry Sunday noon chopped vegetable soup, bottle, nap outdoors if weather clement, Barry Sunday supper chopped vegetable and bacon soup, bottle, pudding, feed cats and dog. Do not wait up for me. Cube steaks in refrigerator if you care to cook them, otherwise leftover casserole; jar in refrigerator labeled Mayonnaise is extra coffee to heat up. Bread in breadbox. Leave note for milkman Saturday night DOZEN EGGS, LB. BUTTER, COTTAGE CHEESE. Cover all children 10:30 Saturday night. SALLY PAJAMAS TO ELLEN'S, TOOTHBRUSH. Salad. Do not let Jannie forget extra sweater going to Jennifer's, scarf. Check Sally Sunday morning for sniffle. Add note milkman 1⁄2 PT. SOUR CREAM. Thirty-five cents in change on top of refrigerator in case Laurie needs money for movies. Six jellybeans is plenty.

 • • • 

We had a moderately pleasant weekend, although it snowed all the time and I lost another button off my gray suit and everyone seemed to have aged noticeably. My friend dropped me off in front of the house about nine on Sunday evening, and I was glad to get back, seeing the house lighted up and even the upstairs rooms bright, although the children should have been in bed. The dog met me at the door, wagging his tail, and there was an ominous thud as some cat leaped hurriedly off the kitchen table.

“Hello?” I called, setting down my suitcase. “Where is everyone?”

The only answer was the gentle stirring of a paper on the coffee table, and I went over and picked it up.

SUNDAY, it said. Barry and/or dog ate all directions. Have taken all children incl. Barry to hamburger stand for dinner, movies. Barry fond of movies, went yesterday too, also fr.fr. potatoes. Don't wait up for us. Casserole on kitchen table, cats not fed. Milkman left two dozen eggs. Jannie says six jellybeans is not plenty. Leave front door unlocked. Jar in refrigerator labeled Mayonnaise was mayonnaise.

 • • • 

Nothing is stable in this world. As soon as Barry was old enough to be regarded as a recognizable human being, with ideas and opinions, it became necessary for the other children to change him around. Since he was now too big to fit into a doll carriage, Jannie amused herself by dressing him in costume jewelry and ribbons. Sally sat on the floor next to the playpen and sang to him because, she said, it made him dance. Barry was clearly too formal a name, and we took to calling him B. B was too short, however, and he became Mr. B, then Mr. Beetle, and finally Mr. Beekman. He stayed Mr. Beekman until he was almost ready for nursery school, and then came around full circle, moving back to Mr. B, then B, and, at last, to Barry again. At one point he developed a disconcerting habit of answering no matter
who
was being called. Thus, dancing, and decked in ribbons, Beekman walked instead of creeping, and learned to drink from a cup.

 • • • 

With the coming of our first spring in our new house it was overnight astonishingly clear that our trees and grass and bushes and flowers were real. They all showed a first pale green just like all the other trees and grass and bushes and flowers up and down the street, and I went out and took movies so we could all sit in the dark living room and see that our trees had surely turned green at the tips of the branches. The snow turned into mud, particularly in our driveway. My husband added up the winter's fuel bills and said it would be cheaper to take the barn apart and burn it stick by stick, then start on the furniture. I got up one bright Sunday morning and saw the sun and the blue sky and could not bear the thought of just driving casually down the street to the news shop to get the Sunday papers. I told the children that because it was such a particularly springlike morning I was going to get the papers by driving out the back road and out along the river road and then up the other way to the news shop, and home, and they could come with me if they liked. They got into the car, solemnly discussing the possibilities of the weather's getting enough into Mommy's head to provoke a popsicle all around. I did not expect to get out of the car, since Laurie could run into the news shop and get the papers, so I was wearing an old coat, warm and comfortable in spite of the way it looked, high, sheepskin-lined leather boots, and a red and white scarf tied over my hair, which I had combed only haphazardly, since it has always been very awkward for me to comb my hair properly until I have had my morning coffee. My husband was still asleep, and I left the coffee making in the electric coffeepot, and bacon in the pan ready to fry when I got back.

The sun was rich and the air was fresh, and I drove down the river road contentedly, deeply appreciative of the warmth of the sunlight after an all-night rain, my car splashing richly through the deep puddles. The road was extremely muddy and quite slippery, and I was glad that I had not, after all, had the snow tires taken off when it began to look like spring. I was thinking with some complacency, as a matter of fact, of how my husband had told me to get the snow tires taken off and I had forgotten. On the front seat beside me Mr. Beekman stood straight and alert in his car-chair, scanning the road ahead for possible cookies; now and then he turned to me and inquired, “Daddy?” In the back seat the three other children held converse among themselves, with raised voices and various pushings. Jannie, on the assumption that it was a matter of grave universal interest, gave us the names of the cowboys in her Red Rider gang at school; Laurie kept one hand caressingly on the barrel of the BB gun his grandfather had sent him over my urgent disapproval; he rattled BB's in his pocket and commented unceasingly upon the availability of passing objects as targets; Sally stood on her head on the back seat, singing. “Daddy?” Mr. Beekman asked insistently.

“Sunshine,” I said, and sighed with satisfaction.

“Won't get many crows
today
,” Laurie opined drearily. He has never yet, to my knowledge or his, shot a crow with his BB gun. “Too wet underfoot.”

“If
I
was a space cadet,” Jannie said, “you know what
I
'd do? I'd take an asteroid on, like, Friday night, and then when it started to rain on Saturday again—”

“Thursday, you'd have to,” Laurie said. “Never do it on
time
on Friday, light years and all.”

“Cookie?” Mr. Beekman suggested.

I breathed deeply and happily, blew the car horn twice as I came to the bad right turn, shifted into second, pulled the wheel around, and turned the corner into the path of a car coming, fast, the other way.

I was annoyed, because I was startled, and I put my foot down on the brake and simultaneously and instinctively shoved my right elbow into Mr. Beekman's stomach to keep him from pitching forward from his car-chair. “Woomph,” said Mr. Beekman, and I pressed harder on the brake because my car was not stopping or even slowing down. I was suddenly acutely aware of the flimsy wooden bridge which was all that separated my car from the drop to the river on the right; I said “Floor” loudly, and hoped the children would understand; I tried to pull over to the left onto a broad lawn on that side of the road, and my car still would neither stop nor turn. I saw briefly that the driver of the other car was leaning far back in his seat, as though he, too, had his feet pressed down flat on the floor, and I braced myself against the back of the seat and put one foot on top of the other on the brake pedal, as though some kind of force might prevail upon the car to stop.

It was perfectly clear that the two cars were going to hit, skidding into each other, and I told myself firmly, there is plenty of time to stop, plenty of time. From a great distance I could hear the children's voices raised in what seemed to be enthusiastic cheering. The only question in my mind was perhaps a little academic: I was wondering how hard we were going to come together, and I was impatient at the ponderous independent movement of my car; if it was going to go off and smack into another car I wanted to get it over with. During the interminable moment between my putting my foot on the brake and the crash, I even had time to comprehend that none of us would be hurt, and then the long familiar nose of my car, intent upon destruction, swung itself with a shattering impact into the other car. Fantastic, I thought, sitting there for the first silent second, and that coffee cooking away at home.

“Cookie?” said Mr. Beekman into the silence.

“You all right?” I took my elbow out of Mr. Beekman's stomach. “Children, are you all right?”

“Sure,” said Laurie. “Say, that was a
good
one.” He sounded pleased.

“
I
got on the floor,” Sally said, “and I found a penny.”

“We all got on the floor, except Laurie peeked,” Jannie said.

“Can I keep it?” Sally asked. “The penny?”

“Boy,” Laurie said with relish, “was
Mom
ever scared. You hurt or something?” he asked me.

“I'm not hurt,” I said. “I was
not
scared.” I felt very calm, sitting there comfortably, and then I realized that we were all talking with excited speed, that the echoes of the crash were still sounding along the country road, and that the doors of the other car were slamming open; the other driver stumbled out, his legs shaking and his face white, and he yelled at me, “What you think you're
doing
?”

Deliberately I unclenched my left hand from the wheel and opened the door and climbed out; it was not until this moment that it had occurred to me that we were extraordinarily lucky that I, at least, had been going slowly, and it was at that moment only the thought of my innocent little children in the car which prevented me from speaking my mind fully. “What,” I said, snarling, “do you think
you
are doing? Coming around a turn like that at that speed on a slippery road and we could all have been killed?” My voice began to quaver suddenly, and I stopped and counted ten. “At that speed,” I said, through my teeth.

“You insured?” he asked.

“Certainly I'm insured. Coming around a curve like—”

“Mom,” Laurie said from the back window, “can we get out?”

“No,” I said, not turning. “Now listen here,” I began to the other driver, and then the woman who was standing by his car, who had gotten out when he had and was standing there rubbing her forehead, took a step forward and said, “Nearly killed
me.
” “Now listen here,” I said again, and Laurie leaned out the back window and said, “Mom, can we get
out
? You all right?”

“The steering wheel hit me in the stomach,” I said, realizing then why I was standing as though I had just been kicked by a horse. I straightened up with an effort and said, “Now listen here—”

“I wonder what Daddy is going to say,” Jannie remarked brightly.

“Ooh,” I said, and doubled up again.

“
You
're hurt?” the other woman said, and laughed shortly. “What about
me
?” She rubbed her forehead and brought her hand down and looked at it hopefully for blood. “You insured?” she asked.

“Oh, shut up,” I said.

“
My
little boy got hurt,” she said. “He's still in the car, hurt too bad to move.”

“
What
?
” Hastily, I made my way past her, thinking that she must surely be stunned or shocked, and got over to their car, where the man was leaning in through the front door, arguing. It was so slippery that I had to hold on to the fenders of the cars to keep on my feet.

“Come on
out
,” the man was saying. “No one's going to hurt you.” Finally he reached in and pulled out a small boy about six years old. “You all right?” he asked the boy.