The Sand Castle (3 page)

“Apparently, it's me.” Mother's red lipstick accentuated her grin.

“Juts.” Louise used her schoolmarm tone.

“Jesus didn't like them,” I volunteered.

“Your Aunt Louise doesn't like them,” Mother said, a devilish lilt to her voice.

“All right, mock me if you must, but these children need to learn.” She waited a moment, drama building in her mind at least. “The Philistines used to live in southwest Palestine and they made war on the ancient Israelites. But to call someone a Philistine means they're vulgar, common, that they only care about material things.”

“Oh, like Mrs. Mundis.” I inhaled the odor of the Bay, slightly saline at Point Lookout.

“Now, now.” Louise sounded very charitable but really she liked my comment because Claudia Mundis had more money than God, and seemed intent on spending it.

“You know, Sis, she's almost finished with her new garden home.”

“She's just nouveau riche and there's no two ways about it,” Aunt Louise sighed.

“Better nouveau riche than no riche at all.” Mother fished for a Chesterfield in her straw bag, found it, then dropped a line to find her lighter.

“Blood tells.”

“For Christ's sake, Louise, not that again.”

“Our family landed in Maryland in 1634 with Leonard Calvert. That landing became St. Mary's City and here we are in St. Mary's County.” Aunt Louise threw out her chest, which was impressive.

“And it never put a penny in my pocket.” Mother glanced overhead as a flock of terns zipped along. “Isn't it something how every bird is different and every kind of bird is perfect for what it has to do? I love watching.”

Mother hated the Southern snottiness over genealogy. Dad's family arrived in Virginia in 1620. He never once mentioned it although his mother trumpeted this deathless information
loud and clear. Maybe their disdain for blood arrogance was one of the ties that bound them.

By seven-thirty the lovely beach started to fill. Colorful umbrellas were stuck in the sand, and blankets were spread out, big striped towels folded to the side. Everyone toted a hamper. Leroy and I noted no kids our age. We weren't going to play with babies, the worst. The teenagers thought the same thing about us.

“I'm going for a swim.” Mother stood up, stepped out of her shorts and took off her white camp shirt. Her one-piece bathing suit was a pretty melon color, and showed off her figure. Mother could turn heads. She gloried in it.

“I'll be down in a minute.” Louise affixed a floppy straw hat to her curls. She loved hats.

I jumped up to race after Mother, then stopped, “Come on, Leroy.”

“No. Sharks. I saw those fish jumping.”

“Ah, that was a long time ago. Come on.”

“Nope.”

“Crabs will get you,” I threatened him, and as if to prove my point along sidled a little blue crab. “See.”

“Better a crab than a shark.”

“Chicken.”

“Philistine.” He grinned using that big word.

This set Aunt Louise off which pleased Leroy even more.

Just as Mother stepped into the water, which was still cold, I splashed by her, getting water all over. She squinted, then bent over and threw water on me.

“You're all wet, kid.”

“You, too.” I loved Mother.

It wasn't until later in my school years that I realized some children don't love their mothers or fathers. Course when you met their parents you understood why.

She reached out for me and took my hand. “Come on.”

We waded out until my feet couldn't touch bottom, but she'd lift me up every time a swell rolled in. When the water reached her bosoms, she held me with both hands.

“How deep is it, Mother?”

“How tall am I?”

“Uh, six feet.”

She laughed, “Nickel, I'd be taller than Dad. He's five ten. Try again.”

“Five feet.”

“Close, kid, but no cigar.” She still had her Chesterfield dangling from her mouth but it was burning down fast.

I considered Mother's cigarette a fashion accoutrement.

“Five two?”

“Bingo. So how deep is it? Think about how tall I am and how high the water is. Use your head.”

“Maybe four feet.”

“Maybe you're right.” She smiled, then carried me back until my feet could touch. “You can almost
always figure things out if you look around. That's the trouble with most people, honey, they listen to what other people tell them or they stick their nose in the sand. Use your head.”

“Daddy always says, ‘Put your money in your head, no one can steal it from you there.'”

She smiled, “He's full of sayings. Usually right.” She turned around to glance back at the beach. “For Christ's sake, Louise is sitting there putting on lotion. One freckle will send her to the emergency room.”

“She doesn't have freckles.”

“That's the point.” Mother released my hand. “I wish I had the money my sister spends on potions.”

“Perfumes, Aunt Wheezie has more perfumes than anyone.”

“She does, doesn't she?”

“How come she called you a Philistine?”

“Oh, she was joking. She didn't mean it ugly. I could have gotten even and called her a Pharisee.”

“Jesus didn't like them either.” Bible school had some effect on me and I'd heard the word but I didn't know exactly what a Pharisee was. Just like I'd heard the word “eucharist” but didn't exactly know what it meant.

“Hypocrites. A Pharisee is a hypocrite, praying loudly in public and then doing whatever he wants when no one is looking.”

“Is Aunt Wheezie really a Pharisee?”

“Well . . . no, but she's sure trying to rub the Bible off on everyone and she's not perfect. Ever since Ginny died she's turned into a religious nut.” Mother stared at me, then touched my shoulder. “It's horrible to lose a daughter. I try to remember that when I get mad at her or when she starts being more Catholic than the Pope.” She cupped her hands, lifting water that was clear, then opened them and watched it fall back into the Bay. “Time. She'll leave off bleeding Jesus in time.”

“Mother, you know when you kneel next to me when I say my prayers?”

“Yes.”

“I don't want to say that prayer anymore.”

“The Lord's Prayer?” This surprised her.

“No. I don't want to say, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.'”

She pursed her lips, ready to say something, then stopped herself. “I see.”

“When Aunt Ginny died Leroy and I didn't want to say that prayer anymore but we were scared to say anything.”

“You're not scared now.”

“Time.” I smiled up at her.

“Aren't you the smart little thing?” She considered this. “Well, we have to find another prayer. You could recite one of the Psalms, they're pretty. You like most of them. And you read them very well for your age.”

“I'll do a Psalm.”

“What about Leroy?”

“He's afraid to talk to Aunt Wheezie since she's gotten so . . . you know.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She reached for my hand again. “You've kept this to yourself all this time? Every night you say that prayer. That's a long time, half a year, to do something you don't like.” She dropped my hand, looking out over the Bay. “Funny, Nickel, sometimes I wish I had your discipline. You came into the world with it. I struggle with it.”

“You work hard.” I equated work with discipline.

“Root hog or die.” She laughed. “I mean you can control your feelings. Pretty much what's inside comes outside for me. Louise, too, although she can hang on longer than I can.” She looked over at her sister again. “Now she's building a sand castle with Leroy. Those two are a lot alike in some ways. Artistic.” She turned back, casting her eyes over the seemingly infinite expanse of water. “The Bay has magical powers. The Indians who lived
here thought so. There's no other place like this in the world. It's fed by God knows how many streams and small rivers, which then flow into the five main ones. Know what they are?”

“The Potomac, uh, the James.” I was stuck.

She filled in, “The York, the Rappahannock, and the Susquehanna. Someday when you're grown, think about today. I bet you have a car then and you can drive here and feel the magic all over again. Spirits guard the waters. I swear it's true but don't say anything to Louise. She'll think it's blasphemous. Maybe it is but I believe in spirits and in angels and in devils.” She pushed water at me. “I'm looking at a little devil right now.”

“Not me.”

“Right.” She reached for my hand. “Come on, kid, let's go up and help build the sand castle or she'll get her nose out of joint.”

“Aunt Wheezie doesn't like the water?”

“She likes the water fine, she just doesn't want to get her hair wet.”

“Oh.” Mine was slicked back wet. “Can I get a flattop like Leroy's? Then I won't have to comb my hair.”

“No.”

“I'd have more time to do the dishes and chores. Think how much time I waste combing my hair.”

She laughed. “You're going to grow up to be a politician.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“No, but it runs in the family. It helps if you can talk out of both sides of your mouth at the same time.”

Taking this literally, I tried, and this made her laugh harder.

“Can't do it.”

“Don't worry about it now.” She squeezed my hand and we dripped our way up to the others. We toweled off, careful not to sprinkle one drop onto Louise's blanket.

The thick outer walls of the sand castle loomed up, squared off. Louise fretted over the towers at
the corners. Her skill and the speed at which she worked amazed me. Leroy mixed sand and water in a bucket to the correct consistency.

Building things also ran in the family. Both sisters loved designing garden sheds, little forcing sheds, a new garage with living quarters over top. They threw themselves into the actual work. Mother had a miter box, a good saw, and an array of tools neatly hung up on her workroom wall, itself another one of her practical designs.

Soon the two sisters labored over the elaborate sand castle while Leroy and I filled two small buckets with sand and water. We wore a path down to the Bay and back. After a while the buckets grew heavy.

We began to carry one bucket together, slowing the builders down.

“How many more of these do they need?” Leroy's green swimming trunks flapped in the breeze.

“A million.”

“You lie.”

“I don't know.” I answered. “Twenty?”

“Aunt Wheezie said we'd build a sand castle but all I'm doing is hauling this bucket.”

“Ah, Leroy, you know how she gets.”

“Yeah.”

We delivered the bucket to them, setting it down in unison.

“Mother, we're going to take a walk.” That seemed the wiser course than saying we were tired and bored with carrying sand and water.

“Okay.” She cheerfully agreed while Louise created turrets at the top of the castle walls.

“Don't be too long. I'll need more buckets,” Louise finally spoke, eyes still on her turrets.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

As we started off I heard Mother say, “I'll get the sand. Those kids have hauled plenty.”

“Good for 'em.” Louise meticulously cut into the sand wall to make the turret square.

“Let them be kids.”

“We worked.”

“Not hauling sand for sand castles. They do their part.” Mother noticed I was looking back and she winked.

I reached for Leroy's hand but he pulled it away. “I'm no baby.”

“You're a cootie.”

PopPop, who fought in World War I, told us about cooties. We also had a game called cootie, where'd you'd roll dice and, according to the number, get a plastic piece of a bug. The winner was the one who put together the cootie first. It always provoked a fight.

“Then you're a nit. That's ten times worse than a cootie.”

“Dung dot.”

“Cow pie.”

“Steaming dog turd.” My imagination was waking up.

His blue eyes widened and he slugged my shoulder. “Asshole.”

“Hey.” I slugged him back.

Being even we continued our walk, oblivious to the people who were equally oblivious to us.

“When I'm grown up you won't dare hit me.”

“You say.”

“I'll be bigger and stronger.”

“Could be, but I'll always be faster and smarter.”

He echoed my words, “You say.”

“I do say.”

“You broke your Lent, how smart is that?”

Lent seemed light years back and I did break it. “So?”

“You'll go to hell.”

“Because I ate chocolate?”

“You broke your Lent.” He stubbornly clung to reciting my downfall.

“What does Jesus need with my chocolate?”

“Doesn't matter. A promise is a promise.”

“You made me do it.” I flared up for a second.

“I did not.”

“Did, too. You ate a Snickers right in front of me.”

“You're supposed to be strong.”

“You know, Leroy, you're turning into a religious nut just like Aunt Wheezie.”

Since his mother died, Leroy was living with Louise. When Ken got off work they'd all eat together and then Ken would go to bed. He was worn out.

“You don't believe anything,” he responded. His blond hair, crew cut, seemed almost white in the sunshine.

“I go to church,” I said, but he was hitting the nail on the head because even at seven I evidenced little passion for organized religion.

“Not the one true church.”

“You gonna be a priest or something?”

“I dunno.” The sass leached out of him. “Aunt Louise would like that. I'd like to be a marine like Dad. Dad says they give you a place to live, you get clothes and food. I'd like that. I like to march.”