The Singing Bone (17 page)

Trina pulled on Alice's hair as she spoke.

“Ouch. Not so tight.” Alice reached up and felt the braid.

“Sorry. The real question is—” Trina dropped one braid and began the second side. “What's going on with
you
and Mr. Wyck?”

“I don't know,” Alice said. “It's like he's always there, but he never does anything.”

“Maybe he's waiting for you to do something.”

“Like what?”

“Seduce him or something?”

“You think?”

“Actually,” Trina said, “I
know
.”

“How?”

“He told me,” Trina said, “before you even moved in. He said, ‘I want that girl, but I'm going to have to wait for her.' ”

“Seriously? Why didn't you ever tell me?”

Trina let Alice's hair fall from her fingers. She put her hand on Alice's shoulder. “I think he wanted to, but now—” She sighed. “It's all so beautiful, Alice. I want you to feel loved, too. I want you to feel what I feel. I never knew who I was until I met Mr. Wyck. He opened the world for me. I used to be so—alone.” She picked Alice's hair up and began braiding again.

“Were you ever with him?”

Trina didn't say anything. She worked silently on Alice's hair, and just as Alice was going to turn to her with
Well?
Trina spoke. “He's good. He's experienced. He's not going to hurt you. If that's what you're worried about.”

“So you
were
with him.” Alice tried to look at her friend, but Trina pushed her cheek forward. “Hair,” she said. Alice looked at the fire, trying to imagine what Mr. Wyck would be like. His skin was dark from the sun. She thought of the wrinkles around his eyes and the small black tattoos on the insides of his arms and around his neck. She imagined tracing the snaking lines with her fingers.

“Love is for everyone,” Trina whispered. “Love is for you, too, Alice.”

Love is for me
, Alice thought.
Love
. She closed her eyes, but opened them again when she heard someone going upstairs, the creak of the old wooden boards, and she wondered if someone had been listening.

  •  •  •  

That night, Lady Linda and Schizz showed up, and Big John, Mary, and Franklin brought some instruments over, and they all jammed in the living room. Lady Linda and Mary sang folk songs, and Alice joined in. Before long, she was the only one singing. She stood with her hands in her pockets, her eyes closed, rocking back on her heels. Mostly it was a mellow night; only Big John was high on speed. He danced too fast to the songs and Mr. Wyck led him out of the room and told him the kitchen needed cleaning, and he gave him a mop and soapy water and when Alice passed through on her way out back she thought she'd never seen the room so clean.

She picked up one of the lanterns that Big John had lined up next to the back door. Alice let the screen door fall shut behind her. She stood in the yard with her back to the house. It had rained earlier, and the night was humid. She lit the lantern and began walking. The drone of crickets and bullfrogs filled the air. She looked up, but she couldn't see the stars. The earth was like a dark cradle. The grass was damp beneath her bare feet. She heard the screen door shut again behind her and knew without looking that it was Mr. Wyck. She walked towards the woods. He followed. She set the lantern down and turned and pulled her dress off over her head and waited for him. When he came into the circle of light, she saw that he was naked, too, and without saying anything, she put her dress down on the ground and lay on top of it.

“Beautiful, so beautiful,” he whispered. He turned the wick of the lantern down until she could only see his eyes. She could smell him, and she could sense the familiarity of his touch. He traced lines on her body and said, “I was waiting for you to come to me,” and then he was inside her, saying,
I love you, I love you, I love you,
and she said it, too.
Jack,
she whispered. Afterwards, they lay together, she resting her cheek on his chest, he with his arms loosely cast around her. She said she hadn't known it would feel that way the first time.

“What way?”

“Good,” she answered.

“You're a natural, then.”

After that, she spent the night in his room and Allegra stayed downstairs with Lee or with Stover—though once Alice found Allegra in her old bed when she went down to change, and after that, Alice moved her things up to Mr. Wyck's room, and Allegra moved her things down to ­Alice's. As far as Alice could tell, nothing had changed between her and Allegra. Allegra still exerted a kind of maternal power in the house—maybe through habit, or perhaps because Alice didn't like to tell her friends what to do with their time. It was as if everyone had anticipated these changes except Alice, who was the only one who had questions, and at night, when she lay with Mr. Wyck in bed, she asked them.

“Is Allegra upset about this?” she wanted to know.

“Allegra has her hands full.” Mr. Wyck laughed. They were sharing a joint, and Mr. Wyck wanted to make love again. She had come to think of it as love. She was in love. But it wasn't like they said. It wasn't hearts or cupids. It was more like a wild forest filled with dangerous animals. “Besides,” Mr. Wyck said, “she knows men like change.”

“Change?” Alice asked. She ran her hands over his tattoos, In the center of his chest, she read
I am that I am
. All around it were light blue bolts of lightning. She folded her hands over the letters and rested her chin on them.

“Allegra and I have been together for a long time.”

She didn't ask how long a long time was but felt it must be years. She smiled. “Is this what you thought it would be?” There were black snakes twisting around his arms, fire on his shoulders.

“It's better.” He put his hands on her waist. “You're a goddess,” he said. “You are a part of me now. You can do what you want with me.”

She moved on top of him.

Sometimes they stayed in bed all day, only rising to use the bathroom and eat. The others brought them food and set it outside the door, a tray with a note. They slept. Allegra left Alice a bitter tea to drink at night and asked her about her period. “Don't get pregnant,” she said. She was stern, her mouth a thin line. “Mr. Wyck hates babies.”
Pregnant
. The idea filled Alice with dread. By August, Alice's period had stopped. Allegra crushed herbs with a mortar and pestle, making a strange paste. “What is it?” Alice asked. Just looking at it made her feel ill.

“I told you not to get pregnant.”

“You should have told Mr. Wyck, too. What is that?”

“Pennyroyal, tansy.”

“Maybe I can will my period to come instead?”

“If you could, it would be here,” Allegra said humorlessly.

“Is it safe?”

“It's from Mother Nature,” Allegra said impatiently. “Of course it's safe.” She crushed the herbs in short quick jabs, then dropped a bit into a mug of hot water. “Drink.” She brought the cup to Alice, who made a face. “Every two hours. I'll bring it to you.”

“Honey? Sugar?”

“Better not.”

A week later, the cramps came—then the vomiting. Allegra and Molly sat with Alice in the bathroom, stroking her hair and putting a warm, damp washcloth on her face. “A man like that can land you pregnant fast,” Allegra said. “You'll be all right, though. I'll take care of you.” Alice was ill for a week. She threw up what she ate, but Allegra kept bringing her the foul-tasting tea. And then her period came, finally. She stayed in bed, wrapped in blankets and shivering even though it was in the nineties outside.

She climbed into bed with Mr. Wyck again, happy to be back, but a few days later, she had an infection. She lay on the spare bed on the screened-in back porch in a fever sweat, falling in and out of sleep, her period stopping and starting at random. She called for Mr. Wyck, but Stover and Molly came instead. Stover brought her magazines and Molly curled up next to her and fell asleep. She sang to her friend, pushing Alice's hair lightly behind her ear as she did until Alice fell back asleep. Once Alice woke up and Trina and Lee were there. It was dark out, and Trina was shining a flashlight in Alice's face. “Are you all right, Aly?” Trina asked. Alice reached out and grabbed Trina's hands. She was shivering.

“I'm cold,” she said, and Trina pulled the blankets over her. Trina whispered to Lee, but Alice could hear what she said: “We should get her to a doctor.”

“Allegra says she doesn't need one,” Lee answered.

“Fucking look at her, Lee. I think she's dying or something.” Trina turned on the flashlight again.

“Stop,” Alice murmured, lamely lifting her hand.

“She's fine,” Lee said. “It's just a fever. Allegra says it passes.”

“Allegra poisoned her. I swear.” Then Trina leaned over Alice and Alice could feel her friend's hair tickling her face. “Aly, baby,” she whispered. “I'm going to get you some help.”

“Where's Mr. Wyck?” Alice managed, propping herself on one elbow. Trina and Lee looked at each other but didn't say anything. Then Alice fell back asleep. When she woke up again, Mr. Wyck was standing over her. It was dawn. He didn't have a shirt on. The light blue thunderbolts were pale in the morning light
. I am that I am.
She reached out to him, but then she fell back into her fever and couldn't get out.

Trina came again at night and gave her a handful of white pills. She came in the morning, too, and then at night. Alice didn't know for how long, but then, one day, the fever disappeared. She sat up. It was raining outside. She put her bare feet on the floor and tried to stand. She teetered, holding on to things as she went. She could hear everyone in the kitchen. When she walked in, everyone stared at her. Pale, hair in tangles, Alice looked more like she'd just climbed out of her grave than bed. Allegra came forward and placed a hand on her forehead. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” Alice answered, touching her stomach. She felt so light, like she would float away. Molly jumped up and down, clapping. Mr. Wyck put his arms around Molly and pulled her close, his gray eyes cool and bored when he turned to face Alice.

That night, she lay on her back on Mr. Wyck's bed, scrubbed clean, full of soup and bread. Molly joined them, and at first it was strange, sharing Mr. Wyck when he'd been hers alone all summer, and it was strange to touch her friend in ways she hadn't before, but Mr. Wyck told her what to do, and soon she didn't feel awkward anymore.

“Now all you girls are mine,” he said. “All of you.” He reached his hand out for Allegra when she came in to bring them something cool to drink. “Allegra, baby, who do you belong to?”

“To you, honey,” she answered.

“Show them,” he commanded.

Allegra stood on one foot and lifted her other to the bed. She raised her skirt, and there, on her inner left thigh, was Mr. Wyck's name etched in black ink. When she saw it, Alice said she wanted a tattoo, too. So into Alice's left thigh Mr. Wyck's buzzing needle went. He etched his name into her skin, and as he went, he sang softly, and then she watched as he did the same thing to Molly, who held Alice's hand and squeezed when it hurt. “Don't be a baby,” Alice said to her, because she was angry. Molly
was
a baby. It was true. Everyone said it when they said, “Take care of Molly,” or “Make sure Molly gets home safely.”
Well
, Alice thought,
Molly can take care of herself now
.

Afterwards, with their heads cradled on Mr. Wyck's chest, Mr. Wyck said, “I want to tell you what I do.” He held them around their shoulders loosely.

“You're a tattooist,” Alice said, lifting her leg and gazing at the black script, edged with her own red blood.

“It's not just that,” Molly said. “Wait until you hear, Alice. It's so cool.”

“Allegra!” Mr. Wyck yelled, and she came to the door, leaning against the frame with her arms folded, her eyebrows raised. “Gather the others for a family meeting.”

Alice lifted her chin and gazed at Molly, who was tracing the letters on Mr. Wyck's chest,
I am that I am
. Alice rose slowly and got dressed. When Mr. Wyck slapped Molly on the behind, Alice turned and looked over her shoulder at them.
Do what thou wilt
was etched into his back between the shoulder blades. Alice stared at the words, trying to make sense of them. She felt her fever might be returning, but she put on her clothes and hastened down the dark staircase.

At the table, Alice sat next to Trina, who searched her face.
Are you all right?
she mouthed. Alice nodded, and rested her head on Trina's small shoulder. Stover sat on the other side of Alice, pulling his chair close to hers, resting a hand on her knee. Allegra came in with a pink wine, a block of white cheese, a fruit pie. “Blackberries,” Allegra said, and when Alice saw her cut into the pie, the thick purple juice, she was hungry again. Allegra cut her a big piece.

They lifted their glasses. “To us,” Mr. Wyck said. “To my animals. To our family.” They touched glasses. Alice asked for a cigarette. She held it in one hand as she ate her pie and smoked between bites, putting her fork down and looking around the room. The summer night was languid and heavy, the curtains still. Alice blew smoke to the ceiling and watched it go. “So what is this?” she asked. “What work is this?” She looked at Mr. Wyck, who raised his eyebrows at her.

“Eat your pie,” he said. “Put that cigarette out.”

She did both, shrugging, but without any haste.

When they all finished, Allegra passed the wine again, and Stover said he had some hash, which everyone was excited about except for Alice, because she was already tired enough, and if she'd had a choice, she would have had another cigarette instead. She fished one out of Trina's jacket pocket and lit it while they passed the bowl around. “So,” Mr. Wyck said, and he told them the story of his parents, and he told them his own story about Vietnam, and the light that came and healed him in the night.