I'm up here in her attic trying to stop leaks. There's this door in the ceiling that you pull down by one end with a short rope so that a ladder folds out. I climbed up and went to work. I should be on the outside with a bucket of hot tar, but I'd drown with all the rain. I just heard a clap of thunder. Aunt Loretta's passed half her kitchen up here for me to stop the leaks with. She's handed me a can of putty, a putty knife, a butcher knife, a hammer, three sacks of different size nails, a tube of caulking, a bunch of fence slats she found down there somewhere, an old jar stuffed with bee's wax, and a box of matches. I have everything except what I need. The place is musty. A light socket dangles from the beams so I have light, but with all the wires running around up here, I could get electrocuted.
Just about the time I'm ready to climb down, I helped some but not a whole lot, she tells me to look underneath the tarp. Well, let me tell you, there's nothing up here but tarp with puddles in it where it sags. And it covers all these old cardboard boxes that look like they're full to the top with dust.
"I want 'em, Ray. We need 'em all."
So I'm passing them down to her through that hole in the ceiling.
"I've got it. I've got it. I've got it." She says. But when I turn it loose, she drops it, and the box breaks open, and she has a new mess of books and papers all over the floor. I bet I've passed down fifteen boxes. It's cold up here. I wish I'd brought my heavy jacket. If I'd known I was going to be working, I would have put on some work clothes. We don't work when it rains.
When I finally get out of the attic, she says, "Me and Louise have been fighting." And that brings another thunderclap. I don't know why but the older I get, the younger she looks. The other day I asked Mama how old Aunt Loretta is and she said, "Almost thirty-two. Fifteen years older than you." A couple of years ago, I thought she was probably sixty.
So her kitchen looks like she's moving out with all the boxes here on the floor. Or maybe like she's moving in because she's going through those boxes dumping stuff like hell won't have it, has her sleeves rolled to her elbows. "I found it," she says, and she has a picture in her hands. "Look at this." She holds up a photograph in one hand and a beat-up deck of cards in the other. But I'm not looking at the picture or the cards. This is the first time I've ever seen her forearms and the scars all over the insides of both arms that run from her wrists almost to her elbows. Now I know why she always wears long sleeve shirts. Never seen anything so ugly. Who could have done that to her? And then I notice that her left hand doesn't work as good as the right, won't straighten out all the way. I used to think that that was kind of a cute way she had of working her hand. Now I know it's because she can't help it.
"Hershel's been over here complaining that you've been running around with Charles Kunze. If you are, you need to know some things about Charles and the rest of us. Charles knows, so he has an unfair advantage. Louise and Hershel used to be friends with Heidi and Karl. They used to play pinochle together. I kept score for them. If you ask Louise, she'll deny it, but it's true. Here. Look at this." But then she sticks it behind her back. "Promise you won't tell her I showed you this?" And then she shows me a picture of a young Mama and Papa and, sure enough, there's Karl and I guess that's Heidi Kunze but I don't remember her. They're all standing around what looks to be a '36 Ford. Heidi looks kind of pretty.
That's when I hear a loud knock and the image I get is that Mama's at the back door and has caught us doing something nasty. That half-grown dog just bristles and lets out with a "Woof." The tomcat spits at him.
Aunt Loretta has to pull three times to get the door open and there's Bev, coming through the back door with a big smile on her face like that smile will make up for something she's done wrong. "I couldn't figure out where the front of this place is. Bobby here?" She knows the answer because she's looking past Aunt Loretta and sees me plain as day. She comes in soaked to the skin and dripping rainwater off her eyelashes.
"How did you find me?" I ask.
"Your mama. I think she'd have said anything to get me off her front porch."
Aunt Loretta first looks like she's mad then gets a hand towel for Bev to dry off with and runs to her bedroom with the sniffles.
Bev looks at me like, what's wrong with her? "Introduce me," she says. But when Aunt Loretta comes back in, Bev beats me to the punch. "I'm Bobby's girlfriend, Bev."
Aunt Loretta acts like she didn't hear anything. She holds up another picture, this one in a frame, and she's rolled her sleeves back down and buttoned them.
"This is me and my sweetheart eighteen years ago," she says, smiling with her lips closed. And then she puts it down, turns her back because her face is the brightest shade of red humanly possible.
But Bev won't let it alone. She goes over to her and takes the picture from her. "Why, Aunt Loretta, you were absolutely gorgeous. And who is the young man?"
But she is not answering that. She jerks the picture back, holds it tight to her chest, and with her head down, walks back in the bedroom.
"Is she okay?" Bev asks.
I shake my head no. "Never has been," I whisper.
"I've seen that old boyfriend of hers before, but I can't remember where," says Bev.
"She didn't let me get a good look at it."
Aunt Loretta comes back in, goes straight to the cupboard, gets out three plates. Then she jerks open a drawer and dumps the awfulest mess of forks, spoons, and knives on the table. She turns to Bev. "Bobby and I were about to have a party. Will you join us?" And the 'Will you join us?' has the strangest formal sound coming out of her mouth.
"Can I make the coffee?" asks Bev.
So while the pot's perking, Aunt Loretta rummages through another box and comes up with another picture. She just loves pictures. And since Bev came in, she's hardly said a word, as if she's turned into a deaf-mute. But now she's showing Bev a picture of a little girl.
"How old were you?" asks Bev.
Aunt Loretta holds up three fingers on her good right hand.
"It was taken on your birthday, wasn't it?"
And she shakes her head yes but looks down at the floor, then takes the picture from Bev and goes into her bedroom again.
"Do you realize what the occasion is, Bobby?" asks Bev.
"What occasion?"
"This one. What we are celebrating."
"This isn't an occasion. This is just Aunt Loretta. She's just strange like this."
"God! You are the most insensitive human being on earth. Men! The cake's not for you, dummy. It's her birthday. This is a birthday party."
Just before we eat cake, Bev sings happy birthday to Aunt Loretta, with me humming a word or two every now and then. I don't know why she didn't bring her pom-poms. I'm beginning to think there's more tears from Aunt Loretta than rain outside. After a couple of courses of 'For she's a jolly good lady,' Bev asks her how long it's been since she had a birthday party, but can't get an answer.
Bev finally answers for her. "You haven't had one since you were three, have you?"
She just shakes her head no.
We are on our third pot of coffee and the cake is cold but still good. My hands are trembling and my armpits could match some of the bigger puddles outside.
"Charles is a little funny in his drawers, too." Is what Aunt Loretta has just said, as another thunderclap rocks the house.
"What?" I ask
"He likes guys, Bobby," says Bev, "sexually."
"What do you mean, sexually? You mean like queer stuff?" Then I start sweating when I remember what Charles did to me when we were casing Mary's house. He put his hand between my legs, and I didn't say anything about it. Charles probably thinks I liked it.
"Lenny wasn't like that," says Aunt Loretta. "But Charles has a little streak of it in him. When Lenny found out, he laughed till he split his sides. And he used to taunt Charles with it. They used to come over here to help me before you got old enough, Ray. Wasn't a word out of Lenny's mouth that didn't kick Charles down a little lower. People'll s
ay things around me they won't say around anyone else. It's like I'm not even there."
"That casts a new light on what happened between Helen and Charles," says Bev. "Lenny's journal is starting to sound more and more interesting all the time." Then she gives me a mean look. "You talk to Brenda again about it and I'll strangle you." Then she loosens up a little. "Leroy had a problem too, Bobby. Or maybe Charles made him feel like he did. I knew there was something going on with him. Leroy was reckless."
"What do you mean, reckless?" I ask.
Bev thinks for a minute. "Charles must have been doing something sexual to Leroy. I've had guys work their stuff on me, but Leroy was desperate. I've never had anyone beg. Tried to talk to me about his problem but couldn't find the words. He kept saying, 'You don't know what Charles is doing to me.' Charles had a lot to do with Leroy getting killed."
"I always kinda figured that I was responsible."
"You think you're responsible for everything bad that happens, don't you?"
Aunt Loretta butts in again. "Charles blames Louise for his mother getting killed. Charles believes Louise drove Heidi to suicide."
"What was the trouble between Mama and Mrs. Kunze?"
"You better brace yourself for this one, Ray." She gets out of the chair she's sitting in and walks to the kitchen sink real slow. She has her back to us so I can hardly hear her voice. "It was Hershel, that brother of mine. Hershel had an affair of the heart with Heidi."
"Oh, Jesus," says Bev. Then she gets up and goes to stand beside Aunt Loretta. "That's not a very easy thing to say about your brother, is it?"
"Karl Kunze is a very forgiving man. Louise isn't. And she didn't blame Hershel for what happened between him and Heidi. She blamed Heidi. And some of the Kunze's say what Louise did was the cause of Heidi's death. And I'm not going to say what that was. Cause I've already said too much."
"I think Charles is mad at all us Hammers. He's after Trish. She was baby-sitting for Grant Pierson's kids the other night while they went bowling. I drove by their place, and sure enough, there was Charles' Jeep parked out front. I've tried to talk to him but he won't leave her alone."
"I've never mentioned it to you," says Bev, "but I've talked to her about it too. She won't listen to me either."
"If your Papa finds out about him seeing, Patricia," says Aunt Loretta, "he'll kill Charles for sure."
One last picture. Or maybe I should say three pictures in a bunch. This time Aunt Loretta won't let me see them. Bev is just really impressed at first, and then I hear something about a baby and a lot of ooing and aaing. I just realized something while those two are gooing at each other. And I never would've believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes because Bev is a beautiful girl. But I realized how much Bev looks like Aunt Loretta. And then Bev, now get this mind you, Bev hugs Aunt Loretta, like she just realized she was her best friend. And now it's Bev who's crying.
It's dark and me and Bev are sitting in her daddy's Buick just outside Aunt Loretta's house. I keep seeing Aunt Loretta's shadow move back and forth on her kitchen curtain. Bev has the radio on and Tab Hunter is singing "Young Love." This Buick still smells new, and Bev tells me how much she likes making out to the sound of rain on a car roof.
"When did she try to commit suicide?" she asks.
"You saw her arms."
"Hard to miss that."
"Why'd you hunt me down today?" I ask. "Why'd you come over here?"
She smiles at me, bites her bottom lip. Her eyes are dark but I can still see a sparkle. "Guilt," is all she says, and then gives me a slurpy tongue kiss.
*
I'm laying in bed beside Curt, thinking about all the things that happened at Aunt Loretta's and staring off into the dark down the hall. The thing that bothers me the most is how deep I'm getting involved with Bev. She just keeps pushing on everything where I'm concerned. She's the stickiest person I've ever seen. Now she knows Aunt Loretta, and by all appearances, they really like each other. At least Mama still won't have anything to do with her.
"Bobby?" asks Curt. "You've sure been quiet lately."
He always startles me when I think he's asleep. "Have a lot on my mind."
"You still running around with Charles?"
"I don't know. After what I learned over at Aunt Loretta's today, I think I'm getting in over my head with him."
"He was nice to me when he brought me home on Halloween night."
"I bet he was. He seems that way at first. But stay away from him. You can't trust him. You can't trust yourself around him. I think he's after all of us."
"You're going to stay away from him?"
"No. I have business with him. And I do mean business. It's sure not fun."
The things that Aunt Loretta told me today are really bothering me. I don't know what to think about my papa. I sure can't talk to Curt about that. So here I am starting it too. I have to keep things from Curt, the same as Mama and Papa have kept all this from me. Sounds like trouble's been brewing in this family for a long time. Maybe Charles has some reason to not like Mama and Papa. Still, none of it answers the question of what really happened to Lenny. I've been thinking about what Bev said about finding the right thread and pulling on it. The problem is, if you pull long enough, you destroy the sweater.
CHAPTER 29: Fighting Niggers
Charles' milk barn is lit like a jack-o-lantern. It stands a few yards from his little shack. I was hoping to get here before sundown, but it's already dark. He's standing at the far end of the barn, has one cow still milking, a huge Holstein, and he's with her now, patting her on the side and rubbing on her. A stainless-steel milker with four black-rubber suction cups heaves on her udder. Just as I walk into the barn, he winks at me. I hear a bunch of calves bawling in a holding pen out back.
I feel like I shouldn't be here. I was hoping to see Charles alone. Thomas Powers has a flat-ended shovel and pushing manure into the gutter. Wayne Hickman follows Thomas with a stiff-bristled shop broom, and Eugene Waggoner hoses the place down. The pale light from two naked bulbs overhead makes Wayne's red hair glow, casts shadows. Looks like they're trying to get this cow milking over with so they can go somewhere. Melvin Swensen steps out of the little brick milk house that sits beside the barn. He has an empty milker in his hand. He just nodded at me, but when he first saw me, he frowned. I came to see Charles because I have some bones to pick with him. But all these kids are here. Feel like I'm crashing a party. How come all my friends are here, and nobody told me anything about it? I wish I had a date with Bev.
When Charles hits the barn lights that jack-o-lantern winks out and we walk in the dark toward his shack, all of us in a crowd. Charles comes to me.
"How you doing tonight, Bobby?"
"I need to talk to you, Charles."
We walk on to his shack without talking. He stops just outside his front door. The rest stand looking at us.
"You got a problem, I'd like to help."
"I mean there's some things we need to get straight. I need some questions answered."
"Sounds serious, alright. Come inside while I get dressed." He turns to the others. "Soon as I wash up, we'll be right out." Charles stands his boots to the left of the steps and pulls the screen door open for me. "Go on in. Make yourself to home. It's not much but at least it's mine." He lets the screen door bang to, closes the wood door, has to shove it. The little window in it rattles.
Charles doesn't have a kitchen or a bedroom separate. Everything's in his living room except the bathroom, and it's just off the kitchen. Actually the whole room looks like one big kitchen because the stove and sink are on the left wall and the refrigerator is in the corner on the right wall. He must have a cleaning lady. It hits me right then what it would be like for me to have my own place. I haven't even thought of it before. My own place. I could come and go as I please. If I had problems, I'd just walk away from them. Charles' life always seems so free, nobody to tell him what to do.
"You want to grab a quick beer? One in the
icebox. Don't let the others see it because I don't have enough for everybody." He jerks off his shirt, throws it in a corner, grabs another one out of a small chest of drawers. His bed is pushed up against the far wall, made up with square corners.
"What do you know about our parents being friends years ago?" I ask.
"A little. But god, Bobby, this is heavy stuff to start out a five minute conversation. I don't know that this is the time." He's at the kitchen sink, talking through the water splashing on his face. "Besides, you're mad at me."
"I'm not mad, Charles. I just need to get things straight."
He comes at me drying his face on a towel. "Then why're you all puffed up? Loosen up a little, Bobby. Come with us tonight. We're just going to Fresno. You and me need to have this talk. But another time."
"I don't feel quite right about going because I wasn't invited."
"Well, I don't know. Maybe we made a mistake. Come with us anyway." He walks over to me and slaps me on the back. "I know there's problems between our families. Always has been. Problems between you and me, too. But what the hell, life is full of trouble."
When he says things like this, the way I feel about him seems silly. I turn away from him though. "It's about you and Trish," I say, but don't have enough force behind it.
He follows me, sticks out his hand. "Later. Come on. Give me some meat."
"No, Charles." And I walk away from him, stand by his old white refrigerator. "You're not brushing me off like that. And I am mad at you. You're messing around her again. You were with her when she was baby-sitting the Pearson's kids the other night. I want you to stay away from my sister. And this business about Leroy. I want to know what you were doing to him just before he got killed."
"Jesuschrist, Bobby. How many times are we going to have this conversation? This is old stuff. I wish you'd shutup about me and Trish. But now I can tell, I'm not going to get that wish. You're going to keep on and keep on, just drive it in the ground. Okay, I'll talk to you about our family and about Trish. We can have it out about her if you want. But we're going to do it on my terms. And now you're adding Leroy getting killed to our problems. I though you were carrying the guilt. But come with us tonight and I promise, we'll get something straight between you and me before the night's over."