Heaven

  Kitty moved suddenly. She caught me off balance, and in a flash, instead of hovering above the water to test it again, I was facedown in the water!

  The scalding water seared me like liquid hot coals from Ole Smokey. I shoved upward blindly, pulled up my knees, balancing on my hands, trying blindly to fight my way out of the tub; but Kitty held me down, grasped my shoulders with strong hands, and twisted me over so I was sitting in the water. Now I could scream!

  Time and time again I let go, howling, flailing my arms as Our Jane would, as Fanny would, yelling, "Let me go, let me go!"

  Wham!

  Kitty's hand slapped me!

  "SHUT UP! Damn ya! Shut up! Don't ya be yellin when my Cal comes in, an make him think I'm bein mean. I ain't, I ain't! I'm doin what I have t'do, that's all."

  Where was Cal . . . why didn't he come back and save me?

  It was terrible, so terrible I couldn't find another scream, not when I was gasping, choking, crying, struggling to push Kitty away, to stop that brutal brush from taking off all my red, seared skin. I was stinging all over--and inside as well. The Lysol water was seeping into my most private parts. My eyes pleaded with Kitty to have mercy, but Kitty grimly set about scrubbing off the germs, the contamination, the Casteel filth.

  It seemed I could hear Reverend Wayland Wise preaching, chanting me into paradise as I lingered on the verge of unconsciousness. Shock had taken over. My mouth was open, my eyes as well, and Kitty's face above me was a pale mean moon, bent on destruction.

  On and on the bath lasted, until at last the water began to cool, and Kitty poured dark-looking shampoo from an orange bottle onto my hair. If my scalp hadn't already been burned, perhaps it wouldn't have stung so much, but it hurt, really hurt! I found strength to struggle and nearly pulled Kitty into the tub.

  "STOP IT!" yelled Kitty, slapping me hard. "Yer actin like a damned fool! It's not that hot!" And there she went and put in her arms, thrusting her face close to mine. "See, it's not hot. I'm not screamin."

  Oh, oh, oh . . . it was hot.

  It was the worst experience of my life to flip and turn, kick and struggle, and never get away from Kitty, who managed to lather up every strand of my hair with that dreadful-smelling soap that was almost black. That was the worst thing anyone could do to my hair. It was long and fine, and screwing it around like that would mat it so badly it would never untangle. I tried to tell Kitty that.

  "Shut up, damn ya! Ya think I don't know what hair is, an how t'wash it? I'm a professional! A professional! Been doin this all my adult life. People pay t'have me wash their hair, an yer complainin. One more yelp out of ya, an I'm turnin on t'hot water agin, an I'll hold ya down an take t'skin from yer face."

  I tried to stay still while I allowed Kitty to do what she would.

  After my hair was lathered it had to set to kill whatever was hidden in its depths, and during that time Kitty picked up the long-handled brush again and scrubbed my_ already tortured skin. Whimpering, I managed to stay in the water that gradually cooled more, and now I didn't have to wiggle or whimper, not that any of what I'd done had prevented Kitty from completing a thorough scrubdown and inspection of all my crevices that might conceal running sores.

  "I don't have sores, Mother . . I really don't, not ever . . ."

  Kitty didn't care. She was intent on what she felt she had to do, even if it killed me.

  Dream of hell, that's what this was steaming vapors of hellfires, looming pale white face that wasn't pretty now that her hair was in damp strings, hanging all around that hateful moon that had a red slash that kept crooning about how babyish I was acting.

  Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, I whispered, though I didn't hear any words coming from my throat.

  I felt as if I'd been cooked for dinner, a chicken in the pot, now being scrubbed with a brush and making skin already red and tender sting like fire.

  I turned into Our Jane and began to cry, helplessly, uncontrollably. The Lysol in the water crept into my eyes, burned them. Reaching blindly, I found the cold-water spigot and turned it on, threw a handful of water in my face, relieving the pain in my eyes.

  Strangely, Kitty didn't object. She seemed intent on finishing her inspection of the cleft between my buttocks. On hands and knees, I kept throwing cold water on my face, chest, shoulders, back.

  "Now I'm gonna rinse off all t'suds," Kitty crooned tenderly, patting my raw bottom as if I were a baby. "Germs all gone now, all gone. Clean baby, clean, sweet, nice, obedient baby. Turn ova, let Mother rinse ya off."

  Deep in my private hell, I turned to sprawl helplessly in the tub, my feet lifted and hanging over the side to lend some relief and coolness to the rest of me.

  "I'm gonna be real careful not to get any of this in yer eyes, but yer gonna have t'do yer part by holdin still. Stuff done killed yer lice, if ya had any. Yer a new person, almost. Ya want that, don't ya? Ya want us t'do nice thins fer ya, don't ya? Want Cal an me t'love ya, don't ya? We kin't if ya don't cooperate, kin we? It's yer duty t'be clean, t'do what we want. Stop cryin. Don't tell dear Cal it hurt, that'll make him cry. He's weak, tenderhearted, ya know. All men are. Babies more than they're lil boys. Ya kin't tell em that, makes em mad, but that's t'truth. Scared of women, all of em are, every last man in this old mean world, terrified of mommy, of wifey, of daughta, of sista, of auntie, of granny, of lovey-dovey girlfriends. Got pride, they have. Too much of it. Feared of rejection, like we don't get it all t'time. They want ya, kin't leave ya alone, but when they got ya, they wish they didn't have ya, or, worse than anythin, wish they didn't need ya. So they go around thinkin they kin find nother woman who's different.

  "Ain't none of us different. So be sweet eltim, make him think he's got ya sold on how big, strong, an wonderful he is, an ya'll be doin me a big favor, so then I kin do ya a big favor."

  Kitty kneaded deeper and deeper into my mass of matted hair. "I saw t'shack ya lived in. I know what ya are underneath that sweet, innocent face. Same look yer ma had. Hated her then. Ya make sure I don't end up hatin ya."

  Now the water was cold, soothing my burning skin, my sore scalp, and Kitty was smiling. Smiling, and fanning away the steam.

  By the time I was out and standing on a plain white mat that Kitty pulled from the linen closet, I was trembling with relief to be alive. Every bit of me stung, every bit was red, even the whites of my eyes when I glanced in the long mirrors. But I was alive-- and I was clean. Cleaner than I'd ever been in my entire life--about that Kitty was right.

  "Ya see, ya see," soothed Kitty, hugging and kissing me. "It's all ova, all ova, an yer betta than new. Look new, ya do. Look spick an span an sweet. An, honey, now I'm gonna smooth on some nice pink lotion that will help take t'burn from yer poor red skin. Didn't mean t'scare ya. Didn't know yer skin were so tender, but ya gotta realize I had t'do somethin drastic to remove all t'years of accumulated filth. T'stink of those hockeypots an outhouses was ground inta yer skin, clingin t'yer hair; even if ya couldn't smell it, I could. Now yer cleaner than a newborn babe."

  Smiling, she picked up a big pink bottle with a gold label and gently smoothed on lotion that felt cooling.

  Somehow I managed to smile gratefully. Kitty wasn't so bad, not really. She was like Reverend Wayland Wise, shouting and putting the fear of God's retaliation into everyone to make them better. God and hot water, about the same thing.

  "Don't ya feel wonderful, betta than eva before? Haven't I saved ya from t'gutter, haven't I? Don't ya feel reborn, fresh, brand-new? Ready now t'face the world that would condemn ya but fer me?"

  "Yes . . ."

  "Yes what?"

  "Yes, Mother."

  "Ya see," said Kitty, towel-drying my hair, wrapping it in a clean faded pink towel before she used another towel to dry my almost raw body, "ya survived. If yer skin is a little red, it's still there. Yer hurtin, but all medicine meant to heal is nasty. Ya have t'suffa t'be cleansed an made whole an decent."

  Kitty's hypnotic voice in the fading mists lulled me
into a sense of security as the pain eased. Then she began to comb my still-damp hair.

  Ouch!

  It hurt!

  My hair was matted in thick wads to my scalp--wads that Kitty was determined to untangle even if she had to pull out every strand.

  "Let me do it," I cried, snatching the comb from her hands. "I know how."

  "Ya know how? Have ya spent years an years of yer life standin on yer feet until they ache up ta yer waist? Have ya studied hair? Have ya--have ya?"

  "No," I whispered, really trying to work out the tangles with my fingers before I attempted again to use the comb, "but I know my own hair. When it's washed you have to be careful not to bunch it up and screw it around, like you just did."

  "Are ya tryin' t'tell me my own business?"

  At that moment a door slammed downstairs. Cal's soft voice called out. "Honey, where are you?"

  "Up here, darlin love. He1pin this poor chile rid herself of filth. Soon as I've finished with her, I'm comin t'take care of ya." She hissed in my ear. "Now, don't ya go complainin t'him, ssssista. What we do when we're alone is none of his damned business . . . understand?"

  Nodding, I clutched at my body towel and backed off.

  "Darling," Cal called from the other side of the locked bathroom door, "I've bought new clothes for Heaven, including a couple of nightgowns. Didn't know her size, so I just guessed. Now I'm going downstairs again to make up the sofa bed."

  "She's not goin t'sleep downstairs," Kitty called in that strange, flat way.

  His voice sounded shocked. "What do you mean? Where else can she sleep? That second bedroom is jam-packed with all your ceramic junk that should be in your workshop. You knew she was coming. You could have had it all moved out, but no, you wouldn't do that. You wanted-to put the kid on the sofa--and now you don't. What's with you, Kitty?"

  Kitty smiled at me as if her lips were stiff. Silently she moved to the door, holding my fearful gaze with her commanding eyes. "Not a word, darlin dear, not a word, ya hear, not a single word t'him ."

  Throwing back her red hair, she managed to look seductive when she unlocked and opened the door just a crack. "She's a terribly modest little thing, sweetheart love. Jus hand me one of those nightgowns an soon we'll be seeing ya."

  Bang!

  She slammed the door and tossed me a thin nightgown with a dainty print.

  I'd never owned a nightgown before, but I'd always anticipated this momentous step of drawing a sleeping garment over my head. The height of luxury to have special clothes just to sleep in, when nobody saw you once you went to bed. But as soon as I had it on, the thrill was over.

  The stiffness of the new fabric chafed my raw skin. The lace ruffling about the neck and sleeves felt like sandpaper.

  "Ya remember, now. All yer towels, washcloths, an toothbrushes will be white--or near white. Mine are t'hot-pink ones. Cal has black--and don't ya eva ferget." She smiled, opened the door, led me down the hall a short way, then showed me the very fancy large bedroom beside the bath.

  Cal was in there, just beginning to unzipper his pants. Quickly he zippered again and blushed as we came in. I bowed my head low to hide my embarrassment.

  "Really, Kitty," he began with a sharp edge to his voice, "haven't you learned about knocking first? And where do you plan to put her in here--in our bed?"

  "Yeah," quipped Kitty without hesitating. I glanced up in time to see her expression--odd, so odd. "She's gonna sleep in t'middle. Me on one side, ya on t'otha. Ya know how wild an obscene these hill girls are, an this is one I'm gonna have t'tame by seein that she is neva left alone when she's lyin down."

  "Good God in heaven!" stormed Cal. "Have you gone crazy?"

  "I'm t'only one here with good sense." What a fearful thing to hear.

  "Kitty, I just won't have it! She sleeps downstairs, or we take her back!"

  He was standing up to her--hooray!

  "What do ya know about it? Ya were raised in a big city, an this girl here has no morals, unless we give em t'her. An startin tonight, our lessons are beginnin. When I have her straightened out, she kin use t'sleep sofa downstairs--but not until then."

  That's when he caught a glimpse of my face, though I'd tried to keep myself hidden behind Kitty. "My God, what have you done to her face?"

  "Washed it."

  He shook his head disbelievingly. "You've taken off her skin! Kitty, goddam you for doing that! You should be ashamed." He turned kind eyes on me and held out his arms. "Come, let me see if I can't find some medication to put on all that raw red skin."

  "Ya leave her alone!" yelled Kitty. "I've done what I had t'do, an ya know I'd neva hurt anythin. She was dirty, smelly; now she's cleansed, an in our bed she's going to sleep til I kin trust her t'be alone in t'night."

  What did Kitty think I was going to do?

  Cal looked cold, seeming to retreat, as if anger made him ice instead of fire, like Pa. Striding out to the bathroom, slamming the door hard, leaving Kitty to hurry in there and say whatever she had to as I sighed, gave in to necessity, and crawled into the big bed. I no sooner lay down than I was asleep.

  Cal's loud voice woke me up. An innate sense of timing told me I'd been asleep only a few minutes. Keeping my eyes closed, I heard them arguing.

  "Why the hell did you put on that black lace nothing nightgown? Isn't that kind of gown your way of letting me know what you want? Kitty, I can't perform with a child in the bed, and between us."

  "Why, of course I don't expect ya ta."

  "Then why the hell the black lace nightgown?"

  I opened my eyes a crack and took a peek. There was Kitty stuffed into a tight black mist of a gown that barely shaded her nudity. Cal stood there in his jockey shorts, a huge bulge in the crotch that made me hastily close my eyes again.

  Please, God, I prayed, don't let them do it in the bed--not with me here, please, please.

  "This is my way t'teach ya some self-control," Kitty replied primly, and crawled into the bed beside me. "Ya don't have any, ya know. It's all ya want from me, an ya ain't gonna have any till I got this girl trained t'way I want her t'be."

  I listened, amazed that he took what she dished out. Pa never would have. What kind of man was Kitty's husband? Wasn't a man always the boss in his family? I felt a bit sick that he didn't fight back and stand up to her.

  Cal slipped into the bed on the opposite side of me. I stiffened when I felt the brush of his bristly skin against my arm. I felt angry that he hadn't gone downstairs and made up the sleep sofa himself, overridden her desires and staked his own bed for his own reasons; yet, for some reason, I pitied him.

  I knew already who was the real man in this family.

  His low voice rolled over me. "Don't push me too far, Kitty," Cal warned before he turned on his side and tucked his arm under his head.

  "I love ya, sweetheart darlin, I do. An t'sooner this girl learns her lessons, t'sooner ya an me kin have this bed all fer ourselves."

  "Jesus Christ," was the last thing he said.

  It was awful to sleep between a man and his wife, and know he was resenting my presence. Now he'd never learn to like me, and I'd been depending on his favor. Without it, how could I manage to endure Kitty and her strange behavior and swings of mood? Maybe this was Kitty's way to see that he never liked me. What a hatefully mean thing to do.

  Mother, Mother, I lay sobbing, desperately wanting that long-dead mother who was buried on the mountainside where the wolves cried at the moon and the wind sang in the leaves. Oh, to be home again, back with Granny alive, with Sarah cutting out biscuits, with Grandpa whittling, and Tom, Fanny, Keith, and Our Jane running in the meadows.

  I was suspecting already . . paradise lived in Winnerrow. Hell was up ahead.

  No, didn't have to be that way. Not if I could make Kitty like and trust me.

  Not if I could somehow convince Kitty I wouldn't do anything dangerous or wicked when I slept alone downstairs on the sofa bed. I closed out the pain of my raw skin and again fell into dee
p, merciful sleep.

  Thirteen Fevered Dreamer

  . As IF I STILL LIVED IN THE CABIN HIGH IN THE WILLIES, MY mental rooster crowed.

  I woke up stiff and aching; it hurt every time I moved. Visions of the night before and the hot bath made me think I'd had a nightmare, but my burning skin was proof I hadn't dreamed that scalding bath.

  Five o'clock, my body clock said. I thought of Tom, and how he would be outside chopping wood or hunting now; seldom did I awaken to find Tom sleeping--back in the Willies where my heart ached to be. Disoriented, I blindly reached to find the soft sweetness of Our Jane, and touched a strong arm bristly with hair. I bolted more wide awake, stared around, reluctant to look at Kitty or her husband sprawled asleep on the wide bed. Frail morning light poured in through the open drapes.

  Moving stiffly, I carefully crawled over Cal, thinking him the better choice to risk awakening. I slipped out of bed and looked around, admiring so much of what I saw, while some things left me bothered; such as the careless way Kitty had dropped all her clothes on the floor and just left them there. Why, we didn't do that in the cabin. All the fine ladies I'd read about in novels had never dropped their clothes on the floor. And Kitty had made such a fuss about everything being neat and clean! Then, I reasoned, Kitty had no worries about finding roaches and other vermin in her floor-scattered clothes, which had always been on my mind when I hung a garment on a nail. Still. . . she shouldn't do that. I picked up her clothes and hung them neatly in her closet, amazed at all the other clothes I saw there.

  Quietly leaving the bedroom, I eased the door behind me, breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, I couldn't keep sleeping between husband and wife . . . it just wasn't right.

  How silent this house was. I stepped down the hall and into the bathroom, and saw myself in the long wall-length mirror. Oh, my poor face! It was red and swollen, and when I touched it, it felt soft in some places, hard and irritated in others. The rash of small red dots burned like fire. Some of the larger patches were even bloody, as if I'd scratched them in the night. Helpless tears coursed down my face . . . would I ever be pretty again?