14
Dave Takes Sick
.
Knowing that his daughter was pregnant and
had run off with some new stranger she had met even after he had achieved what he thought was a new beginning for himself and her caused Dave to become as despondent as he had been the day he learned his son, Elliot, had died. He as much as admitted it to Mama,
"No matter what I do or try to do. I'm a failure as a father. Sarah. I've lost both my children. My whole family is gone. I feel like a man in mourning."
I wanted so much to tell him that all was not lost, that he was actually living with and caring for his own grandchild. but I had no idea what horrible things might come from such a revelation. It would lead to another and another, and our world would unravel like a ball of string. Only Mama could unwrap the secrets in our world. Only she knew what should be told and when something should be told. To defy her was to defy the spiritual family who protected and loved us. I would surely suffer some terrible punishment for it. I might even be sent to hell.
The tears I shed for Dave could fall only behind my eyes. I knew he was the kind of person who would worry more about my sadness than his own, and that would make me feel even worse, make me feel even more like a liar and a deceiver. Maybe the real reason Mama restricted the number of mirrors in our house was to prevent me from looking at myself, from seeing who I was and what I was. She was always worried about what my face revealed, even if only to me.
"You might as well be the front page of a newspaper, shouting the headlines. Noble. Stop scowling," she would say, or. "Stop pouting. And for God sakes, when we go anywhere, stop pressing your nose to the car window and looking out at everyone and everything with such desperate interest. Anyone would think you had been kept locked up in the basement all your life."
Would I dare tell her that I did feel that way sometimes? Did I have to tell her? Couldn't she see my thoughts scribbled over my face anyway?
Dave was certainly getting easy to read. The more forlorn he became, the more drawn and haggard he appeared, the more concerned I grew. I watched and waited for Mama to do more to help him, but she didn't appear to be worried. Was everything exaggerated in my eyes? Surely, she could see more than I could see. I thought. Yet I knew he wasn't eating well or for that matter sleeping too well. I heard him get up often late at night and walk softly downstairs to make himself a cup of warm milk, or. as I discovered one night when I came out and looked for him, to just sit in the old rocking chair and stare out at the night as if he were waiting up for Betsy, who had gone out on a date. Did he wake up thinking, hoping, all that had occurred was only a dream, only a bad dream? Go down and sit in the rocking chair, he told himself. Shell be home soon.
More and more he was drawn to the old rocking chair. He would even sit in it after dinner rather than sit on the sofa or the big cushioned chair. I wondered why he was drawn to it. Was he finally making a spiritual connection the way Mama often did with things in our house, things that had belonged to our ancestors? Did it give him relief or was he unable to resist it? Did it keep him trapped in his own
depression?
Shadows deepened in every corner, walls creaked, and the chandeliers swung ever so slightly with every closed or opened door, sometimes their bulbs blinking like eyes. The whispering I often heard in the darkness grew louder and more frequent. Did Dave hear it. too? Did he think he was going mad? I saw a strange darkness in his eyes as he looked toward every sound. He was truly like someone who had stepped into a pool of depression, a quicksand of despair drawing him down, down. down.
He no longer rushed to ask Mama to take their famous romantic walks in the moonlight or starlight after dinner. and I noticed he would often drift into his own deep thoughts so quickly and for so long, he was even unaware of Baby Celeste pulling on his pants leg in an attempt to get him to pay attention to her.
"Dave." Mama would say. "What?" His eyes would flutter as he looked about the room.
"The baby." Mama would nod at her sitting at his feet and looking up at him.
"Oh. I'm sorry. Hi, Celeste," he would finally say, and lift her into his lap, but his concentration was still directed elsewhere, lost in his thoughts. Was he thinking about his dead son or his errant daughter?
Weeks and weeks passed. Betsy didn't call or send any letters, which, according to Dave, was not unusual.
"Whenever she ran off like this. I would hear nothing or know nothing until the day she returned.''
"Once she sees how much trouble she's in, shell come hurrying back," Mama assured him, but he shook his head.
"Things are different this time," he muttered. "There's just too much resentment in her heart. I've made mistakes, many, many mistakes."
Mama assured him he hadn't, but he seemed inconsolable. During the next few weeks, he ate even less and less, lost weight, and developed dark circles around his eyes. He plodded along with his head down, his shoulders turned inward, going to work in a robotic, mechanical manner, and rarely brought home any interesting stories or told us about funny occurrences at the pharmacy.
"I know you're taking your vitamins," Mama told him. "but you need some of this, too."
Periodically she had him drink one of her herbal mixes designed to restore energy. Only, this time it didn't seem to be working as quickly as it usually did for others. including me.
Eventually. Dave began to miss work. He would wake up with a bad migraine, take the medicine he dispensed to others, then sleep most of the day. Mama gave him her own remedies as well, and sometimes they worked rapidly and he was up and about and back to work, but more often than not, he remained lethargic and, in any case, never seemed to regain the glow of happiness and enthusiasm with which he had come into our lives.
Whenever he did show an interest in something, especially something he might do with me, I quickly agreed. I took rides with him to get things for the farm, had lunch with him at a fast-food place, even though Mama hated them, and willingly left whatever I was doing when he asked me to join him. I even went for walks with him in the afternoon. He would stop to look at his former home and tell me how he had felt when they had first moved in.
"It wasn't much to look at when we first moved in. Betsy hated it, of course. but Elliot seemed excited enough about it. He wasn't the great help on the property you are to Sarah, but he wasn't depressed or negative. After a while, he did seem to get along with his new friends. That's true, isn't it?" he asked me, as if he wasn't sure. "Eventually he was happy here, wasn't he?"
"I would say so. yes," I told him.
That pleased him, and seeing him smile about anything these days was a boon.
"I didn't have anywhere near as wonderful a place to roam when I was a boy. Noble. I grew up in Newark, New Jersey. We lived in a nice town house, but we had no yard as such. My parents weren't wealthy people, but we were comfortable. I could go to the parks or take rides to go hiking, of course, but to just step out your front door and have all this" -- he waved his hand-- you're a lucky kid. Noble, a lucky kid. Your ancestors knew what they were doing when they settled here."
"Mama told us our great-great-grandpa Jordan's heart pounded the way a man's heart pounds when he sees a beautiful woman when he set eyes on this land. She said he fell in love with every tree, every blade of puss, every rock he saw and just knew he had to live here and work his farm here and build his home here," I recited. I had heard it enough times when Noble and I were growing up.
"Yes, well. I can understand the way he felt. I was very happy to find that house and so cheaply. too. Of course. I didn't know the full story about the previous owner and what people thought he might have done to your sister. but I think I still would have gone forward. I'm glad I did," He smiled at me. "Otherwise. I wouldn't have met your mother and I wouldn't have met you."
We were on another late-afternoon walk. This time we had followed an old trail through the woods. one I hadn't taken for some time. I was reluctant to do it now, but he was insi
stent. The trail was overgrown, but not enough to hinder our walk. I knew where it would take us, and that set my heart to thumping faster. It wasn't long before we reached the creek, not far from where my brother had died. It seemed the stuff of dreams now, nightmares.
The creek wasn't as full as usual, but it was as clear as ever, the rocks beneath the water gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. We saw small fish swimming in what looked like maddened and frantic circles and a turtle struggling to get to the top of a rock.
"He probably thinks he's climbing Mount Everest," Dave said, then took a deep breath. "You can breathe here. You can feel alive. Yes, you were a lucky kid, a lucky kid," he muttered, if only Elliot wouldn't have been as wild and reckless. We would have had some family, huh. Noble? You guys would have been brothers in the true sense of the word. Maybe together, you would have had a positive impact on Betsy.
"Oh, well," he sighed. They say life's an accident and death is an appointment you have to keep. Some things are just meant to be. What do you think?"
"I don't know." I really didn't.
"Right. Why should you be so philosophical at your age? You have your whole life ahead of you."
He paused and put his hands on my shoulders as he looked directly at me.
"I'd really like to be of some help to you, Noble. Maybe I can do one thing right. Please don't hesitate to confide in me if you have any secret desires, wishes, ambitions. I won't laugh at anything, and if you want it enough. I'll do my best to help you, even if it means convincing your mother. okay?"
"Yes. sir."
"Dave. Dave. Call me Dave or call me Dad, but nothing else."
I doubt that I could ever get myself to call him Dad. Perhaps in that respect. I was like Betsy, who could never get herself to call Mama Mother or Mom.
I just nodded and we walked on, talking about nature, about the vegetation, the birds, the weather, anything and everything but Betsy and Elliot.
Mama was surprised at how much I was doing with Dave these days. At first she said nothing about it. I thought she would think it nice, of course. I was giving him same comfort, but when we returned from our long walk in the woods this time, she was sitting on the porch waiting and she looked upset and annoyed. Baby Celeste was taking a nap.
"Where have you two been?" she asked immediately, making me feel as if we had missed an appointment.
"Oh. Noble showed me some of the prettier spots in the forest and around the creek. There's quite a long, empty field southwest. I never realized how close we were to Spring Glen either. You can see the highway from a rise just after that field I mentioned. We saw quite a number of deer, too, didn't we. Noble?"
`:Yes."
"Overpopulation, I suppose," Dave said. "Baby asleep?"
"Yes, she's taking a nap."
"Good idea. I think I might just do the same. It's been a while since I took a hike that long, Noble. Thanks for the walk."
"You're welcome," I said, and he went in' side.
Mama looked at me and then stared ahead a moment. I turned to go to the shed. "Noble," she called.
I paused and looked at her. "What, Mama?"
"Don't get too close to Dave."
"Why not?"
She didn't answer me. She just turned away. "Mama?"
She looked at me again and I knew she would say no more. It frightened me. Why would she say such a thing? Was she afraid I would reveal all our dark secrets, betray her? For the remainder of the day, I would stop whatever I was doing and suddenly realize I was trembling so badly, my hands shook. I couldn't get her eyes out of my mind.
Dave slept right through dinner this particular evening. Mama said she had gone up to look in on him and decided not to wake him.
"I'll bring him something to eat later," she said, which was exactly what she did.
The following day he once again called in sick and did not go to work. He remained in bed with Mama bringing him things to eat and drink.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked before we sat at the table to have dinner.. I hadn't seen him all day.
He thinks he has the flu. You know pharmacists. They think they're doctors. He asked for it so I made some garlic soup for him. I don't think that's his problem. but I did it to humor him, and good garlic soup has other medicinal and nutritional value anyway."
"Maybe he should go see a doctor."
"Doctors," she muttered as if they were all charlatans. "He'll be just fine if he does what I tell him and eats and drinks what I give him and," she added pointedly, "stops thinking about that spoiled brat."
Mama always did wonders whenever I was ill. I couldn't deny it. I had never had some of the inoculations children were supposed to be Oven, but no one cared or checked to see if I had. I never attended public school where they might have checked.
The following day Dave did get up, dress, and come downstairs, but he looked much weaker and even much paler. We had our first real winter precipitation in the form of snow flurries. Although it had been cold, it was proving to be one of the driest winters on record. I made a nice fire in the fireplace and Dave sat near it, warming himself. He didn't seem able to rid himself of the chill. Mama made him wear a heavy sweater and gave him hot herbal teas and mixes, but he was uncomfortable all day.
Baby Celeste tried with more determination to get him to pay attention to her. He didn't want to ignore her or make her unhappy, but he was afraid he was coming down or had come down with something contagious and asked me to keep her from getting too close to him. His appetite was small at dinner, almost nonexistent. He picked at his food and tried to eat more to please Mama.
"Everything is very good. Sarah,' he said apologetically. "It's just my stomach. It feels like I have a chain being tightened around it."
She nodded and told him not to worry about how much he ate. but I was alarmed. Why wasn't he thinking about going to a doctor at this point, especially with these symptoms? He should know enough to do so himself. When Mama wasn't in earshot, I asked him.
"Your mother's probably right, Noble. I probably have a touch of the bug. Her remedies are just as effective as anything I have at the drugstore for this, or anything else any doctor might prescribe," he insisted. "Thanks for being concerned."
When Mama returned from the kitchen. I turned away from him quickly and she looked at me suspiciously. Later. after Dave had gone to bed and she had put Baby Celeste to sleep, she confronted me in the living room. I was rereading Daphne du Maurier's
Rebecca, a novel I knew Mama thought was inappropriate for me. She didn't come right out and say it. She would simply ask. "Why are you reading that?" She pronounced that as if it were pornography. It annoyed her to see me reading it again.
"If you're going to read that sort of book, do it in private. You should be reading something more... vigorous." Manly was really what she meant.
I closed it quickly and put it aside.
"Why," she continued, still glaring at me. "do you continually tell Dave to go see a doctor?"
"He doesn't look well. Mama, and he's missed so much work and seems so weak." "His illness comes from places doctors know nothing about. I told you not to interfere." "I'm not interfering. I just thought--"
"Don't," she said, snapping the word like a whip over my head. "Don't think, Things are taking place that are beyond your control, and mine for that matter."
"What things?" She didn't reply.
"Mama, what things?"
She looked away and then turned slowly back to me. "I was right about Baby Celeste. I even underestimated her. She has been chosen. What we have done for her is wonderful. You have, to this point, been a great help, been of great assistance. Do nothing to ruin that now. Noble. Nothing, do you understand?"
I started to shake my head and stopped. It was better to nod, to agree.
"Will Dave get better soon?" I asked. "It's not up to us."
"Who is it up to, then?"
She glared back at me. "Don't be insolent. Noble. I don't like it, and it does
n't sound like you." she added, the threat so heavy. I nearly choked up.
"Aren't you worried about him?" I dared to pursue.
She took a step toward me, steely eyed. "I am worried only about Baby Celeste, and you should be. too."
"I worry about her...
"I mean solely her. Everything else will take care of itself or be taken care of. Noble."
What did that mean? Be taken care of? She saw the question in my face and I knew it annoyed her.
"There was one thing that Betsy said about you that I agree with," she continued, her voice suddenly more pleasant.
"What's that?"
"I want you to go get your driver's license. I know you know how to drive. Noble. but I am inclined to have you rim errands for me in the future, the near future. It will be of some help for you to be capable of doing that."
I know I had my mouth open because she immediately said I would catch flies if I continued to sit there staring up at her like that.
"Okay. Mama, Sure," I said, trying not to sound too excited. "When?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? But isn't this something that has to be done by appointment?"
"Your appointment has been made. You will take the driving test at two P.M. I'll bring you there myself," she said, then turned and walked away.
Been made? How long had she been planning this? Why had she waited until now to tell me? Why hadn't she let me practice more? Was it something she had still been debating and had only decided this very moment? What made her decide? It was so confusing. but I was too happy to utter a single complaint. Instead. I went out to our car and practiced parallel parking in our driveway. I could easily pass the written part of the test concerning all the driving rules and laws.
My mind was a jumbled mess that night, torn between the excitement of being able to drive myself and go places whenever I wanted, and the situation developing rapidly with Dave. While I was tossing and turning about all this. I suddenly became suspicious of Mama's real intentions. I had grown too fond of Dave to let him wallow in any sort of agony. He should at least take better care of his health. I thought.