"Come on in here," he shouted.
I opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, which had been turned into a hospital room for him. On the table beside the bed were his bedpan and his urine bottle. His breakfast tray was on the bed table. He was sitting up, his back against two large fluffy pillows. The quilt was over his legs and torso, but his cast poked out on the end and side. There were papers and books beside him on the bed.
Papa's hair fell wildly over his forehead. He wore a nightshirt, open at the collar. He looked unshaven, his eyes bleary, but when I entered, he sat up straighter.
"Well, come on in here. Don't stand there like some little idiot," he snapped.
I walked to the bed..
"How do you feel, Papa?" I asked. "Terrible—how'd you expect I'd feel?"
"I'm sorry, Papa."
"Everyone's sorry, but I'm the one laid up in this bed with all that's got to be done." He studied me harder, his eyes moving from my legs up slowly. "You've been doin' real well with your penance, Lillian. Even Emily's got to admit that," he said.
"I'm trying, Papa."
"Good," he said. "Anyway, this accident has put me in a pickle and I'm surrounded by incompetents, plus your Mamma is of absolutely no value in times like these. She doesn't even poke her head in to see if I'm alive or dead."
"Oh, I'm sure she's . . ."
"I don't care about that now, Lillian. I'm probably better off she doesn't come around. She'd only upset me more. What I've decided is you're going to be the one to take care of me and help me with my work," he declared quickly. I looked up, surprised.
"Me, Papa?"
"Yeah, you. Think of it as just another part of your penance. For all I know . . . the way Emily goes on, it might just be. But that's not important now. What's important," he said, looking at me sharply again, "is I get good care and I have someone I can trust to do what has to be done. Emily's busy with her religious studies and besides," he said, lowering his voice, "you were always better at ciphering. I've got these figures to do," he said, seizing a handful of papers. "And my mind's like a sieve. Nothing stays in it long. I want you to add up the totals and do my books, understand. You'll figure it out quickly, I'm sure."
"Me, Papa?" I repeated. His eyes widened.
"Yes, you. Who in tarnation do you think I've been talking about all this time here? Now then," he continued, "I want you to bring up my food. I'll tell you what I want and you'll tell Vera, understand. You come in here every morning and empty my waste and you keep this room clean.
"At night," he said in a softer voice, "you come in and read me the papers and some Bible. You listening to me, Lillian?"
"Yes, Papa," I said quickly.
"Good. All right. First take this breakfast tray down. After that, come up here and change my linen. I feel like I've been sleeping in my own sweat for days. I need a clean night shirt, too. When that's done, I want you to sit yourself over there by that table and do the ciphering of these bills. I need to know what I got to pay out this month. Well," he said when I didn't move, "get to it, girl."
"Yes, Papa," I said, and took his breakfast tray. "Oh, and on the way up, go into my office and get me a dozen of my cigars."
"Yes, Papa."
"And Lillian . . ."
"Yes, Papa?"
"Bring up that bottle of bourbon I have in the left-hand drawer and a glass. From time to time, I need something medicinal."
"Yes, Papa," I said. I paused for a moment to see if there would be anything else. He closed his eyes so I hurried out of the room, my mind spinning. I thought Papa hated me and here he was asking me to do all these important and personal things for him. He must have concluded I was well on my way toward redemption, I thought. He certainly showed me he respected my abilities. With a little pride in my gait for the first time in months, I hurried down the corridor to the stairway. Emily was waiting for me at the bottom.
"He's not choosing you over me because he likes you any better," she assured me. "He has decided and I have agreed that added burdens are what you need at this time. Do what he asks promptly and efficiently, but when you're finished, don't neglect your other penance," she said.
"Yes, Emily."
She looked at the empty tray.
"Go on," she said. "Do what you were told to do."
I nodded and hurried to the kitchen. On my return, I gathered all the things Papa wanted and brought them to his room. Then I went down to the linen closet and got fresh sheets. Changing Papa's bed was hard because I had to help him turn while I tugged at the linen beneath him. He groaned and shouted with pain and twice I stopped, expecting him to strike me for causing him discomfort. But he caught his breath and urged me on. I got the dirty sheet off and the clean sheet on. Then I changed his quilt and pillowcases. When that was over, I fetched him a clean nightshirt.
"I need you to help me with this, Lillian," he said. He pulled the covers back and started to lift his nightshirt. "Come on now," he said. "I don't think you'll be surprised by what you see."
I couldn't help but be embarrassed about it. Papa was naked underneath his shirt. I helped him lift the dirty one off, trying not to look, but except for the pictures I had seen in his books downstairs, I had never seen a man's naked form before and I couldn't help but be a bit curious. He caught my glance and stared at me a moment.
"That's the way the good Lord made us, Lillian," he said in a strange, soft voice. I felt the heat rise into my neck and face and started to turn away to reach for his clean nightshirt, but he seized my arm so hard, I nearly screamed. "Take a good look, Lillian. You gonna see it again and again, for I want you to give me my sponge baths, understand."
"Yes, Papa," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Papa reached over to pour himself some bourbon. He swallowed about two fingers of it quickly and then nodded toward the clean nightshirt.
"Okay, help me put that on," he said. I did so. After that, Papa sat back in his clean bed and looked a lot more comfortable.
"You can work on those papers now, Lillian," he said. He nodded toward them and the desk. I scooped them up quickly and went to the desk. I didn't realize how much my body was trembling until I started to jot down some numbers. My fingers shook so hard, I had to wait. When I turned, I caught Papa looking at me. He had lit one of his cigars and poured himself some more bourbon.
A half hour later, he fell asleep and snored. I put all the totals down neatly in his books next to the proper categories and then rose slowly and tiptoed toward the door. I heard him moan and waited, but he didn't open his eyes.
He was still sleeping when I brought up his lunch. I waited at his bedside until his eyes snapped open. He looked confused for a moment and then pulled himself up, groaning.
"If you want, Papa," I said. "I'll feed this to you."
He stared at me a moment and then nodded. I spooned the hot soup to him and he took it like a baby. I even wiped his lips with the napkin. Then I buttered his bread and poured him his coffee. He ate and drank silently, staring strangely at me all the while.
"I've been thinking," he said. "It's too much trouble for me to go shouting every time I need something, especially if I need it in the middle of the night."
I waited, not understanding.
"I want you to sleep in here with me," he said. "Until I'm able to get around myself," he added quickly.
"Sleep here, Papa?"
"Yeah," he said. "You can make a bed out of that settee there. Go on, see to it," he ordered. I rose slowly, amazed. "I looked over the paperwork you did, Lillian. It's real good, real good."
"Thank you, Papa." I started away, my mind full of muddled thoughts.
"And Lillian," Papa said when I reached the door.
"Yes, Papa?"
"Tonight, after dinner, you'll give me my first sponge bath," he said. Then he poured himself another bourbon and lit a cigar.
I left, not sure whether I should be sad or happy about the turn of events. I no longer trusted fate and thought destiny was an i
mp that toyed with my heart and soul.
11
PAPA'S NURSE
After dinner that night, I read Papa his newspaper. He sat up smoking his cigar and sipping his bourbon as I read, and every once in a while he would make a comment about this or that, cursing a senator or a governor, complaining about another country or another state. He hated Wall Street and at one point ranted and raved about the power of a small group of Northern businessmen who were strangling the country and especially strangling the farmers. The angrier he got, the more bourbon he drank.
When he had had enough news, he declared it was time I gave him his sponge bath. I filled a large basin with warm water, got a cake of soap and a sponge and returned. He had already managed to pull off his nightshirt.
"All right, Lillian," he warned. "Try not to splash the water all over the bed sheets."
"Yes, Papa." I wasn't sure where or how to begin. He lowered himself to his pillow, put his arms down his sides, and closed his eyes. He had the blanket up to his waist. I started on his arms and shoulders.
"You can rub a little harder, Lillian. I'm not made of delicate china," he said.
"Yes, Papa." I did his shoulders and his chest, washing and rinsing in small circles. When I reached his stomach, Papa lowered his blanket a little.
"You'll have to lower it the rest of the way, Lillian. It's too difficult for me to do."
"Yes, Papa," I said. My hands were trembling so much that the blanket actually shook. How I wished Papa would have simply hired a professional nurse to take care of him. I washed around his cast, trying to keep my eyes focused on his leg. I felt the heat in my face and knew I was crimson with embarrassment. When I glanced at his face, I saw Papa had his eyes wide open and he was scrutinizing me closely.
"You know," he said, "you do look a lot like your real mother now. She was a very pretty young lady. When I was courting Georgia, I used to tease Violet and say, 'I'll forget Georgia and wait for you, Violet.' She was a very shy young lady and she would get all red and hide her face behind a book or go running off."
He emptied the whiskey in his glass in a gulp and nodded to his own memory.
"A pretty girl, a very pretty girl," he muttered, and then he fixed his gaze on me. It made my heart skip a beat and I quickly lowered my own eyes to the water in the basin and rinsed the sponge.
"I'll get a towel and dry you, Papa," I said.
"You're not finished yet, Lillian," he said. "You've got to do all of me. A man's got to be clean all over," he said. My heart was pounding. There was only one area I hadn't washed.
"Go on, Lillian," he said. "Go on," he coaxed in a more demanding tone when I hesitated. I brought the sponge to his most private parts and moved it about quickly. He closed his eyes and a soft moan escaped his lips. When I felt him twitch, I jumped back, but he. seized my wrist and held me firmly, squeezing so tightly, I grimaced in pain.
"How far did you go with that boy, Lillian? Did you come close to losing your innocence? Is that what this reminds you of? Tell me," he said, shaking my arm.
Tears burned beneath my eyelids. "No, Papa. Please, let me go. You're hurting me."
He relaxed his grip, but nodded with a disapproving look.
"Your mother ain't done her duty with you. You don't know what to expect, what you've got to know before you go out in the world. It's not a man's responsibility to teach you, but with Georgia like she is, I'll have to take up the slack. Only I don't want anyone knowing what goes on between us, Lillian. That's private, hear?"
What did he mean, "teach me"? Teach me what and how? I was trembling so hard, my knees knocked, but I saw he was waiting for an answer, so I nodded quickly.
"All right," Papa said, releasing me. "Go get the towel."
I hurried to the bathroom and returned with the towel. Papa had poured himself another glass of whiskey and was sipping it as I brought the towel to his shoulders. I felt his eyes move with me every time I turned or reached. I dried him as quickly as I could, but when I started on his legs, I tried not to look as I worked.
Suddenly, he laughed in a strange way.
"Scares you, don't it?" he said, and laughed again. I was afraid the whiskey had stirred up the monsters once more.
"No, Papa."
"Sure it does," he said. "A grown man is scary to a young girl." Then he grew serious, seized my wrist and pulled me so close to him, I felt his hot breath on my face. "When a man is aroused, Lillian, he gets bigger, but a grown woman is pleased about that, not scared. You'll see; you'll understand," he predicted. "All right, enough about it," he added quickly. "Just get on with what you're doing."
I finished wiping his feet and then I folded the towel and helped him put on his nightshirt. After I pulled up his blanket, I brought the basin, sponge and towel into the bathroom. My heart was still pounding. I couldn't wait to leave the room. Papa was behaving in such a bizarre way. His eyes washed over my body as if I were the one naked and not he. But when I returned from the bathroom, he looked his old self again and he. asked me to read him a Bible selection.
"Read until I fall asleep and then make yourself your bed there," he said, nodding at the settee. "Put on your nightgown and get some sleep, too."
"Yes, Papa.” I sat beside the bed and began to read The Book of Job. As I read, I saw that Papa's eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he could keep them open no longer and he drifted to sleep. When he began to snore, I closed the Bible softly and went back to my room to get my nightgown.
The whole house was quiet by now, quiet and dark. I wondered what Mamma was doing. How I wished she was well enough to take care of Papa. I listened by her door, but I heard nothing. On my way back to Papa's room, I saw Emily standing just inside her doorway gazing out at me.
"Where are you going with your nightgown?" she demanded.
"Papa wants me to sleep on the settee in his room in case he needs something during the night," I explained.
She didn't respond. Instead, she closed her door.
I reentered Papa's room. He was still asleep so I moved about as quietly as I could. I got into my nightgown, made my bed, whispered my prayers, and went to sleep myself. Hours later, Papa woke me.
"Lillian," he called. "Get over here. I'm cold."
"Cold, Papa?" I didn't think it was very cold. "Do you want another blanket?"
"No," he said. "Get in here beside me," he said. "All I need is the warmth from your young body." "What? What do you mean, Papa?"
"It ain't so unusual, Lillian. Why my grandfather used to have young slave girls keeping him warm. He called them bed warmers. Come on," he urged, lifting his blanket. "Just lay up against me," he said.
Hesitantly, my heart pounding, I sat on the bed beside him.
"Hurry up," he cried. "I'm letting out what warmth there is under this blanket."
I stretched out my legs and, with my back to him, slipped under the blanket. Instantly, Papa pulled me closer. For a few moments, we lay there that way, me with my eyes open wide, him breathing heavy and hot over my neck. I smelled the odor of stale whiskey on his breath and my stomach churned.
"I should have waited for Violet," he whispered. "She was far more beautiful than Georgia and with a man like me, she wouldn't have gotten into trouble. Your real father was too soft, too young and too weak," he muttered.
I didn't move; I didn't say a word. Suddenly, I felt Papa's hand slip under my nightgown and rest on my thigh. His thick fingers squeezed my leg gently and his arm began to move up higher, taking my nightgown up with it.
"Got to keep warm," Papa muttered in my ear. "Just lay still. That's a girl, that's a good girl."
Terrified, my heart skipping beats, I brought my hand to my mouth and smothered a cry when Papa's hand reached my breast. He cupped it greedily and with his other hand, he lifted my nightgown over my waist. I felt his knees press under mine and then his hardness reached me and pushed forward. I started to pull away, but his arm tightened around my body, pulling me closer and closer to him.
>
"Warm," he repeated. "Got to keep warm, that's all."
But that wasn't all. I squeezed my eyelids shut as tightly as I could and began to tell myself this wasn't happening. I didn't feel what I felt moving up between my legs; I didn't feel my legs being forced apart and I didn't feel Papa force himself into me. He groaned and bit down my neck just soft enough not to draw blood. I gasped and started to pull myself away, but Papa swung his heavy body, cast and all, over me, driving me down against the mattress. He grunted and pressed on.
My cries were tiny, my tears quickly soaked up by the pillow and sheets. To me it seemed to go on and on for hours, when in reality it was only minutes. When it was over, Papa did not release me and he did not pull back. He held me just as tightly, his head against mine.
"Warm now," he muttered. I waited and waited, afraid to move, afraid to complain. A short while later, I heard him snore and I began a slow journey to extract myself from his grip and slide myself out from under his dead weight. It must have taken me hours, for I was terrified of waking him, but finally, I was free enough to put my leg down and then slip out and away. He groaned and then started to snore again.
I stood in the darkness, trembling, swallowing my sobs one after the other as each rose to the base of my throat. Afraid one would burst free and then another would follow, which would waken Papa, I tiptoed out of the room and into the dimly lit corridor. I took a deep breath and closed the door softly behind me. Then I turned to the right, thinking I would go to Mamma. But I hesitated. What could I tell her and what would she do? Would she understand? It could easily put Papa into a mad rage. No, I couldn't go to Mamma. I could go down to Vera and Charles, but I was too ashamed. I couldn't even tell Tottie.
I spun around and around, confused, my heart pounding, and then I rushed into the room where all the old pictures and artifacts were kept. I quickly found my real mother's picture and, embracing it, squatted on the floor. There I rocked and cried until I heard footsteps and saw the thin light of Emily's candle part the darkness. In moments she stood in the doorway.