LaRose (24 page)

The instant they vanished, Landreaux sprinted for the bags. Romeo ran to the car to look for other food, and saw that the keys were still in the ignition. He signaled to Landreaux, who walked over with an easy step, slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and pulled out as if he’d done it all his life.

Romeo and Landreaux turned off the highway onto a county road. It quickly turned to gravel. Landreaux kept on going. They ate the sandwiches, deviled eggs, everything except the two apples, and kept the lemonade bottle, the hats and jackets. They left the car parked down a side road in some bushes, and doubled back to a set of train tracks they’d crossed. They started walking west on the cross ties. When it got dark, they found a shelterbelt, put on the extra jackets, and used the caps for pillows. They ate the apples and drank a third
of the lemonade. Three trains passed in the night, much too fast to hop. In the morning they kept walking.

One thing I wonder, said Romeo, and hope I never know.

Whuh, said Landreaux.

How Bowl Head really cuts her hair. With a bowl the exact same size of her head or what?

That hair went brown to white in one day, said Landreaux.

The thick brilliance of her hair was truly remarkable.

Romeo did not believe it happened in one day, but he asked how.

What I heard was she went back of the dining hall and saw Milbert Good Road the way he looked after he had drowned on that school trip. He asked why she never runned for him when she saw him go under. The water wasn’t more than up to her stomach. People said she was parasite.

Paralyzed, murmured Romeo.

She yelled for Mr. Jalynski an he jumped in. Ermine jumped in, waded in, all the kids good at swimming went in, all the other grown-ups. They never found him til later. They said it was a water moccasin.

Romeo said nothing, but sometimes he wondered about Landreaux. Some kids had heard a teacher from Louisiana mention the deadliness of a water moccasin. Some kid made up that it was a moccasin made of water that slipped around your foot and pulled you under. Romeo knew it was a snake and Milbert had drowned because he couldn’t swim. Landreaux was cool, but, parasite? Water moccasin? These lapses made Romeo uneasy. Not only that, they just hurt his brain.

This train couldn’t just run on forever, with no reason, Romeo complained. Must be a grain elevator someplace.

They could see a farm many miles away. A square hedge of green on the horizon, blank flat earth all around. The sun was low and they had drunk all of the lemonade, jealously watching each other. But Landreaux gave Romeo the last swallow, saying, Kill it, reluctantly, looking away. They’d had nothing to eat for hours but the juicy ends of tall grass along the tracks.

Maybe we could get there by dark, said Romeo.

Pretty sure there’s a dog, said Landreaux.

But they went.

From a handsome shelterbelt of evergreens and old lilac, they watched the house—two story, painted white, a trim of scalloped wood all around the first story and four plain columns holding up a meager, dignified front porch. A light went on in back. The screen door creaked open and flapped shut. An old white-muzzled black dog tottered stiffly into the yard, followed by a tall old woman. She wore a whitish dress, saggy gray man’s sweater, and sheepskin slippers. The boys noticed the slippers because she walked by them on the edge of the mowed grass. The dog dropped behind and stopped before them, nose working, eyes cataracted and opaque.

Pepperboy, get over here, said the woman.

The dog stood before them a moment longer. Seeming to find them harmless, he took painful mechanical steps toward his master. The two continued around the yard. They made ten rounds, moving more slowly each time, so that the woman and her dog seemed to the dizzied Landreaux to be capturing the last of the light slanting out of the trees, taking it with them while breasting continuous waves of darkness. At last the night became absolute and the woman and dog were nearly invisible. Each time they passed, the dog stopped to measure the boys, and then caught up with the woman again. On the last round, the boys heard them shuffle near. This time when the dog stopped, the woman’s black silhouette loomed.

You hungry? she asked. I made some dinner.

They didn’t dare answer.

She walked away. After a few moments, the boys rustled out of the grass and followed her to the door. They stood outside as she went through.

Might as well come in, she called, her voice different, unsure, as if she thought perhaps she hadn’t really seen them.

The boys stepped into the kitchen, and stumbled back at the sight
of the old woman in the light. She was striking—lanky and overly tall, deeply sun-beaten, her face a folded fan of vertical lines. A thick shock of white hair tipped like a crest over her forehead. The sides of her hair were neatly pinned back and her ears stuck out, drooping pancake ears burnt crisp over a lifetime. She was more than old, she was powerfully old. The milky blue of her eyes faded spookily into the whites, giving her the authority of one risen from the grave. Not only did the woman look so strange, but there was a phone in the kitchen. How long before she called the sheriff? The boys were jittery enough to bolt.

Why, you’re wearing new clothes! the woman suddenly said, and smiled toothily, gently, as if she knew them.

The boys looked down at their dirty old clothes.

She turned away to the open refrigerator, and began removing foil-covered pans and dishes. She handed them back to the boys, who stepped forward.

Stick ’em in the oven, she said.

Landreaux opened the oven of a clean porcelain stove and the boys placed dish after dish inside. The oven was cold. Romeo examined the dials and turned it on. The numbers went up to 500. He chose 425.

There, said the woman, rubbing her hands. Now what else?

She opened a cupboard, took out a box of saltine crackers and a tin of sardines. She put them on the table. There was already a sweating icy pitcher of cold tea.

Get some glasses.

She waved her hand at the dish drainer and sat down. The dog rose from a woven rug in the corner and came to lie at her feet. While the boys gulped the tea, she unstuck the key from the sardine can, shakily inserted it into the slot, and rolled back the top halfway.

Forks? She jerked her head toward the drawers left of the sink. Landreaux brought the forks. Romeo guessed the right cupboard and brought to the table three large yellow plates with full-skirted ladies and top-hatted gentlemen dancing around the edges. The
woman forked a piece of sardine from the can, mashed it onto her cracker. She nodded at the boys to do the same. The food stuck in their craws at first, then their hands seemed to grab unwilled, loading cracker after cracker. They stuffed all the sardines down but the last, which they left for the old woman. She had been watching them, smiling, her teeth dim and broken.

Go ahead, I got enough, she said. The boys split the last bit.

Mister’s dead, she told them. It was the heart. Mine is going strong but I don’t care if it does quit. How’s your mom and dad? she asked Landreaux. They dig their cellar?

Landreaux looked at Romeo, raised his eyebrows.

They dug it? said Romeo.

The woman nodded.

Good, that’s how you keep your food for winter. We told ’em. That cold was hard on the Indians. Mister said, they’re dying off. One goes every day. So I’m glad to see you boys, glad you made it over here. Your family is the good kind of Indian. Mister always said when they’re good they’re the best friend you ever had. A bad one will steal you bare and they’re wicked when they’re drunk. You boys have always been good. Good boys.

The phone rang, jolting them all. The woman licked her lips and stood to answer it, a black wall phone, numbers worn on the dial. She held the receiver grimly to her big ear.

Just fine, she said. She was glaring at the box of the phone as if whoever had called was inside of it.

Haven’t eaten it yet, she said, her face uncertain as though it was a trick question. Yes, the stove’s off, she said meekly. I’ll go take it out. Yes, yes. I’m hungry.

A crafty look came over her face and she turned to wink at the boys. Hungrier than I ever been!

Okay, night.

She hung up the phone and said hmmph. The warming smells of all the different foods had filled the kitchen, but she didn’t notice. She sat down at the table again, frowned into space.

Should we take out the food? asked Romeo.

The woman’s mouth worked silently, then she startled.

Take them dishes out, will you, boys? Let’s eat!

Mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed corn, creamed spinach, chicken potpie with peas and carrots, corn relish mistakenly baked to a pretty good taste. A thick pork chop, which the boys divided, corn bread, soft buttered carrots, macaroni with cheese, macaroni with meat, macaroni with tuna. A thick piece of steak meat with mushrooms. More gravy. It all went down. Some of it tasted questionable, but hot and good at the same time. And on the counter underneath a dish towel was an apple pie, plump and oozing thick sweet juice, uncut.

The old woman relaxed, leaning back to marvel as she watched them eat and eat and eat.

You boys always could eat, always could, she murmured.

When they were done, sitting back, stupefied, she said, We don’t have much to warsh except our plates and forks. Ceel says to leave them soak. Says he’ll have to do them over anyways. Then I suppose you boys have to be getting back to your people. You could take summa this along, what’s left. Your brothers and sisters might go for it. I don’t need it. Can’t stop cooking for a crew of people. So, you pushing off?

We . . . we can’t go home, said Romeo. Could we stay here? With you?

The woman looked from one boy to the other.

You never done that before, she said.

It’s kinda dark, Landreaux ventured.

The old woman laughed. Your dad says Indians can see in the dark, but maybe you ain’t learned yet. Sure. Do me a favor. Go sleep in that big room upstairs with the green bedcover. Mess it up good and don’t make it in the morning. I like having my radio music at night, down here. I like listening on the couch until I nod off. It’s a good couch, but Ceel always checks if I slept there. On account of my back. Like hell. Go on! Go on! She shooed them upstairs, laughing.

That’ll fix Ceel’s leg, she said, turning the dial on the radio until
she found some slow waltzlike music. She turned off the light and settled back in the pillows.

The boys, exhausted and well fed, slept long into the morning and woke to voices downstairs. The young man’s was loud, petulant, and he wore clomping shoes. They could hear footsteps rattling around, the young man’s voice fading but always audible. The woman’s voice was small and placating, like she’d been on the phone. They couldn’t tell what she was saying.

They heard him in and out of the kitchen, saying the same thing over and over. You couldnta eaten that much! And I came over here to clean your fridge out and you couldnta eaten that much!

The young man must have rummaged in the garbage.

You didn’t toss that food. Unless maybe you threw it in the woods.

The old woman said something.

Okay, okay! You wouldn’t do that. Did you sleep down here on the couch again, Mommy? Well, did you? Did you? I told you not to, didn’t I? You want throw your back out, make me haul you to the chiropractor when I got so much to do? Huh? Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. Don’t turn your head away that way.

She must have admitted she’d slept on the couch, because the young man, her son, scolded her harder. The boys were stunned, listening. Though they’d heard grown-ups fighting, this way the son sarcastically talked down to his mother disturbed the very order of love.

Okay then, the son said meanly, okay thank you for being honest with me. Okay then I don’t need to go and straighten upstairs.

By which they knew the old woman had remembered they were there.

She spoke some more, and must have finally convinced her son.

Maybe I did think there was a whole lot more food than there was. Huh. Well, I’ll just leave this sack off for you. Don’t cook it all at once, huh? You eat on this for a week. There’s still what you got left in the freezer. But hey, this pie. Mommy, now don’t lie to me! Never,
ever lie to me. You make these whole damn pies but you never eat that much pie.

They heard her when she loudly said, I picked those apples off my tree! Stewed ’em, froze ’em. I can make a pie, can’t I?

And the son’s suspicious questions. There’s only two pieces left! What’s going on? You have a visitor?

The old woman must have made some story up about the dog because the son next said, He throw up? Was it in the house?

Ceel stomped around some more, looking for the puke, but apparently the dog was too old to climb stairs because Ceel didn’t come upstairs to look. He left quickly. Roared off in a big shiny white pickup. The boys peeked over a window ledge and watched the son drive a whole section of land before he was only a puff of dust.

They came downstairs. The woman was standing by the window watching the place her son had disappeared. She turned around, her face alight with emotions the boys exactly knew: the fury and shame of kowtowing to a righteous person who controlled your destiny. Threw their goodness in your face. It wasn’t something they would ever name, but it would matter for all the rest of their days. The boys knew the old woman the way she seemed to think she knew them. They stood looking back and forth at one another in the living room. At last the woman seemed to collapse a bit. She passed her hand tremblingly across her chest.

I’m glad to see you boys, she said, sudden tears in her eyes. She laughed, relieved, and they saw how afraid she was that her son would realize how deeply lost she was in this world.

You hungry again? Her skeletal grin.

Later on, that morning, she spoke.

Oh, it was good land up there. We started in Devil’s Lake. A sweet lay of land. Sloping pasture, flat acres. You just had to turn the sod. Water only fifteen feet down. We had a dug well. Pure. Mister bought the land straight off your mom and dad in ’12 when their taxes come due. All the farmers were buying up Indian land cheap that year. You all moved to your grandpa’s but got a poor farm there.
You might remember your mom was pretty then, Indian braids, how she come for a bit of food just like you boys and I always had something for her. Old coats, dresses, blankets, worn-out stuff for quilts. Even gave her the needle and threads. I loved your folks. Anything they hunted down, they’d bring some over, too. They died so quick. Just faded out. One thing, another. They all got sick.