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Authors: Cynthia D. Grant

Mary Wolf (5 page)

BOOK: Mary Wolf
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After my last class I hurry to the grade school. Hundreds of kids swarm around the buses. Erica waves a handful of papers in my face. “Mary, look what I did in school!”

Our bus is loading up but Danielle won't get on. She's got her arms crossed, fists stuffed into her armpits, and that stubborn-as-cement look on her face.

“Come on. What's the problem? The bus is leaving.”

“You can leave if you want. I'm walking.”

“You can't walk home, Danielle. It's too far.” But she turns her back and stalks down the sidewalk.

“It's okay,” I tell the driver. “I guess we'll walk.”

I grab Erica's hand and we catch up with Danielle. Her angry eyes are glittering with tears.

“What's the matter? What's the problem?” She just keeps walking until I grab her arm and make her stop.

“We're not going anywhere till you tell me what's wrong.”

“Mary!” Erica wails. “There goes the bus! Now we'll never get home!”

“Yes we will. What's wrong, Danielle? Did something happen at school?”

“Just leave me alone!” She swings at me. I catch her fist and hold her tight.

“Quit acting like that! Did you get into a fight?”

“No, but I will! They know where we live!”

“What are you talking about?”

“They laughed!”

“Who laughed?”

“This boy! He lives in one of those big houses on the way to the campground. He told everyone we're poor. I'll kill him. I hate him! And I'm not going to bring my lunch anymore! They all bought lunch in the cafeteria! I'm not eating any lunch! I'm never going back there!”

I try to hug her but she pulls away.

“Why do we have to be different?” she says. “Why can't we just be the same?”

“Someday we will be.” Now Erica is crying. I fish a tissue from my purse and wipe her nose. “Listen to me, Danielle. Lots of people don't have money these days. That's how it is. But things are getting better. Daddy's working now and pretty soon we'll rent a house. Maybe you can have your own room.”

“Me too,” Erica says. “But I might get lonely.”

“You don't need to feel ashamed because you can't buy lunch.”

“I'm not bringing any lunch! I'd rather starve!”

She tries to act tough, but she's just a kid. Maybe this school has a free-lunch program. If Daddy won't sign up, I'll pay for it myself. It won't cost much. I'll get a job after school. It's time I was bringing in some money.

“Come on,” I tell the girls. “We've got a long walk home.”

Erica says, “Maybe Daddy could come and get us.”

“Duhhh, we don't have a phone,” Danielle says.

“We can walk,” I say. “It's not going to kill us. But tomorrow we're taking the bus, Danielle. And you're not going to fight with that kid. Ignore him.”

“I'm going to punch out his lights.”

“Then I'll punch out yours.”

“Go ahead and try.”

“Do you hear me? Ignore him.”

We walk past a store that sells baked goods and ice cream. A sweet-smelling breeze reaches through the screen door. I look in my wallet. New guitar strings can wait.

“Who wants an ice cream cone?”

“Me!” Erica claps her hands.

“Me,” Danielle says. “I'm starving.”

Five

We haven't been able to move into a house yet. Some people won't rent to a big family. Rents are high and you have to have first and last months' rent, a security deposit, and money to turn on the gas and electric. We'll need to save up at least two thousand dollars. Meanwhile, there's food and gas and other expenses. It's amazing how much life costs.

Every night Daddy comes home from work covered with sawdust and heads for the campground showers, first thing. The RV's shower is too small for him and Mama, with her big belly now, to turn around in. Then, at supper, he complains about his job. He says the manager is a big jerk who doesn't know his ass from his elbow.

“It's incredible they've stayed in business this long. He's running the place into the ground. I mean it. I said to him, ‘George, are you trying to make money or using this place for a tax write-off?'”

Mama says, “Andrew, don't make him mad.” She's afraid he'll lose his job.

“Are you there, Wendy? Have you seen what's going on? Don't you believe what I'm telling you?”

She stares at her plate. “Of course I do. It's just that they've been in business since—”

“Nineteen sixty-three. Yes, I told you that. But times change, and you have to change with the times. Do you have any idea how many companies have gone belly up this year? And it's not because they weren't making a good product. I've tried to tell George. He's not listening to me. He thinks I'm some bum from the street. Christ, I had twelve guys working under me and now I can't go to the john without permission.”

The girls eat quickly so they can watch TV. Danielle claims she does her homework at school. I've told Mama she should talk to Danielle's teacher.

“Daddy works all day. I have no way to get there.”

“You could call her on the phone by the laundry room.”

“I've tried that,” Mama told me. “I can never get through.”

Anyway, Danielle's her daughter, not mine.

School's okay. People leave me alone. The teachers are helping me catch up. On Saturdays and Sundays I wash dishes at the truck stop. The waitresses give me food to bring home. I keep ten dollars a week and give the rest to Mama, who banks it in an old cloth purse.

I thought my parents would be pleased about the job, but Daddy hates taking my money and Mama misses my help. She doesn't make the girls do anything. When I get home from work, the RV's a mess, dirty dishes and clothes piled everywhere, the girls and Mama in bed, watching TV. “Feel, Mary.” She'll place my hand on her rolling belly. “That's the baby's little elbow or knee.”

Unless it's the news or an educational program, TV annoys my father. After supper he reads the newspapers, calling my attention to every bankruptcy, every mass layoff, every fresh financial disaster.

“Look at this.” He'll whack the business section. “Look at this, Mary. You want to tell me why anyone needs to make sixty million dollars a year? Plus benefits? Is that kind of money really necessary?”

“No,” I'll say. “It seems insane.”

“How much do you think the little guys are getting; the guys who deliver all those cans of beer that are paying this joker's salary? Without the little guys it would all grind to a halt, but they're so stupid they don't even know that.”

Who's so stupid? The big guys or the little guys? My father's fall has altered his perspective.

The baby's due soon and Daddy's been trying to find a doctor for Mama, but none of the doctors in town will take us until his medical insurance begins. That won't be for two more months, until he's passed probation.

Daddy figures we'll drive to the hospital in Healdsburg when Mama's in labor. The people in the emergency room will probably refuse to take her, because we don't have insurance or money. Then Daddy will triumph in his righteous wrath.

“No, you won't take us,” he plans to shout, “but you'll take all those welfare patients! Half of them aren't even citizens of this country! Go ahead and turn us away! I'll sue this hospital from hell to Sunday if anything happens to my wife or baby!”

I've begged them to apply for Medi-Cal benefits.

Absolutely not, Daddy says. We're no welfare cheats, no deadbeats scheming to get something for nothing.

“But Mama should see a doctor!”

She laughs at me. “For heaven's sake, Mary. I'm going to have a baby, not a heart attack. You worry too much.”

I wouldn't, if she'd worry more.

When we come in after school, Mama's lying on her bed.

“Mary,” she says. Her face looks strained.

“What's the matter, Mama? Are you all right?”

“I think it's time.”

I drop my books. “Are you sure?”

“Honey, this is my fifth baby. I guess I recognize the signs by now. Whew, this place is like an oven!”

The little girls are wide-eyed. “Nothing's wrong,” I tell them, opening doors and windows. “The baby's on its way, that's all.”

I fix them a snack and turn on the cartoons. The girls watch Mama from the corners of their eyes.

“We should call Daddy.”

“He'll be home soon. There's time.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“All afternoon.”

“Polly came fast,” I remind her. “Does it hurt?”

She's wincing. “A little. But it's a good hurt, Mary. Someday you'll know what I mean.”

Maybe. I'm not sure I'll have babies. It seems like I've had children all my life. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine. Just hot.” She catches her breath, her eyes squeeze shut. When she opens them, they shine with tears.

“Mary, bring me some water. With ice. I'm so thirsty.”

I consider calling Daddy, but he's already left work. I hope he comes right home; her last labor was short. She's proud of the way babies pop out of her.

By tomorrow afternoon she'll be home with the new baby. If it's a girl, Mama wants to call her Amy, but Daddy's leaning toward Roberta. He lets Mama choose our middle names.

I give Mama the ice water. She can't get comfortable. She pants and rubs ice cubes on her neck and wrists.

“Mama, maybe you should get up and walk around. You might feel better.”

“Maybe you're right.” But when she stands up, water pours down her legs.

“Mama peed!” Erica giggles nervously. But it's not pee; the sac that holds the baby has ruptured. This baby is on its way.

“Mama, we should go to the hospital now. I'll leave a note for Daddy.” But we can't just go; the tables must be folded, the awning must be rolled up, everything must be secured before the RV can be driven. “I'm going to call the ambulance.”

“No,” she gasps, then pain grips her. It's coming in waves now, sharp and fast. “He'll be home any second. I won't leave without Daddy.”

Polly wants me to hold her. I pick her up, then place her on Danielle's lap. Erica sucks her thumb so hard I can hear her. Mama rubs her belly and groans.

“Everything's fine,” I tell the girls. “Nothing's wrong, nothing's the matter. As soon as Daddy gets here, he'll take Mama to the hospital and then she'll have the baby. Won't that be nice?”

“I don't want Mommy to go to the hospital!” Polly wails. Erica's crying, too. Danielle's eyes are dry and bitter.

I stroke Mama's forehead and tell her to relax while she pants through the pains, her face glistening with sweat. It seems like forever before we hear the Jeep chugging up the hill.

I rush outside. Daddy slams the Jeep's door. “You know what that bastard did?” he announces. “Said he was going to dock my pay! I told that idiot—”

“Daddy,” I begin, but I can't reach him. I can't scale the wall of my father's rage.

“They give them to the employees! Free! Those mill ends were mine! We can't use them in the RV so I sold them. So what? I told that bastard—”

“Daddy, listen to me. Mama's having the baby.”

“What?” he says. “Really?” He runs inside.

The girls are frozen. Mama's moaning and twisting.

“Wendy, darling.” He strokes her hair. “Daddy's here. It will be all right.”

“It's coming too fast. Oh, God, it hurts!”

Mama screams. The girls are sobbing.

I tell them to calm down, to watch TV. Bugs Bunny is blaring in the background. “Mama's fine,” I say. What if something is wrong? What if Mama and the baby are dying?

“I think we should call 911,” I tell Daddy.

“I can take her in the Jeep.”

“There's not time! Can't you see that?”

“What's wrong?” Danielle cries.

“Nothing's wrong,” I say. “Mama's just having the baby.”

“I've got to push!” she shouts.

“Try to wait, Mama, please. We're going to get the ambulance,” I tell her. Daddy's wringing his hands, tears stream down his cheeks. “Daddy, will you please go call them?”

“No!” Mama screams. “Andrew, don't leave me!”

“I'll never leave you, Wendy. I'm right here.”

“I'll go call.” I start for the door.

“I've got to push! I can't wait! It hurts! Where's Mary?”

“Mary!” Daddy shouts. “She needs you! Come here!”

I stroke Mama's face. Her head whips from side to side.

“Something's wrong. I can feel it. The baby's dropped down,” she gasps. “Mary, something's wrong with the baby!”

I shove Daddy toward the door. “Call the ambulance! Now! Take the girls. Get them out of here!” They follow him, wailing.

“Someone help me!” Mama cries. “Please help me! It hurts!”

I kneel by her side. “You'll be fine, Mama. Really. This baby's in a hurry to be born, that's all. Now take some deep breaths and try to relax.”

When babies are born on TV, people always boil water. I boil water in the microwave. What do I do with it now?

“Mary, it's so—Oh, God, I'm dying!”

“No you're not, Mama. You're doing fine. The ambulance is on its way. Before you know it, you'll be holding the baby. Lie still and let me look at you. Lie still!”

I push up her nightgown and spread her legs, afraid of what I'm going to see. A demon infant, tearing Mama apart. Or a tiny foot stepping into the world, the baby turned the wrong way around.

Mama's thighs are smeared with blood. A tiny patch of scalp bulges at the opening between her legs, then recedes.

I bathe her with the water and spread towels beneath her hips. I pray to God: Please, please don't let my mother die. Please let the baby be all right.

BOOK: Mary Wolf
4.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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