Songs in Ordinary Time (52 page)

“Omar,” her mother said. “I don’t think Father Gannon wants a doughnut.”

Omar winced. “Oh I’m being a pest, aren’t I?”

“No, no,” Father Gannon protested, blushing. “As a matter of fact, if you don’t mind, I’d love to take one for later.” He picked up a jelly doughnut and the powdered sugar drifted onto his sleeve.

Omar patted his belly. “I guess I just assume everyone’s got my appetite.”

He followed them to the door. “You be sure and come again,” he called as they went down the walk.

The Klubocks paused to watch Father Gannon turn the Monsignor’s car in the driveway. In the far corner of his yard Harvey leaned on the shovel and wiped his glistening brow. Still in her frilly housecoat, Jessie was raking broken branches into a pile. Alice looked up, surprised by a face in her mother’s bedroom window. It was Benjy looking down at the burlap-covered mound next to the garage.

“He seems like a real nice guy, that—what was his name, Homer?”

Father Gannon said, as he drove down Main Street.

“Omar,” she said, low in the seat so she couldn’t be seen. The jelly doughnut slid down the dashboard. It had already rolled off once, leaving a trail of white powder on the plush burgundy floor mat.

“Homer,” he said, and she didn’t correct him. “What was the last name again?”

“Duvall.”

“Duvall. Homer Duvall. I have the worst time with names. Drives the 252 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

Monsignor crazy.” He laughed. “In fact, first time I met your father I thought his name was Termoyle. Sam Termoyle.”

Turmoil. Was he being sarcastic? She just looked at him. All this cheeriness and gusto seemed not only forced but oddly fragile. He was telling her everything he had done so far this morning. The six o’clock Mass, two nursing-home visits, forty push-ups, a bacon-and-egg breakfast; he had called the Chancellery to verify his appointment with the Bishop, and then with the time left over had decided to shine his shoes. While he was at it, he figured he might as well do the Monsignor’s, but somehow polish had gotten on the soles. When he left, Mrs. Arkaday had been on her hands and knees trying to scrub the black streaks from the light gray carpeting. He told her to leave it, that he’d take care of it when he got back this afternoon, but she said by then it would be too late. The stain would set. He glanced at her. “You’re awfully quiet! Or am I just being my usual garrulous self?”

“I don’t function very well in the morning,” she said, wondering if
garrulous
meant annoying.

“I was like that at your age.” He chuckled. “But then you find out, moodiness can be a real drag in the real world.”

Moodiness! Typical priest. Say three Hail Marys, the sin’s gone. Smile and the pain’s gone. The real world! As if he had the slightest idea what it was all about.

“Is it that obvious?”

“What?” she asked, thinking she had missed something he’d said.

“That I’m a jerk.”

“I…”

“It’s okay. I mean I know I am. I just usually do a better job of hiding it, that’s all.”

She smiled weakly, then looked out the side window. The winding road carried them past tidy farmhouses and weathered barns. Cows stood swishing their tails in scorched hummocky pastures. This might be the day it finally rained. The sky was low and gray.

Father Gannon lit a cigarette, then stepped down on the accelerator as the mountain’s climb gave way now to a brief stretch of straight road. “You don’t want to be here, do you?” he called over the motor.

“Not really.”

“Your mother didn’t seem too happy about the idea, either.” He put his cigarette in the ashtray. Smoke drifted into her face. “I could tell she was upset.”

“It wasn’t about that.” She fanned away the smoke.

“Well, that’s good.” He picked up his cigarette and smoked the rest in silence. A few minutes later he looked over at her. “So where’s that what’shis-name, that Homer from? Sounds like the South.”

“I guess so.”

“What’s he do for work?”

“I don’t know, some kind of salesman or something.”

“Does he live in town?”

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 253

“Yah.” She stared at him. He wanted her to say: he lives with us now, sleeps on our divorced mother’s couch, and uses our divorced mother’s bathroom.

“What’s he sell?”

“Soap.”

“Seems like a nice enough guy.” He flushed under her scrutiny.

“He’s my mother’s boyfriend.” She wanted to shock him, but the word made her squirm. Her face was red.

“Does that bother you?”

“No, why should it?” She folded her arms and crossed her legs. She wiggled her foot up and down.

“It shouldn’t, not if you like him. I guess your mother’s entitled to a little companionship, right? She must get awfully lonely sometimes.”

She kept her eyes straight ahead. The sun had broken through, miraging the asphalt with puddles of light.

At Applegate, Alice flipped through a magazine as she waited for her father in the solarium. It was twelve-thirty, and Father Gannon would be back at one. She was feeling more and more uneasy.

Why hadn’t her father come down by now? What had he been doing for the last half hour? The head nurse said he was in his room. He had been called. He knew she was down here. She squirmed in her seat and put down the magazine. The nurse smiled quizzically from her glass cubicle. With her eyes on Alice, she pushed one of the buttons on her console and spoke into the microphone. She held up a finger, nodding to indicate that he would be right down.

The French doors from the stone patio were opened by a haggard woman in a violet robe. She leaned against the doorframe and removed her velvet slippers, then folded them carefully into her pocket before stepping inside.

Her toenails were painted red. She patted her long gray hair and stole a look at the nurse, who hadn’t yet seen her.

“Is it lunch now?” the woman asked, sitting in the chair next to her.

“I don’t know,” Alice said, picking up the magazine again and pretending to read.

The woman rocked silently. She curled her painted toes into the light carpet, then rubbed them together. “The president sends me this polish,”

the woman whispered, exposing teeth as gray as her hair.

“Really?” Alice locked her gaze on the elevator door.

“I saw him at a party once. He made the orchestra play, ‘Ain’t She Sweet.’”

“Oh!”

“I was seven then. I used to hide in his garden when we went to visit, and nobody could find me.” She giggled into her hand. “It was a magic garden, and these little tiny men used to take my clothes off. They ever do that to you?” The woman cocked her head.

“No.” She cleared her throat. A bell rang. A man was laughing in another room. Someone began to play “Chopsticks” on a tinny piano.

254 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

An attendant passed through the solarium and into the next room, where the piano was playing. The woman’s shoulders hunched in gleeful anticipation. “It’s Marlin,” she whispered. Her eyes narrowed as the attendant led a blond man in a red-plaid shirt into the room. The attendant told Marlin to sit and wait for the lunch bell with the others. He meant her, Alice realized; she was one of “the others.”

“What’s for lunch today?” the woman called as the attendant went down the hall.

“Finnan haddie in cream sauce,” he answered without looking back.

The woman clapped her hands and stamped her feet. “I love finnan haddie in cream sauce,” she squealed.

“I hate finnan haddie in cream sauce,” Marlin snapped in a reedy voice.

“Who asked you?” the woman spat. “You never like anything nice, anyway.” She leaned close to Alice. “Want to know something Marlin really likes?”

“I don’t like you, dirty old fart!” Marlin turned huffily away.

“Marlin likes little boys,” she whispered in a girlish taunting voice.

“Marlin likes little boys. Marlin likes little boys. And that’s why Marlin’s hee-yer!”

Marlin rolled his eyes and shrugged. “What’s your name?” he asked, peering at Alice. “My name is Dr. Leonard,” he said when she told him hers.

“He’s lying to you,” the woman said.

Marlin laughed politely. “Actually my name is Leonard Doctor.”

“Liar!” the woman said. “His name is Marlin Ray and he’s been here almost as long as I have.”

Marlin rolled his eyes and sighed. “Are you a Democrat or a Republican?”

he asked, as if these were questions on a practiced list, just formalities. It was vital they be asked, though the answers seemed of little consequence or interest to him. He waited, blinking when she hesitated.

“Democrat, I guess,” Alice said. “I’m not sure. I’ve never—”

“Where do you live?”

“What do you care?” the woman hissed at him. “Don’t tell him!” she warned Alice.

“Where do you live?” he repeated, pursing his lips impatiently.

“In Vermont.” She turned the pages, frowning, as if she were looking for something.

The elevator door whirred open. Her father came toward her, carrying a small flat box. He wore a gray suit she had never seen before, the jacket too wide on his thin frame, the pants short and boxy. His red tie was bright and shiny. His slicked-back hair was still wet. He squinted in the solarium’s brightness. He bent to kiss the top of her head, and she could almost taste his cologne. “Welcome to my nuthouse,” he said. “I see you’ve already met Marlin and Miss Getchell. “They’re both longtime members of the staff here,” he said, winking. Miss Getchell sat rigidly in her chair, head cocked, trying to hear their conversation.

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 255

He grinned as he handed Alice the box. “You don’t have to open it now.

Just a little something I made in crafts.” He had her get up and sit in the corner, away from the two patients. “I do leatherwork. I signed up for it because I’ve gotten so good.” He laughed nervously. “You know, after being up at Waterbury so many times.” He laughed again. “After I get my master’s in leatherwork, I’ve been accepted in their doctoral program here in bead-ing.” He paused, and she knew he could see how close to tears she was.

He sighed. “Pet, I’m sorry you had to wait so long. I was trying to get a tie off somebody, you know, one that’d go with the suit. Like it? A guy up on three choked to death last week, and one of the orderlies is a buddy of mine, so…”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time, Daddy? Trying to find a tie?” She felt numb.

“I wanted to look nice for you. Better than the last time you saw me, anyway.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry about graduation night, pet. I can’t get that out of my head.” When he looked up his eyes were raw. “What can I say? How the heck can I make something like that up to you?” He squeezed her hand. “Forgive your old man? Huh? Because I am going to make it up to you, I promise. As soon as I get my walking papers outta here I’m getting a job and then I’m moving out of Helen’s, believe it or not. Don’t laugh. It’s true. I’m coming off the bench and into the ball game! You should see my room. I’ve got all these lists of everything I have to do, all the people I have to make things up to. And top of the list, babe, is you. I mean that.” He grinned. “I’m going to get a good job. Of course the work might not be quite as skilled as my last job, when I was a diamond cutter.” He looked at her expectantly.

“When was that?” She couldn’t believe he would spend the few minutes that were left telling old jokes.

“The summer I cut the grass at the ball field? Remember? I was a diamond cutter?”

She nodded and forced a smile. He seemed relieved.

“I gotta tell you this funny story. You’re going to like this one. There were these two old guys and—”

“Daddy,” she interrupted, “Mom wants me to remind you that I’m starting college pretty soon, and it’s going to cost an awful lot, and I really need your help.”

“I know, pet, but don’t you see? First I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get this job thing lined up. I’ve got to find a place to live. I’ve got all these things to do, and here I sit.” He held up his hands in disgust. “Day after day doing nothing.”

“Mom says there’s a trust, that there’s money Nana put aside.”

“I know. She’s got this idea in her head. All of a sudden she thinks there’s all this money. So you’ve got to tell her, pet, tell her if there is any money it couldn’t be much. Just about every penny’s gone into Nana’s care.”

“Yes, but she said—”

“What about you, now, Alice?” he asked, in the stern fatherly tone she’d 256 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

seldom ever heard. “Are you working as hard as you can and saving your money? You know, when you get to be a certain age you really can’t keep coming to your parents all the time for help. Look,” he said, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. “Here, read this.”

I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows.

Henceforth be mine a life of action and reality! I will work in my own sphere,
nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness
.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“That’s nice.” She handed it back, feeling empty and dazed.

“Would you like a copy? Wait, I’ll get some paper and a pen, and I’ll do it right now.” Before she could say anything he was at the nurse’s booth tapping on the glass. He sat back down, and while he copied the saying onto the Applegate Hospital memo sheet, she tried again to explain how badly she needed money for school.

“Here,” he interrupted, giving her the copy. “Whenever you’re feeling a little shaky, just read this. It helps,” he said, squeezing her arm, his voice trembling as if he’d just passed on the solution to all her problems. “It really does.”

A tall woman in Indian moccasins slipped past the nurse’s station. She stood in the hallway, sniffing at the closed door. “That’s the one who keeps imaginary cats in her room,” her father whispered; his pleasure in telling the story to her now, here, in such detail was more devastating, more painful than if he’d been roaring drunk. Every day, he said, the woman pestered the orderlies to bring her cat food for her cats. Finally, after enough refusals, she figured out a way to convince them she wasn’t hallucinating.

She would urinate on the floor and blame it on the cats when the orderlies came in to clean it up. They ignored her. So then she began to defecate on the floor and blame that on the cats. The orderlies cleaned it up, and still they ignored her. So then one day in the garden she caught three mice and killed them. She put the dead mice in her room and told the orderlies that her cats had caught them. The orderlies decided to teach her a lesson. They left the dead mice in the room. When they went in the next morning, the mice were gone. “‘What happened to the three mice?’ they asked her. ‘The cats ate them,’ she said. ‘I told you they were hungry!’”