The Cider House Rules (87 page)

'My hero,' Lorna called her. It was a touchy word to {699} use around Melony, who had long thought that Homer Wells was made of hero stuff.

Homer was a hero in Rose Rose's eyes; she spent all of Monday in the bed in Angel's room, with Candy bringing her baby to her from time to time, and Angel visiting with her every chance he could get.

'You're going to love this room,' Angel told her.

'You plain crazy,' Rose Rose told him. 'But I already love it.'

It was a day that hurt the harvest; Mr. Rose wouldn't pick and half the men were sore from falling off the bicycles. Homer Wells, who never would master the terrible machine, had a puffy knee and a bruise between his shoulder blades the size of a melon. Peaches refused to go up a ladder; he would load the trailers and pick drops all day. Muddy groaned and complained; he was the only one among them who had actually learned to ride. Black Pan announced that it was a good day for a faSt.

Mr. Rose, it appeared, was fasting. He sat outside the cider house in the weak sun, wrapped in a blanket from his bed; he sat Indian-style, not talking to anyone.

'He say he on a pickin' strike,' Peaches whispered to Muddy, who told Homer that he thought Mr. Rose was on a hunger strike, too—'and every other kind of strike there is.'

'We'll just have to get along without him,' Homer told the men, but everyone pussyfooted their way past Mr. Rose, who appeared to have enthroned himself in front of the cider house.

'Or else he planted hisself, like a tree,' Peaches said.

Black Pan brought him a cup of coffee and some fresh corn bread, but Mr. Rose wouldn't touch any of it. Sometimes, he appeared to be gnawing on one of the pacifiers. It was a cool day, and when the faint sun would drift behind the clouds, Mr. Rose would draw the blanket over his head; then he sat cloaked and robed and closed off completely from any of them.{700}

'He like an Indian,' Peaches said. 'He don't make no treaty.'

'He want to see his daughter,' Muddy informed Homer at the end of the day. 'That what he say to me—it all he say. Just
see
her. He say he won't touch her.'

Tell him he can come to the house and see her there,' Homer Wells told Muddy.

But at suppertime, Muddy came to the kitchen door alone. Candy asked him in, and asked him to eat with them—Rose Rose was sitting with them, at the table— but Muddy was too nervous to stay. 'He say he won't come here,' Muddy told Homer. 'He say for her to come to the cider house. He say to tell you they got they own rules. He say you breakin' the rules, Homer.'

Rose Rose sat so still at the table that she was not even chewing; she wanted to be sure to hear everything Muddy was saying. Angel tried to take her hand, which was cold, but she pulled it away from him and kept both her hands wound up in her napkin, in her lap.

'Muddy,' Wally said, 'you tell him that Rose Rose is staying in my house, and that in my house we follow
my
rules. You tell him he's welcome to come here anytime.'

'He won't do it,' Muddy said.

'I have to go see him,' Rose Rose said.

'No, you don't,' Candy told her. 'You tell him he sees her here, or nowhere, Muddy,' Candy said.

'Yes, ma'am. I brung the bicycles back,' Muddy said to Angel. 'They a little banged up.' Angel went outside to look at the bicycles and that's when Muddy handed him the knife.

'You don't need this, Angel,' Muddy told the boy, 'but you give it to Rose Rose. You say I want her to have it. Just so she have one.'

Angel looked at Muddy's knife; it was a bone-handled jackknife, and part of the bone was chipped. It was one of those jackknives where the blade locks in place when you open it so it can't close on your fingers. The blade was almost six inches long, which would make it prominent {701} in anyone's pocket, and over the years it had seen a lot of whetstone; the blade was ground down very thin and the edge was very sharp.

'Don't you need it, Muddy?' Angel asked him.

'I never knew what to do with it,' Muddy confessed. 'I just get in trouble with it.'

'I'll give it to her,' Angel said.

'You tell her her father say he love her, and he just wanna see her,' Muddy said. 'Just
see,'
he repeated.

Angel considered this message; then he said, 'I love Rose Rose, you know, Muddy.' 'Sure I know,' Muddy said. 'I love her, too. We all love her. Everybody love Rose Rose—that part of her problem.'

'If Mister Rose just wants to see her,' Angel said, 'how come you're giving her your knife?'

'Just so she have one,' Muddy repeated.

Angel gave her the knife when they were sitting in his room after supper.

'It's from Muddy,' he told her.

'I know who it from,' Rose Rose said, 'I know what knife everyone got—I know what they all look like.' Although it was not a switchblade, it made Angel jump to see how quickly she opened the knife using only one hand. 'Look what Muddy do,' she said, laughing. 'He been sharpeniri' it to death—he wore it half away.' She closed the knife against her hip; her long fingers moved the knife around so quickly that Angel didn't notice where she put it.

'You know a lot about knives?' Angel asked her.

'From my father,' she said. 'He show me everythin'.'

Angel moved and sat on the bed next to her, but Rose Rose regarded him neutrally. 'I told you,' she began patiently. 'You don't wanna have no business with me—I could never tell you nothin' about me. You don't wanna know 'bout me, believe me.'

'But I love you,' Angel pleaded with her.

After she kissed him—and she allowed him to touch {702} her breasts—she said, 'Angel. Lovin' someone don't always make no difference.'

Then Baby Rose woke up, and Rose Rose had to attend to her daughter. 'You know what I namin' her?' she asked Angel. 'Candy,' Rose Rose said. 'That who she is—she a Candy.'

In the morning, on the downhill side of the harvest, everyone got up early, but no one got up earlier than Rose Rose. Angel, who had more or less been imagining that he was guarding the house all night, noticed that Rose Rose and her daughter had gone. Angel and Homer got in the Jeep and drove out to the cider house before breakfast —but there was nowhere they could go that morning that Rose Rose hadn't been to ahead of them. The men were up and looking restless, and Mr. Rose was already maintaining his stoical sitting position in the grass in front of the cider house—the blanket completely covering him, except for his face.

'You too late,' Mr. Rose said to them. 'She long gone.'

Angel ran and looked in the cider house, but there was no sign of Rose Rose or her daughter.

'She gone with her thumb, she say,' Mr. Rose told Homer and Angel. He made the hitchhiking sign—his bare hand emerging from the blanket only for a second before it went back into hiding.

'I didn't hurt her,' Mr. Rose went on. 'I didn't touch her, Homer,' he said. 'I just love her, was all. I just wanna see her—one more time.'

'I'm sorry for your troubles,' Homer Wells told the man, but Angel ran off to find Muddy.

'She say to tell you you was the nicest,' Muddy told the boy. 'She say to tell your dad he a hero, and that you was the nicest.'

'She didn't say where she was going?'

'She don't know where she goin', Angel,' Muddy told him. 'She just know she gotta go.'

'But she could have stayed with us!' Angel said. 'With me,' he added.{703}

'I know she thought about it,' Muddy said. 'You better think about it, too.'

'I
have
thought about it—I think about it all the time,' Angel said angrily.

'I don't think you old enough to think about it, Angel,' Muddy said gently.

'I loved her!' the boy said.

'She know,' Muddy said. 'She know who she is, too, but she also know you don't know who you is, yet.'

Looking for her and thinking about her would help Angel to know that. He and Candy would drive south along the coast for an hour; then they would drive north, for two. They knew that even Rose Rose would know enough about Maine not to go inland. And they knew that a young black woman with a baby in her arms would be quite exotic among the hitchhikers of Maine; she certainly would have less trouble than Melony getting a ride—and Melony always got rides.

Mr. Rose would maintain his almost Buddhist position; he made it through lunch without moving, but in the afternoon he asked Black Pan to bring him some water, and when the men were through picking that day, he called Muddy over to him. Muddy was very frightened but he approached Mr. Rose and stood at a distance of about six feet from him.

'Where your knife, Muddy?' Mr. Rose asked him. 'You lose it?'

'I didn't lose it,' Muddy told him. 'But I can't find it,' he added.

'It around, you mean?' Mr. Rose asked him. 'It around somewhere, but you don't know where.'

'I don't know where it is,' Muddy admitted.

'Never do you no good, anyway—do it?' Mr. Rose asked him.

'I never could use it,' Muddy admitted. It was a cold and sunless late afternoon, but Muddy was sweating; he held his hands at his sides as if his hands were dead fish.

'Where she get the knife, Muddy?' Mr. Rose asked.{704}

'What knife?' Muddy asked him.

'It look like your knife—what I seen of it,' said Mr. Rose.

'I gave it to her,' Muddy admitted.

'Thank you for doin'that, Muddy,' Mr. Rose said. 'If she gone with her thumb, I glad she got a knife with her.'

'Peaches!' Muddy screamed. 'Go get Homer!' Peaches came out of the cider house and stared at Mr. Rose, who didn't move a muscle; Mr. Rose didn't look at Peaches at all. 'Black Pan!' Muddy screamed, as Peaches went running off to get Homer Wells. Black Pan came out of the cider house and he and Muddy got down on their knees and peered at Mr. Rose together.

'You all stay calm,' Mr. Rose advised them. 'You too late,' he told them. 'No one gonna catch her now. She had all day to get away,' Mr. Rose said proudly.

'Where she get you?' Muddy asked Mr. Rose, but neither he nor Black Pan dared to poke around under the blanket. They just watched Mr. Rose's eyes and his dry lips.

'She good with that knife—she better with it than
you
ever be!' Mr. Rose said to Muddy.

'I know she good,' Muddy said.

'She almost the best,' said Mr. Rose. 'And who taught her?' he asked them.

'You did,' they told him.

'That right,' said Mr. Rose. That why she almost as good as me.' Very slowly, without exposing any of himself —keeping himself completely under the blanket, except for his face—Mr. Rose rolled over on his side and tucked his knees up to his chest. 'I real tired of sittin' up,' he told Muddy and Black Pan. 'I gettin' sleepy.'

'Where she get you?' Muddy asked him again.

'I didn't think it would take this long,' said Mr. Rose. 'It taken all day, but it felt like it was gonna go pretty fast.'

All the men were standing around him when Homer Wells and Peaches arrived in the Jeep. Mr. Rose had very little left to say when Homer got to him.{705}

'You breakin' them rules, too, Homer,' Mr. Rose whispered to him. 'Say you know how I feel.'

'I know how you feel,' said Homer Wells.

'Right,' said Mr. Rose—grinning.

The knife had entered in the upper right quadrant, close to the rib margin. Homer knew that a knife moving in an upward direction would give a substantial liver laceration, which would continue to bleed—at a moderate rate—for many hours. Mr. Rose might have stopped bleeding several times, and started again. In most cases, a liver stab wound hemorrhages very slowly.

Mr. Rose died in Homer's arms before Candy and Angel arrived at the cider house, but long after his daughter had made good her escape. Mr. Rose had managed to soak the blade of his own knife in his wound, and the last thing he told Homer was that it should be clear to the authorities that he had stabbed himself. If he hadn't meant to kill himself, why would he have let himself bleed to death from what wasn't necessarily a mortal wound?

'My daughter run away,' Mr. Rose told all of them.

'And I so sorry that I stuck myself. You better say that what happen. Let me hear you say it!' he raised his voice to them.

'That what happen,' Muddy said.

'You kill yourself,' Peaches told him.

'That what happen,' Black Pan said.

'You hearin' this right, Homer?' Mr. Rose asked him.

That was how Homer reported it, and that was how the death of Mr. Rose was received—the way he wanted it, according to the cider house rules. Rose Rose had broken the rules, of course, but everyone at Ocean View knew the rules Mr. Rose had broken with her.

At the end of the harvest, on a gray morning with a wild wind blowing in from the ocean, the overhead bulb that hung in the cider house kitchen blinked twice and burned out; the spatter of apple mash on the far wall, near the press and grinder, was cast so somberly in {706} shadows that the dark clots of pomace looked like black leaves that had blown indoors and stuck against the wall in a storm.

The men were picking up their few things. Homer Wells was there—with the bonus checks—and Angel had come-with him to say good-bye to Muddy and Peaches and Black Pan and the rest of them. Wally had made some arrangements with Black Pan to be crew boss the following year. Wally had been right about Mr. Rose being the only one of them who could read well and write at all. Muddy told Angel that he'd always thought the list of rules tacked to the kitchen wall was something to do with the building's electricity.

''Cause it was always near the light switch,' Muddy explained. 'I thought they was instructions 'bout the lights.'

The other men, since they couldn't read at all, never noticed that the list was there.

'Muddy, if you should happen to see her,' Angel said, when he was saying good-bye.

'I won't see her, Angel,' Muddy told the boy. 'She long gone.'

Then they were all long gone. Angel would never see Muddy again, either—or Peaches, or any of the rest of them except Black Pan. It wouldn't work out, having Black Pan as a crew boss, as Wally would discover; the man was a cook, not a picker, and a boss had to be in the field with the men. Although Black Pan would gather a fair picking crew together, he was never quite in charge of them—in future years, of course, no one would ever be as in charge of a picking crew at Ocean View as Mr. Rose had been. For a while, Wally would try hiring French Canadians; they were, after all, closer to Maine than the Carolinas. But the French Canadian crews were often ill-tempered and alcoholic, and Wally would always be trying to get the French Canadians out of jail.