Tending to Virginia (35 page)

“That’s right,” Hannah says. “We’ll keep you. You did what you had to do, Madge.” Hannah says the words and watches Madge start to cry again but she is wondering why Madge hadn’t run from the house, why Madge hadn’t called the police, why Madge hadn’t packed a bag years before and left that man with his crazy ways. That’s what Hannah would have done; she would have felt that instinct that she has always known, like an animal she would have fought to protect her children and herself.

“What about Catherine?” Cindy asks slowly, unable to look at her mother, unable to shake the horrible pictures of her father that have formed in her mind. But her mother could be lying; she could have made it all up.

“I don’t know,” Madge murmurs. “He never spent much time with Catherine, not like he did with you.” Madge releases her grip on the arms of the chair. “I tried to tell Catherine once how bad it had gotten and she said that Raymond was just going through the change, that men go through the change just like a woman.”

“She’s so stupid,” Cindy spits and shakes her head. “At least I knew he was sick. I mean you don’t get paralyzed if you aren’t sick.” She looks at her mother now, hunched forward like there’s not a bone in her back. No, she never would have taken it upon herself to kill him.

“That is stupid,” Lena says, her shape in the darkened corner
marked by the glow of her cigarette. “If you’ve never bled then you don’t up and stop doing it. I haven’t had the curse since I was thirty-three years old.”

“Do we have to tell Catherine?” Cindy asks. “Because she’ll blame me. It’ll just be one more thing she can say about me, one more reason to hate me.”

“Ginny Sue got the curse,” Emily says. “I called Felicia and I said, ‘Now, I know you probably can’t help me because I know of what people say about you but Ginny Sue is in need of a Kotex.’”

“You did that?” Cindy turns now and watches old Emily nod her head. Cindy feels herself nodding with her, slowly, and she feels now like she might have taken a bottle of Sominex herself, her eyes heavy, her whole body numb and tired, unable to move.

“This is what men and women do,” her daddy told her once and opened a magazine to a big colored picture. “You’re starting to grow now,” he whispered. “Has your mother told you what will happen to you?” She nodded, thinking of her mother’s explanation of breasts and ovaries, Kotex and elastic belt. “It’s a discomfort but it’s something you’ve got to live with,” her mother had said and left her in her room with a little pamphlet.

“You are sprouting like a little bud,” her daddy said and pointed to her breasts, her nipples small hard bumps beneath her tee shirt. “Very soon, you’ll look like this,” and he turned to another picture, a woman with her legs spread and she shook her head. “You will,” he whispered. “You’ll probably be blonde and fair like me. Your mother is so dark and coarse but you are like me. See?” and he turned back to the other picture. “It is best when the people are alike because you can’t tell which part belongs to who. It is like they are one part; like they are both man and woman. That’s how it should be.”

“Like you and mama?” she asked, but he shook his head, laughed.

“Your mama doesn’t know how to feel,” he had said. “Do you feel anything at all when you see this picture?” and he turned to one, tracing down the page with his finger to the man’s tongue, then all around it. “Does seeing this make you feel something? Do you feel something pulsing and beating like your heart, except there,” and
he pointed to the buttons on her shorts; he glanced at her crotch and she nodded. “You see? You’re fine, healthy, alive. As long as you have these feelings, you will be okay. It’s healthy to have these feelings, healthy to think of things that make you feel this way. You should never marry a man who cannot keep you feeling this way.” And Charles Snipes had made her feel that way, way back. But whenever he did, she thought of the pictures, heard her father’s voice. It was like her father was always watching her; she never got to have just Charles, all by himself, and that’s what she wanted. Cindy feels her stomach churning, the cool sweat on her face, and she runs to the bathroom where she kneels in the dark over the toilet.

“Are you okay?” Her mama is standing there with the candle. “I’ll wet you a cloth,” and Cindy watches her, still so gray and dull looking, as if she’s the one who has been drained of blood.

“It’s his fault I lost Charles,” Cindy cries and grabs hold of her mama’s white dental pants. “Why did he do that to me?” she screams and holds onto her mama’s tightly clenched legs, so tight, Cindy feels like that leg could snap off like a rotten piece of timber and that there would be nothing left inside of her mother that he hadn’t sucked away. “I thought he loved me. He always told me how he was the one that loved me and you never seemed to. You never seemed to love me.”

“Oh but I did,” Madge says and squats beside her. “I did and I do. He was so sick, Cindy.” Madge swallows hard. “I think he did love you. You are probably the one person he loved, but he was sick.”

“But why didn’t you do something? When Charles left me, why didn’t you step in and do something? All you did was cry and I felt like you blamed me.”

“I’m sorry,” Madge whispers. “All I can say is that I’m sorry. I guess I’m as weak as he was in a different way. I gave up.” Madge squeezes Cindy’s arm until Cindy looks at her, “I think I gave up so long ago that for awhile I forgot there was anything different. For eight years now, I’ve been telling myself how what I lived was not right, and sometimes I catch myself wishing that I’d taken things
into my own hands years before. I’d read things in the paper of women who waited until their husband was asleep and then kill them, women who were so desperate they couldn’t face another day, and I felt for them, God knows I did, and I also understood why they did it.” Madge takes a deep breath, again waiting for a blow that doesn’t come. Cindy squeezes her hand back. “It’s a little late for me,” Madge says. “But you’re young, Cindy. You’re young and pretty with a good job and cute little figure and a fine son. You can make something of your life.”

“It’s not too late,” Cindy whispers, wipes her face with that cool washcloth. “You’ve got that man in Clemmonsville.”

“I made that up,” Madge whispers. “I felt Hannah wanting to step in and try to take care of my life and I figured she had enough to take care of.” Madge leans against the cold side of the tub, the rain still pouring outside of that bathroom window. “You know my mama had a sad life, too,” Madge says. “God only knows how sad. She never talked to me about anything except how to sew something. Maybe if she had talked to me, I would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so taken with Raymond and what he had to offer me.”

“But then I wouldn’t be here,” Cindy says. “And Chuckie.”

“Or Catherine,” Madge says.

“Slutbucket,” Cindy mumbles and turns to hug her mother the same way that she had always hugged her daddy, with her face turned into his neck so that she could whisper secrets, so that she could say the secret “I love you” without anyone knowing. God, if she could just forget it all.

“She’s still my daughter,” Madge says, squeezing Cindy’s back three hard times to give the message of those words that she realizes she hasn’t said to anybody in years, only written them to Hannah and never given them to her. “But you are my daughter, too,” Madge says. “And I love you and Chuckie. You are my entire life. That’s what I always wanted to hear your Grandma Tessy say to me and I’d think that it could make all the difference in the world. The day she died I guess I was still waiting to hear it.”

“Lena has to tee tee,” Emily is trying to roll herself down the
hallway but Hannah is behind her, holding the chair in place.

“Lena really does have to go,” Hannah says. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Madge says. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” Cindy nods and Madge helps her to her feet. “I’m thinking we might call Catherine later today and see if she has macraméd her tubes.” Madge waits for somebody to laugh but they are too shocked. She hasn’t said anything funny in years and it will take time.

“No Madge,” Hannah says when she steps back in the room, Lena right behind her. “I don’t blame you a bit. I just wish I’d known.” Hannah watches Madge inch towards her now, her eyes cast down like a mistreated puppy, and Hannah reaches out her arms, hugs so tight, her arms squeezing Madge’s back; Hannah wishes she could squeeze it all away.

“But now what, Hannah?” Madge whispers and then pulls away. “What now that everybody knows about Raymond?”

“He was crazy,” Lena says. “Imagine saying the
F
word to Roy Carter. I wish Roy had knocked him off that building. Roy said Raymond was bad business.”

“Heee eee eee, bad business,” Emily wheezes and puts a hand up to her chest. “He took hisself off this earth and the Lord won’t have him.”

“But,” Madge says and looks at the two of them.

“I think the Lord will have him,” Cindy interrupts. “He killed himself but I think the Lord will still have him.”

“Cindy,” Madge starts.

“That’s what I believe,” Cindy says. “I believe he shot himself and now he’s up in heaven, without the gun wound of course.”

“Of course,” Virginia says and lies back, stares at the dark sky. She wants to erase all pictures of Uncle Raymond, erase all memory of being trapped in that room, trapped in a room that didn’t belong to her, trapped and unable to get home with no knowledge of what he was planning to do to her, of what was going to happen. She hears his footsteps, the doorway, the hall, making his way to the bedroom, shadows at the foot of her bed, a faceless creature hovering in the corner, coming closer and closer and there is nowhere
to go and she can’t make it stop; she has no control. “He’s dead,” Virginia says and sits up. “He killed himself.”

“Yes, he killed himself,” Hannah says and pulls Madge close. She looks at Virginia, tearful eyes so wide and frightened, and she feels Madge’s heart racing, racing, and she holds her, rocks her, until it slows.

PART 6

I
T IS MIDAFTERNOON
and the rain has slowed, the dark sky lightened to a strange yellow that seems to fill the room, makes the candle only a small light to itself like the glow of Cindy’s and Lena’s cigarettes. Gram is dozing now, her hands calmly crossed on her lap; Lena is smiling to herself; Cindy, peeling the last of the blue polish from her toenails. Madge is staring out the window, her murmurs of “I’m sorry” dwindled to periodic sighs. Madge has yet to look Virginia in the eye, as if by looking she will have to hear every word that Raymond said that day. It is the same fear Virginia would have if she had to look Sheila in the eye. It is one thing to imagine, another to know. Virginia’s mama is for once sitting calmly, her sewing put away, hand protectively rubbing up and down the arch of Virginia’s foot.

The silence, Madge’s confession, has left them all so quiet as if they will sit like this forever, that it will rain forever and they will sink deeper and deeper, closer and closer, leaving no room for anyone else. “A tornado hit Clemmonsville,” her dad had called to say, his call an interruption to the odd calm that follows pain, like crawling into a bed and letting sleep dissolve all the worries; Virginia thinks dying must be like that, a simple numbness that makes it all go away. “You girls stay put,” her dad had said. “Just let it all blow over.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Gram had said with the news. “We must be very quiet while the Lord has his way,” and Virginia had seen in Gram’s eyes a childlike fear, a fear that she recognized, though Gram also had a calming sense of faith which Virginia could not feel. “Everything will be okay,” Gram said.

“I’m afraid,” Virginia had whispered, the yellow sky, but more so what has happened, a fear of what will happen.

“No reason to be afraid, Ginny Sue,” Gram whispered. “Ain’t no reason.”

Now Virginia feels the same fear as she looks at all of the faces, waxy and pale in the strange yellow glow.

“Here comes Felicia,” Madge whispers, her low voice seeming to echo in the stillness and Hannah goes to the front door and holds it open for Felicia to run inside. Cindy is on the phone making sure that Chuckie is at his friend’s house, her face relaxing as she fusses at him, tells him not to fill himself up on chocolate.

“My goodness,” Felicia whispers. “I hope you all weren’t napping.” She sets a box of candles on the table and takes off her bright red slicker. “I heard on the radio that we’d be without power for a bit so I brought you some candles.”

“Thank you, Felicia,” Madge says and smiles, her hand self-consciously smoothing her puffy eyes. “That is so kind of you,” and Madge realizes that she has said the words that Hannah would normally say and Hannah doesn’t seem to mind at all, just nods.

“Well, I wasn’t sure who-all was over here and you know I worry over Miss Emily like she is my own.”

Emily opens her eyes now and looks around the room. She has told them to be quiet. “I just came to give you a check, Miss Emily,” Felicia says and goes over and pats her hand.

“Well, you needn’t pay me for that dab of work I done,” Emily says and laughs. “That was years ago that I patched that quilt, Miss Walker.”

“No, honey, I’m Felicia, your neighbor, came to check on you,” Felicia says and looks at Hannah. “She’s a sweetie.”

“Uh huh,” Lena says. “Told you.”

“Hush up,” Emily shakes her finger and turns back to Felicia. “I was going to phone you after the storm passed us,” Emily says. “I’ve a secret to tell.”

“Okay,” Felicia says and Madge feels herself rising from her chair. “You want to say it in my ear?”

“No.” Emily laughs and waves her hand. “They all know the secret.”

“This is a bargain for all these candles,” Madge says, but Felicia doesn’t turn away from Emily.

“They have all gotten after me for asking you for a Kotex,” Emily says.

“Don’t you worry a second,” Felicia laughs. “And you just call me the next time you need one.”

“I’ll never need another,” Emily says, “not for myself anyways.”

“We have not gotten on her about it,” Hannah says and Felicia turns, still smiling, her cheeks flushed. “It was the way she said it.”