Two days later, friends of ours, Bud and Cam Wilkes, phone. They want to know if I can join them for some talk and a barbecue dinner. Boy, am I tempted. I’m so tempted I bring it up with Mom. At first she’s resentful but then reluctantly agrees to my going.
“I’m just a burden to everybody anyway; you might’s well have a good time with your friends while you can; soon enough you’ll be old and alone like me.”
I promise I’ll be back by eleven to watch the last shows with her. I write out the Wilkeses’ phone number and put it beside the phone. Then I call Joan and tell her where I’m going. It’s almost like wheedling an overnight pass.
The Wilkeses have a handsome home on a hill looking over Los Angeles. They also have a small heated pool. One time I swam nude in that pool at night all alone with a full moon reflected in the water; it was almost like night swimming at the mill.
Bud greets me with a gin-and-tonic and we begin catching up. They’ve phoned before, so they know something of what’s going on but I tell them I’d rather not talk about it tonight.
We sit on the patio looking across the pool; behind me, Bud is turning small chickens on a barbecue; I feel I’m in the real California, whatever that is. When the phone rings, I can feel the hair rise along my neck; I’m getting paranoid about phones. This is the Wilkeses house, their phone, their phone call; I should relax.
Cam says it’s for me. So much for relaxing. I walk into the living room and take the phone from Cam. It’s Joan. I’m expecting the worst and I don’t even know what the worst is.
“Jack, you’ve got to come right away! Something’s happened to Dad! We need you now!”
“What is it, Joan?”
“Please, just hurry! Hurry! I can’t talk about it.”
She starts to cry. She doesn’t hang up but is crying on the phone.
“All right, Joan; I’m on my way! I’ll be there in half an hour.”
She’s still on the line crying. I wait a minute to see if she’s going to say anything else, then hang up carefully. I’m feeling myself coming on with the shakes. It must be serious for Joan to cry like that. I wonder if Mario’s there. I wonder if Dad’s dead, if he killed or hurt himself. I want to phone back and ask these questions but I have a hard time making myself move and I know I need to get there fast.
Cam comes to me. She has my drink in her hand and puts it on the table beside me.
“What’s the matter, Jack? You’re white as a sheet. What’s happened, is it your mother?”
“No, it’s Dad. I don’t know what’s happened but my sister Joan needs me out in the Valley. I’m awfully sorry, Cam, but I can’t stay; I’ve got to go right now.”
I’m working my way to the door. Cam kisses me.
“Now, you be careful, Jack; take care!”
Bud comes out to the car, insisting all the way he’ll drive me. But I back out the driveway. I don’t think I’m rude but my mind is miles away. I’m churning, trying to think of all the things it could be.
There isn’t much traffic. The sun is hanging over the mountains and the light is a weird combination of blue and red. It takes all my concentration to make the right turnoffs, get in the best lanes.
Twenty-five minutes after I leave the Wilkeses, I pull into Joan’s driveway. Maryellen has been waiting for me on the porch. She comes running across the lawn, crying. She’s hysterical and sobbing. I don’t think she’s touched me since she was ten years old, but she throws herself in my arms on the lawn under the birch trees.
“Oh, Uncle Jack; it’s awful! I can’t look. It’s so awful!”
I keep moving, towing her across the lawn. The door opens and it’s Joan.
“Thank God you’re here, Jack. I never prayed so hard in my life; I was sure you’d be killed on that freeway.”
Maryellen steps aside and Joan holds me. She’s shaking. Her face is spotted, red spots on white, and her eyes are swollen from crying but she’s not crying now.
“What’s happened, Joan? What’s the matter?”
I follow her through the door into the living room. Maryellen tags along behind.
“Sit down, Jack. Mario’s back there with him. It’s all right for now. Just sit down here.”
I sit beside her on the couch. She takes both my hands in hers. She cries some, then starts.
“I’ll try to begin at the beginning.
“All during dinner he was peculiar. You know how he was before. He’d seem to forget what things are for. Once he tried scooping up his peas with his cup and spilled coffee all over everything; then he’d pick up his fork or spoon and stare at it or turn it round and round in his hands. Once he put his face in the plate and tried to eat his meat with his mouth, like a dog. I told the kids to take their plates into the living room; poor Maryellen was almost fainting and John couldn’t eat either. I moved beside him to try helping, and I put a napkin around his neck.
“Jack, he had that same look in his eyes, wild, empty. A part of him is looking at me like a stranger, an enemy; it’s frightening. At the same time, I know he isn’t really there, this isn’t Dad anymore. Some lowest part of his mind is carrying on things with his body.
“Mario moved to the other side of him and we both talked, trying to reassure him, get him back on track again. But he’d only watch our mouths and listen to the sounds. When I helped him get his cup to his mouth with some coffee, he’d let me, but his eyes were staring into mine, empty.
“And I was crying, Jack. I couldn’t help myself. It seemed such a shame after he’d been doing so well to see him slipping back.
“Then, every once in a while, he’d come around, almost be himself for a minute or a few seconds. He’d see himself doing something silly, pushing the spoon into the table or twisting the tablecloth, and he’d give that sly grin of his and stop, smooth out the tablecloth, look to see if we’ve been noticing. Except for his eyes, you couldn’t really be sure if he might not have been putting on the whole thing to be funny.
“Mario and I decided to give him some Valium and put him to bed soon as possible. He’s terribly upset about Mom. We hoped maybe with a little time, he’d be OK again. I didn’t want to call you right then and I definitely didn’t want Mom to know what was happening.”
She takes a long staggering breath and I think she’s going to cry again. I squeeze her hands and she squeezes back.
Joan’s half listening all the time, listening for Mario, listening for Dad. We’re both listening.
“I started dishes after dinner and Mario put Dad in the chair Dad likes, where he can see everything and watch TV; it’s Mario’s chair. Mario goes out in the garage to work on something with the car. We’re trying to ignore the whole thing, wish it away. About five minutes later, I look up and Dad’s gone. I figure he’s gone to the bathroom so I duck out into the hall for a look. The door’s open and I look in but he isn’t there. I go down the hall to the end, into the boys’ room. Maryellen and John are there, watching TV; he isn’t there either. I’d quickly peeked into Maryellen’s room on the way down the hall but didn’t see anything.
“I’m beginning to get scared now, Jack. On the way back along the hall, I hear something in Maryellen’s room. I go in slowly, the closet door is partly open. I look in and Dad’s crouched on the floor of the closet with his back to me. He’s violently tearing up Maryellen’s clothes! He’s putting the hems of the dresses in his teeth and ripping them apart with his hands!
“Honest to God, Jack; I almost fainted! I walked in slowly and squatted beside him. Dad turns his head and looks around at me just like a baby who’s dirtied his pants, or a dog who’s ripped up a slipper. He has a piece of Maryellen’s prom dress in his mouth and pieces of the satin lining and tulle in his hands. I know he doesn’t know who I am; I don’t think he knows anything.”
Now Joan’s crying hard and puts her head down on our hands.
“Jack, I tried getting close to him so I could help him get up and he swung his arm! He hit me with his fist. He hit me hard.
I fell back and banged my head against Maryellen’s bed!”
God! I don’t know what to do. I know I should go back there and help Mario but I can’t face it yet. I sit there while Joan cries on our hands, her warm tears running over our fingers.
First I need to call Delibro; we need help. I have his home address in my wallet; he gave it to me in case there might be an emergency. I get up and leave Joan on the couch; there’s a wall phone in the kitchen.
I dial and get an answering service. I tell them it’s an emergency and I’m put right through. He’s at a dinner party, too. I explain the situation as best I can. He asks if I can get Dad to Perpetual; he’ll meet us there. I hang up and go back to Joan.
“Please, Jack, you and Mario will have to do it. He acts so crazy wild if he sees Maryellen or me. I’m scared.”
I motion Maryellen to sit with Joan, and go back. Mario’s kneeling on the floor in front of the closet; he peers over his shoulder at me. I look past him and Dad’s squatting with his face pushed into a corner at the back of the closet.
I get down beside Mario.
“Boy, Jack, he’s something else. He’s totally gone. I can’t move him out of there. He doesn’t fight me the way he does Joan, but when I tried to push this Valium in his mouth, he almost bit me. He’s certainly strong for such a little old guy.”
Mario must weigh one ninety or two hundred and most of that’s muscle. I squeeze in front of him and he stands up. I look back up at Mario.
“I’ve called the psychiatrist. He’ll meet us at Perpetual; we’ve got to get him there somehow.”
“That’ll be a good trick, Jack, I’ll tell you.”
I turn my head back to Dad.
“Hi, Dad, it’s Johnny here. What’re you doing in there? It’s me, Johnny.”
No response. Somehow he’s gotten one of his shoes off and the sock is half pulled off his foot. He’s wet his pants and there’s urine all over the bottom of the closet, soaking into Maryellen’s shoes and on the clothes he’s pulled off the hangers.
“Come on, Dad. What are you doing in here, looking for something?”
Nothing.
“Mario, can the two of us pull him out? I can’t think of anything else. We’ve got to get him into Perpetual somehow.”
“OK, Jack, let’s try. You take one side, I’ll take the other. Watch he doesn’t bite, and he packs a terrific wallop. Joan’s got a black-and-blue mark the size of a cantaloupe.”
We squeeze in on both sides and edge our way into the closet for some leverage. Dad forces himself deeper into the corner but we work him out. He doesn’t fight but closes in on himself like a hedgehog or a tumblebug. We carry him curled up tight down the hall to the boys’ bedroom. We ask Joan to leave and we sit Dad in a chair. Maybe “sit” isn’t the word; we prop him in the chair.
“Mario, would you smash those Valium, and mix them with water?”
I stay with Dad. He stays wrapped into himself. He won’t open his eyes or take his hands from his face. He has his thumbs in his ears, his index fingers over his eyes, his middle fingers up his nose, and he’s holding his lips closed with his ring and little fingers overlapped. He looks like one of those bronze things with three monkeys they used to put on desks: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, only he’s all three monkeys rolled in one.
I hear Bess moving around upstairs. I can tell from the floor squeaking she’s making the bed. I can even tell she’s only taken the covers off, aired them, then spread them back on the bed again. There’s a bit of quiet while she slips into her clothes. She comes down the steps so silently I don’t know she’s down till I see her.
“Well, look who’s found a hiding place in her daddy’s lap!”
Bess comes close, runs her hands over Lizbet’s head and gently pulls her fingers out of her mouth. Lizbet turns her face into my chest and Bess leans forward to plant a soft kiss on my cheek.
“There’s nothing like a fresh-shaved man on an early morning.”
“Bess, maybe you could wash this one’s hair. It smells as if she’s been rolling in the hayloft again.”
Lizbet sits up fast. The little imp hasn’t been asleep at all, only pretending, getting in some extra snuggling.
“Gee, Daddy, I just had my hair washed yesterday.”
“OK, little one; I was only joshing. I wanted to see if I could get you awake enough so I can squeeze out from under to do the milking.”
I stand slowly and she slips between my legs. Bess takes her by the hand.
“All right, Lizbet, some washing up won’t hurt even if we don’t do your hair. Come on.”
Bess is pouring hot water into the bowl. I pick up the milking cans at the door and head off to the barn. It’s not cold; soft, damp, spring morning air. The chickens are clucking to be let out, so I go by that way. Johnny can get in a few more licks of sleep before school.
I turn the wooden door latch for the chicken coop. The chickens stare out at me, clucking and pecking. I go in behind to chase them out. I look around and there are eggs in most of the nests, all colors of light brown. I’ll let Johnny gather them, he’s so proud of his daily count. There are several hens setting and I leave them alone. I go outside and turn the latch shut again. When I made that little turn latch, it seemed so raw, crude, but now after thousands of turns, it’s worn smooth, so the grain is working its way up.
Johnny sure has a beautiful flock. He could get more laying if he’d put in some white leghorns instead of all those Plymouth Rocks and Rhode Island Reds but he says he doesn’t like white eggs, says they look all the same.
I throw out a few handfuls of grain, just to keep them interested till he comes out and feeds them. I pick up the milk cans and move off toward the barn.
Milly’s waiting for me there. I’m a little later than usual, it’s a lazy day. I pull down the milking stool, get the clean rag and wipe off her udder. She looks back at me. This is one cow who likes to be milked. I could probably leave her out in the field nights with the calf, but you never know about wild dogs. Besides, it’s easier in the mornings milking her at the stanchion.
I lean in close and get my shoulder buttressed against her side. Most people like to stay back and milk, but I enjoy feeling Milly, big, warm, against me and listening to the rumblings in her stomach. I think I can hear the milk being made. I lean close to the smell of hay, manure and milk; all warm; all live. I can almost fall asleep milking a cow.
I finish and pour off some for Kitty the calf. I give it to her in the next stall. She’s going to be a beauty all right, half Guernsey, half Jersey. That Guernsey bull I took Milly to for freshening this time was almost the size of a house and he got right at it. I had to walk Milly almost twenty miles each way, most of it on hard surfaced streets, but it was worth it.
I muck out the stalls and wash them down with buckets of salt water. Milly and Kitty lick the water; you don’t need salt licks in New Jersey. I lead Milly out to pasture, Kitty follows along behind. Kitty’s a silly name for a calf, but it was Lizbet’s turn and Kitty it must be.
When I come out, Johnny’s cleaning the chicken coop and feeding. He’s already gotten his mash mixed and cooked up. I wave as I go by.
“Hey, Dad, two new hens setting, that makes eight all together; and fifty-seven eggs this morning.”
“That’s fine, Johnny. Before we know it, we’ll have more chicks than eggs.”
I give Milly a soft switch with my stick to stop her eating Bess’s hollyhocks where they lean out from the garden. Every morning she goes for a mouthful and every morning I give her a switch.
I open the gate to the pasture and shoo them in. It doesn’t take much, they’re ready and hungry. I certainly wish I owned this pasture. It costs me twenty-five dollars a year, but Mrs. Praline won’t sell it for under eight hundred dollars. There’s no use complaining; I’m never going to get that kind of money and I do have the use of the space; at least I can keep a couple cows and a horse for plowing.
Just then I hear Bess cal
ling out to Johnny for breakfast and I know she’ll be calling me next.
“I’m coming, Bess; be right up.”
I look at the house as I walk up and onto the dirt road leading to it. It’s the kind of house I’ve wanted all my life, big enough and not too big. It’s different from most houses around here since I built it L-shape like that. Ed thought I was crazy; it’s not like a farmhouse at all. It was extra work and extra cost but it’s fine having an enclosed courtyard on the sunny side. Bess can sit out there in good weather and string beans or peel potatoes and shell peas, or just relax.
Everybody’s at the table when I come in. Johnny, Joan and Hank have their schoolbooks on the floor beside them. It’s a mile walk to school and school starts at nine so they’ve got to hurry it up. Bess’s made an omelet with bacon and milk for the kids and two steaming hot mugs of coffee for us. Coffee out of a mug tastes twice’s good as cup coffee.
The kids scamper off after Joan puts the plates and glasses on the drainboard. Bess does the morning dishes and Joan or Johnny do the ones after supper. Right now is one of the nicest times of day. Bess and I sit and enjoy ourselves chatting, before we get into the day’s work. I tell her I think it might be a good idea to do some berry-picking, she has the same thing in mind. Lizbet is out back looking for the kitten to give her some milk. We laze away ten minutes or so over two mugs of coffee.
Soon as the dishes are done and the kitchen cleaned up, I roust out the berrying pails. Bess and Lizbet are ready to go. We don’t actually have any berries growing on our place, but there are plenty between us and the ocean in the salt flats. We can drive there in less than ten minutes. We’ll stop and honk at Ira’s and at the Michaelses’ to see if they want to come.
The sun’s burning through as I roll along the east-west road. I slow down and honk at Ira’s place. I yell up to Kay we’re going picking if they want to come. They’re with us in less than five minutes. Kay brings her little one, Mary; Ira’s at the ocean gathering seaweed for fertilizer. Kay and Mary jump up on the flatbed. We do the same thing at the Michaelses’ picking up Gene and Peg. We’re having a real picking party; there’s plenty for everybody that’s for sure, it’s just hard picking. The land’s boggy so the picking’s barefoot.