Death Rhythm (16 page)

1st Place

Drumming

Solo Ensemble

1947

Which relative was the drummer?

He picked up the sticks again and started to tap on the wooden attic floor. He felt his cut from the previous day begin to throb.

"Andy." It was Mae.

He suddenly felt sick, like a little kid caught watching his neighbors through their bedroom window, like being caught shoplifting.

"Hi," he said.

"I heard a racket coming from up here and I thought it might have been - " She saw the drumsticks at Andy's side. Her eyes opened wide, her hand shot to her mouth. Andy looked nervously behind him, wondering what Mae was looking at.

"Where did you get those?"

"What?"

Mae pointed at the sticks. "Those."

"In this box."

Mae took the box, pulled the medallion from it, held it in front of her, looking it over, studying it.

"Yours?" Andy asked.

"Huh? No. No." Mae squeezed the medallion in her hands, wringing the red, white, and blue ribbon, twisting it in a ball, then letting it dangle loosely once again.

"Mom's?" Andy asked.

Mae smiled, her eyes fixed on the medallion. "No," she said. "No way."

"Then whose is it?"

Mae looked at Andy sitting on the floor, then at the sticks lying next to him, then at the medallion she held. She set it down absently, gently, on Andy's lap. She began to poke around at the books, the hardcover ones. She searched behind them, between them, under them. Finally, from behind a pair of bloated, water damaged dictionaries, Mae pulled out a small black notebook. She opened it, glancing at the first page, then handed it to Andy.

"Here," she said. "Take it. Take a look through it. It was Evelyn's."

"Evelyn?" That name, that name, that name...Andy remembered the graveyard, the 'E.S. 1936-1948’. Natalie's voice echoed freshly in his ears. 'That one there is your aunt...I bet no one ever told you about her.'

"Who
was
she, Mae?"

"Your aunt. Your
other
aunt. My sister. Your mother's sister."

"My aunt," Andy said. He opened the notebook. An adolescent scrawl proclaimed on the first that he was looking at the diary of Evelyn Stone.

"I can't believe that your mother never told you about her." Mae sat down next to Andy. "I can't believe it. Never a word about her?"

Andy didn't answer, thumbing through the pages, scanning over the entries. The black ink was faded and smeared, but still readable. A faint whiff of perfume and dust tickled Andy's nose. He flipped back to the beginning and started to read.

"Never a word about your aunt Evelyn?"

Andy didn't hear her. He turned the pages slowly, becoming lost in the passages.

"Not one word?"

Andy began to learn about an aunt he never knew existed.

TWENTY-THREE

There were many entries in Evelyn's diary, and Andy skimmed over all of them, as Mae read over his shoulder. She had read and reread them all before. "I found it two years after coming back here from the hospital," she told Andy. Many passages talked of everyday things. What Evelyn did in school, what she wanted to do when she was older. When she was sick. When she was mad at her parents. Some of the passages stuck out at Andy, struck some nerve deep inside of him.

July 4, 1947

Hello. My name is Evelyn June Stone. You can call me Evvy, of course. That's what everyone calls me. Daddy gave me this notebook today. He said I can draw in it or write letters or make up stories. I told him I will start a diary. I have always wanted to start a diary. This isn't the real kind, with a lock and key, but it will do. I can hide it from everybody else. Especially from Ed and Mae.

Today, Daddy gave us firecrackers. But he gave matches only to Edna. He said she was the only one old enough to use them. Ha! I've lighted matches before. Edna will probably burn the house down. Daddy said we can go in the cemetery tonight when it's dark. He said to light them on an old cement grave, one that nobody visits anymore. He doesn't want us to start the grass on fire. Daddy owns the graveyard, so it's okay.

July 15, 1947

Today I played in the woods in my favorite tree. It's the biggest one out there. It has lots of branches high up, and they keep Edna and Mae from seeing me. I can watch them when I like. I have to be very quiet, because I don't want them to get angry. Especially Big Ed. Sometimes I hate her so much. I shouldn't write that, but it's true. I hope she never finds this.

Daddy's gone today. He always goes away. He tells Edna to take care of us. I used to cry about it, but that never works, and it only makes it worse when they leave, because Ed just gets mad. They think she's a young woman now, but I know that she's not. She can't be a grown-up the way she plays.

August 3, 1947

It is late at night now. I'm trying to write under the moon light, so forgive me if this is hard to read. I just had to get out of the house, and it is so nice outside. It even smells nice for a change. This morning was awful, though. Daddy asked me for help. He was having a bad day and he was working in the basement. I hate the basement. I never like to go down there, but Daddy dropped a bucket of this awful liquid and he wanted my help. He was sick today and yesterday, and he doesn't like to do much work when he's sick. I went down into the basement and covered my eyes. He said don't worry, I have him covered up. I tried not to look, but I couldn't stop myself from peeking. I hate it when I peek, but I can't help it. The bucket had spilled right under the table, right underneath Mr. Parsons. I asked Daddy, can't you please move him away, but he said no, the table is too heavy for me today. I cleaned up the liquid with a mop, and once I bumped my head on the table. My head made a dull thump and I said sorry Mr. parsons, and Daddy laughed. He thought it was funny, but it made me want to get out of there in a hurry. Daddy told me thank you, and he said he had some gumdrops for me upstairs, and a new set of pencils, but the gumdrops didn't taste so good when I ate them. At least the pencils work, as I am using one of them now.

Mr. Parson's funeral is tomorrow.

September 1, 1947

Dad got mad at me for playing my drum in the house. I went outside to play, and when I stopped, I could hear Mr. Plant yelling at me from across the field. I yelled that I was sorry.

Daddy always tells me I'm his favorite girl, but he never lets me come along with him when he goes away. He leaves me here with Edna and Mae. He says I get underfoot too much now, that I should go out and play. There is no one to play with except Mae and Ed. Most of the times I would rather be alone.

September 30, 1947

Things aren't much fun anymore. No one to play with except Mae and Ed. Dad plays with me sometime, but that's not so much fun as it used to be. Can't help but be scared of Big Ed. She's getting too big. Too big to do the things she does. And the things she does are too big. She scares me. Mae sometimes scares me, too. When Edna and Mae are together, that scares me the most.

Sometimes they are fun to be with. Sometimes we play Indians in the woods. That's fun. We sometimes pretend we are bank robbers, like Jesse James and Billy the Kid, and pretend we're hiding out from a posse. Yesterday, I tripped on a branch and scraped up my knee pretty bad. I got in a lot of trouble because I have mud on the new dress Daddy bought me. But at least when I fell I noticed that the ground was still warm. The games we play are fun when the ground is warm.

November 2, 1947

Yesterday, Mr. Transworth died. He was very old. He had to use a cane to get around. I heard my dad say that he died from bleeding in his head. That's gross, but it's sad, too. I didn't know Mr. Transworth very well, but I did see him walking in town sometimes with his cane. They are having his funeral right now. I hope the ground is still warm and soft enough to bury him in.

December 8, 1947

The ground is cold again, too cold to bury in. I tested it myself and our shovel just banged on the ground like it was a rock. I hope no one dies this winter. But someone always does. Winters are hard on some people. Like old people. It's too hard on them and they get sick and die. I hope this winter isn't too hard on people this year. I hope no one gets sick and dies.

January 16, 1948

Edna is too big. She's a young woman now, Dad said, so I think she's too big to still be playing the way she does. I thought last year would be the end of it, but she still does it when mom and dad go away. I told her I'm going to tell on her, but then she says she's going to tell mom about what she saw me doing in the bath tub.

I hate her.

March 24, 1948

It's getting warmer now. The ground is getting softer. Big Ed scares me so much. I hope the ground gets soft enough soon. It rained last night, and Mae and Ed were playing in the rain. Dad was gone and Ed and Mae were playing with their dolls again. I hate it. I hate their dolls. I think Big Ed hates me now. She wanted me to play last night but I didn't want to. I hate the games they play.

Big Ed scares me, so I left and played on my drum. I beat on it so I couldn't hear Mae and Edna playing anymore. But the rain means the ground is getting soft. The rain means we'll get to play Indians again. I hate the cold. Big Ed scares me so much.

April 14, 1948

I made a big mistake. Mrs. Plant had babies. Two babies, one right after the other. And I watched. I saw through the window. But then Ed and Mae saw me spying. They made me tell them, and they watched, too. It was gross. Mr. Plant looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. And when the babies came out of Mrs. Plant, they were so gross. But now Edna and Mae know. They saw. And now Edna wants to do something bad. I hope she doesn't. But she's stubborn. And she's too excited about this.

I'm scared.

Mae placed her hand on Andy's shoulder. Andy handed her the diary. She took it and opened it again, looking at the handwriting, running her fingers over it.

"It's weird. Touching this. Knowing this came from Evvy's hand. Sometimes I follow the lines with my own eyes, pretending she's writing is as I read, pretending she's still here. I never really knew her when we were kids. She was just there. But this helps. This diary of hers helps. When I first found it, it was tucked away, back behind the same books I just pulled it from. And when I first opened it and began to read, the tears just started pouring. I was finally meeting my own sister. Evvy. It was like she was talking to me. Telling me about her childhood. From a point of view I never shared with her - we were never friends as children. I used to think of her as spoiled. As a bother, really. But I'm so glad to have this now. To have her voice, her spirit right here in my hands. Whenever I feel at a loss for never really knowing her, never having had a chance to get to know her, at least I can come up here and pull this out. Take a look at it and feel her here beside me. I just wish I could tell her how sorry I am, sorry how I treated her, how Edna treated her. Of course, it's too late for all of that, but at least it comforts me to pretend. Pretend she can hear my apologies."

Mae got up slowly, her knees cracking, and carefully placed the diary back behind the old dictionaries. She came back and held out a hand for Andy. He grabbed it and was hoisted gently to his feet.

"Come on downstairs. Let's have something to drink. I've got a lot to talk about."

Andy followed Mae downstairs, down to the living room. He sat on the sofa while Mae fixed up a couple of daiquiris. "Something cool to sip on," she said.

Andy put the straw to his lips, not tasting. He put his head back, took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He waited for Mae to talk, and when she did, she took him back to her childhood, back to when Evelyn was alive. Back to when his mother was Big Ed.

TWENTY-FOUR

When Natalie comprehended what her father said, she shook her head. "No, dad. No. C'mon - let's get some supper in you."

Fifteen years after he first mentioned it, and four years before ever meeting Andy, Hector tried to explain to Natalie the death of his wife. Natalie was visiting, back from Faribault for the week. She'd come home to find Hector drunk. Slouched on the sofa, legs spread out, fingers splayed on his rolling belly, head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. "She killed her."

"Dad," Natalie said, shaking him. "Dad, I'm home. Natalie. Let's eat. Supper's on the table."

Hector's head rolled around on its neck until it came to a stop, upright, eyes straight ahead bearing down on Natalie. He didn't blink, his stare solid, icy. Natalie had to look away.

"Listen to me, Nat. I want you to listen. I know I've had a few beers tonight. I know that. But I also know what I'm talking about."

Natalie started to say something, then thought better of it. Hector continued.

"You know you had a sister."

Natalie nodded. "Yes, Dad. I know."

"She didn't die from natural causes."

Natalie reached out and touched Hector on the shoulder. "Supper's ready," she said, her voice slow and sullen.

"She was killed. She was killed and your mother died from grief. She couldn't handle it."

"Dad, c'mon - "

"Can't you hear what I'm saying? She was killed. Murdered. By that bitch next door. That bitch and her two sisters."

"Goddammit, why can't we just have supper together? Why can't I just come home to see my father and visit? Have a good time? Why did you have to get drunk? You knew I was coming home today. You knew it."

"I tried to keep it from you, Nat. I didn't want to tell you. I didn't tell you for years. That one time when you were leaving for school. For college. I told you so you'd stay home. I know that wasn't right. It was bad timing. But now I'm telling you because you have to know. That woman is still alive, still living, right
next
to us, for Christ's sake! You have to know. This can't go unacknowledged by you."