Play It Again, Spam (27 page)

ham, do you?"

He smiled. "I'm not kosher, but I prefer not to eat ham all the same."

I turned back to Lodema. "Then pile on the three-bean salad, dear. I know that's one of your specialties." After all, there is

nothing quite like a plate of gaseous fiber to test a man's manners.

"Do you like chocolate cake?" Lodema asked coquettishly. "I heard there's chocolate cake coming."

Gabe graced her with a grin. "It's my favorite."

"Now," I said to Sandy as I dragged her aside, "what's this all about? I don't change the towels every day, you know. If you

want clean towels, you'll have to wash them yourself, and that will be a dollar fifty extra for hot water."

"It's not about your ratty, threadbare towels. It's about Bob."

"Don't tell me - he's already had too much of Lodema's three-bean salad?"

"Bob is missing."

"What?"

"I've looked for him everywhere."

"Everywhere? Even Elvina's outhouse?"

Sandy's frizzy blonde head bobbed like a fishing court on Miller's pond. "I said everywhere, didn't I? Anyway, when we first

got here, we decided to split up and meet in half an hour at the horse-and-buggy rides. Well it's been forty-five minutes, but he

ain't there. And speaking of which, you lied."

"I did?" Subconsciously I touched my nose.

"You said there was going to horse-and-buggy rides, but there ain't."

"Nonsense, dear. Look right over there."

"Them ain't horses, Miss Yoder, them's mules."

I peered into the dark. They looked like horses to me. "Horses," I said.

"Mules. Them's too big to be horses."

"We grow them bigger in Pennsylvania, dear. Now, shall we continue debating livestock, or shall we look for your husband?"

We looked high and low, but found neither hide nor hair of the gregarious Bob Hart. No one even remembered seeing him.

"Are you sure your rental car is still here, dear?"

"Of course I'm sure. It's that hideous blue thing over there."

"Way over there on the edge of the field?"

I gasped as someone touched me on the shoulder. Contrary to what else you may have heard, I did not scream and spook

the horses. They spooked much later in the evening when Gabe's beans repeated on themselves.

"Freni!"

"Ach, you'll be the death of me yet, Magdalena."

"Me? You're the one who sneaks up on people. What is it you want?"

Despite the darkness, and the layer of flour and lard covering her lenses, I could see Freni's eyes dart to Sandy and back to

me. "Freni, this is - "

"Yah, yah, we met at the inn. Magdalena, can I speak to you alone?"

"Well - "

"Oh, my God!"

I whirled just in time to see the gangly Marjorie climb out of the backseat of the Harts' rental car. Bob, still buckling his pants,

tumbled out seconds later.

"I guess we found him, dear," I said sympathetically. Sandy uttered words that Mennonite and Amish ears are genetically

incapable of hearing and charged off to battle Sodom and Gomorrah.

"Ach, the English," Freni muttered, shaking her head. I said nothing, lest Freni equate my mock marriage with this situation. I

was an inadvertent hussy, not a strident strumpet like Marjorie. And let us not forget that, in both sets of circumstances, men were

half the equation.

"So, Freni, what sort of bee do you have in your bonnet now?"

"Ach!" Freni slapped at her head.

"That's just an expression, dear. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Strubbly Sam."

"We settled that, dear. You fired him, remember?"

"Yah, and I told him he could come to Susannah's party."

"You did? Why, that was very nice of you."

"Ach, think nothing of it. But" - she spread her stubby arms - "he's not here."

"Can you blame him? Why would that dear, sweet man want to go to a party the same day he was fired?"

"Yah, but - "

"Freni, out with it!"

"He promised to bake three chocolate cakes for Elvina if I let him come to the party."

"If you let him? Why Freni Hostetler, shame on you! Just because Elvina is your best friend gives you no right to take

advantage of the guests."

Freni hung her head, but given that she has a thick, squat neck, she never truly looks repentant. "There's more, Magdalena."

"Yes?"

"Mose and I stopped by Strubbly Sam's house on the way here - to pick up the cakes - and he wasn't there."

"So, then he's here already. What's the problem?"

"He isn't here, either. Magdalena, I'm not superstitious - you know that - but something has happened to Strubbly Sam. I feel

it in my bones. You must find him, Magdalena. "

"What am I?" I wailed. "The lost and found bureau?"

"Ach, such riddles! Will you help me?"

"I'll do what I can," I said.

More stupid words were never spoken.

24

I love Rhythm. That's rhythm with a capital R, and it's the only kind we Mennonites know. It's also our wildest party game.

Everyone sits around in a big circle and slaps their hands on their knees. Then they clap their hands once, snap the right thumb

and forefinger, and then the left. As the finger snapping commences the player who is "it" shouts out first his assigned number,

and then the assigned number of another player. This is all done, of course, without breaking the group's rhythm. Any player

breaking the group rhythm is excluded from the circle, as is any player who, in the heat of battle, forgets his own number.

Eventually only two players will remain, and the speed picks up dramatically. The staccato slapping, clapping, and subsequent

barking of numbers would surely bewilder an English observer.

Susannah finds Rhythm boring, but that's only because she doesn't have any rhythm and is always knocked out of the game

in the first round. Even though tonight there were one hundred and sixty-two people forming one giant circle inside the barn, my

baby sister was the first out.

"Oh, Mags, it's so boring."

"Not your average night at a truckstop, is it, dear?"

"You can say that again!"

"So, dear, why are we playing?" I said this all without breaking rhythm, mind you.

"It was Melvin's idea."

"Twenty-nine-eighty-six! Figures. What are going to do next, sing?"

"How did you know?"

"Twenty-nine-thirty-six." Someone in the group was picking on me. "Just a lucky guess. Besides - twenty-nine-one hundred

and eight!" Oops, the group was ganging up on me. Undoubtedly it bothered them to see someone could carry on a conversation

and maintain a zippy beat.

"And Mags, you wouldn't believe the songs he's picked."

"Yes, I will - twenty-nine-thirty-six. Try me."

" 'She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain'! He wants us to sing it in rounds."

"Well, I rather like - twenty-nine-thirty-six !"

"And that's not all, Mags - "

"Twenty-nine-thirty-six !"

" 'Down by the Old Mill Stream,' if you can imagine that."

"Yes, I can - twenty-one-thirty-six!"

The barn seemed to explode with laughter as I crashed and burned. Thanks to number thirty-six I was out. But of course the

game went on, most folks not missing a beat.

"Ooh, Mags, did you see who thirty-six was?"

I stepped out of the circle. "No, dear, I was too busy being pestered by you."

"It's that gorgeous doctor."

"What?" I couldn't seem to get the song titles out of my mind.

"Gabe, silly. Oh Mags, you're so lucky, you know that? Here I am, about to marry Melvin, and you've got one hot stud muffin

just - "

"That's it," I cried. "The old mill stream - the old grist mill! That's where you'll find something round!"

Susannah had the temerity to sniff my breath. "You been drinking, Mags?"

"And the old grist mill is on Strubbly Sam's property.”

"You're nuts, Mags, you know that?"

I had much better things to do than stand around and be insulted by a woman who wears her dog in a bra. "See you later,

dear," I said calmly, and went out for a walk.

Susannah gets no credit for scheduling her party to coincide with the full moon. The girl doesn't even know her own cycle, if

you get my drift. It was the Good Lord who provided the moon that night and made the walk from the rear of Elvina's property to

Strubbly Sam's a piece of cake. The two farms abut, after all, and from Elvina's barn it was all downhill to the stream. Sure, there

is woods most of the way, but it's primary growth and there is very little underbrush. I got to the millstream with nary a scratch, but

crossing it was another matter. ; The grist mill is on the other side of the stream, and although Slave Creek is not exactly the

mighty Susquehanna, it is not something you want to wade - especially at night, after the temperature has dropped.

"Couldn't somebody have built a bridge?" I wailed.

I could see the old two-story stone mill, its wheel steadily turning, but there was no way to reach it. Not without removing my

shoes and stockings and hiking my dress up to my waist. Believe me. I went so far as to search the bank for vines with which to

swing across. Tarzan was from Africa, and there are Mennonite missionaries there, so it is not as far fetched a thought as one

might suppose. To be frank, I would have given up had I not seen a flicker of light in one of the lower-story windows.

I am a woman of prayer, and pray I did. "Oh Lord, don't let me faint from the cold," I moaned as I staggered across the rocky

stream bed, my skirt bunched up beneath my armpits. And believe me, it was a miracle that I made it across. The mossy stones at

the bottom of Slave Creek are as slippery as Freni's memory, and the current as strong as her resolve.

Once across, however, I felt strangely warm and confident. How else can I explain the fact that, after dropping my skirt, I

marched straight up to the side door and peered in.

"Why, come on in, Miss Yoder. I've been expecting you."

I jumped, banging my head on the stone lintel. "Don't tell me you're surprised." The speaker lit an oil lamp.

"Johanne!"

"Ah, so you know my real name. Good, that will save us some time." He turned and the lamp illuminated Sam's strubbly

features.

"Sam!" I took an involuntary step backward. The poor dear was lashed to the stone grinding wheel with inch-thick ropes. His

mouth had been taped shut with gray duct tape, but above the tape wild eyes told me all I needed to know. He was still alive.

Johanne motioned me forward. Since he was waving a gun, I complied.

"You tied and gagged the poor man!"

"Of course I have. Come even closer, Miss Yoder. I don't like having to shout over the noise of the stream."

My knees buckled a few times - no doubt I walked like Marjorie - but I did as I was told. I followed orders.

Mercifully, Johanne stopped pointing the gun at me. He did not, however, put it away.

"You have it wrong, Miss Yoder. It's Sam here who's the Nazi, not I."

I tried to read Sam's eyes. "Don't be ridiculous! I've known Sam my entire life."

"I'm sure you have. But I'm also pretty sure your life began well after Sam's career in the Third Reich. How old are you, thirty-

five?"

I snorted. "Flattery will get you nowhere, dear! Sam is an honest, God-fearing man, the son-in-law of a former bishop."

Johanne smiled. "I'm sure he is, but he is also known as the Butcher of Tunis."

"You're" - I struggled with my Christian tongue - "full of it! So, then, who are you, the Immigration Service?"

"At your service ma'am. Really, Miss Yoder, I expected you to figure that one too."

"Then why is your name Johanne Burkholder?"

"Why not? Is Magdalena Yoder any more American?"

"It's Magdalena Portulacca Yoder, dear."

He chuckled. "I suppose Portulacca is as American as apple pie. For your information, our government was keen on

recruiting from within the ranks of the German-American community. They needed native speakers."