The Book of Ruth (37 page)

I tried to ignore the fact that my body was changing, see if it might snap back to its former shape. I didn’t feel anything about having a baby until I told Ruby. But when I recounted Justy’s first months I remembered again exactly how happy we used to be. I knew we were lucky to have a second chance.

Ruby got sweet and careful with me, lying in bed. His fingers began following the brown stripe I had running down my belly from having the first baby. His fingers were moving along my swelling body—and then one thing and another. I imagined little goat kids chasing down the hall, butting each other, bleating so gaily. Strange visions flashed before me, of Japanese people sitting cross-legged on the floor, and then the goats charging into their tea party. Sometimes it’s impossible to know if your brain really is functioning as it should. The sun streamed into the room, right on top of us, rocking along with us, as if it came to say, “This is the day the Lord has made, rejoice and be glad in it.” All the sunshine made the room seem noisy, along with the sound of Ruby’s oaths and groans.

When we went downstairs May was feeding Justy breakfast. Of course she said, “Where have you two been? Justy’s starved.”

She slammed the dishes down on the table—fortunately they were plastic so they didn’t usually break—and she muttered, “I can’t imagine what you was doing up there for so long.”

“Please, Ma,” I said. I felt like getting down on my knees and begging her to have a personality transformation. I might believe in our Maker pretty quickly if presto, May turned into Phyllis Diller.

Then we sat at the table and ate breakfast together, the church-going family. May made us pancakes and I fried up sausage and cooked some brown sugar syrup. It tasted so good I couldn’t stop eating. We ate, feeling the pleasure in the delicious food. We licked our chops and begged for more. We couldn’t wait for May to flip the pancakes and toss them on the platter. Justy kept saying, “Hi, Mommy,” and wanting my attention. His words warmed me, made me feel as if the sun had come from under a cloud and was shining on my face.

May was hardly finished when she jumped up and went to look at the clock in the living room. She yelled from right in front of the television that we better hurry, because it was about time for church. I got Justy dressed in his corduroy pants and his plaid vest and tie, so he looked like a little man. He had eyelashes from somewhere, who knows where, because none of us have eyelashes to speak of. Ruby’s are blond and invisible, and I got mine burned off one time when I lit the pilot light. I loved dressing Justy and watching his blue eyes and the fluttering lashes.

I put on a dress Daisy gave me. I get the clothes she doesn’t want any more. They make me feel like it’s Halloween and I’m dressing up to be the farthest thing from myself. Her dress had a white background, decorated with gigantic green shamrocks. It was jersey fabric, not actually intended for winter use. I had to wear a turtleneck underneath for warmth and because the dress had such a low-cut neck. I put on nylon stockings and my new winter church shoes. Ruby didn’t get dressed fancy for church. He didn’t own a suit coat. He put on a clean sweater and his shiny beige slacks. They hug his rear end so you can see its exact shape. May was the one who always got dolled up. She had a few dresses from right after World War II. There was a rose-colored suit with a tight skirt, in particular. It had little slits up the sides. She wore a fox head at her neck that some great-aunt had given her. It had paws too; Justy loved to pet that poor old fox.

I could hear May and Ruby down in the kitchen while I dressed, having a spat. What else would it be? She asked him why the whiskey bottle wasn’t full. Ruby said he didn’t know, maybe she drank some of it in her sleep; maybe Dee Dee got trashed on it. May said she didn’t think so, she thought Ruby drank it up. I could hear him saying, “Ma, I’m a new man”—that about made her have a cerebral hemorrhage the way she laughed in her forced hoarse laugh, and then had to cough. But I could see how Ruby might feel new. It made me proud, moving to our own house with a baby on the back burner. He wanted people to know he was starting over, that life was going his way for a change.

We were the last ones in the church, which isn’t anything novel. The choir was already singing their opening number when we sneaked into the pew. Justy went down to the children’s school where they cut out and glue pictures of Jesus. Ruby and I stood close together, touching all down our bodies because of the baby coming, and because we were remembering the morning in our bed. We had been tender with each other. I smiled shyly at him, thinking about the frisky goats eating out of rice bowls when his fingers stroked me as they sometimes do. His face, in church, was pink, like cooked ham, perhaps from the cold winds and the effort it took to sing out with his strong sweet voice.

The Rev was on the subject of eternal life—that was a big one with him. I took in everyone’s wardrobe while he droned on. Mrs. Crawford showed off her green wool suit, the one she bought in Austria. She travels to Europe every summer. She no doubt has a bundle in her bank account. I was imagining myself in a suit like that, with the velvet collar and cuffs, when I heard the Rev say, “We shall not die but live.” He said the phrase several times, to let it sink in, in case people weren’t listening. It echoed in the church, bouncing off the wooden ceiling fans. “We shall not die but live.” It echoed on when Ruby sang “For the Beauty of the Earth,” praising the Lord like what he had was all the bounty, like he loved not only me, but everyone. He looked like he had the power to make nations peaceful. He was flushed and his eyes sparkled. It was a sight to see Ruby singing, clutching my hand because we’re married and our boy is down in the basement wearing his best clothes with the other little children. I bit on my offering envelope to keep from crying.

At the end of the service we sang “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” I like to think of a river full of blessings, gushing along, it’s spring and the water is high and fast. I loved the words “from whom all blessings flow.” Then we shook hands and said, “Peace,” to our neighbors.

Afterwards we trooped downstairs, as usual. It was Mrs. Brierly’s turn to make the refreshments. The entire congregation was waiting, smacking their lips, while she unpacked her coffee cakes. Everyone says they’re the best in the town. They weren’t your ordinary Sunday morning treat; it’s as if Betty Crocker made them herself, with our congregation in mind. I told Mrs. Baker some of the cute things Justy’d been up to, because she came to me and asked about him. He was with us, playing with the children, chasing around and screaming, but that’s what toddlers do and everyone thinks it’s all right. Until, of course, one of them trips and scrapes his knees, starts to howl. Then they’re supposed to settle down and find their parents. Ruby watched Justy running; he saw every move heard every shriek. He wolfed coffee cake. The look on Ruby’s face was as if he had already entered the kingdom of heaven and it was beyond his wildest expectation.

May said to Ruby, “Get Justy from them pack of kids.” She signaled for me. It was time to be home so she could check the roast. On the way back Ruby sang the Doxology over and over, trying to get Justy to repeat the words. May told him to sing another tune, she was sick of that song.

I looked up, something made me do it, and along the road, high on the telephone wires, was a row of blackbirds, hanging upside down, burned and dead. Their feet were still gripping the murdering wire. I gasped once, but no one heard me. Isn’t that a miserable sight? I asked myself, and I tried to think of the words “from whom all blessings flow.”

When we got home I made boiled potatoes, first peeling them, and saving Justy the little raw pieces with salt on top, and May cut up apples and bananas for fruit salad. We were cordial with each other, working together on Sunday dinner. I went to find what Ruby was up to after I finished my duties. He was in the living room pacing back and forth, something I had never seen him do before, as if he had to walk all the ecstasy brought on by church out of him. The minister was on TV talking to Ruby, although the sound was turned down too low to hear. What we saw were his large fleshy lips and his outstretched arms. Still, we understood that his gesticulations were all about Jesus and salvation—certain people’s salvation, that is. I asked Ruby, “Do you feel all right?” and he whispered, “Sure.” He seemed to be praying as he walked, with the TV pastor.

“Did you eat too much coffee cake?” I asked.

He didn’t answer me so I said, “Well, come and have dinner. You’ll feel better. Go get Justy from the yard, because it’s time.” But May went and got him instead. She was beating Ruby to it. Then we sat down and ate like all families on a Sunday afternoon. “Pass the beans, pass the margarine, wasn’t Mrs. Brierly’s dessert good? I wonder what her secret is, real butter probably—with all them hogs they can afford it.”

Ruby’s cheeks were still pink. He helped Justy by ripping his meat into tiny pieces. I had to heave a sigh to celebrate arriving at this comfortable resting place, May and Ruby and me. I wanted to lean back and declare, “This is perfect.” Ruby was saying, “Pass them spuds,” while May told about her favorite subject—how one of the girls in choir had a baby without a husband. Sunday was always our best meal, because as I said, church makes you feel as if you’ve done something for your spirit. It makes you feel like you’re a brand-new person, your past history erased, except good deeds. We were doing everything by the book, being miniature disciples, eating politely, and sharing the news. May finished her meal first and lit a cigarette, and we all patted our stomachs. I laughed about how chubby I was going to get, eating pancakes and now Sunday dinner. Ruby looked up at me suddenly, remembering. He understood that I was speaking only to him about how enormous I was going to be in a few months’ time. We didn’t feel like breaking the news about our baby to May yet. We wanted to keep it a secret, only for ourselves.

We were sitting still, breathing deeply, savoring the smells and taste of the roast when Justy said, “I want one of them cookies down the basement.”

He knew they were down there because Ruby showed him the stack in the freezer. May makes about thirty different kinds of cookies and gives them to the church needy basket each Christmas, as if we can afford pecans and candied cherries and twenty-pound sacks of sugar. She starts in October and practically every day she’s punching out candy canes and angels, or gingerbread boys with raisin eyes, Santas with frosting beards! If she feels like going overboard she’ll make peanut brittle and white chocolate candies. None of the goodies ever see the light of day in our house. If we’re lucky on Christmas Eve she’ll dole out any broken pieces. She says she doesn’t see why we can’t make a sacrifice, but I think she does it so the church won’t think we’re the poor.

May said to Justy, “You can’t have any, sweetheart, they’re not good for you.”

I wiped Justy’s mouth, told him to blow his nose on the tissue. “There’s too much sugar in them, Justin,” I said. “They ain’t going to make your muscles grow big and strong. You can have some more fruit salad, how about that? Would you like fruit salad?”

“I want
cookies,
” he whined at me. “I want a candy-cane
cookie.
My daddy showed me where they’re at.”

May laughed, leaning over to Justy. “Look at your daddy’s teeth, baby pie. You want teeth like that? All rotten? Look at how some of them ain’t even there no more. They got so rotten they just plain fell out.”

Ruby stood up and untied Justy’s bib. “Sure, Justy,” he said, like he had all the time in the world. “You can have a cookie. One little cookie ain’t going to hurt you. If your stingy old grandma can stand to give up one for her grandson, you can have a cookie.”

“Am I a stingy old grandma, Justy?” May asked. Justy whimpered; he didn’t have the right answer. She pushed her chair back and stood up. She said, right in Ruby’s face, “No, Justy, I paid for your daddy when he was in the hospital. He jumped in the river in December. He thought it was July. His brain was flipping around in his head, sweetie. Grandma paid his bill. I ain’t going to feed you sugar—it ain’t good for you. Your poor daddy don’t know better. He’d feed you trash all day long if I wasn’t here, and we’d have to go to the doctor.”

“Stop it, you two,” I yelled. My voice came out so shrill they stopped in their quarrelsome tracks. “Ruby,” I said, “Ma’s saving the cookies for the church, you know that. Justy can have salad or a banana but he’s not going to have cookies.”

“
I WANT COOKIES
,” Justy cried, banging his spoon on the table.

May started gathering up the plates. She said, “You want Justy to have black holes in his mouth like you, Ruby? You’re not moving away, Justy, because your daddy wouldn’t take care of you for a second. He’d let you starve in the mornings while he banged up—”

“Sure, Justy,” Ruby said. “You run down to the basement and get us, you and me, your own daddy, some cookies. You just pull the chair over and open the freezer like I showed you how and take a bag out. We’ll have all we want.” To me, through his clenched mouth he spit, “I’m the master of the house.”

May snickered, slapped her thigh, and said her usual line. “That’s a good one, that’s about the best joke I heard this year. All your brains are in your ass, Ruby,” she added, in addition to other words too low to repeat, and the whole time she wrung the dish towel in her hands with the bulk of her strength. Her red knuckles turned white. The skin was so dry and taut I had the urge to say, “Be careful, Ma, your skin is going to tear.”

Ruby whispered something to her that made her stop and screw up her face before he went into the living room to pace. We could feel the vibrations, back and forth, back and forth. I smacked the salt shaker so all the salt poured out on the table. It piled up white and clean.

Justy came through the door, looking like a fat angel, so glad to have sweets, clutching two plastic bags in his chubby hands, one filled with pecan balls and the other with peanut brittle. He ran into the living room to give one to Ruby, as if a person could eat a whole bag of the treats himself in one sitting. He started gobbling up his own, in the corner, afraid that we were going to snatch it away. May yelled at me—I didn’t hear the words distinctly; they were hysterical and ran together. I heard the sharp sounds of
t
’s and
k
’s when she grabbed my arm, when she yanked me from my chair and carried me by my dress sleeve into the living room. The fabric ripped. I heard it go, right in my ear. It was Daisy’s dress, ripped beyond repair by May’s fingernails. I couldn’t get it straight. I couldn’t see anything through my tears. I couldn’t recall who I was hating. I heard the rip of the dress, or was it skin coming apart, ancient knuckles tearing?