The Man Who Loved Children (70 page)

They told him.

“Ah-ha,” said Sam, going on with his work, “it looks like salt or sugar to you, but you know what it am? It am death, complete—to-tal annihilation: yes, rabbits take a whiff of that, and they don’t even wait for the Angel of Death. Light doesn’t go as fast as KCN. In that little bottle, see, is death for one and death for all, you take that, kids, for your alevena, and—

Looloo doesn’t want to leave home,

Ermy doesn’t collect lead,

Evie doesn’t pipe her eye,

Gemini don’t insult their poor little dad,

Tommy doesn’t run after Fairy,

Megalops doesn’t eat crap!

You all just get awful tired and you lie down and you don’t get up no mo’; so be careful, oh, be keerful, for the results of that are fearful! See, kids, quick, quick! It’s coming and it’s not so bad, but it ain’t good either, bad light today. And now, who’s for the washus watch?”

Little-Sam hastened to claim the washhouse watch; then it was Ernie and Saul for the taking down of the chimney, Tommy to watch the marlin head, Evie to cover up the furniture in the house with cloths to keep off the dust, Louie to get alevena, and Mother to get the lunch.

Sam, on the roof, began to sing. The cries came, “Under below!” and the bricks came flying down into the grass. The sun began to heat the roof, and Sam called out that his head was swimming, but he was staying up just the same: “where there’s a will there’s a way.” In the house, dust crept down the chimney, or shot down in handfuls, with soot and bits of brick. Henny grumbled; the “three women,” in fact, were crabby and saw no beauty or generosity in Sam’s liveliness. Sam had taken the bricks out of the south chimney as far as he could reach and now went cautiously over the roof to the north. The sky was getting cottony again. Suddenly Louie shouted, “Alevena,” and Sam and Saul came off the roof, sliding hastily down the ladder, hungry, red-faced, inclined to squabble. They crowded into the common room and sat round the table like a crowd of parrots.

Sam sent for the raccoon, Procyon, and Procyon paraded up and down the table, nosing at them, shaking hands with them, sniffing at things. While Louie was pouring out the tea in the kitchen, Sam started hallooing for bananas, his favorite “alevena food.” On the table were the bread and margarine but no bananas. Sam beat on his plate with his knife, shouting,

“Mothering, Mothering, bananas, bananas! Go and tell Mothering bananas,” he told Evie, who slid off her seat. Tommy, apple-cheeked, gay and square-set, rushed to the kitchen and shouted, “Mothering, bananas!”

They all shouted this. Henny muttered. Louie, with cups of tea, stalked in, saying severely, “There are no bananas. Don’t make such a noise.”

“Mothering, bananas,” cried Sam.

“Tell the children’s father, there are none,” Henny said bitterly. “Have we a banana tree? Have we a money tree?”

“Our father, we have none. Have we a bamoney tree?” inquired Tommy, meanwhile imitating an express train.

“Dad, Mother says there aren’t any,” Evie said.

Sam flushed with anger. “Why aren’t there any bananas? I don’t ask for much. I work to make the Home Beautiful for one and all, and I don’t even get bananas. Everyone knows I like bananas. If your mother won’t get them, why don’t some of you? Why doesn’t anyone think of poor little Dad?” He continued, looking in a most pathetic way round the table, at the abashed children, “It isn’t much. I give you kids a house and a wonderful playground of nature and fish and marlin and everything, and I can’t even get a little banana. And bananas are very healthy. Who here likes bananas?”

“We all do, Pad,” said Saul cheerfully.

“Then we should all think of them. Now, I’ll detail someone each week who must get the bananas.”

“With what?” said a voice from the kitchen. “Bananas don’t grow in the sea. Tell your father I had no money for them.”

“It’s all I ask for,” Sam lowered his voice and with a plaintive voice continued his banana song. “All I esks for is a pore wittoo [little] bandana: I works a-takin’ deown de chimbleys so that the heouse won’t be knocked to smithereens in the next gale en yore little mushheads with it, en so that Mothering kin sleep peaceful like—though why she should with what she’s been a-doin’ to your poor dad, I don’t know—en all I esks is a pore wittoo bandana sangwidge en I don’t get whut I esks. You cain’t blame me for a-grumblin’, I ain’t a grumblin’ man; I’m a goldurn cheerful man considerin’ whut I hev to put up with—”

“Oh, dry up,” said Henny’s voice.

“Shh,” said Louie.

“Don’t shush me,” complained Sam, “I got a right to utter a few improving words in my own home, I hope.” He went on droning dolefully, “All I wants is a pore little bandana en I don’t get nuffin I esk fower: who’s a-goin’ deown to the cornder to get their pore wittoo dad a coupla bandanas.”

The twins said they would go.

“Orright,” Sam whined. “The Gemini kin go en get their pore little dad the bandanas wot ought to hev bin here afore, en the heouse weren’t full to bustin’ of lazy womenfolk which some of them is traipsin’ eout and spendin’ money in bargin basements not to say wuss and which some of them is got their heads full of boys and which some of them don’t come to their pore little dad’s bedroom no mo’ in da fornin,” he said, fixing a watery eye on Evie, who squirmed and dropped her eyes. “Womenfolk ain’t no good, en yore pore little Dad wot was brought up to worship women as sweet pure beings. He’s hed to learn a lot these last few days.”

“I could wring his neck with pleasure,” said Henny in the kitchen, to Louie.

“En I mout fall off de roof,” said Sam to the children, “en whut would you do, Ermy? Whut would you do ef your father broke his neck?”

“Nothing,” Ernie said coolly.

“Nuffin!” Sam shook his head, looked round the table tragically. “Ermy wouldn’t do nuffin?”

“What could I do?” inquired Ernie. “You would be dead.”

“Too logical,” said Sam, laughing into his hand, meanwhile, “Well, here are the bananas. Hooray! Now get busy. Now, why did we have to wait? You see, no foresight, no order, no preparation! Everyone thinking of their own mean business. A woman who eats away the foundations of the house like a mean little termite, it’s soft, it’s little, it doesn’t seem to count, but it’s got uncles, aunts, cousins, children that it teaches to eat away at the house, and soon, down comes the house. Now, did you notice, kids, that the termites have got into the piano? Now, I want you to take a lesson from that. Dad is carpentering away, while the white ant eats at the house: but we will carpenter faster than Mothering eats away. Some day I will tell you kids what is the termite that’s trying to eat away your father’s loving heart and his peace of mind, but not now, but she—it’s your own mother, kids—but she can hear me, and she knows what I’m talking about. Now, kids, some day you’ll know what I’m doing for you. And whut I mean is, that this yere bandana business is only another example of whut I mean.”

Suddenly Henny appeared between the drapes and said loudly, “You and the children ate all the bananas last night, and I’ve had too much to do cleaning up after your filth to think of bananas. Another thing is, I want some money. And I’m damned if I’ll put up with your insults day and night. I’ll take poison. Do you think I’m going to hang round here and let the children hear their mother insulted?”

Sam did not even look at her, but said, looking down at the table,

“ ‘The one thet fust gits mad’s most ollers wrong,’ es Mr. Lowell up and said. De fack is, kids, there warn’t no bandanas: a hegskuze is a hegskuze; a bandana is a bandana; I cain’t eat no hegskuzes en I got a nawful big hole in my stumjack.”

The children laughed; Henny muttered. Louie came in, red as a turkey cock, “You should be ashamed, Dad!”

“When she walks she wobbles,” said Sam.

“I despise you,” said Louie.

“Now, Louie, now Looloo! Looloo always sich a hothead: Louie a pighead cause she got a bighead! I always had a lot of trouble with my head, kiddos—nedakes [headaches] en sich, becaze I got a bighead. Now Sausam, they have big heads and they was meant to do a lot wiv em; en Louie would do a lot wiv her big head if she wasn’t sich a lame duck en sich a goose en sich a turkey cock, now—With a gobble-gobble here and a gobble-gobble there!” (The children repeated this.) Sam continued, “With a hwonk-hwonk here and hwonk-hwonk there, and where are you going my pretty maid? For to mind my father’s barnyard! For to mind my father’s barnyard. En if Looloo weren’t sich a wet hen, she’d do all right.”

“I’m the ugly duckling, you’ll see,” shrieked Louie.

“You’re ugly all right and when you walk you wobble, and you’re all wet, I swan, en you’ve got a long neck and a big beak so maybe you’re a swan—” Little-Sam said. “And she has a sweet voice like a swan,” and Evie said, “And Louie does a dance,
The Dying Swan
.”

They shrieked with laughter. Louie burst out into loud, raucous sobs and rushed from the house, while Sam said, in some surprise, “The great big galoot: why, girls are no better than boys at that age,” and he laughed heartily.

Tommy ran after Louie to see where she had gone and found her crouching by the copper fire and poking it into a bright flame.

“What are you crying for, Louie?” he said patting her on the arm. “Don’t cry, Louie, don’t cry! He’s only fooling.”

“ ‘What is fun to you is death to me,’ ” said Louie. “That is what the frog said to the boys, you know?”

“Yes, I know that story.”

“Well, go and tell him that.”

Tommy ran back to the common room where alevena was in progress and, grinning somewhat, planted himself on his two legs while he recited, “Pad, I have a message for you from Looloo. ‘What is fun to you is death to me.’ ”

“Did she tell you to tell me that?”

“Yes.”

Sam shook his head, “Looloo always was very tragic.”

“Ooh,” shouted Little-Sam, “ooh, Pad! Ooh, whew! It’s getting me, Pad.”

“Whappills?” inquired Sam, in delight.

“Ow, wow,” said Saul instantly, holding his belly, and writhing, “It’s got me, chilluns. Farewell, my bluebell, farewell to you. I’m dying, Pad.”

“Whippills?” inquired Sam again, enchanted.

“It’s nawful,” cried Ernie and let out a shout of joy.

“The marlin,” explained Evie, with disgust. “They’re fooling. They’re doing it all the morning. Mother is angry with them.”

“Go on,” said Sam, “go on? What is it?”

“Oh, it’s a-follerin’ of me,” cried Little-Sam, looking behind, craning his neck over both shoulders. He slid off the homemade wooden bench, “I can smell it here—look, there it is, oh, look out the window, oh, the crick is yaller, oh, the oil.”

“Tell Mother I died bravely,” said Sam, pleased with their skit.

“Why don’t you take it off now, Deddy?” asked Tommy.

Sam began to chant, “We’re a-goin’ to rav marlin erl, marlin erl, marlin erl; we’re gona rav marlin balm, marlin salve, marlin butter, marlin oingming; we’re gona eat marlin, be marlin, think marlin, sleep marlin; it’s marlin for our bikes and marlin for kikes. Say, let’s go, while we’re having a bit of a rest and put the oil into bottles.”

“No sooner said than done,” said Saul.

The stuff had been boiling for over twelve hours, and Sam now told them to rake the fire out. The cleaning-up was a great satisfaction to him. The entire crew of children (except Louie) was around him, grunting as they carted the gluey soup out in all the large household utensils, buckets, basins, watering cans, and pots. The liquid they dumped on the children’s gardens, along the fences, near the dead end near Lomasne’s shed and in front along the lawn, round the Wishing Tree. The tatters of fish, mostly jellied skin and bones, they were to take and put in a heap at the bottom of the orchard. Over these remains they sprinkled loam to keep off the flies. Sam said that at “one fell swoop” they had two sorts of manures—fish offal and ashes, and if this was not a wonderful example of planned economy, they had only to tell him what might be. Meanwhile, in the washhouse now stood nine large and five small bottles of unrefined marlin oil, which would be refined at an early date, said Sam. Sam at first had meant to boil the marlin down to glue, but too many exclamations by Henny had let him know that she expected the copper to be ready for the weekly wash bright before tomorrow morning, and Sam’s work gang was pretty tired already. He knew he would have to clean up before nightfall. Little-Sam, who hadn’t much stomach, was just staggering out with a bucketful of marlin remains, when he dropped it at his feet and looked frightened.

“Little feels sick,” declared Saul.

“What, with marlin? Not with marlin!” said Sam, laughing, and ordered the boy to take it to the offal heap, which, after a moment, he did.

“Triumph of mind over matter,” said Sam, nodding to the others, and when Little-Sam came back, to illustrate this, ordered Little-Sam to take out another shovelful. Little-Sam sulkily did so, but in a minute dropped it and looked mutinously up at his father.

“Take dat offal marlin to dat offal heap, Little-Sam,” said Sam gently.

The boy bent down, then gave his father an appalled look, turned from the family, and disgraced himself.

“Little-Sam frowin’ up da marlin,” said Sam.

Suddenly Henny was before them, black and angry as a witch, her loose hair flying out, “You ought to be ashamed, a man your size tormenting the children,” she cried. “If I were to tell the neighbors what you do, you wouldn’t be so high and mighty.”

Sam ignored her but addressed himself to Tommy, her favorite,

“Tommy, my boy, one of my great handicaps in life was my weak stomach; now, many a great man has had a weak stomach: Julius Caesar had one, though I don’t want any of you to go round with an army. Now, you kids have got to have strong stomachs. Little-Sam here is the dead spit of his old man, and he got to have a strong stomach: he got to stomach anything. I made myself stronger, when a lad, because I recognized my weakness, by boiling the flesh off carcasses for their skeletons and articulating the skeletons—also taught myself anatomy. And I had no father interested in me. Now, Little-Sam, and you have. Now, Little-Sam,” he continued very gravely, “you get some more,” and he picked up the shovel and handed it to Little-Sam.