The Matter Is Life (6 page)

I could be president! Even being a girl, a lady. Cause some of these laws and rules got to be changed!

I think about life too … my mama … my daddy. Maybe there is a reason or something for why they act like they do when they be working and tryin to make a livin. Separating and divorcin and all. They got to go out there and do it everyday! Work! I only did it for one day … and I was so tired and evil. I even cried, only for a minute tho.

Oh, I don’t know. But I understand more what my grandmama is tryin to teach me. I remember that hundred-year-old lady!

Yea. I think about all those things now.

I think I’m gonna hate onions for a long, long time, too.

And dumb boys.

Yes … I’m doing a lot of thinking. On how to get rich. Even just how to make a real good livin for my life! Cause I already know why.

I
am a old, old lady and I know a lot of old, old sayins that I know to be true cause I done lived long enough to see em out to be so. Some sayins ain’t nothin but smart-soundin words that make out like they know what they talkin bout, but some of em is really sure enough true.

Like, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. You got to watch that grass! Or maybe you oughta just watch your own grass and keep that green! Cause that grass on the other side will fool you sometime. Look greener while it be dyin all the time.

See, I don’t live far from one or two families out here in the country and I have in mind one couple I knew for a long
time. Can’t even spell their name right, but when you say it, it sound like Gunioff.

Mr. Gunioff had made his way up from the bottom by havin built a solid farm, married, had children, raised them and finally waved good-by to them as they went out into the world to seek their own fortunes. He then settled back with Mrs. Gunioff to enjoy a good solid middle age to death. They was both quiet people, tho he more than she. She did like to go to church and little community social events and things like that which didn’t interest him none at all! She was a slight-built woman, gray-haired, neat, sweet. She was friendly with the neighbors, the closest ones bein the couple up the road apiece, the Conets.

Mrs. Conet was a little youngish, brown-skinned, very nice lookin woman. Mr. Conet was hardworkin, quiet, dark-brown man. Always courteous. Went to church a lot with his wife, like he used to go with his mama. Reason I mention them, is cause I happen to know that Mrs. Conet was a fussy little woman, always comparin her husband and everything he did to all the other men round here. Nothin was enough for her. But I guess he loved her cause he put up with all her fussin and complainin. Half the time she didn’t know what she was talkin bout. Like to run that man crazy, I magin. The other half the time, I don’t know bout cause I live closer to the Gunioff family, so I saw them more.

He, Mr. Gunioff, liked to fool with his sheep and cows and his horse and the chickens and his dog. Gently taciturn, he was bored with much of life and he was, of course, boring.

What first comes to my mind is the day he drove his wagon one bright morning, returning from town where he
had purchased some poison to set out for the animal that had killed one of his sheep. As he drove he noticed the green fields he loved and the blue of the sky with the birds flyin overhead. He enjoyed the sight of the birds ever so much more then the shootin of them for sport. He could smell the air … all was good. All, that is, except for the animal who had killed his sheep. Oh, well, he was going to fix that!

When he arrived home he waved the package containing the leg of lamb at Mrs. Gunioff, who nodded back from her sewing, and went to the kitchen to prepare the poison. He carved into the lean red meat and as it separated so smoothly, he felt a sense of pleasure and made several extra slices and holes in the meat before he realized he had enough and began to stuff the poison into the open parts thinkin all the time of how he would stop this menace before it went too far. Some damn wolf or something eatin his stock! He sat everything out later that evenin and went to bed early with his gun and a lantern by the door so if he heard any noise he could get up and out and see what was goin on with no time wasted.

Bedtime was early for both Gunioffs and he had slept lightly for bout an hour or so, when he was awakened by sounds from the yard. He rushed up and out, grabbing his lantern and gun as he did, running softly as possible to the place he had set the trap.

The wild animal there had eatin most of the leg of lamb right there without takin it away and was now in the throes of death. Its body jerked and writhed over the ground. Its eyes bulged and glared, its mouth was foamin while painful gutteral sounds came out. Mr. Gunioff watched fascinated.
He set the lamp down without thinkin and knelt down to stare at the dyin animal. He watched to the end.

When it was over he probed the beast with his foot to try to get him to move again, but its body had twisted itself into the stillness of death. Mr. Gunioff stared at it for a long time then hearing Mrs. Gunioff calling from the house to see if he was alright, he waved back and then drug the beast away to bury him.

He thought about the death he had seen all that week and looked often at the bag of poison he had left.

One day, feeding the sheep, he noticed the sickly one and the thought squoze into his mind that it need not live. He should poison it! Put it out of its misery! He could see one more time the workings of this poison that made the victim dance such a strange dance. That night he prepared the poison but waited til daybreak so he could see the dance better. He fed the sickly sheep off by itself and stood entranced, fascinated, watching it go through the labor of death.

He began to sit on the porch through the day, even more quiet than usual. He didn’t even go to one of the few things he ordinarily would go to with his wife. One day she dressed in her little country clothes and went off in the wagon with the Conet couple that lived down the road. That was the day he went out and searched among the sheep and found one he thought would not last long anyway and fed it the poison and watched it die!

Later that week as he sat on the porch he decided sheep were too expensive to lose and turned his face to the chicken yard, wondering how they would dance. He soon found reason to go to town and did! He got more poison and some ice
cream for his wife and a little black satin ribbon for no reason at all. She smiled at his thoughtfulness and thanked him.

Needless to say, he became so caught up in his fascination with death the chicken yard was soon empty. They looked so funny as they danced around and cackled and then just keeled over! That was the problem, they died so fast! You had to poison several just to get a good look! They would twitch a little for awhile, but that wasn’t enough.

Mrs. Gunioff was alarmed at the deaths and at a loss as to the reason because her husband always saw to things like that. She had no sittin hen now so she sent Mr. Gunioff to get one and set it away from the chicken house where she could watch things better.

Then the sheep began to disappear and she couldn’t understand why he was not more upset about it. She took her pet sheep, a baby lamb, and moved it closer to the house so she could watch it too!

Mr. Gunioff bought the poison in bulk now and had quite a bit left when he buried his last sheep. Somehow, by this time, he was sick at the loss and his mind rested about a month. His wife wondered that he did not replace them, a few anyway, because they were expensive. But he did not.

After the month or so had passed, his craving to see the dance of death returned and the cow was his choice to go. They had no children left at home so they didn’t need all that milk! She, the cow, was different dying; she was large and her poor, pitiful moans were almost human as she labored to die and when she did die, he felt small satisfaction. A cow wasn’t much fun to watch, the big body moving slowly, in pain.

A week later, it was the horse. It should have hurt him, cause he loved that horse he had had so long. But his obsession made any regret brief, if at all. He watched the horse die with his legs kicking and his eyes rolling in fear as he looked to his master, his friend, for help. Gunioff didn’t bury the horse. He was tired. He just covered it up and went to sit on the porch and stare off into space.

Mrs. Gunioff lamented and cried in distress at the happenings on the farm as he listened and watched her, saying nothing.

Sunday it was, yes, it was a Sunday. Mrs. Gunioff went off to church with the Conets in their wagon, wavin good-by to Mr. Gunioff. She spoke to them of how outdone he was by the loss of all his animals, poor fellow! He just didn’t feel up to doing anything. They nodded in understanding and continued down the bumpy dirt road, with Mrs. Conet lookin round their yard, trying to find something they had that she didn’t, so she could have something to complain to her husband about again. She thought Mr. Gunioff was a better man than her husband anyway.

After they had gone, Mr. Gunioff got into his wagon and rode to town and got some strawberry ice cream, yes, strawberry it was, and returned to wait for his wife and friends to return.

While he waited he fed the poison to the new sitting hen. For some reason he didn’t want to kill the little chicks, even tho he was leaving them without a mother. She just gave a twitch or two and then fell over!

When Martha, that was his wife’s first name, returned, he met the wagon and reached up to help her down. Mrs. Conet smiled down at him. Well, there wasn’t hardly nobody
else round this country to flirt with. Anyway, that smile made him say, “I went and got you some ice cream for a treat, Martha.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Martha sang, “how nice! I sure would love some ice cream.”

He smiled up at Mrs. Conet. “Strawberry. Would you like some too?”

Mr. Conet spoke, “Mama made me and Mavis (that was his wife’s first name) a fine chocolate cake, going to save myself for that. Sure thank you tho!”

Mavis smiled down at Mr. Gunioff. “Thank you so much.” She said softly, eyes glowin at him.

As they drove down the drive, Mavis looked back to watch Martha and her sweet husband go into their house, arms around each other. She smiled at the thought of love, lasting love.… Then she turned to her husband and frowned.

When Mr. Gunioff went through the front door, he said, “You just sit on the porch and rest yourself! I’ll fix it for you for a change!” Martha sat with a big smile on her face, thinking how time can bring about a change and what a good one this was. Why, she and Mr. Gunioff may have a sweet full life ahead of them yet! With a little fun in it!

He mixed the ice cream and the poison and put it in one of her prettiest dishes she always saved for special times and took it to her. As she took the dish, she smiled and asked, “Where’s yours? Ain’t you goin to have some?”

“Goin to get it now,” he said. And did. When he returned, he held his dish and watched her, smiling as she ate and licked her spoon.

All of a sudden, in the middle of tellin him about her day
at church, she grabbed her stomach and stared at him. Even in her pain, thoughts flooded into her mind and she realized what he had done to the animals and to her. She was pointing at the sheep yard when her body lurched and she was thrown on the floor of the porch. Her body shuddered and lurched again, with a life, or a death, of its own, and she flew off the porch to the ground. Through her pain, she saw him moving closer to her, she looked at him, when her head wasn’t jerkin with eyes rollin up, in wonder. He had sat his bowl down. He was crying. He cried until she died, looking at her with a deep sadness. She never did scream, just struggled with the monster in her mind and in her body and in her sight. She forgot to pray, she was tryin so hard to understand this man she had lived with, loved, most all her life. Then … her heart lost the struggle … and she died.

Mr. Gunioff went into the house and brought out a large mirror, setting it in front of him, he began to eat his ice cream. He was staring at himself as the tremors began. His arm flung the dish away involuntarily, but he had eaten enough. He looked at himself, when he could, through the pain and the contortions of his body. He did not understand how he got there in the middle of all this death.

Just as he was closing his eyes for the last time, the little sheep that belonged to his wife came bouncing around the house from the sheltered field. Mr. Gunioff’s last smile was for life. He was glad he had missed the little sheep.

By that time, as the Millers rounded the curve going into their own driveway, they heard the bleating of the little sheep at the Gunioff’s, faintly.

Mavis turned angrily to her husband. Said, “You don’t never do nothin like that for me! He thinks of her and makes
her know he loves her! You ain’t never brought me no ice cream in a long time! They over there right now, just as happy, eating that ice cream.”

Mr. Conet spoke, softly, “Mavis, that ain’t true. You always lookin at what you think is greener grass. I love you and I bring you things. We just now lately got you that pretty suit you got on today.”

Mavis threw her head up. “Humph! Cause I let you make love to me! That’s all you ever want to do! is make love!

You hear that? That chile say all he wants to do is make love!

Now … I can’t blame her for not knowin zackly what is happenin over at her neighbors. But I can blame her for not knowin zackly enough bout life to know when she is well off!

Well, now. It’s plenty more sayings could go with this story, but I’ll just let it speak for itself. Cause I been lookin at my own grass lately and it sure could use some of my attention. I want my grass to be green, green. Evergreen! Just in case.

Y
ou know, I am a grown woman of some considerable character and an excellent education. Which age, I am not going to tell you. I mean, how important is age? Just try to live, I say, with wisdom and concern for others. But, by living this long (not too long), I have learned a few things.

Everybody remembers their mother talking about friends. How few you have no matter how long you live? That is what I wish to speak about. I have really been fooled, so I know from whence I speak. Let me explain.