Part 37 (1/2)
”What would you have done if he'd taken the bet?” Bull asked.
”They'd had to clean that stool Ed was sitting on,” Cleve Goins laughed.
”See you boys at the game tonight. I've got to go and keep the world safe for democracy.”
”Hey, Colonel,” Slinkey yelled at Bull. ”Why don't we just go ahead and nuke the h.e.l.l out of Moscow, Havana, and Peking? We're gonna have to do it someday anyhow, so why don't we just get on with it so we won't have to worry about it?”
”Sure thing, Slinkey. I'll send out three lieutenants this afternoon to get the job done. There's no sense in procrastinating any longer.”
That afternoon Bull returned home early, too excited about the game with Peninsula to concentrate on the niggling administrative details that caused him more annoyance than any other element in his role as squadron commander. When he walked in the back door at four in the afternoon, he found his family sitting in the kitchen listening to Arrabelle reel off stories of her late husband. ”Now Moultrie was a hardworkin' man. You go ask anyone about Moultrie Smalls and they tell you that he wouldn't run from no work. My man work many jobs during the Hoover years. Lord, we hate them Hoover years. If it wasn't for the river and the shrimp and fishes we could catch, Arrabelle wouldn't be talkin' this trash to you folks right now.”
”This kitchen is filthy,” Bull said sternly as he walked in the door.
”What you mean, Captain?” Arrabelle snapped from behind the stove. ”The whole kitchen clean as a co-llection plate. What you talkin' about?”
Bull did not answer. Rather, he continued into the dining room inspecting corners and wiping his index finger across furniture. When he returned to the kitchen, he sighed heavily then sat down on a chair next to the stove. ”The whole house is one big garbage dump.”
”Cap'n, you just talkin' stuff. You just pleasurin' yourself by runnin' your mouth about nothin'.”
”Don't listen to him, Arrabelle,” Mary Anne said. ”Dad is so juvenile sometimes.”
”It's gettin' gone time anyhow. I'll see you folks with the sun.”
”Bye-bye, Arrabelle,” Lillian said.
”Say hi to Toomer for me,” Ben called as the maid walked out the back door. He then began to take imaginary jump shots against the kitchen wall.
”Get off your feet, jocko,” Bull said to Ben, ”you don't want to wear yourself out before the game. Go on upstairs and take a nap. I'll give you a yell before we have to leave for the game.”
”It so happens, sugah, the whole family was having a very pleasant conversation before you barged in and insulted Arrabelle.”
”That's great,” Bull answered, ”but you're going to continue it without Ben. I want his mind to be on the game and nothing else. I hear there are going to be college scouts all over the stands tonight.”
”This helps me relax, Dad,” Ben said. ”Just sitting and talking.”
”Who asked you? Get upstairs and into the rack on the double. I didn't ask you for a speech.”
”I think you're more nervous than Ben,” Lillian said after her son had left the kitchen.
”This is the big game, Lillian. The big game. If he screws up in this game, Calhoun doesn't go to the tournament and he blows his chance for a scholars.h.i.+p. So I want everybody in this family to cut the yappin' and start thinking about the big game.”
”It's so pleasant to have you home early, darling,” Lillian said lightly.
”I couldn't sleep last night I was so worried about the big game,” Mary Anne said. ”I woke up with a cold sweat. And fever. And three different types of cancer. And a touch of rabies.”
”Where's the paper?” Bull said, ignoring his daughter. ”The afternoon paper's supposed to have a big spread about the game.”
”It's in the living room,” his wife said. ”Would you like me to make you a drink and send it in?”
”Affirmative. Now let's break up this little pow-wow and think about the big game.”
”Daddy, I got an A in an English theme,” Karen said. ”Would you like to read it?”
”Naw, let your mother read it,” he said, leaving the kitchen.
”All right, children. Why don't all of you go do your homework so you'll have it done by the time we leave for the game,” Lillian said, ushering Matthew and Karen toward their bedrooms. ”Take this drink to your father, darling,” she added, handing a silver gla.s.s to Karen.
”I finished all mine in study hall,” Mary Anne said. ”I think I'll go into the living room and read a book.”
”I wouldn't if I were you,” Lillian warned. ”You've got to learn how to interpret the signals your father gives off.”
”I can. He always gives off the signals of a psychopathic killer so it doesn't really make any difference how you interpret them.”
”Shame on you. You're so disrespectful sometimes.”
”You're always telling me I should try to get to understand my father better, that I never try to penetrate beneath his gruff exterior.”
”I would choose my time with caution. Sometimes beneath that gruff exterior is a far gruffer one.”
”Do you know that Dad and I have never had a single conversation in my whole life.”
”That's just as much your fault as it is his, Mary Anne.”
”He doesn't know me at all and I don't know him.”
”Your father loves you very much, Mary Anne. He brags about how smart you are to everyone he knows.”
”Does he really?” Mary Anne said with obvious delight.
”Of course he does.”
”He never tells me that he thinks I'm smart.”
”He probably never thinks about it,” Lillian said, turning toward her daughter and appraising her with arctically critical eyes. Even the temperature of her voice plunged when she said, ”Why don't you go upstairs and find something real pretty and lacy to wear to the game tonight?”
”I don't want to wear anything real pretty and lacy to the game. I prefer to wear something real ugly and frumpy instead.”
”I don't want to tell you this, Mary Anne. But you've backed me against a wall,” Lillian said, her voice becoming a whisper trembling with the promise of conspiracy. Lillian loved conspiracy, whether real or imagined. ”Your brother, Ben, came to me yesterday and asked me if I'd talk to you about how you're dressing.”
”Ben did?” Mary Anne asked. Lines of doubt radiated from her narrowed eyes as she watched her mother.
”Yes.”
”Why didn't he talk to me?”
”He didn't want to hurt your feelings. But he did tell me that it embarra.s.sed him to see you going to school and to basketball games so sloppy looking. He thinks you ought to have a little more pride than that. He says-and this is strictly between us boys, Mary Anne, because he made me swear not to tell you-he says that he is humiliated beyond words to see you walk into the gymnasium dressed in those baggy, wrinkled clothes you seem so fond of.”
”Ben didn't say that, Mama. That's you talking.”
”Ben mentioned it to me yesterday.”