The Country House -
Short story by: Linda Law
There was no one in the big country house except me and him. Grandmother and
Grandpa had already dressed and were down the road at the beer joint, or as they insisted it be called…The Saloon. My grandparents were considered wealthy, and although they owned a lot of homes in the city, as well as a couple of smaller ones in the country, they also owned this big fancy house, and didn’t act like they were rich. They were rich however; at least compared to mom and dad and me. Being three years old did not make me so smart that I knew much about being rich or poor, but even a kid knows when things are nicer somewhere else.
The Saloon was on the corner of the road, where it made a T, and one end of the T led you to the family cemetery about two miles down, while the opposite end of the T led you directly into the yard of the small white Catholic church. The long end of the T began somewhere that I didn’t know, but I did know that we would have to drive on that road from the city and it led you directly to my grandparents country house, the barns, the river bottom, and ended at The Saloon.
Inside the beer joint was a huge wood carved bar that went from one end of the large room to the other. The floor was cement, and each morning it was swept clean, then mopped with bleach. After the floor had dried, handfuls of sawdust were scattered along the floor, especially in the section that was called the dance floor. Tables with mismatched chairs were placed in various spots in the large room, where on one end sat a huge, colorful Wurlitzer Juke Box. I loved that music box. Even on my tip-toes I could not see the arm swing down and select the large round black vinyl record as it was placed automatically onto the turntable. Soon the music would blare, and Jimmy Rodgers would sing “The Muleskinner Blues” or The Andrew Sisters would harmonize to “The Bugle Boy” and the assortment was so varied that all it took was a quarter to play five tunes. That was a big deal because you could play one song for a dime, so most people dropped a quarter and got their moneys worth; Patty Paige, Frank Sinatra, The Dorsey Band, Eddie Arnold and many others.
Although the Saloon had its day patrons, it didn’t get to rockin’ until late in the day, and by dark it would be filled with men mainly, tired from a long day of work in the fields, or just tired period. Usually the women stayed home and tended to their house and kids, and prepared for when the man of the house would come stumblin’ home, sometimes too drunk to eat or change clothes. That was their business, and this was ours. The long bar had a foot rest so that those who wanted to stand and drink could, but there were also wooden bar stools to sit on as well. My favorite place was behind the bar, where grandmother was usually in charge of the place. Grandfather mingled and talked with the men, or sat and played dominoes or cards after his chores were done, while grandmother stood behind the counter and served the drinks and kept the business going. No one messed with grandmother, and although she was a beautiful woman, she didn’t take to loud arguing or misbehavin’ in her place of business. She always carried a small pistol in her apron pocket, and kept an assortment of guns and a rifle behind the bar as well. She was not shy about pulling one out and letting the patrons know that she wasn’t in the mood for their shenanigans. What I liked about the big old bar, was that on grandmothers side, the bar had many shelves and cabinet doors where she kept supplies and things, but for me, well….I was little enough to crawl up into a space and fall asleep without anyone knowing I was even around. I liked the noise and feeling safe among the crowds….it wasn’t safe when I was alone.
Although as a kid I was not spoiled in the least, I was allowed to have a bag of chips from one of the racks that held potato chips, Fritos, cracklin’s and peanuts of all types. There was also a large glass box that held candy bars of every type, including a section for penny candy, and those were usually what I was allowed to choose. Five pieces of penny candy, placed into a small brown bag, and I could eat the delicious candy at my leisure. The huge metal ice chests stood side by side behind the bar, and contained cases of unpacked, iced down beer, Falstaff, Lone Star, Pabst Blue Ribbon and others; while another large ice chest held soda pop. There was R.C.Cola, Nehi Orange, Barq’s Rootbeer, Grapette in the tiny bottles, and Coca-Cola in the small bottle. Most of the time no one even noticed me, so I’d get my penny candy, a bag of chips, a Grapette and crawl into a shelf and pretend that I was the owner of this big place.
I hated being in the big house, especially if mother wasn’t around. Lots of times daddy would go visit his parents in the country, and he’d insist that I go along for the ride. Sometimes we would stay for two or three days at a time, and sometimes he would drop me off or forget I was there, and he’d leave for town without me. Often my grandparents didn’t even know that I was at the house, but I just stayed in the room and played quietly until someone noticed I was still around. The thing about being left here was that my grandparents didn’t always come home at night after they closed the Saloon either, and I was too afraid to walk down the road to the Saloon, so I would just stay put and not get into things. Behind The Saloon they had built a very nice modern addition that served as a place to rest, to cook or eat, and often they just chose to spend the night there instead of going back up to the main house. The addition had a new bathroom, a small kitchen, and a bedroom-sitting area. Really there was no need to go to the big house, especially late at night. In the big house, there was a huge refrigerator, but usually not much food in it, because they kept beer in every crisper and on every shelf within the fridge. Sometimes there would be a small bottle of milk for their coffee, butter and if I was lucky, some sliced ham or lunch meat. Either way, I didn’t starve, and I knew to eat whatever I could find when I got hungry, and I learned to wash up on my own, and although I didn’t like to go to sleep on my own, I did find a few hiding spots to sleep where no one could find me.
This morning, it was just me and him alone in the big house. I had slept in another room, but somehow I found myself in this big bed and the last thing I felt was the fear of being smothered. The fluffy white pillow was placed upon my face, and I felt the pressure of it against my cheek, and although I twisted and turned, and tried to cry out, I somehow knew that perhaps “this time” I would not wake up after all. I couldn’t breathe, and that was that! Later, as I came to, I never knew how long I’d been “asleep”, I remembered just laying there, with my little body hurting all over, but I couldn’t seem to move either. Staring into the ceiling, I always began counting the square tiles, from one end of the ceiling to the other, one by one, and if I lost count, I’d start over again. Mommy always told me that I was very smart, some doctors told her that I was, she said. I could read a lot of things, and count farther than any other kid she knew, although I wasn’t sure how far I could count yet. In fact, I truly don’t know how I learned to read or count, but I did.
After awhile, I’d begin to notice the mint green paint on the fancy swirled headboard, but it was peeling in places, and I could see that the metal underneath the mint green, was painted white once. I’d pick at the paint, and chips would flake onto the bed, but I didn’t care. The wall paper was pretty I guess, but to me it was ugly….it had millions of tiny rosebuds on every wall, and I would begin to count them too; after I got tired of counting the ceiling tiles. I never could remember how many tiles, or how many of those hideous tiny rosebuds there were. Eventually, I would begin to feel my legs and my arms and I would feel so ashamed because I knew I had no clothes on now. My tiny little pink gown was lying on the floor, and I saw it there as I scooted down the high mattress onto the floor to pick it up. Immediately, I hugged it to me, then pulled it over my head, and wrapped myself in it hoping that I could disappear forever.
I stumbled clumsily down the hallway, and entered the back bathroom that was for guests, or at least that is what grandmother always told us. I turned on the water knobs, and especially wanted the hot water to be as hot as possible. Grabbing a towel, I placed it along the rim of the white clawfoot tub, and climbed inside. With a big bar of white soap, I scrubbed myself from one end to the other, and there were parts of me that hurt, even now. When I felt like I had scrubbed away most of the hurt, I pulled the drain and watched the water as it slid down and out into some mysterious place; leaving the tub empty again. I knew not to leave it looking unclean, so I wiped myself dry with the towel, then wiped the tub dry too with the same towel; folded it across the rim of the tub, and walked back into the bedroom. The fancy white bedcover had to be straightened out, and the pillows fluffed, and soon the room looked like any other. There was no way I could know if he was still around, and I preferred not to look; so I crawled into the mint green painted rocking chair that sat in one corner of the room. I rocked and rocked and rocked myself, and wondered, “Why can’t I remember anything?”
Probably that is when I began to have these “out of body” experiences; although I did not know that at the time. For some reason, I had found a way to block out these black episodes within my own three year old mind. I don’t recall when, but later that year, when “it” happened again, I remember that the pillow being placed over my face did not seem to make me drift off like before. For some reason, perhaps he didn’t push down hard enough, my nose didn’t completely close off, and I could still breathe a little, so it was then that I knew that this was a very bad thing that was happening to me, and I simply did not want to know it was happening. I closed my eyes very tight, pretending that I was asleep like all those other times, and I began to pray. We were catholic and all I knew were the simple prayers like “Hail Mary, full of grace” and “Our Father who art in heaven”…..so I recited those over and over in my mind, and soon I felt my whole body lifting and lifting, and it felt so magical.
As I hovered above, I was able to see without him seeing me. I watched that little girl below, and I wanted to pick her up and lift her to safety with me. I watched her little face and saw how she squeezed her eyes shut, and her little fists were balled up tight by her side. A few times I saw her unclench her fist and pull at the coverlet, almost tearing it with the strength in her little hands. I wanted to hit him hard, but I couldn’t let him know I was up here, watching him do those horrible things to that little girl. I didn’t want her to see me either, because she would know that I was a coward, that I was too afraid to make a sound, or to help her! All I could do was watch and chant the prayers one after the other, with the hope that someone, anyone would walk in and stop this from happening. When she made a noise, or tried to cry out, he slapped her hard across the face, and I could see the hand whelp mark across her cheek. He always screamed obscenities at her, and even though I didn’t know what the words meant, I knew they were ugly….just by the way his voice said them, almost with a guttural sound. He was so big, so tall, and she was so tiny, so helpless.
As I watched over her, I wondered to myself, “Could I be that brave?” and I knew that I could not. It seemed to me that within minutes of the attack, she had found a way to ball herself up into this fetal position of sorts, and I could see her eyes go from panic and terror to being squeezed shut, then it appeared as if she went limp from head to toe, and she barely moved again. I thought to myself that she must be dead….that he had killed her, because I couldn’t even see her breathing, there seemed to be no movement or heartbeat; it was as if she had left the body for him to maul and grab and bruise and torture, while she had escaped mentally, even for a short while.
In the rocker, I prayed like always; it seemed that it was something that kept me alive in some ways, because even though I don’t believe I prayed consciously, the subconscious part of me said the words, over and over, and somehow they comforted me, or at least it seemed.
“What are you doing in here all alone?” grandmother was rushing over to me, wringing her hands and grabbing me, and telling me, “come over here, and let me look at you.” She tugged me by the arm, and led me into the bathroom, asked me if I’d bathed, and I told her I had; then she brushed my hair into ringlets, I guess because they automatically fell into long curls regardless of the brush or not. She found a piece of pink ribbon on the floor, and I remembered I had been wearing it yesterday when we arrived here, and she tied it at the top of my head, made a bow, and then said, “okay, let’s go get something to eat.” The cleaning lady had come by the house, although I never saw or heard her before now, and as I sat at the kitchen table, grandmother told the lady to make me an egg and toast and a cup of coffee. “I’m going back to the Saloon, so you eat your breakfast, then Carmen will walk you over, and you can sit and play over there, while I get to work.”
Late that evening, after I’d spent the good part of the day playing with the dominoes, stacking them into “forts” for my pretend game, and after I’d been allowed to choose some of the songs to be played in the Wurlitzer, and after I’d slept under the counter awhile, I began to dread going back to the big country house.
Luck was with me tonight, and I figured my prayers had been answered, because when he came to get me, he had a friend with him. He said, “This is my friend Mary, and she’s going home with us.” I climbed into the back seat of the new Chevy, and pretended that I was alone. In the front seat, He drove, and Mary hugged him, and kissed him on the face, and soon they were pulling over and having sex while I pretended to be asleep on the floorboard of the back seat. Hours later, after several stops to “have a beer” at one joint or another, him and Mary would go inside and dance awhile, drink awhile, then stumble back to the car, and off we’d go again. Eventually, we pulled into the drive way of our house. Everything was dark, and I knew that mom was pretending to be asleep in a chair, wondering when he would come home, or if he’d come home at all. I never knew if she wondered about me, or if she cared.
Him and Mary got out of the car, kissed again, and then he jerked me up from the floorboard and said, “Time to get to bed missy, we’re home.” I couldn’t wait to run to my room and crawl under the covers…I knew that there would be a fight, and tears, and I had already had enough of those myself. He placed his keys into the lock, and shoved the big wooden door open, then he pulled onto Mary, and said, “Let’s go find the wife, so she can meet you.” In seconds, the lamp glowed, and mom stood up, and I saw that look of fear and shame and anger as it flashed across her face. She didn’t even know I was alive, her mind was focused on the couple standing in front of her. I ran to my room, and pulled on a clean gown, and crawled under the soft thin blanket. I squinched my eyes shut, and begged God to let me fall asleep fast. I suppose God didn’t hear me so good, because, even though I squinched really hard and prayed harder…. I could still hear the yelling, and the blows that he used as he pummeled mom. I blocked out her screams, and I knew that soon the police would arrive, as a neighbor would call, or…..mom would pull her battered self together and soon be in the kitchen whipping up a meal for him and Mary to enjoy.
The last thing I heard was, “Can’t you hurry in there, we’re hungry.”
By: Linda law
