Page 35 - Contrast1965Spring
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NO INGLESH
There is sometimes an edge of storm over the house, sleeping in the dull rooms behind
river when the flowers in the garden freshen closed doors. I did not go in. I had had enough
under dust and the quiet becomes very tangible of closed doors. The rain fell bright sil ver
around our house. Days like this my brothers and not very cold through the dark branches.
and I played in the grass, wrestling, digging
our fingers in the dry earth and waiting for At first I thought the singing I heard was the
the rain that ended the cyclic rhythm of hot storm, the rain on the river or wind coming
summer hours. We were arguing that afternoon, through the empty places in our house. But it
our shrill, young voices, ringing flat across was a voice and was coming up the walk. The
the brown lawn, pierced the shabby house words were clear; I listened for the sense of
where our mother slept late behind closed them but there was no sense to the song, just
doors. Victor said I could not come with them sounds. A small boy came around the corner
to the river. I was a girl, and useless, in his past the hedge, his soft mouth open as though
eyes. I pointed to the darkening sky with its he were drinking the rain. His singing filled
relief of purple clouds against deep gray and the whole street. I knew the sounds had to
warned that they would not be able to go at make sense and listened harder but the mean-
all. The argument went on monotoneously with ing was not there.
no one really caring whether any of us went
or not. The morning heat had left my brothers "Hey! Hey, boy." He kept on singing but
wilted like brown leaves on the lawn and I turned into the yard, smiling and singing and
wondered if I looked as dirty and .as tired as looking at me with soft brown eyes. His dark
they did. My fingernails were broken; my bare- hair was longer than Victor's and rain-plastered
feet were black on the bottoms, dusty yellow to his head. His face was very thin, the eye's
brown on top. large as a kitten's or a girl's.
A light wi nd blew the dead petals from the "Hey, what's your name?" He smiled and
daiseys and tiger lillies, ruffled Victor's pale sang a little more, sat down near the tiger-
hair, and gave him some encouragement. lillies and picked one.
"Let's go." he said to Mark, the smallest of "What's your name?"
the three, who wanted to sleep on the burned
grass instead. "Get him up." Victor ordered "No inglesh." the soft VOice answered and
Our third brother, Neal. Tugging Mark, they he continued singing.
left. I watched as Neal and Mark followed
Victor through a break in the hedge. I started "What a stupid name. Where are you from, no
after them but, a low roll of thunder stopped inglesh?" He picked another flower and sang,
me. Standing one foot on top of the other, the song more like humming or whispering. I
hands in my jeans pockets, I watched them go. sat down by him and picked a daisey, playing
he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not. We were both
The rain came when I was sitting under the very wet but neither moved. The last petal was
crabapple tree but it did not go away and I he loves me.
did not move because Momma was in the
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