Page 36 - Contrast1965Spring

"How old are you?" He smiled and whispered
his song and I guessed that he was telling me
about himself but I did not understand.
"I don't know the words to your song." He
laughed as if he knew what I was saying, but
then he pointed and it was because I had mud
smeared on my face. We both laughed, laugh-
ing at the rain and each other and the sound
?f lau~hter that tickles inside until you gasp
It out In happy thoughtless breaths.
"Can you talk?" I said at last, still panting
for breath.
':No inglesh.". he whispered, his eyes proud,
fingers co llect ing another lily. He gave it to
me.
Thursday it rained. And Friday. The house
was shuttered and the rain drummed gray on
gray walls. I looked for my friend by the
garden, looking for footprints in the newly
green f,rass, or tiger-lillies under the crab-
·apple. The sky fell vague and gray down to
the wet grass and no one came. My brothers
p~ayed Indian in the house, mother slept be-
hind closed doors, Norah the cleaning woman
appeared and vanished. No one came.
Saturday the rain ended and the house steam-
ed with pale heat. The boys vanished early,
my mother stirred in her sleep and called her
husbands name but he was not coming home
again, so she threw the old, silky quilt off
and slept again, lustrous hair tangled on the
E.Plows, deep smudges under her eyes, as
though she had been beaten.
I waited underneath the crabapple tree and
sa w morning taking form in the streets beyond
the shaggy hedge. A mockingbird did his
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grotesque irnitar ions above me and then tired,
plunged off in the air. Mrs. McGee in the
next yard, hung up wash. She had seven
children. The wash flapped all sizes to the
wind, officially clean, but tugging at the line
to go flying in the dirt again. A ragman and
his cart came down the street, his nag shuffling
slowly through the mud.
No one came. The sky clouded over and our
house had silences around it rare on Saturdays.
I sensed the sleepy fear close by the house
that stretched out to the damp grass, touched
the daiseys almost reached the burnished
lillies but could not come to the tree. My name
was carved on the tree and I knew I was safe-
there. But after a while there was too much
silence,' even the tree was not enough, so I
went walking down the brown, uneven side-
walks looking for No inglesh. Noon came and
passed with the sense of storm beginning by
the river. The houses all seemed empty and
the small streets were quiet. Hungry, I de-
cided to take a short cut through an alley
home. As I turned the corner I heard someone
running and a scream. I saw a child lying on
the pavement, his hands over his head. He
seemed very small. When I was close, he
raised his head and looked at me. The soft,
brown eyes did not seem to know me. One
side of hi s face was bleeding, where it had
scraped against the road, his mouth was
swollen and his nose was out of shape. I
reached out to help him up, he was on his
knees then. He looked at me and there was
no singing in his face, no smiles, no memory
of lillies or silver rain.
"Son of a bitch" he said.
J. S.