Songs in Ordinary Time Read online

  He looked out at the street and smiled. “Being married to you, pet, was the happiest time in my life.”

  My God. All she remembered of it was tears and overturned chairs, broken windows, broken promises.

  “The one thing that keeps me going, and damn it, I vowed I wasn’t going to say this, but I want you to know, pet, I’m going to put this all back together. I swear, I am! I’m going to make you love me again, Marie. I am.”

  Poor Sam. Was that all he had to cling to? She sat with her eyes closed. She didn’t want to feel anything right now, not for him or any man.

  “You know, I may be a dumb son of a bitch, but I’m a lucky one. In what was probably the biggest foul-up of my life, I ended up with you! And the kids! I was telling the hospital shrink how I was supposed to marry Nora Cushing and how it was probably the smartest move I’d ever made. And then I told him what happened. How I started sneaking around after you, even though I knew it was crazy. You were so young, and there I was, thirty years old, with the biggest wedding in town planned to the richest girl in town. And you know what he told me? He said I couldn’t stand the certainty and the deliberateness of success. He said I didn’t think I was good enough, and so instead of facing what I didn’t think I deserved, I found a way to foul myself, to ruin everything. In Nora’s eyes and in my mother’s eyes.” Tears ran down his cheeks now. He shook out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “Oh pet,” he sobbed.

  “You bastard,” she said, starting the car and shifting into gear. “You no-good bastard,” she said over the roar of the engine as they lurched around the corner.

  “Pet!” he called, reaching toward her. “Pet!”

  “Well, the dirt you stepped in eighteen years ago is still here, like it or not. You’ve never done anything for those kids, but this time you’re going to, damn it. Alice may be nothing more to you than a disgusting shameful mistake that ruined your whole life, but now you’re finally going to have to pay for that. I want half that trust, do you hear me, Sam? I want five thousand dollars, and I want it right now. Those shitty tenements aren’t doing my kids any good right now. And right now, right now, damn it, is when we need the help.”

  All the way back to Bridget’s, his voice rose over hers, trying to explain. She’d misunderstood. What he’d meant was that she and the kids were the best, the finest part of his life. They were everything to him. Everything!

  “Then you tell Helen that,” she said. “And then tell her this for me—tell her I’m taking you both to court. And when I’m done those kids will have everything they deserve. This house and every penny you and your miserly sister have ever hidden away.”

  “You’ve got to listen, pet, please,” he begged when she stopped the car.

  “No. No, I don’t. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that when you were roaring drunk? But for you to sit there, cold sober and say that to me—oh! Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “A piece of shit,” he said in a low voice. “A no-good piece of shit.”

  “Well, you’re right there, Sam. Now get out!”

  As she drove off, she refused to look in the rearview mirror and see his stooped figure in the pathetic jacket dragging up the stairs of that miserable house. When would she learn? He deserved no pity. None. He had spoken the truth. Skinny arms and legs with her baby belly bulging against her cheap cotton dress, she had been his masterstroke, the cruelest blow he could wield against those determined to love him, determined to save him.

  “Is your dear mother home?” trumpeted Omar Duvall as he hurried into the house. For the past three days he hadn’t come or called.

  Benjy waited for Norm to answer, because that was who Omar was staring at.

  “I said, is your mother home?”

  “Nope,” Norm grunted without looking up from the newspaper. He had been reading aloud the latest report on Joey Seldon, who was still in the hospital with a fractured skull.

  “Do you know when she’ll be back?” Omar asked with a hopeful glance at the cold potless stove.

  “Nope,” said Norm.

  “Do you know where she went?” His tone grew strained.

  “Yah.” Norm glanced over the paper. “She’s with my father. I’ll tell her you were here.”

  Omar smiled, obviously pleased to hear this. “Save you the trouble, son, I’ll wait.” He pulled out a chair and settled down in a sigh of sweaty cloth and flesh.

  His face flushed, Norm turned the pages.

  “So what’s new, Benjy?” Omar asked. He removed a toothpick from his breast pocket and began to clean his teeth in a delicate whittling motion, sucking the toothpick clean after every couple of teeth.

  “Not much.” Benjy shrugged, trying to hide his relief from Norm. With Omar here, their mother would be in a good mood again. Things would be better tonight, he thought, then shuddered, remembering his dream of that bloated body swelling in the damp heat until it finally exploded, its volcanic spew raining entrails and blobs of flesh over all the streets and houses. He’d knelt on his bed watching the bloody mess slide down the window glass. They said he’d been screaming. He only remembered crying.

  “Well, it’s certainly been a busy week for me, if not a profitable one,” Omar was saying. He’d been on the road most of the time, trying to establish franchises in some of the more rural parts of the state. His target group had been farm families. The party-marketing concept had great appeal for such isolated women.

  “Speaking of which,” Norm interrupted, “where’ve you been staying?”

  Omar looked right at him. “What do you mean, speaking of which? What exactly are you asking me, Norman?”

  “I asked you where you’ve been staying.” The corners of Norm’s mouth flicked. “That’s all.”

  “Kind of here and there, I’ve been on the road so damn much,” he said with such a derisive snort his nose leaked. He groped in his pockets for a handkerchief.

  Benjy’s eyes widened. He thought Norm would surely laugh, but every feature was rigid as stone.

  “I see your car down in back of the fruit store a lot,” Norm said.

  Omar made a face. “The fruit store?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yah. I drive my foreman there to get his paper. I see your car out back.”

  “My car?” Omar frowned and shook his head.

  “Four-two-six-nine-five. That’s your plate number, right?”

  Omar glanced at Benjy and laughed. “Tell the truth, I don’t even know what my name is half the time.”

  “Yah, I’ll bet you don’t,” Norm muttered.

  “Come again?” Omar leaned across the table. “What’d you say?”

  Benjy’s eyes darted between them. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it, he wanted to shout. Why did Norm always have to stir things up?

  “You heard me,” Norm said each time Omar insisted he repeat what he’d said.

  “You are pushing me, you hear me, boy? You are trying my patience, and I am sick and tired of it,” Omar snarled, the undulating cadence so swiftly perilous that Benjy gripped the chair seat.

  “Does my mother know you’re living with Bernadette Mansaw?” Norm asked.

  Omar’s chest rose and fell with panting. “Your mother knows Miss Mansaw’s one of my investors. But what she doesn’t know is about you and your friends terrifying that young woman. And in the process, daring to bandy about my good name, slandering me—that’s what your mother doesn’t know. But maybe she should. Maybe I shouldn’t protect you anymore, boy. Seems to me you’re on a downhill slide, anyway, drinking and brawling and killing an innocent creature in the process.”

  “You asshole!” Norm cried, running at Omar, who only had time to raise his hands.

  “Norm!” Benjy shouted.

  Omar ducked as Norm swung. He grabbed Norm’s arm and yanked him off balance.

  “Please, Norm!” Benjy yelled as Norm rushed at Omar again. Omar was on his feet now. He raised his hands, palms inward, like a priest’s silent prayer during Mass. He stared at
Norm with a rapture that might have been pleasure but for the quivering bloodless mouth.

  “Come on!” Norm said.

  “Norm!” Benjy grabbed his brother’s shirt and tried to pull him back, a futile gesture against Norm’s straining chest and arms. But not strong enough, Benjy knew, remembering Earlie’s wide back and thick arms. “Please don’t, Norm, please!” he cried, unable to contain the horror.

  The kitchen shook with the familiar rumble of their mother’s car pulling into the driveway. Their hands fell to their sides.

  She raced inside, too agitated to notice the breathless strain between them. She tossed her purse onto the table. “Oh!” she said with a glance at Omar. “How good to see you back.”

  “I know. It’s been one hell of a week,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “But harder on you than me, I’m sure,” he added quickly, reaching to touch her arm, but she darted away. He watched her rummage loudly through the cupboard for a pan. “So how’d it go with Sam?”

  She stood at the sink filling the pan with water. “He knew about it,” she said in a high thin voice. “Of course he says he didn’t really know, that he wasn’t sure just how much it was. But he knew. I could tell. All this time when I never knew where our next dime was coming from, he’s been sitting on his nest egg.” She put the pan on the burner and looked back at Norm posted in the doorway, watching Omar. “You could’ve at least set the table,” she said to Norm. “Is that too much to expect?”

  “No sooner said than done,” Omar said, sliding the plates from the shelf. “The boy’s had a long day.”

  “Oh really?” Her voice trembled. “You want to hear what a long day is, I’ll tell you.” She was grabbing bowls of sauce, lettuce, and a cucumber from the refrigerator and banging them down on the table. “I’ve had it! I’m not fooling around anymore. I told him. He’s got a week. One week and then I’ll sue them all. Him!” she vowed, tearing the lettuce into chunks. “His mother! His sister! Renie! The whole goddamn warped bunch of them!”

  Norm had gone to his room. Benjy turned on the television. Omar stayed in the kitchen, helping her cook and set the table, soothing her, finally making her laugh, softening her voice, whispering that he loved her. That he needed her so badly he was on fire inside.

  After lying awake for hours, Benjy had made up his mind. To continue this way was too dangerous. He waited in the heat in his narrow room until the rest of the house lay dark and soundless.

  He opened the door, listened, then tiptoed down the stairs to the couch, where Omar slept on his side, his naked back exposed, the rolls of flesh at his waist pale in the streetlight that shone through the open window. His shoes were on the floor, his suit and shirt draped over the chair. He did not snore, but wheezed, the high end of it like a whimper. Benjy stood by the couch, certain of his decision, but still not sure just how to handle it.

  He’d never go to the police. He couldn’t confide in Alice or Norm because they’d tell their mother, and she was the one person who could not know. He’d do anything to ensure her happiness, because only then could they be safe. Each clash between Norm and Omar stripped away another layer. He was afraid that soon there’d be nothing left. This would be his only chance. Days might go by before he saw Omar again or could be alone with him.

  He touched Omar’s shoulder. It felt warm and damp and bonelessly soft. Omar turned with a grunt, then sat up suddenly, feet flat on the floor, his head jerking back and forth as he struggled to focus through the darkness. “What is it?” he demanded in a frightened voice.

  “It’s me, Omar. Benjy. I have to tell you something,” he whispered.

  “What? What do you have to tell me?” he sighed, leaning his head back on the couch. “What did you have, a bad dream or something?” he asked, yawning when Benjy did not immediately answer. “Your mother said you had another bad dream last night. Everything’s okay, so why don’t you just go back up to bed now.”

  He’d been trying to speak, but it wasn’t words he needed to express as much as the wrenching force of this skirmish between his heart and his head.

  “I’m beat, Benjy. Really, really beat.” He started to lie down.

  “Omar! I was there that day,” he whispered, stepping closer now. “I saw you. I saw you and that Earlie fighting. He chased you, and then you were, I think, wrestling, and then there was this sharp thing, shiny like a knife, in both your hands. And he looked up, and I think he saw me, because he kind of stopped a minute. And you took off then. He ran after you. And I ran home.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “My Lord,” Omar sighed, stretching his arms back behind his head. “So someone does know the truth I speak. This comes as a great relief to me, Benjy, a great, great relief. That young man you saw didn’t just rob me of my money. He took away my goodwill, and my trust in my fellowman, and my self-confidence. I’ll tell you, if it weren’t for your mother, I don’t know, I hate to think where I’d be right now.” He slapped his knee. “Well, be that as it may, you need your sleep more’n you need any more of my moaning and groaning. I just hope to God Earlie doesn’t harm anyone else like he did me.”

  “Omar! He’s dead. His body’s right out there in those woods. I saw it. Klubocks’ dog kept bringing back pieces of his clothes. He’s all swollen up, and there’s a knife in his chest. A knife with a snakeskin handle.”

  Omar buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “This can’t be. That poor, misguided creature. I wonder what happened?”

  “You killed him,” Benjy said, as if the question needed answering.

  Omar’s head shot up. “Tell me you’re pranking me, Benjy. Please tell me.”

  “You did. I know you did, but—”

  “You know what? Oh my God, your mother’s right to be worried about your state of mind. Now you listen to me.” He was stepping into his pants, his shoes, reaching for his shirt. “We have to talk, and we can’t be waking everyone up, so you come outside with me.”

  “No.”

  Dressed, Omar filled the room, the night with whiteness. “What? You’re not afraid of me now, are you?”

  “No.” And he knew he wasn’t. He was afraid that one of these times Omar might do to Norm what he had done to Earlie. And he was afraid that if Omar left them, it would be the end for his mother. But he wasn’t afraid that Omar would hurt him. Whatever had happened that day had been done in panic, in fear, in anger. Of that he had no doubt.

  “Come with me. We have to talk.” Omar opened the door. “We’ll stay on the street.”

  As they headed toward Main Street he kept hobbling with the little stones underfoot. Omar was quiet. Benjy was amazed to hear himself talk so much. The words had been lodged in him for too long. All he really wanted, he tried to explain, was his mother’s happiness. Nothing else was as important as that.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Omar said.

  “She likes you,” he said before Omar could say more. “Sometimes she cries when you don’t come.”

  Omar sighed. “It hurts to hear that. And it’s far more devotion than I deserve. Tell me, Benjy.” He stopped walking. They were almost at the corner. “Who else knows this about poor Earlie?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Not Norm or Alice?”

  Benjy shook his head.

  “And not your mother?”

  “No.”

  “Why? Why not tell someone? That’s a terrible burden to bear alone.”

  He tried to explain that the more terrible burden was his mother’s pain. Earlie was dead, and nothing and no one could change that now. He couldn’t adequately express what he felt, but he tried. Somehow in the midst of all this chaos there had to be room for love. Yes, Earlie was dead, but he couldn’t let that death destroy his mother as well. Evil might be a force here, but then so was love, because without it, nothing made sense or would survive. Just as he couldn’t hate his father for his affliction and the pain it caused, so was he incapable of condemning Omar for Earlie’s
death.

  “But I didn’t kill him! He must’ve fallen on his knife.”

  “They said it was your knife.” He reminded Omar that he had sent him to talk to the two men.

  “Liars, the two of them, armed to the teeth with knives and pistols every minute I knew them. What else did they say?”

  “I can’t remember,” he said as they started back. He would not mention the silver money clip thick with bills. There seemed no point to it. Not now, anyway. Omar was right. It had been a terrible burden, and now with it shifted to Omar, he felt relieved. If Omar chose to, he could call the police and tell his side of it. What mattered most was that everything work out between his mother and Omar. And now he knew Norm would be safe with the line—the secret of Earlie’s body—too broadly and plainly drawn for Omar to breach.

  “But you see we can’t believe everything we’re told,” Omar said as they walked along. “Nothing’s the way it seems anymore. The world’s too full of cruelty. People lie! They say terrible things! Sometimes the only truth we can know is what we feel in here,” he said, touching his chest. “Benjy, you have to believe me,” Omar whispered, pausing in front of the house. “I did not kill Earlie!”

  When he didn’t respond, Omar clamped his hand over his shoulder. “If that’s what you think, then I can’t go back in there. I’ll just leave. I’ll go now, tonight. And in the morning you can tell your mother.” Omar stared at him for a long expectant moment, and then he turned.

  Benjy watched him grow shapeless and blurred in the distant streetlight before he ran after him, calling softly, “Wait, wait! I’m not going to tell my mother. I don’t want her to know!”

  “Then you have to believe me!” Omar cried. “You have to! It’s the only way I can stay, don’t you see?”

  Benjy nodded, confused by the sudden parry, the shifting ground, the trembling underfoot. He was just a boy. He was only twelve. There was so much he did not know.