sit.
He had never visited Caroline's apartment in Des Moines, never gone, for pleasure, anywhere but the State Fair, and then he'd rather make two round trips in two days than spend the night in a hotel.
In my memory, there was never a vIsit to a restaurant other than the cale in town, and he never went there later than dinnertime. He didn't mind a picnic or a pig roast, if someone else gave it, but supper he wanted to eat in his own house, at the kitchen table, with the radio on. Ty said he was less self-sufficient than he seemed, but that opinion was more based on the idea that anybody had to be less selfsufficient than Daddy seemed, than it was based on any evidence.
He resisted efforts to change his habitschicken on Tuesdays, or a slice of cake instead of pie, or an absence of pickles meant dissatisfaction, and even resentment.
Rose said our mother had made him like this, catering to whims and inflexible demands, but really, we couldn't remember, didn't know. In my recollections, Daddy's presence in any scene had the effect of dimming the surroundings, and I didn't have many recollections at all of our life with him before her death.
Over supper, Ty spoke enthusiastically about the hog operation.
He had, he said, already called a confinement buildings company, one in Kansas. They were sending brochures that could get to us as soon as tomorrow or the next day.
Daddy helped himself to the bread and butter pickles.
Ty said, "You got these automatic flush systems with these slatted floors. One man can keep the place clean, no trouble."
Daddy didn't say anything.
"A thousand hogs farrow to finish would be easy. Marv Carson says hogs are going to make the difference between turning a good prout and just getting by in the eighties.
Daddy chewed on his meat.
I said, "Rose wants to launder the curtains upstairs. It's been two years. That's what she says. I don't remember." Daddy hated that kind of disruption. "See these? I got out some of these broccoli and cauliflower pickles we made. You liked these."
Daddy ate his potatoes.
I said to Ty, "You eaten with Marv Carson lately? Everything has to be eaten in a special order, with Tabasco sauce last. He says he's shedding toxIns.
Ty rolled his eyes. "Shedding brain cells is more likely. He's always on some fad."
Daddy said, "Owns us now.
I said, "What?"
"Marv Carson's your landlord now, girl. Best be respectful."
Ty said, "Between you and me, Marv Carson is a fool. I like him fine, and he's from this area and treats farmers around here pretty fair, but you can see why no one would ever marry the guy."
"He's got money in his bank, too," said Daddy. "Not all of them do.
We'll see," said Daddy. He wiped his mouth and looked around.
I removed his plate, and took a piece of pie off the counter.
Ty said, "I could plant beans at Mel's corner tomorrow."
Daddy said, "Do what you want."
Ty and I exchanged a glance. Ty said, "The carburetor on the tractor is acting up, though. I hate to spend time on it at this point, but I'm a little nervous about it."
"Do what you want, I said."
I licked my lips. Ty pushed his plate toward me. I got up, put it In the sink, and set a piece of pie in front of him. I turned off the heat under the coffee, which had begun to boil, and poured Daddy a cup.
Ty said to Daddy, "Okay. Okay. I guess I'll take my chances and plant."
I said, "You want to stay and watch some TV, Daddy?"
"Nah."
"There might be something good on."
"Nah. I got some things to do." It was always the same thing. I glanced at Ty and he gave a minuscule shrug.
We sat silently while Daddy drank his coffee then pushed back his chair and got up to go. I followed him to the door. I said, "Call me if you need anything. It'd be nice if you'd stay." I always said this, and he never actually answered but I was given to believe that he might stay next time. I watched him climb into his truck and back out, then drive down toward his place.
He had never visited Caroline's apartment in Des Moines, never gone, for pleasure, anywhere but the State Fair, and then he'd rather make two round trips in two days than spend the night in a hotel.
In my memory, there was never a vIsit to a restaurant other than the cale in town, and he never went there later than dinnertime. He didn't mind a picnic or a pig roast, if someone else gave it, but supper he wanted to eat in his own house, at the kitchen table, with the radio on. Ty said he was less self-sufficient than he seemed, but that opinion was more based on the idea that anybody had to be less selfsufficient than Daddy seemed, than it was based on any evidence.
He resisted efforts to change his habitschicken on Tuesdays, or a slice of cake instead of pie, or an absence of pickles meant dissatisfaction, and even resentment.
Rose said our mother had made him like this, catering to whims and inflexible demands, but really, we couldn't remember, didn't know. In my recollections, Daddy's presence in any scene had the effect of dimming the surroundings, and I didn't have many recollections at all of our life with him before her death.
Over supper, Ty spoke enthusiastically about the hog operation.
He had, he said, already called a confinement buildings company, one in Kansas. They were sending brochures that could get to us as soon as tomorrow or the next day.
Daddy helped himself to the bread and butter pickles.
Ty said, "You got these automatic flush systems with these slatted floors. One man can keep the place clean, no trouble."
Daddy didn't say anything.
"A thousand hogs farrow to finish would be easy. Marv Carson says hogs are going to make the difference between turning a good prout and just getting by in the eighties.
Daddy chewed on his meat.
I said, "Rose wants to launder the curtains upstairs. It's been two years. That's what she says. I don't remember." Daddy hated that kind of disruption. "See these? I got out some of these broccoli and cauliflower pickles we made. You liked these."
Daddy ate his potatoes.
I said to Ty, "You eaten with Marv Carson lately? Everything has to be eaten in a special order, with Tabasco sauce last. He says he's shedding toxIns.
Ty rolled his eyes. "Shedding brain cells is more likely. He's always on some fad."
Daddy said, "Owns us now.
I said, "What?"
"Marv Carson's your landlord now, girl. Best be respectful."
Ty said, "Between you and me, Marv Carson is a fool. I like him fine, and he's from this area and treats farmers around here pretty fair, but you can see why no one would ever marry the guy."
"He's got money in his bank, too," said Daddy. "Not all of them do.
We'll see," said Daddy. He wiped his mouth and looked around.
I removed his plate, and took a piece of pie off the counter.
Ty said, "I could plant beans at Mel's corner tomorrow."
Daddy said, "Do what you want."
Ty and I exchanged a glance. Ty said, "The carburetor on the tractor is acting up, though. I hate to spend time on it at this point, but I'm a little nervous about it."
"Do what you want, I said."
I licked my lips. Ty pushed his plate toward me. I got up, put it In the sink, and set a piece of pie in front of him. I turned off the heat under the coffee, which had begun to boil, and poured Daddy a cup.
Ty said to Daddy, "Okay. Okay. I guess I'll take my chances and plant."
I said, "You want to stay and watch some TV, Daddy?"
"Nah."
"There might be something good on."
"Nah. I got some things to do." It was always the same thing. I glanced at Ty and he gave a minuscule shrug.
We sat silently while Daddy drank his coffee then pushed back his chair and got up to go. I followed him to the door. I said, "Call me if you need anything. It'd be nice if you'd stay." I always said this, and he never actually answered but I was given to believe that he might stay next time. I watched him climb into his truck and back out, then drive down toward his place.
Similar Books
