myself—sober.
I said to Vivi, Get off your high horse. That’s my daughter in there too.
She screamed, You cheap sonovabitch, you didn’t even want to pay for the surgery! I’m the one who handled everything, don’t you show up here now acting like you’re Ozzie-goddamn-Nelson. You were gone when I needed you. I don’t need you now.
She started to slap me, but I caught her hand. It wasshaking. I looked at my wife and she looked tireder than usual, thinner.
Then Siddalee was standing there at the doorway between the den and the living room. She was holding on to the doorsill and I could see her feet on the tile floor. I wanted to slip something up underneath those little bare feet because I knew that floor must of felt cold, with her just out of bed. The bandages and her bathrobe made her look like a real short war veteran. It like to tore my heart out.
I let go of Vivi’s hand and she went over to Siddalee, put her arm around her. My little girl looked so pale, and someone had braided her hair so it wouldn’t get in her face. She couldn’t see me anymore.
I started to move toward her, and then she said: Daddy, don’t hurt me.
Those words killed me. They stabbed me in the neck. My little girl was scared of me, and my marriage was rotting in the fields.
I said to Viviane, What have you been doing to this child to make her say that?
I went to grab my wife by the shoulders, not to hurt her, but to shake out whatever words she’d filled my daughter with to turn her away from me.
And then the child started crying, terrified. Tears squeezing their way out from under those bandages.
Vivi said, Now look what you’ve done. She’s not supposed to cry. It’s not good for her eye. Are you satisfied, Shep? Well, are you?
Then Siddalee was leaning against Vivi. Her legs were shaking under that little robe, goosebumps on her freckled calves. I should of picked her up in my arms and carried her gentle and placed her back into that four-poster bed with all the pillows. But I didn’t, goddamn it. I didn’t.
And then it was too late, the moment up and went, like time always does. They took the bandages off and Siddalee’s eye didn’t wander anymore. She had to wear a patch for a little while, but my daughter didn’t end up with any scars you could see.
Sometimes, when I’d wake up in the middle of the night wheezing from the asthma, sitting up in the chair because I couldn’t breathe lying down, I would think: I can’t breathe because of all the things I’m too scared to do. But after getting up and pouring a drink or two, I quit thinking that way. I just kept putting cotton in the ground and hunting and doing what my Daddy raised me to do.
Then one regular day after Siddalee’s been back in school a couple months, Pap tells me to go check on the hoe-hands at the lower place. He says, Son, you gotta learn to keep your eyes open. Farming isn’t no goddamn New Orleans house party.
That riles me, like he knew it would, him always acting like I’m the biggest playboy in the state of Louisiana. He knows just how to get under my skin. Here I am, a grown man with four children, and he hasto watch over everything I do, like I can’t tie my own shoes.
I say, Awright, Pap, I’ll take care of it.
And my Daddy takes off out of the field. I guess after that he stopped at the post office to get his mail, then drove on home. It was August and sticky hot, getting on toward noon. I guess he figured he’d read his mail and have himself a glass of ice tea. He was sitting in that white rocker out in the breezeway. Had his shoes and socks off to let his feet relax. They say the radio was playing, so I guess he was probably listening to the noonday farm report.
He must of felt the pain in his chest for only a minute before he slumped over and fell out of the rocker. That bottle of nitroglycerine pills he’d been carrying around in his shirt pocket for years didn’t do him one bit of good. That bottle rolled out
I said to Vivi, Get off your high horse. That’s my daughter in there too.
She screamed, You cheap sonovabitch, you didn’t even want to pay for the surgery! I’m the one who handled everything, don’t you show up here now acting like you’re Ozzie-goddamn-Nelson. You were gone when I needed you. I don’t need you now.
She started to slap me, but I caught her hand. It wasshaking. I looked at my wife and she looked tireder than usual, thinner.
Then Siddalee was standing there at the doorway between the den and the living room. She was holding on to the doorsill and I could see her feet on the tile floor. I wanted to slip something up underneath those little bare feet because I knew that floor must of felt cold, with her just out of bed. The bandages and her bathrobe made her look like a real short war veteran. It like to tore my heart out.
I let go of Vivi’s hand and she went over to Siddalee, put her arm around her. My little girl looked so pale, and someone had braided her hair so it wouldn’t get in her face. She couldn’t see me anymore.
I started to move toward her, and then she said: Daddy, don’t hurt me.
Those words killed me. They stabbed me in the neck. My little girl was scared of me, and my marriage was rotting in the fields.
I said to Viviane, What have you been doing to this child to make her say that?
I went to grab my wife by the shoulders, not to hurt her, but to shake out whatever words she’d filled my daughter with to turn her away from me.
And then the child started crying, terrified. Tears squeezing their way out from under those bandages.
Vivi said, Now look what you’ve done. She’s not supposed to cry. It’s not good for her eye. Are you satisfied, Shep? Well, are you?
Then Siddalee was leaning against Vivi. Her legs were shaking under that little robe, goosebumps on her freckled calves. I should of picked her up in my arms and carried her gentle and placed her back into that four-poster bed with all the pillows. But I didn’t, goddamn it. I didn’t.
And then it was too late, the moment up and went, like time always does. They took the bandages off and Siddalee’s eye didn’t wander anymore. She had to wear a patch for a little while, but my daughter didn’t end up with any scars you could see.
Sometimes, when I’d wake up in the middle of the night wheezing from the asthma, sitting up in the chair because I couldn’t breathe lying down, I would think: I can’t breathe because of all the things I’m too scared to do. But after getting up and pouring a drink or two, I quit thinking that way. I just kept putting cotton in the ground and hunting and doing what my Daddy raised me to do.
Then one regular day after Siddalee’s been back in school a couple months, Pap tells me to go check on the hoe-hands at the lower place. He says, Son, you gotta learn to keep your eyes open. Farming isn’t no goddamn New Orleans house party.
That riles me, like he knew it would, him always acting like I’m the biggest playboy in the state of Louisiana. He knows just how to get under my skin. Here I am, a grown man with four children, and he hasto watch over everything I do, like I can’t tie my own shoes.
I say, Awright, Pap, I’ll take care of it.
And my Daddy takes off out of the field. I guess after that he stopped at the post office to get his mail, then drove on home. It was August and sticky hot, getting on toward noon. I guess he figured he’d read his mail and have himself a glass of ice tea. He was sitting in that white rocker out in the breezeway. Had his shoes and socks off to let his feet relax. They say the radio was playing, so I guess he was probably listening to the noonday farm report.
He must of felt the pain in his chest for only a minute before he slumped over and fell out of the rocker. That bottle of nitroglycerine pills he’d been carrying around in his shirt pocket for years didn’t do him one bit of good. That bottle rolled out
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