affection.” She grinned. “Johnny, where are you?”
She had a hard time with Johnny because he didn’t like to be touched. Sometimes Brendelle had to chase him for five minutes before she caught him. And then he would stand as stiff as an oar in her arms, hands at his sides, eyes closed tight.
Brendelle saw Johnny in the doorway. “I can’t chase you tonight,” she called. “A carry-out boy at Foodland crippled me. Look at that.”
She held out her discolored ankle. Johnny hesitated for a moment and then came forward dutifully. Hands stiff at his sides, he walked into her arms.
She had both of the boys now. She hugged them together. It was as if she were trying, by squeezing them with all her might, to make the three of them into one huge, complicated package.
Johnny suffered the embrace with his eyes shut. Roy swayed with Brendelle, taking advantage of every aspect of the hug.
“I’ll start the sandwiches,” Retta said. She passed the three huggers, turning sideways so as not to disturb them. She went around her father in the same careful way. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Put lots of peanut butter on my sandwich,” Brendelle called happily. She grinned down at Roy and Johnny. “And put lots of oleo on the grill. I love goo.”
She bent and kissed the top of Roy’s head. “And so does Roy.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead so she could kiss his brow. “He wants the same thing, don’t you, Roy? Lots of goo.”
Roy lifted his head. His face shone. His answer had the earnest ring of a marriage vow.
“I do,” he said.
“I F YOU WANT TO see Arthur, now’s your chance,” Roy sang at the window.
Retta glanced up from the television set. She had been watching television all day, but she didn’t really know what she was seeing. The soap operas, the game shows, passed like one long, boring dream before her eyes. “What did you say?”
“Arthur’s in our yard, so if you want to see what he looks like up close, you can.”
“No.”
“I had to come in the house,” he said, his voice losing its happy lilt. “Arthur and Johnny were talking about something secret.”
Roy stood at the window with his hands in his pockets. He was hurt. He hated to be left out. Once in kindergarten he’d accidentally colored his George Washington face mask green and had not been allowed to march in the Parade of Presidents with the other kids. He had waited in the classroom with Miss Penny, weeping with the pain of exile, vowing never to be left out of anything again.
He glanced at Retta. He sensed that she really wanted to see Arthur up close but didn’t want to admit it. Out of kindness he began to describe Arthur to her.
“Well, he’s got on blue jeans with a patch in the back and a yellow T-shirt. There’s writing on the shirt, but I can’t read it. There’s a Band-Aid on his elbow and a watch on his arm. He’s got a—”
“Will you shut up? I am trying to watch television.”
“That show’s no good. It doesn’t even have good commercials.” Roy believed the quality of TV shows could be judged by the commercials. The most boring programs had commercials for false teeth glue and toilet paper.
“I’m not watching the commercials,” Retta said, giving him a cool nod. “I’m watching the program.”
Roy glanced out the window. “Arthur’s leaving now,” he reported. “He’s walking down the sidewalk.”
“Good.”
“He’s pausing, scratching his head, he’s turning, he’s—” Suddenly he broke off. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I smell the Bowlwater plant,” he said happily.
“Maybe you smell Arthur,” Retta replied, making an ugly face as she said the name. She did not take her eyes from the television set.
“No, it’s the Bowlwater plant. I’d know that smell anywhere.”
In his mind the plant was growing, reaching for the sky, shading the countryside with its huge leaves. The enormous flowers were swelling on stems thicker than his arms and
She had a hard time with Johnny because he didn’t like to be touched. Sometimes Brendelle had to chase him for five minutes before she caught him. And then he would stand as stiff as an oar in her arms, hands at his sides, eyes closed tight.
Brendelle saw Johnny in the doorway. “I can’t chase you tonight,” she called. “A carry-out boy at Foodland crippled me. Look at that.”
She held out her discolored ankle. Johnny hesitated for a moment and then came forward dutifully. Hands stiff at his sides, he walked into her arms.
She had both of the boys now. She hugged them together. It was as if she were trying, by squeezing them with all her might, to make the three of them into one huge, complicated package.
Johnny suffered the embrace with his eyes shut. Roy swayed with Brendelle, taking advantage of every aspect of the hug.
“I’ll start the sandwiches,” Retta said. She passed the three huggers, turning sideways so as not to disturb them. She went around her father in the same careful way. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Put lots of peanut butter on my sandwich,” Brendelle called happily. She grinned down at Roy and Johnny. “And put lots of oleo on the grill. I love goo.”
She bent and kissed the top of Roy’s head. “And so does Roy.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead so she could kiss his brow. “He wants the same thing, don’t you, Roy? Lots of goo.”
Roy lifted his head. His face shone. His answer had the earnest ring of a marriage vow.
“I do,” he said.
“I F YOU WANT TO see Arthur, now’s your chance,” Roy sang at the window.
Retta glanced up from the television set. She had been watching television all day, but she didn’t really know what she was seeing. The soap operas, the game shows, passed like one long, boring dream before her eyes. “What did you say?”
“Arthur’s in our yard, so if you want to see what he looks like up close, you can.”
“No.”
“I had to come in the house,” he said, his voice losing its happy lilt. “Arthur and Johnny were talking about something secret.”
Roy stood at the window with his hands in his pockets. He was hurt. He hated to be left out. Once in kindergarten he’d accidentally colored his George Washington face mask green and had not been allowed to march in the Parade of Presidents with the other kids. He had waited in the classroom with Miss Penny, weeping with the pain of exile, vowing never to be left out of anything again.
He glanced at Retta. He sensed that she really wanted to see Arthur up close but didn’t want to admit it. Out of kindness he began to describe Arthur to her.
“Well, he’s got on blue jeans with a patch in the back and a yellow T-shirt. There’s writing on the shirt, but I can’t read it. There’s a Band-Aid on his elbow and a watch on his arm. He’s got a—”
“Will you shut up? I am trying to watch television.”
“That show’s no good. It doesn’t even have good commercials.” Roy believed the quality of TV shows could be judged by the commercials. The most boring programs had commercials for false teeth glue and toilet paper.
“I’m not watching the commercials,” Retta said, giving him a cool nod. “I’m watching the program.”
Roy glanced out the window. “Arthur’s leaving now,” he reported. “He’s walking down the sidewalk.”
“Good.”
“He’s pausing, scratching his head, he’s turning, he’s—” Suddenly he broke off. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I smell the Bowlwater plant,” he said happily.
“Maybe you smell Arthur,” Retta replied, making an ugly face as she said the name. She did not take her eyes from the television set.
“No, it’s the Bowlwater plant. I’d know that smell anywhere.”
In his mind the plant was growing, reaching for the sky, shading the countryside with its huge leaves. The enormous flowers were swelling on stems thicker than his arms and
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