Acre Under a Green Sky

It might have happened the day of the funeral. More probably, the next day. Or the day after that –– I don't remember.

We were sitting at the kitchen table for supper. My mother was working at the stove. My father had not said a word since coming home from the office. I don't think he had said a dozen words to anyone since Luka's funeral. We were all quiet –– even Baby Ruth in her highchair had nothing to say.

My mother served each of us a helping of macaroni and cheese; then took her seat and lit a cigarette. She knew I hated macaroni and cheese. We all looked down at the yellow encrusted gob on the white plate. Each of us picked up his fork and touched the stuff to see if it would move. It didn't. I looked over to see my father absentmindedly forking his into bite-size pieces; more toying with his food than anything else. My mother ignored hers altogether. She had her drink and her cigarettes. She always served herself food, but I can't remember her actually eating during these meals. Mostly, she smoked cigarettes and drank and watched us eat. Danny and Baby Ruth loved the stuff. They were wolfing it down and nearly ready for second helpings before I'd had my first bite. My portion was all going to end up in my napkin anyway.

After a time, my father said something none of us could hear. I looked over at him and he appeared to be talking to his macaroni and cheese. He never looked up. My mother looked over at me to see if I had heard what my father was saying. I looked back to my father.

Then he said it again without looking up from his plate.

"You have to quit drinking."

"What?" my mother said, not really hearing.

"You can't drink anymore."

"What?!"

My heart stopped beating. I looked over to my mother. She was livid; seething, her face was trembling and she was unable to speak. I had never seen her like that in my life. My father was still looking down at his fork delicately moving bits of food about. I became fixed on that fork, too.

"You have to quit drinking."

In that instant, I knew what it was to sit on the surface of the sun. I was fragmented into a million feelings; white hot and brilliantly colored feelings shooting out into the universe. My father had detonated the sun and I was in awe of him and certain that none of us would survive.

My mother jumped to her feet and pointed directly at me, "To your room now! All of you; go to your rooms!

My father laid his hand on my arm to keep me in my seat.

"No, they stay. This concerns them, too. It concerns all of us."

"No, Josh! Not in front of my children!"

"Sit down please."

My mother was white as a ghost staring wide-eyed down at my father. Then, she looked at me with those eyes, and said, "Didn't I tell you to go to your room!" I turned to my father. He said nothing, but his hand never left my arm.

My mother picked up the serving dish from the table and threw it across the room; smashing it against the kitchen cupboards. I felt I should clean it up, but my father was now clutching my arm. I looked down at his hand. It was red with white knuckles, and his wedding ring was faded like white gold.

Baby Ruth was crying and screaming, "Stop! Stop!"

My mother pulled Baby Ruth out of the highchair, and said, "I'm putting her to bed," and she left the kitchen with Baby Ruth and didn't come back. After a time, we could hear her banging around in the living room.

My father got up and moved into the living room. Danny and I followed him into the living room, but only I stayed. Danny went on to our room. I hung back in the doorway of the hall; half in the room with them, half escaping to our room.

My mother was stacking magazines.

"I'm cleaning," she said, "See, I'm cleaning the house. Isn't that what you want?"

"I want you to get help with this thing. I want you to talk to Joe Scarceletti."

"My God, you are crazy!"

"Nora, you either get help or you get out. It's one or the other."

My mother fell back into her easy chair, and said, "You can't be serious!"

"I mean it. Quit drinking or get out."

"Here! See? I'm cleaning the house," she said jumping to her feet and rushing back into the kitchen. My father followed her, and I was close behind. She opened the broom closet door and began to throw cleaning paraphernalia out onto the floor.

"I'll have this place spic-and-span before bed. You go on back to the office. Go back to work and when you get home tonight you won't know this place."

She punctuated each point by throwing something out onto the floor; mop, broom, dustpan, the old gray torpedo vacuum cleaner with its power cord. The boa-constrictor-hose coiled around her leg tripping her so that all the metal attachment rods clanged out of the closet and rolled onto the floor further tripping her up so that she had to frantically kick her way free.

"You're right, I've let things go. But all this place needs is a little elbow grease. Three –– four hours work and you won't know this place."

She threw the galvanized scrub bucket into the sink with a terrible crash and turned on the water. The macaroni and cheese on the cupboard door caught her eye, so she grabbed the dish rag from the countertop and began wiping it off. Before that was done, she fell to her hands and knees and began gathering bits and pieces of the serving dish she had shattered against the cupboard. The floor was littered with awful gobs of macaroni and cheese. But all the while she kept talking as if to ward off any objection.

"You're right, I haven't been carrying my weight around here. I've been lazy, but can you blame me with all that's been going on and this God-awful heat."

The water in the bucket was overflowing. I made a move to turn the water off, but my father stopped me. He turned the water off and reached down to help my mother up off the floor. She looked up at him and began crying. He helped her up and into his arms.

"We have to get out of here," she said, "I can't do this anymore. We have to go back home. Just leave everything. Grab the kids and get the hell out of here."

"You were drinking the day I met you," my father said, "You've been drinking everyday I've known you. Can't you see it's getting worse! We can't go on like this."

She put both her hands on his chest and slowly pushed him out at arm's length.

"Clean the fucking house yourself," she said, " I've had it!"

She moved back into the living room, lit a cigarette and began pacing like a tiger in a cage.

"I hate my life here, and now you want to take away the only thing that has made it halfway bearable. I hate this town. I hate these people. I hate your family. So I take a drink every now and again like everyone else in this God-awful world. As if you didn't! Maybe you should call Joe for yourself. Did you ever think about that? I need a little fun sometimes, that's all."

"It stopped being fun a long time ago."

"I am nothing to you. Nothing! I'm just another appliance in this house. Okay, I can accept that, but not without a belt or two to get me through the days and the endless nights while you're off making a name for yourself."

My father stood for a long time staring at his shoes. Finally, he said, "We can move."

"Back to L.A.?" she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

"But you have to quit drinking now. Tonight."

My mother's eyes filled with tears.

"Don't do this to me, Josh. Hit me, but don't throw me out. Don't make me quit. I can't. You know I can't."

"I can get Joe up here in twenty minutes. We can do this together."

She pushed him back; suddenly in a rage again, and said, "All right! I don't want to. You understand?! I don't want to quit. I won't!"

"Then leave."

"Not without my children. You're not taking my children."

"Then stay here with us."

"You can't do this to me! You have no right!"

"Then leave."

"Go to hell!"

That evening plays in my memory like a drama in which my mother played many parts –– sometimes almost simultaneously. She tried seduction and extortion. She wept bitterly and lashed out with her fists. She argued like the best of lawyers and she begged like a pathetic waif. She threatened and wheedled. She lied and she told the truth. There was a desperate maniacal shift of character in her from one minute to the next as if she were possessed by a score of warring demons. She wanted to go on drinking and she wanted to stay. Her life seemed to depend on both. But my father stood firm. And in the end, it came down to simple truths told simply.

"We had a deal!" she said, "We had a deal, and you left me alone."

"We can't watch you die like this."

"Oh God, how I've prayed to die!

"Let me call Joe."

"What if I can't? What if I fail?"

"Then we'll try again."

"What if I lie to you? It would kill me if I ever lied to you. There's got to be one person in your life that you never lie to. Just one person for your whole life. All the liars and all the lies are bearable if you've got that one person. Can't you see how alone I'd be lying to you. You know I can't be alone."

"Then stay. Stay with us."

"I'll cut back the drinking, okay. Just two –– three a day."

"No. No liquor at all."

"That's not fair. You're not being fair. I can't, Josh. You know I can't."

"I think you can."

"You just want to get rid of me. You don't even like me anymore."

She looked about the room and found her purse.

"I'll send for my things," she said, "But understand this! You will not get the kids."

She looked over at me, and said with exaggerated certainty, "Don't worry, I'll be back for you," and then she walked out the door and I never saw or heard from her again. Except in dreams.

I heard later by way of eavesdropping that she went to a neighbor and called my grandfather. He picked her up and took her to the farm where she stayed for a few days before moving into a hotel in Lincoln. She was there only a week or two before flying off to Los Angeles. To Hollywood. Home.

The night my mother left our house, my father came to each of us in our beds, and said, "I'm sorry I made a mess of things." Then he hugged each of us in our turn, but he had forgotten how to hug us. He was awkward and afraid, and I remember the smell of his after-shave and of tobacco, and the feel of his beard against my cheek. If I had known how desperately he needed a hug that night, I would have hugged him back. Instead, I left him all alone there in his awkwardness and fear. He never hugged me again; but as long as I live, I will never forget that shy embrace and the courageous effort it took.

He had ended our lives together; and I was glad, though I couldn't have acknowledged it at the time even to myself. You see, I had known for a long time without consciously knowing it that my mother was more powerfully bound to her acre under a green sky than she was to us. Even so, I believed that she would come back for us someday.

I've learned since that day so many years ago that other mothers and fathers have been possessed of the same demons and have vanished never to be heard from again. And they, too, planned to return one day –– changed and triumphant –– to reclaim their children, but everyday it was just one day more until their days were done. People don't mean to leave forever, but forever overtakes them nonetheless.