Pew(12)

I’m not as stupid as they think. I’ve read the history books, their Bible. It’s all in there. He stopped the game abruptly, leaned back, his head seeming loose on his neck. You’re right not to say anything. They hear what they want. The more you say, the more they’ll use it against you. Maybe they’d leave me alone more if they thought I was a mute.
He took another sip, offered me another, and I took it. He put the cup back beneath the table just as we heard the door open and Butch calling out at us.
How y’all doing out there? A cigar mumbled his voice.
Good, Nelson said.
Who’s winning?
Pew, Nelson said.
Very good. Butch shut the door.
Nelson leaned over his knees, an elbow on each, and looked at the floor awhile.
You’re all right—I haven’t met many people that were all right, not here, but … you’re OK.
He kept looking at the floor, and when he spoke again, his voice went lower and looser, as if it were falling apart in water.
I’m just sorry you came here or got left here or whatever. And maybe when I’m eighteen, I can help you leave, too, but right now I have to go. I have to go do something, all right? And you should just stay here. Butch probably won’t check on us for a least a few minutes. You don’t have to go back inside or anything, but I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes or something. OK?
I nodded.
You can have the rest of my cup, he said as he went out into the yard. I listened to his steps quicken through the garden until I couldn’t hear them at all. The spotlighted tree was still out there, and without making a choice I was already walking out toward it, pulled by its wooden ache. Why couldn’t they turn the lights out for him? Why couldn’t they let him sleep in the dark? I stood in front of one of the spotlights on the ground and tried to cover it with my hands, but it was no use.
Nelson, is that—
Kitty was there, a cigarette in her hand.
Oh, little Pew darlin’. I thought you were Nelson. He’s often running around out here at night. I usually don’t—you know this stuff will kill you, it will, but it—well, it has some good qualities … does some other things before it does you in.
She laughed a little, a lonely laugh that ended quickly.
This time of year—it just makes me nervous, so I let myself have one in the morning and one after dinner just for the week before the festival. She was looking past me, back toward the house where the windows glowed yellow. It’s a good time of year, a beautiful time of year, but I don’t know—it just makes me a little jittery. Her eyes looked different out here. It seemed she couldn’t bury herself in them quite as well.
She looked up at the tree and took a long drag. Doesn’t it look like it’s about to grab something? I just love these oaks, live oaks I believe is what they call it. I wish I knew all the plant names out here, and I’ve tried, but I forget them all the time … I do know that’s a dogwood over there. She pointed with her cigarette, then took a long drag. And that’s a magnolia, both of them over there, magnolias, smaller ones. The magnolia seemed somehow exhausted, weighted and weary under all those dark green leaves.
I do wish they bloomed this time of year. It would give me some relief. But you can tell a tree whatever you like—it won’t ever listen!
We stood there quietly for a while, listening to her smoky breath and the faint crickets all around us.
Strange you showed up this week of all the times you could have. Now, I don’t know what anyone has told you yet about this weekend, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure Nelson would be happy to share with you what he’s learned about it—he really has come to enjoy the festival, I think, and things are much easier at school for him after it’s over. You’ll see. The time right after, everyone’s more peaceful. Of course right now it’s a little more dangerous for everyone … the week before especially. People get a little anxious I suppose. Start acting out. It’s just human nature.
But it really does wonders for the community. I remember when we first started the festival, some years ago, and all the reverends at all the churches had to convince us it was a good thing to do, then the day after it was over I turned to Butch and said—Butch, for as much as people like to talk around here, there sure are a lot of things they don’t say!
I watched the smoke fray in Kitty’s laughter.
Kitty put her cigarette out on the ground, then stored it in a tiny glass jar she pulled from her purse. She looked up at me as she screwed the jar lid on tight—You know I would just about die to have skin like yours—what is that, just genetics? Does it run in the family or something? Must be. It’s like baby skin, but you aren’t so young that you’d still have your baby skin. We began walking back toward the house.
With us—well, our skin is just falling apart from day one! Ha ha! Just wrinkled and blotchy and terrible unless you spend a lot of money on it. Ha! Isn’t it just so ugly, isn’t it though? Skin—isn’t it just terrible? It doesn’t give you a minute of rest, does it? Not a single minute!
Nelson stood at the screened porch as we approached.
Look who I found in the garden, Kitty said to him.
Yep, Nelson said.
Were you showing your new friend around the garden? Isn’t that nice?
Kitty took a mint from her purse and put it in her mouth, then sprayed perfume in her hair and across her dress. Butch was just inside the door as we all went back inside.
I wish you wouldn’t spray all that junk on every night, Kitty. It don’t cover nothing up anyway.