He rushes to spend as little time as possible there, washing off at
the sink, throwing on clothes, gathering schoolbooks.
So his
life settles into a kind of twisted routine, and for the rest of the week he
hides in the graveyard and sleeps in the bam, with Roy's sanction. After school
he does his homework as quickly as he can, sometimes daring to work at his
desk, in his room, or sometimes studying outside in the last of daylight, in
the graveyard by the pond. Mom readies his supper early, before Dad comes home,
and when she calls, he enters and eats quickly. The food is set out on the
table as if by chance, Mom never stays. As soon as he has eaten, he retreats
outside again, to spend the early evening hours in the graveyard or near the
pond. Roy keeps him company then, if his own chores are finished, if they are
not going to church, and if he can get away from his parents.
Nathan
becomes a visitor to his former life, moving like a stranger in his own house,
gliding through the kitchen, slipping quickly through doorways and along
stairs. At his appearance, Mom retreats into other rooms. It is as if, as long
as she does not see him, she can pretend that everything is fine, that he is
still living in the house, that he is simply out of sight. The whispered sounds
of her various habits, needlepoint and Bible reading, are the only signs of her
presence.
Even
when he sees her, early in the morning when he slides into the kitchen, she
remains somewhere out of reach. Across her face drift strange, sudden
expressions: fury, heartache, confusion, fury again, then quiet despair. Her
whispered good mornings fade by Wednesday to the merest nod of the head. Nathan
moves cautiously when he is near her, as if they have become animals circling
each other.
She
never asks where he shelters himself at night She never asks how he stays warm,
where he sleeps. She pretends. Never once, during the whole week, does she
neaten his bedroom, make the bed or fold the blankets in the corner. They lie
as he left them, the night Dad tripped over the cord and Nathan fled. Time
stopped. The room has become a haunted place.
On
Thursday, when he has dressed for school and is headed out of the kitchen for
the school bus, into the kitchen Dad suddenly lumbers, terrifying and large. He
shambles toward the refrigerator in white underwear, his blue pocked belly
overhanging the elastic, his craggy chest shivered with goose flesh. Nathan
stops breathing, caught in the doorway. Dad smiles. The kitchen echoes with his
cough. He ogles Nathan up and down and his eyes, red rimmed, fill with longing.
He steps toward Nathan without warning and Nathan backs up, a corner catches
him and all at once there is no world, there is only Dad's white belly
shivering with blood and Dad's breath blowing down from above, the shadow
falling over Nathan's face. Nathan's heart batters his ribs. A sound falters.
Mom's voice emerges from the other room and her footsteps cause Dad to turn.
“Who's in the kitchen, Nathan?”
She
stands in the doorway to see. Her flesh has gone gray. She is staring at her
husband as if he has stepped onto the linoleum from another world.
Nathan
slips free of the corner and hurtles out of the house; breathless, he reaches
the bus at a dead run. Pushing open the cold metal door, he huddles in the
chilled interior till Roy finds him.
“Is
anything wrong?” Roy asks, seeing his stricken face. But there are no
words, no words will come. Roy, so close to his own parents and his own real
life, does not even dare embrace him. He studies the light in Nathan's kitchen,
a long time, before settling into the driver's seat.
Puzzled,
mostly silent, Roy has remained a steady guardian. Each morning he has come to
the bam early, to wake Nathan when he starts his chores. He warms the bus ahead
of schedule and watches the back door of Nathan's house. He acts as if this is
the most natural change of habit in the world, and they drive away. During
school they keep to
the sink, throwing on clothes, gathering schoolbooks.
So his
life settles into a kind of twisted routine, and for the rest of the week he
hides in the graveyard and sleeps in the bam, with Roy's sanction. After school
he does his homework as quickly as he can, sometimes daring to work at his
desk, in his room, or sometimes studying outside in the last of daylight, in
the graveyard by the pond. Mom readies his supper early, before Dad comes home,
and when she calls, he enters and eats quickly. The food is set out on the
table as if by chance, Mom never stays. As soon as he has eaten, he retreats
outside again, to spend the early evening hours in the graveyard or near the
pond. Roy keeps him company then, if his own chores are finished, if they are
not going to church, and if he can get away from his parents.
Nathan
becomes a visitor to his former life, moving like a stranger in his own house,
gliding through the kitchen, slipping quickly through doorways and along
stairs. At his appearance, Mom retreats into other rooms. It is as if, as long
as she does not see him, she can pretend that everything is fine, that he is
still living in the house, that he is simply out of sight. The whispered sounds
of her various habits, needlepoint and Bible reading, are the only signs of her
presence.
Even
when he sees her, early in the morning when he slides into the kitchen, she
remains somewhere out of reach. Across her face drift strange, sudden
expressions: fury, heartache, confusion, fury again, then quiet despair. Her
whispered good mornings fade by Wednesday to the merest nod of the head. Nathan
moves cautiously when he is near her, as if they have become animals circling
each other.
She
never asks where he shelters himself at night She never asks how he stays warm,
where he sleeps. She pretends. Never once, during the whole week, does she
neaten his bedroom, make the bed or fold the blankets in the corner. They lie
as he left them, the night Dad tripped over the cord and Nathan fled. Time
stopped. The room has become a haunted place.
On
Thursday, when he has dressed for school and is headed out of the kitchen for
the school bus, into the kitchen Dad suddenly lumbers, terrifying and large. He
shambles toward the refrigerator in white underwear, his blue pocked belly
overhanging the elastic, his craggy chest shivered with goose flesh. Nathan
stops breathing, caught in the doorway. Dad smiles. The kitchen echoes with his
cough. He ogles Nathan up and down and his eyes, red rimmed, fill with longing.
He steps toward Nathan without warning and Nathan backs up, a corner catches
him and all at once there is no world, there is only Dad's white belly
shivering with blood and Dad's breath blowing down from above, the shadow
falling over Nathan's face. Nathan's heart batters his ribs. A sound falters.
Mom's voice emerges from the other room and her footsteps cause Dad to turn.
“Who's in the kitchen, Nathan?”
She
stands in the doorway to see. Her flesh has gone gray. She is staring at her
husband as if he has stepped onto the linoleum from another world.
Nathan
slips free of the corner and hurtles out of the house; breathless, he reaches
the bus at a dead run. Pushing open the cold metal door, he huddles in the
chilled interior till Roy finds him.
“Is
anything wrong?” Roy asks, seeing his stricken face. But there are no
words, no words will come. Roy, so close to his own parents and his own real
life, does not even dare embrace him. He studies the light in Nathan's kitchen,
a long time, before settling into the driver's seat.
Puzzled,
mostly silent, Roy has remained a steady guardian. Each morning he has come to
the bam early, to wake Nathan when he starts his chores. He warms the bus ahead
of schedule and watches the back door of Nathan's house. He acts as if this is
the most natural change of habit in the world, and they drive away. During
school they keep to
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