Spare Change (5 page)

That’s how it was the boy came to be called Ethan Allen. Once Susanna
came home from the hospital, she ignored the child altogether and spent her
days crying. She’d wake in the morning, then slide right back under the
bedcover and pick up where she’d left off the night before.  “Why me?” she’d
howl, “…why me?” 

For the first three months of his life, Ethan Allen screamed longer and
harder than did Susanna. It seemed he was always hungry or wet or at times
crying for no apparent reason. Benjamin, despite his rough hands and lack of
tolerance was the one who heated the bottles of formula and changed diapers.
Once the baby had been fed and dried, Benjamin would drop him into his crib and
hurry off to a bunch of soy beans that needed planting. “We’re never going to
New York if you don’t get your ass out of bed and see to this baby,” he’d tell
Susanna; then he’d beat it out the door before she let go of a string of
profanities.

The first time she held the baby was one morning in late September.  An
early frost had covered the ground and Benjamin fearing the worst, rushed off without
feeding the boy. Ethan Allen howled like a tomcat for three hours, until
Susanna finally went to him. “You gonna keep squalling forever?” she said,
lifting the baby into her arms. The crying stopped immediately. “Ornery little
cuss. Hell bent on getting your way, ain’t you?” She grinned, “Just like your
mama.” After that Susanna found she could tolerate the baby and at times even
love him. “You got eyes like Mama,” she’d coo, then drop him into the crib and
head off to the beauty parlor in town. 

Benjamin had hoped having a baby would settle Susanna down, make her
forget the nonsense about a singing career. Of course, it didn’t. “When are we
gonna take that trip to New York?” she’d ask, “I’ve heard tell Radio City Music
Hall is hiring some new Rockettes.” Once a thought like that got into her head,
she’d work on her singing for days on end. Ethan Allen would be wanting his
oatmeal, but she’d be dancing atop the coffee table in her panties and a lace
brassiere.

“You gonna feed this kid?” Benjamin would ask, but she’d keep right on
singing into the bowl of a wooden spoon and gyrating like there was an
eggbeater caught inside of her. “Some kind of mother you are!” he’d growl, and
turn off in disgust. Still, when the darkness of night rolled around he’d feel
the same old fire of wanting in his belly. “Come over here,” he’d say, “Make
Daddy happy.”

The first year, Benjamin held off going to New York by claiming she’d
have to get back in shape if she was to attract a talent scout. “Those
Rockettes don’t have an ounce of fat on them,” he told her. That whole summer
Susanna ate nothing but spinach and lettuce. She’d spy a Hershey bar and a line
of drool would drizzle down onto her chin; but she stuck to the spinach and
lettuce. She grew to be so thin that her eyes sunk back into her face until
they appeared to be sitting on a ledge of cheekbone; her arms became smaller
around than those of Ethan Allen. Finally, when Susanna was too weak for
lovemaking, Benjamin said he thought she’d taken the dieting a bit too far and
suggested they postpone the trip till she got some meat back on her bones. The
second year he insisted the boy was still too young to travel. The third year
there was a problem with the crops; the fourth he had something else worrying
his mind. Year after year he found an excuse to cancel the trip to New York,
which was, of course, the reason for most of their arguments. 

“I’m suffocating out here,” she’d wail, “I want more than just you and
this kid.” 

Benjamin would answer, “You got a fine house, a kid, and a man who
loves you! What more does a woman need?” Before the evening was out she’d be
hurling cook pots at him or screaming profanities that caught hold of the wind
and traveled far beyond the neighboring farms—sometimes in another town that
was miles down the road, men would swear the voice had been that of their wife
who was washing dishes in the next room.    

Ethan Allen grew up with such sounds taking root in the canals of his
ears. Before his first birthday, he’d become so accustomed to the arguments
that in the midst of a free-for-all, he could nap peacefully. He’d sit there in
the floor and not twitch a muscle, when a piece of crockery sailed by and
splattered against the wall. The first word the boy ever spoke was
damn
and the second was
hungry
. While he was still small enough to be
suckling milk from a bottle, he’d toddle along behind Susanna saying, “Damn kid
hungry, Mama.”

“See what you’ve done,” Benjamin would moan, “the kid thinks that’s his
name.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re not to fault!” she’d answer.

By the time the boy was three, he’d learned to fix his own peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches. He’d also learned that when the breadbox was
empty, he could drag a stepstool across the kitchen, scramble up onto the
counter and reach into the cupboard for a box of dry cereal. “That’s my little
man,” Susanna would say, and plant a kiss on his forehead as she headed off to
town. At an age when most children are cautioned against playing with matches,
Ethan Allen would light the stove and fry up an egg.

Susanna considered the boy’s ability to fend for himself an admirable
trait. “You ought to be more like Ethan Allen,” she’d tell Benjamin, “you don’t
see
him
counting on me for every little thing!” 

“A woman’s supposed to do for her husband,” Benjamin would answer in
return, which inevitably led to the screaming of insults back and forth. They’d
fight about almost anything they found at hand—things as inconsequential as a
missing button or unmade bed. The arguments most always ended with Benjamin
leading her off to the bedroom and closing the door behind him. “Slip into that
lacy brassiere,” he’d say and she’d do it. Once she could feel the heat of his
breath curling into her ear, feel the hunger of his hands groping her body,
Susanna would elicit yet another promise of a trip to New York.

The year Ethan Allen turned eight, everything changed. The promises
wore thin and Susanna began to doubt that she would ever see New York City.
Despite her husband’s objections, she got a job working in the cosmetic
department of Woolworth’s. Every morning, she’d pull on a skirt that was way
too short and head into town; Benjamin wouldn’t see hide-nor-hair of her until
six hours after the store had closed for the evening.  “Where the hell have you
been?” he’d scream. “What about dinner?”

“Oh,
please!
” Susanna would groan, then turn her back to him and
start fussing with some stray hair that had fallen out of place. “Ethan’s got
the good sense to fix up something when he’s hungry,” she’d sigh, “seems like
you could do the same!”

“It’s not my place!” he’d storm. “A wife’s got responsibilities! You
ought to be seeing to the needs of me and this boy!” Benjamin would gesture to
a chair that as it turned out was empty; then he’d wonder aloud where in the
hell the boy had gone to.     

Ethan Allen knew when trouble was coming. He knew when his mama’s car
came rolling up the drive long after dark, there’d be hell to pay—given his
daddy’s shortness of temper there’d for sure be name calling and screaming. If
his mama wanted to, she could sweet-talk her way out of anything, but if she
was in the mood to start heaving dishes across the room, there could be
fisticuffs—the kind that sometimes ended with her having a black eye and him
sleeping on the sofa. Nights such as that, Ethan Allen hung around, tried to
smooth things over. “Here, Daddy,” he’d say, “I made you a sandwich. Cheese
with mayonnaise, like you like.” After that he’d sidle up to Susanna and
whisper something about how Benjamin’s bad temper was
his
way of
worrying. “Daddy, don’t mean nothing by it,” he’d say, “He loves you, Mama, he
surely does.” On a good day, his parents could end up laughing and tickling
each other. On a bad day, there was no telling what would happen. Those nights,
the only thing the boy could do was sneak out with a flashlight and a Captain
Marvel comic book, wait till things quieted down, then tiptoe back through the
kitchen door. 

Some nights it never quieted down and when the sun came up they’d still
be screaming insults at each other. Other nights, he’d find the back door
locked and have to sleep on the porch curled up alongside Dog, a stray that
Susanna had lugged home one night when she’d claimed to have car trouble and
stayed out till almost dawn. “Here, Sweetie,” she’d said and handed the dog to
Ethan Allen; “This cute little fella’s your birthday present.” 

The dog was as far from cute as possible—he was wobbly-legged and bad
tempered with most everybody. “What’s his name?” Ethan Allen asked.

“Dog,” Susanna answered laughingly; but minutes later all hell broke
loose because Benjamin claimed he didn’t believe for one second that she’d had
car trouble.

“You think I’m stupid?” he screamed, “You think I got no idea of what
you’re up to?”

With never knowing which way the wind was gonna blow, Ethan Allen
figured he ought to have a hideout, a place to go on nights when there was no
appeasing anybody, and that’s when he starting building the fort. First a
hammer disappeared from the tool chest, then a good sized sheet of aluminum and
some wood Benjamin was planning to use for repairs. After that the large black
tarpaulin used to cover the tractor vanished with not a trace, then it was a
shag rug that for years had been right there in the hallway. Cans of food began
to be missing, a whole pound of weenies, blankets, a pillow, even the portable
radio Benjamin claimed, was nowhere to be found.  

“Ethan Allen, you know anything about this?” Susanna asked.

“Me?” he said, “I’m just a kid, why you asking me?”

Susanna hitched her mouth up on one side and glared at him in a most
suspicious manner. “Seems to me, you know something,” she said.

Just then Ethan Allen remembered his chores and scooted through the
back door, but coincidentally, the disappearing of things suddenly came to an
end. “I know you’re up to something, boy,” Benjamin said several times, yet he
never noticed that less than fifty yards from the house, behind a stand of
Douglas Firs, was a lean-to covered with a black tarpaulin. He never noticed
that late at night, when the only sound he should have heard was the chirping
of crickets, he could listen carefully and hear the sound of a baseball game
being played at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore.

Ethan Allen Doyle

M
ama is easier
to love than Daddy. He’s got a real serious nature and yells a lot; but Mama,
she’ll carry on and act a fool till we’re laughing so hard our sides are likely
to split open. Daddy usually starts cussing up a storm when she does that, because
he figures she’s making fun at his expense. 

That’s how Mama is—she’s always getting into some kind of trouble. Mama
needs somebody to stick up for her and who else is there but me? 

One time I asked Mama if Daddy was mad at her because of me; you know,
because of how I don’t mind so good. But she said Daddy’s trouble was that he
was just born in a pissed-off mood. The way I figure it, if he ain’t mad cause
of me then it’s probably because Mama’s so pretty.

This one time, Daddy and Mama was fighting so hard, I thought they was
gonna kill each other. I told Mama I was scared of that; but she just laughed.
She said such a thing wouldn’t ever happen. Maybe not, but I hope if it does,
Mama’s the one who kills Daddy ‘cause then maybe we could have fun without
always worrying about how we’re gonna get in trouble.

Passion for Pie

I
f Susanna hadn’t been born with
a fire inside of her, she might have eventually grown tired of traipsing
around, she might have lived to be an old and settled woman, content with her
life and with watching her son grow to a man. But, she simply wasn’t a person to
slip into the rut of sameness; so with each passing year she became more
restless. In the springtime she developed an itch that made her want to shed
her skin; then when winter came, her insides burned like the belly of a
furnace. “I can’t stand the boredom of this life,” she said over and over
again. When she got to feeling she’d scream if she watched another teenage girl
breeze by the cosmetic counter and slip a tube of Tangee lipstick into her
pocket without paying, she quit the job at Woolworth’s. The news, at first,
pleased Benjamin; then she told him she’d now be waitressing at the all-night
diner.

“Feeding dinner to other folks when you don’t bother to so much as cook
an egg at home?” he said, his words sharp as a butcher knife.“I cook when I’ve
a mind to,” she snapped back.

“When you’ve a mind to ain’t all that often…”

“Yeah, well maybe I got more incentive at the diner! You ever heard of
tips?” Susanna said sarcastically. “With my way of pleasing folks, I’ll likely end
up making two, maybe three, times more than I was making at Woolworth’s,”

“You’ll be gone the whole night long!”

Susanna wrapped her arms around Benjamin’s neck and wriggled her body
up against his. “Don’t think about me being gone all night,” she cooed, “Think
about what’s gonna happen when I get home in the morning. You’ll wake up and
I’ll be standing at the foot of the bed,” she edged her tongue along the back
of his ear, “wearing one of those lacy brassieres you’re so crazy about.”