The Cave Painter & The Woodcutter (8 page)

“You betcha,” I says.

Some even call me that, Sunny, I mean, like a nickname.

“How's she hangin', Sunny?”

“Fine, sir, real fine. And yerself?”

“Can't complain.”

He's looking at the snapshot.

All lined up on the new couch. Bobby with his arm around Brittie on his lap. Angie with her arm around the both a them. Lookit'm smile. J'ever see anythin' happy as that? Even Brittie, for once. When she started ta talk and she stutters—

How should we've tried ta help fix her? I finish her words when she gets stuck, so she won't feel dumb or…

He gently tears the photo in two.

Frustrates Angie though. One night she says ta me, “We should call her somethin' else, can't even say her own name without that stutter.”

He keeps tearing it into smaller pieces.

And then she goes, “B-b-b-b-b-brit-t-t-t-y.”

“You quit that.”

“Aw, y're not the boss a me,” she goes. And I'm thinkin', “What's this now? What's all this?”

Angie, she starts ta change. I don't mean about her packin' on the pounds, not that; I mean that she starts gettin' all contrary. We could a weathered it out, all of it. After Vistas let me go when money disappeared that time—and not me, wasn't me, but he wouldn't listen, said, “Y're lucky I'm not callin' the cops.”

“Call'm,” I says. “Call'm, you prick, 'cause I had nothin' ta do with it whatsoever! It's that Farrah, and you know it, but y're all too busy tryin' ta get into her pants!”

After that it's a little while, not much more'n a month or so before I start up at the Palace Grill, but she's at me before I'm hired 'cause I'm home so much.

“Where ya want me ta be? Costs money ta be anywhere but here. Watchin' Oprah is free,” I says, “and I don't see you out lookin' fer no job.”

Then kids get the mumps and there's that big storm and we're all locked up at each other's throats. But we could a weathered all of it out, I think, we could've. Yes. Of that, I'm certain.

Except for she said yes to that kid brother a hers 'cause he had nowhere else ta go. Once Kevin comes ta stay with us, that's when the worst all got goin'. “He's sweet as can be,” she says after he phones her up. “Loves lookin' after little kids and that.” I say, “Sure. Okay.” I know he's had a hard time of it, dirty stuff happenin' to'm when he was a kid and that. I got sympathy for that, I know that stuff really happens, it's not just the TV.

The moon has disappeared. He's holding the photo pieces, staring at them.

But then he shows up.

He slowly starts eating the bits of photo. Taking them like pills, chewing and swallowing them as he talks.

I come home from work and he's there already, havin' one a my beers.

The look of'm!

Tattoos everywhere on his arms and his hands—Love and Hate and the like on his knuckles and all this Chinese nonsense—but it's his face. Spider-Man webs on his cheeks he's got, and zigzaggy things—all black as pitch—and 666 on his forehead like a big asshole. That's real smart. How could he do that to his face? That stuff don't come off. And these hoops in his ears the size a quarters, his ears all stretched out forever. Little spikes in his eyebrows and rings on his lip.

“He don't give a fuck how he looks,” I say, and she tells me he's had a hard time and ta be quiet and be patient with'm.

Just a scrawny little runt, can't weigh more'n a hundred and twenty, keel over if ya spit on'm, and always sneakin' around, pants hangin' off the tail end of his ass. I keep thinkin' of how he wasn't too bad-lookin' once, and now he's just gone and fucked himself for all time. What kind a job could he ever get? Who'd hire someone with that face?

And poor little Brittie's scared a him—well, he's scary-lookin', that kid, and she spooks easy. And so pretty that one, lovely as can be. Sweet, sweet, just sweetness itself.

He moves right in, sleeps on our couch. And he don't do nothin', don't get up till noon, kids can't sit on the couch ta watch the TV before school, hafta sit right up by the screen with the sound turned down so's not ta disturb his “beauty sleep,” and where's he go to at night, that's what I want ta know, what kind a hangout is there for the likes a that?

“I'd hate ta run inta the crowd he hangs out with on a dark street, scare the livin' shit right outta ya. S'like a horror movie, creep ya out, like Jason in them Friday the 13ths 'cept he had the sense ta stick a hockey mask over his face.”

“Shut up!” Angie tells me.

But why won't she admit that he's freakin' her out, I'm thinkin', why won't she? “He's got that little tear there, tattooed on his eye,” she says, like that's supposed ta make me all sad. As if I could pick a tear out from the rest of that crap he's got all over his face. “How much money d'ya suppose he's thrown away on that nonsense, just how much? And he's out there gettin' more done, I just betcha! Not gonna be a square inch a real skin left on'm before long.”

“Just shut up,” she says.

“Know what that face a his looks like? It looks like a page ya wasted in yer scribbler.”

“Shut up,” she says. “Just shut up shut up shut up!”

So I try and keep my counsel.

But it's buildin' up, inside a me, it's buildin' up. Angie's different, there's all this tension stuff, the kids're all unsettled and that. “How long's he gonna be here?”

“I'm talkin' ta my family,” she says. “Somethin'll happen soon.”

I got no use fer that Aunt Darla, but she's not stupid, she won't let the likes a that Kevin come ta her place. That I know.

I keep tryin' ta keep my counsel.

And they're always whisperin', the two a them. Psspsspsspss.

A noise in the woods. An animal in the underbrush. He listens.

Who's that?

Who goes there?

He listens again.

Don't sound big enough ta do too much damage.

Chipmunk, maybe, or some kind a asshole squirrel.

He listens.

I wake up in the middle a the night 'cause Brittie's crawled inta bed with us and she's real upset, I can tell. “Ya havin' a bad dream?” She shakes her head. “What happened?” She just snuggles in and starts cryin' and I think, what happened? Bobby can tease her sometimes, but he won't be awake at this hour, sleeps right through the nights now. I didn't think Kevin was in yet, I usually hear'm come in, see. Wakes me up between two and three most nights. 'Specially f'I got the breakfast shift.

She's all shivery like she's cold, and scared. “What's up, darlin'?”

Won't tell me what's wrong.

Then I hear it, this noise from the livin' room.

I start ta tuck her in next ta Angie, who could sleep through most anythin', like fights outside the window and that, cars with no mufflers tearin' back and forth half the night— though she's always goin' on about me snorin', keepin'er up—I tuck'r in, and she's clingin' ta me, hangin' on. “I'll be right back,” I whisper and kiss'r, and then I go out and down the little hall there.

He's sittin' on the couch, is our Kevin, buck naked, with the TV on, no sound, and there's all this commotion in his lap. That's what it looks like first, then I realize there's a girl's head down there, she's goin' down on him, and he's not lookin' at her, payin' her no mind, he's lookin' out over top of her, watchin' some porno movie on my TV, these two women goin' at each other…

I just stand there not knowin' what ta do. Did little Brittie see this on her way inta our room? This what's got her spooked? S'all I can do ta not go over and beat the shit outta him. But at first I don't wanna cause some big uproar, see, wake up Bobby.

And I'm thinkin', who's that girl? What kinda girl'd take up with the likes a that? Maybe she's all feeble-minded, or packed full a drugs or…

On the TV, those women are rubbin' each other and…

I'm just sick, just sick now thinkin' of it. Don't wanna do nothin' that'll wake up the family. Don't want Bobby ta even know things like that exist. Don't want'm ta have this be his first look at sex—a sight like this could screw ya up fer life. That Kevin is everythin' I've been tryin' ta keep my kids safe from, he is everythin' I don't want them ta know or ta be. He is what I want them ta steer clear of always. And there he is, on our couch, practically my brother-in-law—my common-law brother-in-law—gettin' a blow job and watchin' that smut without one thought to my kids bein' there in the house. S'not like he's in his own room and can close the door. It's a small apartment.

Then that Kevin, he knows I'm there. He don't look at me, but he says, “This turnin' ya on, Ted?” And he does this stupid little laugh. “Heh-heh.” He's all shit-faced, I can tell, the both a them there prob'ly crazy with the drugs.

I don't move, don't take one step inta that room, I just say, “Kevin, I'm so fuckin' mad that if I go over there, I'll likely kill ya.”

And he does his stupid laugh again. “Heh-heh.”

So I says, “You got about two minutes ta get that trash off our TV and get you and your friend there off our couch, get yerselves dressed and out a here. I don't want you near this family ever again, see?”

“Heh-heh.”

So I go, “Take off, Kevin. Right now.”

Then he goes, “You're not the boss a me, asshole.”

I go, “Ya want me ta get yer sister up? Want me ta get her in here tellin' ya it's time fer ya ta pack up and take off?”

Then he says…

He says, “You useless asshole.”

He says, “Even the kids know that Angie's gettin' ready ta take off on you.”

A coyote.

For the first time, TED appears to possess a quality of physical menace, as if he were no longer a small man, as if he were shedding his insignificance.

He had it comin'.

Whatever I did ta him, stitches and all, he had it comin'.

Bashed the livin' shit out a him with the first thing I could get my hands on.

Another coyote.

He had it comin'.

A moment.

It's hard ta stay back in that apartment, keep tryin' ta find a better job when Angie takes those kids and comes back ta Darla. I thought we wanted ta be clear a this shithole, the both of us. It's like breakin' up without sayin' that's what it is. And did she have it planned like Kevin said, the takin' off, or did it happen 'cause he said it and then I went at him? Grabbed that kitchen chair and bashed the livin' shit right outta him.

Moment. He's cold, starting to shiver.

One time I go ta that church where we brought the kids ta Sunday school. Go ta see the minister there after. Reverend Simon.

“How're you people doin'?” he says. “Haven't seen you here for some time.”

“Not so good,” I tell him. “Angie's takin' the kids down home nearby her aunt Darla and I'm havin' a hard time findin' work, me.”

“I'm sorry ta hear that,” he says. “The Lord works in mysterious ways sometimes. Well, God bless ya. I'll say a prayer for ya all.”

Not what I'd call comfort.

First time I come and visit after she moved outta Darla's inta her own place, it was hard goin'. They got that dog now, Blackie, and it don't like me too much. Makes the kids happy, I suppose, but it's ugly as a pig's hole, and all that dog can do is bark and shit.

It was no easy visit, no sir.

But it was that time Bobby climbed the clothes pole and rode the clothesline all the way across the yard ta the back porch. Angie and me, watchin' out the window, and we laughed like two fools. “Lookit! Lookit him go!” Brittie out in the snow laughin' and chasin' after him while he's sailin' along right over her head. Stupid Blackie barkin' and runnin' round. Everyone out in that yard as happy as happy can be. Inside the house, too, I think. Fer a minute.

April Fool's there, I slept in just a little. Angie's startin' the coffee when I come into the kitchen, and she's in one of her moods, I could tell when she poured water into the coffee maker and spilt some. She made a sound like it was all the water's fault for being so stupid. So I figure'd I'd give'r a minute. TV wasn't on yet and the house's all quiet. Soon there'd be all that noise, kids gettin' ready, and Blackie barkin' and runnin' 'bout. I'm watchin' Blackie there out the window—how can one little dog be responsible for so many goddamn turds? Jesus Murphy. Snow's meltin' and I can see how the yard's full a them. I think that I'll go out there and clean it up later, after the kids get the school bus. Anythin' ta make'r happy.

Then Angie goes that “Coffee's ready,” and her voice sounded nice so I figured the coast was clear. But she's starin' at me after I turn around, and shakin' her head. “What next!” she says.

“What? What'd I do?”

“Your eye. Jesus.”

It's April Fool's, so I didn't do anythin'. Just grinned at'r.

“Don't you come near me.”

“What?”
“Go look in the friggin' mirror, asshole.”

I go to the mirror over the sink. White part of this eye's all red. Like someone poked a stick in it. Pink eye.

“It's contagious as hell! Don't touch me and don't go near the kids! Ya look like some stunned zombie in a horror movie.”

I should a said nothin', kept my stupid mouth shut, but I didn't, I couldn't.

“It'll clear up in a week,” I say. “And it'll be gone.”

Then, “S'not like it's some fuckin' asshole tattoo.”

Beat.

Back in the city, at our old place, no reason ta go ta work without them at home. No reason ta show up there again. No reason ta do much anythin'.

It's so hard ta stay away. Bobby's turnin' eight. Been around for a whole lot a my life. Doesn't seem possible somehow. But there's the time when he learned ta walk, and the times we went swimmin', and when he got started at school, and read ta Brittie and when we made snowmen and Christmas and—