The Sound of Life and Everything (16 page)

22

That night, I was passing Mama's meat loaf when
four knocks landed on our door. They caught me so off guard that the meat loaf flipped out of my hands and landed on its ketchup side. I couldn't look at Mama as I returned the now-empty plate to the table, but she didn't get upset, just dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

“Would you get that, Ella Mae?” she asked.

So she was going to deliver me to the monster at the door. It was no less than I deserved for ruining the meat loaf.

“Yes, ma'am,” I mumbled dutifully.

Takuma tried to follow, but Mama shook her head.

“Stay here,” she told Takuma, taking a swig of her sweet tea. “I think it will be best to have this conversation in the kitchen. Heaven only knows it's harder to be discourteous when there's a centerpiece present.”

It was like she already knew who was at the door and why, but she always seemed to know more than the rest of us did. Takuma hesitated, then, reluctantly, sat back down. Daddy didn't bother to look up from the
Times.

I tiptoed into the entryway, since I didn't want our caller to know that I was coming. I'd barely turned the knob when he pushed the door open from the outside. I tensed myself for an attack, but it wasn't a monster. It was Uncle George.

“I want to speak to Jed,” he said before I had a chance to greet him. He had neither coat nor hat, and his eyes were as wild as a rabid dog's.

“Daddy's in the kitchen,” I replied, sneaking a peek over my shoulder, “but Uncle George, maybe you shouldn't—”

“
Don't,
” he interrupted, pushing his way into the house, “try to tell me what to do.”

I shrank back against the coatrack. I'd never seen Uncle George like this. He was usually the calm one.

“That unnatural Oriental put his unnatural hands on Gracie, so I'm going to speak to your father whether you like it or not.”

I drew myself up to my full height. “Listen, Uncle George, I don't like the fact that they were kissin' any more than you do, but it doesn't seem like you're in any condition to talk sensibly.”

Uncle George's nostrils flared. The muscles in his neck stood out like cords. He hadn't acted this upset when me and Theo let the sheep out, and it had taken him three days to track the last of those ewes down. When he raised an open hand, I curled my arms over my head, but before he had a chance to slap me, a shadow fell across our feet.

Takuma's silhouette was straight and tall. He was probably leaning against the doorjamb. “Mr. Clausen,” he said slowly. “Leave Ella Mae alone.”

Slowly, very slowly, Uncle George twisted around, but before he finished twisting, Mama showed up on the scene.

“Let me through,” she said.

For once, Takuma didn't listen.

“I said, let me through!”

But Takuma didn't budge.

Uncle George advanced on him. His steps were slow and careful, but I'd seen him butcher sheep, and he did that carefully, too.

“Let's not be hasty,” Mama said. He must not have fooled her, either. “No one really knows what happened. Cathy McConnell filled me in, and we both know she's as reliable as a starvin' cow.”

Uncle George pointed at Takuma. “He knows exactly what he did.”

“He didn't do anything,” I said. The last thing I wanted to do was watch Takuma get his brains bashed in. “Or at least he didn't do anything that Gracie wasn't willin' to do, too.”

This time, Uncle George didn't give me any warning, just backhanded me across the cheek. Or at least that was what it looked like he was going to do. I closed my eyes before his hand made contact.

But the contact never came.

The sound rattled my teeth, but I didn't feel the blow. Cautiously, I opened my eyes. Somehow, Takuma had jumped between us despite his lingering limp. His arm had borne the brunt of Uncle George's rage.

“Not Ella Mae,” Takuma said.

Uncle George gritted his teeth, but instead of striking him again, he peered into Takuma's eyes. It was like he was trying to catch a glimpse of Takuma's immortal soul.

We were all just standing there, listening to our hearts beat, when Daddy wandered into the room. “There's no fighting in the house, so I'm afraid I have to ask you two to take this mess outside.”

“No!” I said despite myself. If they took this mess outside, I doubted Takuma would come back.

Uncle George's eyes flickered to Daddy, then swung back over to Takuma. Finally, they landed on me. I wasn't sure what he was looking for, but the hardness of his gaze was enough to make me flinch.

“That won't be necessary,” he replied as he fumbled for his hat. When he remembered he wasn't wearing one, he turned to leave, then turned right back. “But if you
ever
come within a hundred feet of my Gracie again, I swear I'll skin you alive.”

Takuma clenched his teeth, but at least he managed not to deck him.

Uncle George yanked open the door and melted back into the night. As soon as the door thumped shut behind him, I grabbed Takuma's arm. His skin was red, not bruised, but when I probed the spots that were the reddest, he still made a face.

I checked to see what Mama thought, but it didn't look like she'd noticed. She was too busy glaring at Daddy (who'd gone back to reading his
Times
).

“Really, Jed?” she asked. “Your contribution to this near-disaster was to ask them to
go outside
?”

Daddy calmly turned the page. “I thought you were the one who didn't like boxing in the house.”

Mama scowled at nothing in particular. “If you thought George was gonna box him, then you need to get some glasses.”

• • •

I was halfway past the Richmonds' on my way home the next day when a bicycle bell dinged behind me. At least it wasn't Walter. After last night's near-disaster, I'd promised myself that I was never going to hit anyone again, but if Walter picked a fight, that was going to be difficult.

Gracie's cheeks were red and splotchy, and a random clump of hair was dangling from her French twist. For the first time in a long time, she looked like the old Gracie, the one who'd played hide-and-seek with me and Theo and sneaked us snickerdoodles. So when she hollered my name, I didn't even try to run. Gracie might have caused this mess, but the least I could do was hear her out.

When she finally caught up, she tipped off her bicycle. “Thanks for—waiting for me,” Gracie said between heavy gasps for breath.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I'm fine,” she said, waving that off. “I just wanted—to tell you—that Mama says—I can't come over.” She drew a noisy breath. “And Daddy says that if I get within a hundred feet of Takuma—”

“He'll skin him alive.”

Gracie flinched. “Did Theo tell you?”

I shook my head. “We're not on speakin' terms.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Gracie said, then sent me a sideways glance. “It's not because of me, is it?”

“No,” I said, sighing. “It's because of Takuma.”

Gracie flinched again. “You need to know,” she said as she lowered her gaze, “that I really wasn't trying to take Takuma from you.”

I felt my cheeks get hot. “I really don't know what you mean.”

Gracie sneaked a peek at my beet-red face, and I thought I might explode. I wasn't of a mind to talk about boy things, least of all with her.

But instead of pushing me to say more, Gracie glanced down at her toes. “I'm sorry I brought it up.”

“I'm sorry, too,” I said.

She climbed back on her bicycle. “I'd best be getting home.” Her eyes flickered toward the Richmonds'. “I've already lingered too long.”

I followed her gaze. “You don't think Chester's home, do you?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “He's at the drugstore until eight.”

Chester had known Gracie's schedule for as long as I could remember, but I'd never realized that she also knew his.

“Do you
like
Chester?” I asked.

“How I feel about Chester is hardly relevant,” she said.

That meant yes, of course. “Then why'd you kiss Takuma?”

Gracie blushed and dropped her gaze. “I didn't mean to kiss him. It was one of those things that just happen.” She looked me in the eyes. “But I don't regret it, Ella Mae. You understand that, don't you? I don't regret it in the least.”

I didn't understand it, but then, I didn't understand kissing, so maybe that explained it. Still, I nodded vaguely so Gracie wouldn't bumble on.

She turned her bicycle around. Guess she was taking the long way. “You'll help Takuma with his lessons?”

“Of course I will,” I said.

“And you'll bake a cake for his birthday?”

“It's his birthday?” I replied.

Gracie nodded. “May sixteenth. We're not sure how old he'll be—neither of us could decide if we should count the years that he was dead—but the candles aren't important.”

I'd always thought the candles were the
most
important things, but maybe you stopped counting birthdays at the ripe old age of sixteen.

“I knew I could count on you.” Gracie tried to smile, but she was obviously trying not to cry. “I guess I'll see you around.”

“No, I don't think you will,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess you're right.” She swept the clump of hair out of her face, but it looked like she was actually wiping off a tear. “Tell him good-bye for me.”

“All right,” I said uncertainly. Maybe I was missing something, but that seemed kind of extreme. Auntie Mildred couldn't keep her under lock and key forever, and if I had anything to say about it, Takuma wasn't going anywhere.

23

When I got home, I found Takuma hovering over
one of Daniel's sketchbooks. Daniel had owned hundreds, so they were hard to keep track of, but as I inched closer to Takuma, I could tell that this was Daniel's last. It had come back from Belgium with his other personal effects. Mama had found it in her closet while she was digging out those picture books, and Takuma had asked if he could keep it. I wasn't sure if he was using it for writing or for drawing, but he'd been dragging it around all day, scribbling in it feverishly. At least he looked up when I came in.

“Looks like it'll just be you and me,” I said, since I didn't want to get his hopes up.

I expected him to frown or maybe burst into tears, but he only glanced at the books Mama had left on the end table like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

I sat down beside him. “I can read 'em with you, if you want.” I tried not to sound too eager.

“Yes, ma'am,” Takuma said as he set his sketchbook down.

Biting my lip to keep from smiling, I retrieved one of the books. It looked like a collection of illustrated Bible stories. “I remember this!” I said as I flipped through the pages. “The old reverend gave it to us when I was just a baby.” I flipped back to the beginning and read the first title out loud: “‘How the Lord created the heavens and the earth and the first human beings.'”

Takuma sat up straighter, but instead of reading more, I tossed the book onto the couch. I wasn't interested in finding out how God had made Adam and Eve. It probably involved a giant horse pill.

“Okay?” Takuma asked.

I plopped my chin into my hands. “Have you ever read the Bible? Not these stories for babies, but the real, actual Bible?”

Takuma shook his head.

“It's chock-full of awful stories about folks doing awful things. There's this one about two brothers, Cain and Abel. Cain's a farmer like Mr. McConnell, and Abel's a rancher like Uncle George. Anyway, the Lord commands them to make an offering, so Abel offers a sheep, but Cain offers an orange.”

Takuma leaned forward in his seat, his eyes as wide as silver dollars. It was too bad that the reverend had forbidden him to go to church. Mrs. Timothy would have appreciated an eager student for a change.

“I don't know a lot about offerings,” I admitted, “but apparently, the Lord likes sheep more than He likes oranges. When He accepts Abel's offering instead of Cain's, Cain gets really mad. The Lord tries to explain, but Cain doesn't want to hear it. He goes to Abel's ranch and kills him in cold blood.”

Mrs. Timothy always told us to put ourselves into the scriptures, to make the stories about us, but I'd always considered that to be the most useless thing I'd ever heard. What could I have in common with someone who'd walked and talked with God? But for once, I understood what she'd been trying to tell us. Apparently, Mrs. Timothy had finally gotten something right.

“I've always thought that Cain was stupid. I mean, why did he think he could get away with murder when he saw God every day? But the truth is, he doesn't seem quite as stupid anymore.” I drew a shaky breath. “I might not have killed my brother, but in lots of ways, I'm just as jealous.”

Takuma didn't ask me to explain, and I was happy not to have to. Maybe it was because he didn't understand the words, but I thought it was because being kind was just his way.

I dragged a hand under my nose. “Does that make me a sinner?”

He considered that, then shook his head. “No, Ella Mae is friend.”

I sniffed. “That's mighty kind of you.”

Takuma bowed, and in a way, it felt like we were back at the beginning—but the beginning of what?

• • •

A few nights later, I woke up to the sound of someone retching. I'd been dreaming about Daniel drawing pictures in the sky, so it took me a few seconds to break the surface of the dream. Then I heard it again and suddenly woke up. I raced into Takuma's room, but Mama was already there.

“Go back to sleep,” she told me.

“What's wrong with him?” I asked.

“He'll be fine in the morning.”

Even half asleep, I could tell that she was lying. “What's wrong?” I asked again.

“Nothing you can fix,” she said. “Now go back to sleep.”

But I didn't go back, just lingered by the door. Mama had left the hall light on, so my outline cast a shadow across the bed, the rug, Takuma. He looked so small and pale beneath Daniel's patchwork quilt. I wanted to protect him, but just like Mama had said, there was nothing I could do.

“Mama?” I bleated like a lamb. I didn't like this helpless feeling, but it wouldn't go away.

She hauled herself back to her feet and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “It'll be all right,” she murmured. Her breath tickled my ear. “I promise I'll look after him.”

She pressed her lips against my forehead, then nudged me out the door. This time, I didn't argue. Takuma was retching again by the time I reached my bed, but Mama had promised she'd look after him, so he was going to be fine.

Or at least that was what I told myself.

It was harder to believe as I lay in the dark, alone, one hand pressed against the wall that separated me from him. I wished that he could fall asleep and feel better in the morning. I wished that I could, too. But sleep was hard to come by when the folks you loved were hurting.

• • •

When I woke up the next morning, my hand was still pressed against the wall. I couldn't remember falling asleep, but I must have at some point. For a long time, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Trying to convince myself that Takuma wasn't really sick. But when I went down for breakfast, he looked like a walking corpse. Though he brightened at the sight of me, I was nowhere near fooled. He only took two bites of oatmeal before it came back up.

I worried on my way to school, during Miss Fightmaster's lessons, and on my way back home. What if Takuma wasn't fine? What if this wasn't the flu? These questions gnawed my brain like a dog chewing a bone. By the time I hurtled through the door, I was ready for some answers, but Mama wasn't available. She was on the telephone.

“Where's Takuma?” I asked, anyway.

She pressed a hand over the mouthpiece. “I think he's takin' a nap.”

“Has Dr. Olsen been to see him?”

Instead of answering, she turned around. “Yes, ma'am,” she told the operator. “I'd like to place a call to the Japanese embassy.”

I'd never heard of embassies, let alone a Japanese one, but if she thought that would distract me, she was in for a surprise. While she twiddled Daddy's fountain pen, I retrieved a shriveled apple and hunkered down to wait.

The apple kept me busy—I had to eat around the bad parts—so I didn't pay attention to Mama's conversation. When she chucked the pen at the refrigerator (and the telephone a moment later), I came to the conclusion that it hadn't gone well.

“What's the matter, Mama? Did the embassy not want to talk?”

“Oh, they wanted to talk,” she said. “They just wanted to talk about a bunch of things they must have known I couldn't talk about.”

“What kinds of things?” I asked.

She reeled the telephone back in and returned it to its hook. “Oh, just where Takuma came from. How he ended up in California.” She chewed her pinky nail. “I might have been able to remember the name of the town where he was born, but I couldn't explain how he ended up here.”

I scrunched up my nose. “But why did the embassy want to know that stuff?”

Mama looked at me, then looked away. “So they could send him home.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I thought he
was
home,” I replied.

“He can't stay here forever.” She flipped a braid over my shoulder. “He doesn't belong here, Ella Mae.”

I jerked out of her reach. If she was going to say things like that, I didn't want her to touch me. “You told Daddy he belonged. And you promised me you wouldn't take him back to Dr. Franks.”

Mama rolled her eyes. “I'm not gonna take him
back.
But I would send him home.” She pressed her lips into a line. “He had a family, a life, and maybe they're just what he needs to fix these damaged motor things.”

I pressed myself into the corner, suddenly desperate to escape. “What are you tryin' to say?”

Mama cupped my cheek. Her hand was rough but also warm, like the boards in the oak trees before we wore them smooth. “What I'm tryin' to say is that, if a war took you away from me and a crazy scientist brought you back, I'd want you to come home.”

I blinked back angry tears. “But I thought you loved Takuma.”

“Of
course
I love him,” Mama said as a single tear dripped down her cheek. “But that's why we have to let him go.”