Women & Other Animals (29 page)

"Let's take that yellow car to my grave, child." Her mother had been just as opinionated, just as direct, but would this Elizabeth risk her life to tell the truth the way her mother had? And would this Elizabeth have sent her only child across the ocean to live with strangers in order to save her?

Andrea looked lost, her eyes moving between Charlotte and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth asked, "What happened to your mother, anyway?"

"She died in the war, with my father."

"I know that, but
how
did she die?" Elizabeth shouted. "Tell us!"

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"Stop it, Liz!" said Andrea.

"The way a lot of people died." Charlotte looked hard at Elizabeth. "Hungry."

Elizabeth looked back at her just as hard.

Nowadays there was little shame in admitting her mother was a communist. That wasn't the problem. And the girl had a right to know about her grandmother. So why, when Charlotte wanted nothing more than to tell them the truth, was her throat closing?

The sign at the graveyard read "No visitors after 9 P. M." Elizabeth shut off the headlights and drove in the dark along the paved path. The three got shovels out of the trunk and searched the headstones until they found the single marker, "Charlotte Elizabeth DeBoer, 1932." Mr. DeBoer had been buried near his own family in the graveyard behind the church. Mats of sod had been laid over the soil here but hadn't thoroughly rooted so Charlotte was able to roll them aside with her shovel.

Beneath, the dirt was loosely packed and moved easily. Both girls wore white tennis shoes. Charlotte's work shoes were hardsoled. The night was warm for the end of November—their breath was barely visible—but Charlotte had worn coarse leather work gloves.

Elizabeth carried the whiskey bottle in her bare, crooked fingers. "Some families go to the park and have picnics in the sunshine," she said. "But we go out at night and dig up graves."

"I should have my head examined for even coming out here," said Andrea.

"But don't go to Mom's doctor," said Elizabeth, laughing now. "He'll cut it off."

"Very funny," said Andrea.

Charlotte thought the two might have been digging with spoons, such was the tiny amount of dirt they moved at first. Charlotte's power was not what it used to be since she had to balance on the fake leg as she drove the shovel into the earth with her good one. Andrea, more quickly than Elizabeth, seemed to figure out the angle at which she could best force the blade into the ground. Though her daughters were skinny, they were three and four inches taller than she was, and she had not been considered a short woman in her time.

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"How did you get to be such a hard person, Mom?" asked Elizabeth.

"Liz! Leave her alone!" said Andrea.

"Me leave
her
alone? She's got us out here digging up a grave and I should leave her alone?"

Charlotte didn't respond, but absorbed their voices. She liked Elizabeth drunk and loosetongued. Charlotte hoped that with their careers, the girls would accomplish more than she had. If they married, she hoped they'd marry men they liked and that they'd keep their bodies intact, every limb, every digit. If only she could meld into words the clouds of poison ashes which settled around her each day, then they would understand why she had to bring the leg home. And then she would find a way to tell them everything, about her parents, about Mr. DeBoer, about her terrible dreams. Her eyes watered so she redoubled her efforts, pushing the shovel with more force. As the pile of dirt beside them grew, Charlotte felt her strength infusing her daughters; she felt their small muscles tighten. And as they dug, she felt a shimmer of her own mother's presence.

"My mother died in a camp," said Charlotte, crashing the shovel into the dirt, but not stopping her work. "Along with my father."

The girls worked without speaking for what seemed like a long time. Finally Elizabeth said, "We knew that, More. Grandpa Peter told us a few years ago." Elizabeth looked at Andrea, then back to Charlotte. "I just wanted to make you say it back there. I don't know why."

Charlotte kept her head down and did not ask why they had talked to Peter about it instead of her. She didn't ask them if they knew more than she did.

"What was she like?" asked Elizabeth, "Your mother. Grandpa Peter said she was a communist."

"Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it," said Andrea.

"She was a journalist." Charlotte's voice sounded unnaturally loud in the graveyard. She felt as though this simple fact was the first thing she had ever told her daughters. Maybe this was the beginning of telling them everything. But right now they had to keep digging. This was their chance—if they worked hard enough, Page 198

the three of them would unearth not only her own leg, but her mother's bones as well. By the light of this thin moon, Charlotte's parents would finally awaken from their unholy and emaciated sleep, and they would forgive her for leaving them and for surviving. Charlotte balanced on her artificial foot, and with the real foot pushed her shovel deep into the ground again. She imagined a system of roots growing beneath her, stretching into the dirt, wrapping around lost old bones, reaching toward her daughters' feet.

Elizabeth stopped to rest and leaned on her shovel like the country girl she'd never be. She was gazing up at the sky as though she hadn't seen stars or the moon in a while. After she took a swig from her bottle, she handed it to Andrea who reluctantly sipped and then, instead of giving it back to Liz, held it toward Charlotte. Both daughters watched as she tipped the bottle up and let the whiskey burn her lips.

Document Outline

• Women & Other Animals
  
  • Acknowledgments
    
  • Contents
    
  • Circus Matinee
    
  • Rhyme Game
    
  • Gorilla Girl
    
  • Old Dogs
    
  • Eating Aunt Victoria
    
  • Shotgun Wedding
    
  • The Fishing Dog
    
  • The Perfect Lawn
    
  • The Sudden Physical Development of Debra Dupuis
    
  • Sleeping Sickness
    
  • Celery Fields
    
  • Running
    
  • Taking Care of the O'Learys
    
  • Shifting Gears
    
  • The Smallest Man in the World
    
  • Bringing Home the Bones