Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison [128]
“Bone,” he said. His voice was hoarse and deep. I wondered if Aunt Alma heard it out in the garden behind the house. His eyes looked bright and intent, his jaw tense. “Your mama an’t here, is she?” he asked.
I shook my head no. I put my hands behind my back and clasped them tightly. He stepped up on the porch and looked me over, up and down, and back up to my face. His lips thinned out.
“You’re getting bigger,” he said. “Gonna be ready to start dating boys any day now. Getting married, maybe, starting your own family.” He spat to the side. “Breaking some man’s heart just ’cause you can.”
I licked my lips, unclasped my hands. “I’ll get you something to drink,” I said. I pushed through the screen door as fast as I could, but he was right behind me, his hand pulling my fingers off the little latch.
“You do that,” he said. He looked at the table, where the peanut butter jar still stood with the lid off. “Making yourself a sandwich? Make me one.”
I didn’t know what to do. Get him a glass of tea, make him a sandwich, keep my head down, and hope that Aunt Alma would come back in? I thought of her and her bandaged hands, her sore back and thin neck. I looked in Daddy Glen’s eyes again and was too afraid to move.
“Don’t act like that. You an’t got no reason to be afraid of me.” He moved toward me. “I talked to Anney, you know. She’s gonna come back. She promised, just needs a little time, time to make it up to you.” I saw his fingers curl up and loosen again. He flung his huge hands out to the side and shook his head, laughing.
“That woman loves you more than I can understand. Needs time to work things out with you.” He sneered the words. “Time with you. My sweet Jesus.” He shrugged his shoulders, put his hands on his hips, and put his face close to mine.
“You’re gonna have to tell her it’s all right,” he said. “You’re gonna have to tell her you want us all to be together again,”
He paused, looking at me intently. My stomach hurt. I looked down. My sweaty fingers were rolled into fists.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want to live with you no more. Mama can go home to you. I told her she could, but I can’t. I won’t.”
“Won’t?” He touched my cheek. I looked up at him. “You won’t live with me?” His eyes were hard blue rocks, his mouth an angry line. “You’re not even thirteen years old, girl. You don’t say what you do. I’m your daddy. I say what you do.”
“No.” I said it quietly. My throat was so tight it was hard to say anything. I saw him rock back away from me, close his eyes, push his hands together in front of his body as if he were about to pray. He shook his head.
“No,” I said again.
“I’m trying to be reasonable with you, girl. I want you to talk to your mama. I want you to stop this nonsense before you make me really mad.” His clasped hands shook. He opened his eyes.
“No.” I said it louder. “I’d rather die than go back to living with you.”
“You would?” His lips curled into a mean smile. “I bet you would,” he said in a whisper.
There was a long quiet moment. I could hear my heartbeat.
“Make me that sandwich,” he said, “and we’ll talk.”
I stood unmoving, watching his face and hands. “No. I don’t want to talk. I want you to leave.”
He shook his head and went on smiling.
“I’ll tell Mama,” I said desperately. “I’ll tell her.”
His hands came up and grabbed my shoulders, shook me. “You don’t want to make your daddy a sandwich?” His voice grated with rage. “You don’t want to do nothing for me?” Another shake. He lifted me so that my feet came off the floor. My mouth opened. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. I remembered all the times he had lifted me like that before, lifted me, shaken me, then pulled me to his chest, held me against him and run his hands over me, moaned while his fingers gouged at me. I had always been afraid to scream, afraid to fight. I had always felt like it was my fault, but now it didn’t matter. I didn’t care anymore