Prodigal Summer - Barbara Kingsolver [103]
Lowell took a deep breath, heaved himself up, and struck out with a loping limp in the direction of the ice cream. Jewel leaned against Lusa’s shoulder for just a second. “Thanks, hon.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t smack them, that’s something.”
“God, Jewel, don’t say that. I like your kids. They’re something else, both of them.”
“Something else, all right.” Jewel tilted her head and chanted, “The boy’s a girl, and the girl’s a boy.”
“Maybe that’s what I like about them.”
“They’ve had it tough. Poor kids. I wish I could have done better for them.”
“Every kid has it tough,” Lusa said. “Being a little person in a big world with nobody taking you very seriously is tough. I can relate.”
Jewel shook her head, giving Lusa to know there was a much larger sadness here that she should not try to explain away. Lusa went silent. She’d borne enough of people’s do-goodnik consolations lately that she knew when to stop. For a minute they sat staring at the moon, which was now an astonishing bronze disk hanging above the barn. No words seemed pure enough to touch it. Out of the blue darkness, from the depths of her memory, she heard Zayda Landowski’s voice say, “Shayne vee dee levooneh.” A song, or maybe just a compliment to a beloved child: “Beautiful like the moon.”
“Jewel, I want to ask you a weird question. This house where you all grew up. Has anybody ever seen ghosts in it?”
“Stop that! You told me that time that Mommy was hainting the kitchen, and it gave me the all-overs.”
“This is different. I’m talking about happy ghosts.”
Jewel waved her hand, as if to chase away gnats.
But Lusa persisted: “When it rains, I hear children running on the stairs.”
“That’d be the roof, I expect. That old house is noisy as the dickens in the rain.”
“I know what you’re talking about. I hear music and words sometimes when it’s raining; that’s the tin-roof noise. I’ve been having whole conversations with my grandfather, who used to play the clarinet. But this is different. Sometimes even when it’s not raining, I hear children climbing the stairs, really fast, in a kind of a tumble, the way several kids would come up the stairs all at once. I’ve heard it a bunch of times.”
Jewel just looked at her.
“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”
“No-oh.”
“You do, too. Too much time alone, a widow losing her marbles. Which is true, I am. But if you heard what I’m talking about you’d be amazed. It’s so real. Every time I hear it, I swear I have to stop my work and go to the steps, and I absolutely expect to see real children coming up. I’m not saying it’s ‘kind of like the sound of footsteps.’ It is the sound of feet on the steps.”
“Well, who is it, then?”
Lusa looked at Jewel, really examined her. Even in the dark she could see steep lines carved into her face that hadn’t been there a month ago. It was as if some wires had got crossed, and all the grief Lusa felt inside were showing on Jewel’s exterior. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Jewel gave her a guarded look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you don’t look so hot. Too tired, or something.”
Jewel adjusted the flowered scarf tied over her hair, a sort of babushka that didn’t help any. “I am tired. Sick and tired.” She sighed.
“What of?”
“Oh, honey. It’s all right. I’m managing. Don’t ask, because I don’t want to talk about it tonight. I just want to come up here and eat ice cream with you all and watch the fireworks and have fun, for once.” She sighed deeply. “Ask me tomorrow, OK?”
“OK, I guess. But you’ve got me worried.”
“I better go see if Lowell’s going to need hospitalized. He’s probably forgotten about it, but if I don’t put a Band-Aid on it now he’ll wake up at three in the morning thinking he’s going to die.” She tried, slowly, to push herself to her feet. Lusa jumped up and helped her, then scooped up her two bottles off the grass. One was still full.
“Did you see me parading around here with a bottle of booze in each hand? I expect Mary Edna’s praying for my eternal soul.”
“Mary Edna’s praying for her