Prodigal Summer - Barbara Kingsolver [130]
“Who was?”
“The dresses.”
“Still. Breaking Aunt Lois’s knickknacks on purpose, that might not have been the best way to handle it.”
“She made me go in the bathroom and give her out my clothes, while I was supposed to be trying the dresses on. And you know what she done? Cut up my corduroys and plaid shirt with scissors so I couldn’t put ’em back on.”
Lusa was appalled. She stared at the back of the child’s head, feeling her sore heart open up to this dejected little creature whose straw-colored hair stood up at the crown of her head like a porcupine’s quills. “I think that’s awful,” Lusa said finally. “Nobody told me that part. Those were your favorite clothes, your old faithfuls, right? I don’t think I ever saw you in anything but those corduroys and that shirt on the weekends.”
Crys shrugged again, offering no reply.
“So then what? I guess you had to put on one of the dresses.”
She shook her head. “I run out of the house neckid. Just underpants. I went and hid in the barn.”
“What about the praying-hands statue? How did that get broken?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just kind of happened, on your way out?”
The porcupine head nodded.
“I’d say that was a fair trade. Her treasure for yours.”
Lusa saw the hair on the back of the girl’s head shift subtly, from a change in the musculature under her scalp. Smiling, was a good guess.
“I’m not saying it was helpful,” Lusa amended. “It’s made things kind of tense between you and your aunt, which doesn’t make life any easier on your mother. She’s the one you probably need to be thinking about right now. I’m just saying I understand.”
“I told Jesus if I wore them clothes every day he’d make Mama get better. Now they’re cut up in Aunt Lois’s ragbag, and Mama’s going to die.”
“Just thinking something like that doesn’t make it happen.”
Crystal turned around and looked at Lusa through a diagonal shaft of light that fell from a hole in the roof to the floor between them. Dust motes danced up and down in the light, inhabiting their own carefree universe.
“How are things with Lowell?” Lusa asked gently. “He must be pretty scared about your mom’s being sick.”
Crys picked at a ribbon of loose rubber where the sole of her tennis shoe was coming apart. “He don’t like it over there, either. He’s asceared of Aunt Lois. She’s mean.”
“How mean? Does she hit him or anything?”
“Nuh-uh, they don’t usually paddle us. She just won’t be nice to him like Mama is. She won’t put his clothes on the chair the right way and make him what food he likes and stuff. Her and Jennifer and them just all holler that he’s a big old baby.”
Lusa’s hand went to her mouth, but she kept her voice nonchalant. “Next time why don’t you both come over here? Would that be OK, if I asked your mom to let you do that?”
Crys shrugged, continuing to pick her shoe apart. “I guess.”
“OK. But today, since it’s just the two of us, we can do whatever we want. I’d like to catch some bugs, if it’s OK by you.” Lusa pulled two short-handled collecting nets out of her box. “Here’s yours. Let’s go, the day’s wasting out there.”
Crys took the net and followed Lusa out of the barn. They began by skirting the edge of the goat pasture. Lusa led, running as fast as she could uphill, sweeping her net through the tall grass along the fence. They were both breathing hard when they reached the hilltop. Lusa flung herself on the ground, panting, and Crys sat down cross-legged.
“Careful,” Lusa said, sitting up and reaching for the other net. “Here, fold the net over the frame like this so they won’t get out. Now, let’s see what you’ve got.” She carefully let a few bugs crawl out onto the outside of the mesh. “These are grasshoppers, and this is a buffalo leafhopper. Big difference, see?” She held out a bright-green grasshopper with its legs writhing in the air. To her surprise, Crys took it and held it up a few inches from her face.
“Hey,” she said. “It’s got wings.”
“Yeah. Most insects have wings—even ants, in one stage of their life. Grasshoppers definitely. This guy can fly if he wants to. Look.” She