Robber Bride - Margaret Atwood [127]
“I’ll show you your own room later, when Gloria’s over the sniffles,” said her grandmother. Then Karen helped her grandmother wash the potatoes. They did this in a smaller kitchen off the main one where there was an electric stove, and a tin sink with a cold-water tap. Her grandmother called this room the pantry. The pig came in with them and grunted hopefully until it was sent away. “Not now, Pinky,” said the grandmother. “Too many raw potatoes make her sick. She loves ’em, though. She’ll take a drink too, and that’s just as bad for her. Most animals like to go on a good drunk if they get the chance.”
For dinner they had the potatoes, boiled, and chicken stew with biscuits. Karen wasn’t all that hungry. She fed pieces of her dinner furtively to the pig and also to the two dogs, who were underneath the table. Her grandmother saw her doing it but didn’t object, so she knew it was all right.
Her mother came down for dinner, still in the linen dress, with her face washed and a fresh mouth painted on and a grim set to her lips. Karen knew that expression: it meant her mother was going to see this through or else. Or else what? Or else things would not be so good, for Karen.
“Mother, are there any serviettes?” said Karen’s mother. Her mouth jerked into a smile, as if there were strings pulling up the ends of it.
“Any what?” said the grandmother.
“Table napkins,” said her mother.
“La-di-da, Gloria, use your sleeve,” said the grandmother.
Karen’s mother wrinkled her nose at Karen. “Do you see any sleeves?” she said. Her jacket was off, so her arms were bare. She was taking a new line: she’d decided that they would both find the grandmother comical.
The grandmother caught this look and frowned. “They’re in the dresser drawer, same as always,” she said. “I’m not a savage, but this is no dinner party neither. Those who wants can get them.”
For dessert there was applesauce, and after that strong tea with milk in it. The grandmother passed a cup to Karen, and Karen’s mother said, “Oh, Mother, she doesn’t drink tea,” and the grandmother said, “She does now.” Karen thought there might be an argument, but her grandmother added, “If you’re leaving her with me, you’re leaving her with me. ’Course, you can always take her with you.” Karen’s mother clamped her mouth shut.
When Karen’s grandmother had finished eating she scooped the chicken bones off the dinner plates, back into the stewpot, and set the plates down on the floor. The animals crowded around them, licking and slurping.
“Not from the dishes,” said Karen’s mother faintly.
“Less germs on their tongues than on a human’s,” said the grandmother.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” said Karen’s mother in a choking voice. “You should be locked up!” She jammed her hand over her mouth and ran out into the yard. The grandmother watched her go. Then she shrugged and went back to drinking her tea.
“There’s clean inside and clean outside,” she said. “Clean inside is better, but Gloria never could tell the difference.”
Karen didn’t know what to do. She thought about her stomach, with animal slobber and dog and pig germs in it; but strangely, she didn’t feel sick.
When Karen went upstairs later, she heard her mother crying, a sound she had heard many times before. She went carefully into the bedroom where the sound was coming from. Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking more desolate than Karen had ever seen her. “She was never like a real mother,” she sobbed. “She never was!”
She squeezed Karen tight and cried onto her hair, and Karen wondered what she meant.
Karen’s mother left the next day, before breakfast. She said she had to get back to the city, she had a doctor’s appointment. Karen’s grandmother drove her to the station and Karen went too, to say goodbye. She wore her long pants, because of her legs, which were hurting again. Her mother kept one arm around her all the way to the station.
Before starting the truck the grandmother let the geese out of their pen. “They’re watch-geese,” she said. “Them and Cully’ll take care of everything. Anyone