Shiloh and Other Stories - Bobbie Ann Mason [19]
—
“This is a two-tone gabardine spectator dress with a low-slung belt in the back,” said Lunetta one morning as she turned to model her new dress for us. Lunetta always had official descriptions for her extravagant costumes.
My mother said in a wistful voice, “Law me, that’s beautiful. But what would I look like, feeding the chickens in that getup?”
“Just look at them shoes,” Aunt Mozelle said.
Lunetta’s shoes had butterfly bows and sling heels and open toes. She sat down and tapped her toes as Aunt Mozelle poured coffee for her. She said then, “Is Boone worried about his job now that they caught that red?”
“Well, he is, but he don’t let on,” said Aunt Mozelle, frowning.
Lunetta seized yesterday’s newspaper and spread it out on the table. She pointed at the headlines. I remember the way the adults had murmured over the newspaper the day before. Aunt Mozelle had said, “Don’t worry, Boone. You don’t work for that company.” He had replied, “But the plant is full of sympathizers.” Now Lunetta said, “Just think. That man they caught could have given Russia all the plans for the power plant. Nothing’s safe. You never know who might turn out to be a spy.”
My mother was disturbed. “Everything you all have worked so hard for—and the reds could just come in and take it.” She waved her hand at the kitchen. In my mind a strange scene appeared: a band of little red devils marching in with their pitchforks and taking the entire Kelvinator kitchen to hell. Later, it occurred to me that they would take the television set first.
When my uncle came home from work, I greeted him at the door and asked him bluntly, “Are you going to get fired because of the reds?”
He only laughed and twitched my plaits. “No, sugar,” he said.
“That don’t concern younguns,” Aunt Mozelle told me. She said to her husband, “Lunetta was here, spreading ideas.”
“Leave it to Lunetta,” said Uncle Boone wearily.
That evening they were eager to watch the news on the television set. When the supervisor who had been fired was shown, my uncle said, “I hope they give him what-for.”
“He was going to tell Russia about the power plant,” I said.
“Hush, Peggy,” said Mama.
That evening, I could hear their anxious voices on the porch, as I watched Arthur Godfrey, wrestling, and the barbershop quartets. It seemed odd to me that my uncle did not want to watch the wrestling. He had told me wrestling was his favorite program.
—
Sharon Belletieri had a birthday party. Aunt Mozelle took Mama and me to a nearby Woolworth’s, where I selected a coloring book for a present. The store was twice the size of ours at home. I also bought a souvenir of my trip—a pair of china dogs, with a label that read “Made in Japan.” And my mother bought me a playsuit like Sharon’s.
“It’s Sanforized. That’s good,” she said with an air of satisfaction, as she examined seams and labels.
My mother looked pale and tired. At breakfast she had suddenly thrown up, the way she had during our bus trip. “I can’t keep anything down this early,” she had said. My aunt urged her to drink more coffee, saying it would settle her stomach.
Sharon Belletieri lived with her parents in a famous kind of sanitary house where you couldn’t get TB or rheumatic fever because it had no drafts. “You won’t have to worry about polio,” Betsy Lou had told me. The house had venetian blinds like my aunt’s, and there was also a television set, an immense one, on legs. Howdy Doody was on, but no one was watching.