Shiloh and Other Stories - Bobbie Ann Mason [47]
“They wanted me to play Santy at Mama’s house for the littluns. I said—you know what I said? ‘Bah, humbug!’ Did I ever tell you what I’ve got against Christmas?”
“Maybe not.” Carolyn’s back stiffened against the wall.
“When I was little bitty, Santa Claus came to town. I was about five. I was all fired up to go see Santy, and Mama took me, but we were late, and he was about to leave. I had to run across the courthouse square to get to him. He was giving away suckers, so I ran as hard as I could. He was climbing up on the fire engine—are you listening?”
“Unh-huh.” Carolyn was watching her mother, who was folding Christmas paper to save for next year.
Kent said, “I reached up and pulled at his old red pants leg, and he looked down at me, and you know what he said?”
“No—what?”
“He said, ‘Piss off, kid.’ ”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to hear the rest of my hard-luck story?”
“Not now.”
“Oh, I forgot this was long distance. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go paint the boat. That’s what I’ll do! I’ll go paint it right this minute.”
After Carolyn hung up the telephone, her mother said, “I think my Oriental casserole was a failure. I used the wrong kind of mushroom soup. It called for cream of mushroom and I used golden mushroom.”
“Won’t you ever learn, Mom?” cried Carolyn. “You always cook too much. You make such a big deal—”
Mom said, “What happened with Kent this time?”
“He couldn’t get gas. He forgot the gas stations were closed.”
“Jim and Laura Jean didn’t have any trouble getting gas,” said Peggy, looking up from the game.
“We tanked up yesterday,” said Laura Jean.
“Of course you did,” said Carolyn distractedly. “You always think ahead.”
“It’s your time,” Cheryl said, handing Carolyn the Battlestar Galactica toy. “I did lousy.”
“Not as lousy as I did,” said Iris.
Carolyn tried to concentrate on shooting enemy missiles, raining through space. Her sisters seemed far away, like the spaceships. She was aware of the men watching football, their hands in action as they followed an exciting play. Even though Pappy had fallen asleep, with his blanket in his lap he looked like a king on a throne. Carolyn thought of the quiet accommodation her father had made to his father-in-law, just as Cecil and Ray had done with Dad, and her ex-husband had tried to do once. But Cecil had bought his way in, and now Ray was getting out. Kent had stayed away. Jim, the newcomer, was with the women, playing Star Trek as if his life depended upon it. Carolyn was glad now that Kent had not come. The story he told made her angry, and his pity for his childhood made her think of something Pappy had often said: “Christmas is for children.” Earlier, she had listened in amazement while Cheryl listed on her fingers the gifts she had received that morning: a watch, a stereo, a nightgown, hot curls, perfume, candles, a sweater, a calculator, a jewelry box, a ring. Now Carolyn saw Kent’s boat as his toy, more important than the family obligations of the holiday.
Mom was saying, “I wanted to make a Christmas tablecloth out of red checks with green fringe. You wouldn’t think knit would do for a tablecloth, but Hattie Smoot has the prettiest one.”
“You can do incredible things with knit,” said Jim with sudden enthusiasm. The shirt Mom had made him was bonded knit.
“Who’s Hattie Smoot?” asked Laura Jean. She was caressing the back of Jim’s neck, as though soothing his nerves.
Carolyn laughed when her mother began telling Jim and Laura Jean about Hattie Smoot’s operation. Jim listened attentively, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and asked eager questions, his eyes as alert as Pappy’s.
“Is she telling a joke?” Cheryl asked Carolyn.
“No. I’m not laughing at you, Mom,” Carolyn said, touching her mother’s hand. She felt relieved that the anticipation of Christmas had ended. Still laughing, she said, “Pour me some of that Rebel Yell, Jim. It’s about time.”