Shiloh and Other Stories - Bobbie Ann Mason [98]
Laura tells Ray she never heard of a black person liking Elvis, and Ray says, “There’s a lot about black people you don’t know.”
“What?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. You belong on the moon. All white peoples belong on the moon.”
“You belong in Atlanta,” Laura says, doubling over with laughter.
When Edwin reports their antics one day to Sabrina, she says, “That’s too depressing for words.”
“They’re a lot smarter than you’d think.”
“I don’t see how you can stand it.” Sabrina shudders. She says, “Out in the woods, animals that are defective wouldn’t survive. Even back in history, deformed babies were abandoned.”
“Today’s different,” says Edwin, feeling alarmed. “Now they have rights.”
“Well, I’ll say one thing. If I was going to have a retarded baby, I’d get an abortion.”
“That’s killing.”
“It’s all in how you look at it,” says Sabrina, changing the radio station.
They are having lunch. Sabrina has made a loaf of zucchini bread, because Sue made one for Jeff. Edwin doesn’t understand her reasoning, but he takes it as a compliment. She gives him another slice, spreading it with whipped margarine. All of his women were good cooks. Maybe he didn’t praise them enough. He suddenly blurts out so much praise for the zucchini bread that Sabrina looks at him oddly. Then he realizes that her attention is on the radio. The Humans are singing a song about paranoia, which begins, “Attention, all you K Mart shoppers, fill your carts, ‘cause your time is almost up.” It is Sabrina’s favorite song.
“Most of my passengers are real poor country people,” Edwin says. “Use to, they’d be kept in the attic or out in the barn. Now they’re riding a bus, going to school and having a fine time.”
“In the attic? I never knew that. I’m a poor country girl and I never knew that.”
“Everybody knows that,” says Edwin, feeling a little pleased. “But don’t call yourself a poor country girl.”
“It’s true. My daddy said he’d give me a calf to raise if I came back home. Big deal. My greatest dread is that I’ll end up on a farm, raising a bunch of dirty-faced younguns. Just like some of those characters on your bus.”
Edwin does not know what to say. The song ends. The last line is, “They’re looking in your picture window.”
While Sabrina clears away the dishes, Edwin practices rolling bandages. He has been reviewing his first-aid book. “I want you to help me practice a simple splint,” he says to Sabrina.
“If I broke a leg, I couldn’t be in Oklahoma!”
“You won’t break a leg.” He holds out the splint. It is a fraternity paddle, a souvenir of her college days. She sits down for him and stretches out her leg.
“I can’t stand this,” she says.
“I’m just practicing. I have to be prepared. I might have an emergency.”
Sabrina, wincing, closes her eyes while Edwin ties the fraternity paddle to her ankle.
“It’s perfect,” he says, tightening the knot.
Sabrina opens her eyes and wiggles her foot. “Jim says he’s sure I can have a part in Life with Father,” she says. Jim is the director of Oklahoma! She adds, “Jeff is probably going to be the lead.”
“I guess you’re trying to make me jealous.”
“No, I’m not. It’s not even a love story.”
“I’m glad then. Is that what you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think I ought to go back to school and take a drama class? It’d be a real great experience, and I’m not going to get a job anytime soon, looks like. Nobody’s hiring.” She shakes her leg impatiently, and Edwin begins untying the bandage. “What do you think I ought to do?”
“I don’t know. I never know how to give you advice, Sabrina. What do I know? I haven’t been to college like you.”
“I wish I were rich, so I could go back to school,” Sabrina says sadly. The fraternity paddle falls to the floor, and she says, with her hands rushing to her face, “Oh, God, I can’t stand the thought of breaking a leg.”
—
The play opens in two weeks, during the Christmas season, and Sabrina has been making her costumes—two gingham outfits, virtually identical.