Читать книгу Tully - Paullina Simons - Страница 27

May 1979

Shortly before Tully’s high school graduation, a woman named Tracy Scott approached Tully at the Washburn Day Care Center where Tully continued to work on Thursday afternoons. Tracy Scott was a large-boned woman of about twenty-five whose skirts were short, exposing a good deal more of the fleshy white thigh than Tully cared to see.

Tracy’s three-year-old son Damien attended the Washburn nursery. Tully wasn’t sure how many credits the parents actually needed to take at Washburn University to enroll their kids in Washburn Day Care. Tully guessed by listening to Tracy that it couldn’t have been many.

Tracy Scott wanted to know if Tully would mind looking after her little Damien for the summer, five or six nights a week.

‘My new boyfriend’s a musician,’ Tracy Scott told Tully. ‘And me, I wanna be with him to support him, you know, while he plays. He’s real good. He sure is. You’d think so, too, if you saw him. Maybe you can come sometime.’

Tully was uncertain. Where did Tracy live?

‘Right across from White Lakes Mall. On Kansas. Well, really, it’s right behind Kansas. There may be one or two late nights. Dependin’ on where we gotta go for a gig. I used to take Damien with me, but I don’t think Billy likes that too much, Damien gets cranky. Besides, Dami needs a little…what d’ya call it? Peace. He’s just a little kid. Maybe staying out so late isn’t so good for Damien, don’t you agree?’

Tully couldn’t have agreed more.

‘I can’t pay a lot, Tully,’ said Tracy. ‘But Damien sure likes you, he talks about you at home. I’ll be able to make up what I can’t pay you with room and board, how’s that? I have a spare room you can use, you’re still livin’ at home, right? So what do you say? Will you think about it?’

Tully said she would.

A few days later, Hedda was walking home from work when she was accosted by a thin girl in cutoffs and a tank top. The girl walked behind Hedda for a little while, but finally got the courage to approach her.

‘Are you Hedda Makker?’ she asked.

Hedda looked the girl over and said, ‘Who are you?’

‘You don’t know me,’ the girl answered. ‘But I know your daughter.’

Hedda immediately sharpened up.

‘What’s your name?’ Hedda asked the girl.

‘Gail,’ the girl answered, trying to keep up with Hedda. ‘Gail Hoven.’

‘Gail, is there something you want to tell me?’

‘Hmm, yes, hmm, well.’ Gail seemed extremely nervous. ‘Did you get my letter?’

‘What letter? I’m really tired, Gail,’ said Hedda. ‘I’d like to go home now.’

That seemed to encourage the girl. ‘Mrs Makker,’ she said. ‘I think you should know that your daughter has been going out with my boyfriend since September.’

‘Ahh,’ said Hedda.

‘At Jennifer’s eighteenth birthday party she met him and they’ve been meeting, like, two or three days a week ever since!’

‘Three days a week, huh?’

‘Yes, ma’am, uh-huh,’ Gail said. ‘She’s been lying to you. I just thought you might like to know.’

‘Well, thank you, Gail,’ replied Hedda. ‘But I already knew that.’

Gail seemed baffled by this. ‘Oh, oh,’ she stammered.

‘She is a big girl now,’ said Hedda. ‘She can do as she pleases. Now let me go home, Gail.’

‘Yes, of course, Mrs Makker,’ said Gail, stopping in the middle of the street.

‘Oh, and Gail?’

‘Yes, Mrs Makker?’

‘Maybe you should try getting yourself another boyfriend, or doesn’t anyone else want you?’ said Hedda, walking away without turning around.

At home, Hedda waited for Tully. She did not make dinner. She did not talk to Lena. The TV was off. Hedda sat and waited. At seven-thirty, she asked Lena to go to her rooms.

Tully did not get home until after eight. She had gone to visit Tracy Scott’s home. Tracy lived in a trailer – a trailer, for God’s sake! And not just a trailer, but a dirty, run-down trailer, with dirty washing and dirty dishes and dirty Damien all over. But that’s not what offended Tully. What offended her was that Damien lived in a dirty, run-down trailer, with dirty washing and dirty dishes all over. Tracy apologized for the mess and the smell. ‘I’m real sorry. I been so busy, I didn’t get a chance to clean up.’ But somehow Tully doubted Tracy Scott ever had a chance to clean up. The trailer’s dirt looked lived-in. Well, this would certainly be a lateral move, thought Tully as she drove home. Like it mattered, anyway.

When Tully came through the door and saw her mother’s face, she said, ‘Sorry I’m late, Mom, I was over at Julie’s.’

Hedda got up off the sofa, strode over, and hit Tully full-fist in the face. Tully staggered back from the blow and fell. Hedda, teeth clenched, sweating, completely mute, came close and kicked Tully in the stomach.

She kicked Tully again and again and Tully started to shriek. Her screams carried through the front screen door into the Grove, and a few neighbors came out. They whispered to each other, but no one dared go near the house.

‘Ma!’ shrieked Tully, still supine, trying to scramble away from her mother’s foot. ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it!’ She finally managed to get up and put her hands over her face, while her mother, foaming at the mouth, punched her, hissing, ‘Slut, slut, slut.’

From the time Tully was two, she learned fear, and with fear she learned hate, and with hate she learned silence. But something else, too, came out this evening. As Tully struggled up, hands over her face, trying to protect herself, Tully felt rage rising. It nearly lifted her off the ground with its force, and she grabbed her mother’s hand and knocked it against the wall, hissing back, ‘Stop it! Stop it, you crazy woman, stop it!’

Hedda was much stronger than Tully and seeing her daughter angry only made her crazier and stronger. Hedda flailed at Tully, grabbed her with both hands around the neck and began to shake and strangle her.

For Tully, the sensation of not being able to breathe was an odd one in real life. She had woken up with the sweat and fear of death so often that to not be able to breathe at first felt oddly like a dream, and – as if in a dream – Tully felt her suffocation in slow motion and didn’t fight. Quite familiar with the feeling, she did not panic, nor even gulp for air. She finally lifted her knee and hit Hedda with what strength she could muster square in the crotch. Hedda gasped and let go. Seeing Hedda’s hands between her legs made Tully braver. Tully gritted her teeth and grabbed Hedda’s tangled hair, yanking it up and down and hissing all the while, ‘You’re fucking crazy! Fucking crazy!’

After a few moments, Tully let go of her, and as mother and daughter backed away from each other, they saw they were both covered with blood. They stood there for a long moment, looking at each other dumbly. Hedda stared at her own hands, her own shirt, and then at Tully. Tully stared at her mother and then held up her unstitched wrists, which had opened up. Having been recently cut again – for the first time in three years – they had had no time to heal and were bleeding profusely onto Tully’s palms and fingers and down to the floor in the hall. Drops of dark blood formed red quarters on the black and white tiles. Tully pressed her wrists to her chest.

Hedda started screaming. ‘You slut, you liar!’ she shrieked. ‘You slut! You liar!’ And then, out of breath, she lunged again for Tully, who, calmer now and prepared, backed away fast, to see her mother fall on her knees, get up, and lunge for Tully again. And again. Trying to move away, Tully became slower and calmer, as if too much tension and anger weakened all her defenses. But she knew it was not tension and anger that was calming her down, for the light-headed feeling turned into the familiar Whoooshhh, and she saw not Hedda in front of her, but the waves and the rocks. Rocks blended in with the visual unreality of her mother, her mother screaming at her for being a slut and a liar while Tully stood there and bled.

‘What are you saying, you crazy woman, what are you accusing me of?’ Tully said weakly, holding her wrists to her chest. She knew she had little time. Her legs were buckling under her, and she wanted to hold on to a chair or sofa, yet couldn’t while holding on to both her wrists.

‘You’ve been fucking since September!’ screamed Hedda.

Tully lost all her sensibilities. She charged at her mother, flinging her hands in front of Hedda, her wrists spitting blood into Hedda’s face. ‘Since September? September! You mean since September ’72, don’t you, Ma! Since September ’72, right, Ma, starting with your brother-in-law – my Uncle Charlie! Right, Ma? Right?’

Hedda, supporting herself by leaning against the back of the couch, looking at Tully and breathing hard, shook her head and hissed, ‘This will all come to a complete stop, do you hear me? You will not be a slut and a liar under my roof!’

Glowering at Tully, Hedda went for her again, but fell on the floor, spent, and from the floor said, ‘Not while you are living in my house, do you hear me?’

‘Great!’ said Tully. ‘Fuck you!’ She wanted to shout it, but she had nothing left in her to shout with. Her split wrists shouted ‘Fuck you!’ all over Hedda’s face and floor, while Tully turned and stumbled up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Hedda lay there until she got her breath then stood up, wiped her face with her sleeve, and went upstairs. She found Tully on her knees in her room, in front of her bed, wrists sloppily bandaged, stuffing clothes into milk crates.

‘What are you doing, Tully?’

‘I am getting the hell out of here, Mother,’ said Tully, not looking at her.

‘You are not leaving this house.’

‘Uh-huh. Right.’

‘You aren’t leaving this house! Tully! Did you hear me?’

‘Mother, did you hear me?’

‘You aren’t going anywhere, sit down and calm down. You’re hurt. You been cutting yourself again.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Mother. Get out of this room and leave me alone.’

‘Tully, don’t you fucking talk to me like that!’ Hedda shrieked, and started toward Tully.

Tully got up off her knees and, standing up straight, legs apart, both bandaged hands in front of her, pointed the long barrel of a .45 pistol at Hedda Makker.

Hedda stopped cold and stared at the gun.

‘Where did you get that?’ she whispered.

‘Mother,’ said Tully. Her voice was weak, but her eyes were those of a madwoman. ‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am leaving and I am not coming back. You must be familiar with that, Mother, your family leaving you and not coming back?’

Hedda flinched.

Tully laughed. ‘How could I say that to you, Mother? Because you’re fucking nuts! That’s how! And you’re making me crazy, too.’ She lowered the gun but continued to stand legs apart in front of her mother.

‘Put the gun down,’ said Hedda.

‘Mother, I want you to leave this room. I will be out of your house in just a few minutes.’

‘I don’t want you to go,’ said Hedda. ‘I lost my temper.’

‘Too late,’ said Tully.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ repeated Hedda dully.

‘Ma!’ Tully screamed. ‘Get out of this room right now so I can get out of this house! Do you hear me?’

Hedda did not move.

‘Because I’ll tell you something, and you might be surprised to hear this. If you try to stop me, if you come near me, or if you go crazy on me, I will kill you. I will shoot you dead, do you understand?’

Hedda stared at her daughter.

‘I will shoot you like a crazy rabid dog in the middle of the street and spare you the rest of your life!’ screamed Tully, panting. ‘You might think I have some bad feelings for you, but Mother, I hate you. Hate you! Now get the fuck out of my room!’

Hedda stretched out her hands and took two steps toward Tully.

Tully lifted the gun, cocked it, and before Hedda could move any further, pointed and fired a foot away from Hedda’s face. The explosion was deafening, but the bullet slipped into the wall near the door, making only a small neat hole in the Sheetrock. Tully shuddered.

Hedda stood motionless. Tully recocked the gun and said, ‘Ma. Get out of my room, because next time I won’t miss.’

Hedda did not turn around, but backed up toward the door, opened it, and staggered out.

Tully put the gun down, went over to the phone, and yanked the cord out of the wall, not giving Aunt Lena a chance to call the police. Thirty minutes later, Tully got into her not so new car and drove out onto the Kansas Turnpike.

It was night, and Tully drove and drove, heading west, with $800 in her pocket and a gun.

Everything hurt.

She suspected that something in her was broken: either her nose, or her ribs, or both. She didn’t know. And then KW AZ put out a tornado alert and Tully stopped the car.

It was unbelievably windy, particularly here, she thought, in the middle of Kansas in the middle of the Great Plains. The highway was pitch-black. The prairie must be all around me thought Tully. There were no stars, and no other cars. There was only Tully, two hundred miles west of home, and a tornado. She pulled over to the shoulder on I-70, ran down the slope, found a ditch, collapsed in it, and promptly lost consciousness.