Читать книгу King - Tanya Chapman - Страница 10

Sissy and I are sitting at the kitchen table in her trailer. Sissy and Spiney’s trailer looks a lot like mine except it’s tidier. Sissy tries to make it look nice by buying new things for it all the time. Her idea of a new thing is anything that looks like it should be part of the space program, like the silver salt and pepper shakers on the black-topped glass table or the clock that looks like it should have hands but really it’s digital. My trailer looks pretty much like it did when it was new in the sixties. I figure, why mess with a good thing?

When I say that Sissy is mostly a never-ending talker, it’s because some days – days like this – she hardly talks at all. She gets depressed. Depressed like she doesn’t want to get out of bed. And on days like this she needs me. Not that I can solve any of her problems, but I can convince her to get out of bed and make me a cup of tea. And that’s more than she’d do otherwise. Spiney is no good for her in these times. He just gets frustrated or gets all over her, trying to make her feel better.

Also – and here’s the kicker – it makes Sissy feel better to ask people the questions they don’t want to ask themselves. I think she likes to see them squirm. It’s like she’s feeling so crappy that she wants to make other people feel bad too, just so she won’t be alone with her sadness. This is the only time that Sissy can be mean.

But it’s not really her asking the questions, not the Sissy that we know and love – it’s someone else. It creeps in, and you can’t really do anything about it except wait it out and love her despite the meanness. So I volunteer for the hot seat every time. Spiney can’t handle that either – the hot seat, I mean.

‘Hazel, why don’t you learn how to cook?’

‘It’s too late for me, Sissy.’

‘It’s never too late, that’s dumb. What do you think a stove is for anyway?’

‘A place to set your drink when there’s too many empties on the counter?’

She doesn’t like that, so she just stares at me and waits for me to say something serious. But as much as I love Sissy, I’m just not prepared to tell her I’ve never even seen the inside of my oven. King does all the cooking and she knows it. So I drink my tea, which makes me think of the word ‘teetotaller, teetotaller’ over and over and wait for the next question.

‘Don’t you think that King has slept with lots of girls like the one he played caps with at Old Joe’s?’

I can’t let my hurt show or she will be on this topic all day. So I just sit and think of ‘teetotaller’ again. But, of course, I’m also wondering just how many caps girls he really did sleep with. But then for my own sanity I decide that it doesn’t matter since we got that all worked out anyway. I just nod at Sissy and sit very quietly and wait.

Finally. ‘Hazel, don’t you want to have kids? What are you going to do when you have kids? You have to cook something then, you know.’

Sissy knows damn well that I don’t want any kids. But Sissy wants kids, a lot of them. The thing is, she can’t have them. I chalk it up to her acid birth. But now I know what’s bothering her. When she gets down it’s either the kid thing or she thinks that there are too many bad vibes floating around her and she can’t get away – even if she runs real fast in her head. Her words, not mine.

So now that I know it’s the kid thing, I know the cure. I drag Sissy to the Duster and head down to the farmers’ market. Sissy loves the market, she’s crazy for it. This is our third trip since I’ve known her. So far she has picked up two albino rabbits, a giant guinea pig and a turtle that now has its own little swimming pool. Sissy’s yard is really crowded, but a cure is a cure. So we go to the farmers’ market.

The drive to the market is quiet. We don’t say much of anything until I pull into the dusty parking lot. Then I say, ‘There sure are a lot of things here that are going to die if someone doesn’t take care of them.’

Sissy’s eyes get really wide. ‘No. Do you think someone will kill them?’

‘For sure. Doomed.’

I hate to say stuff like this, but it has to be done. Our conversation is like this routine that we pretend we’ve never been through before. And besides, like I say, a cure is a cure.

‘Oh god, Hazel, do you think Spiney would be mad if I brought home just one thing?’

‘Well, maybe if it isn’t too big.’

‘Yeah, something little.’

‘How can he argue if it’s just little?’

So we walk around the farmers’ market for about an hour. Sissy gets really serious when she’s making this decision. All these animals depend on her. Maybe not really, but today, in Sissy’s head, she is definitely saving a life. We walk all the way through the market and back again.

I keep Sissy away from the horses and the cows because they really are beautiful, and I know she would want to take one home and that just wouldn’t do. As it is, every time Spiney sees us coming home from the market he looks at me like Oh no, Hazel, not again. But then he’s happy because her crazy mood has passed. That’s just like Spiney: he wants everything to be okay, whatever it takes. Even if he has to live in a zoo.

They sell everything at the market. There’s cotton candy and dishcloths right beside pigs. Then on the other side of the pigs are sausages cooking on a grill. The pigs don’t seem to mind. There are also a million gadgets and fun things to look at, like old-fashioned radios and china teacups. And right beside those things are Kiss the Cook aprons and some crazy pens that light up and play a tune when you write with them. It’s like the market can’t make up its mind which century it’s in.

After a while of walking back and forth, Sissy sees this old farmer guy sitting on the tailgate of a dusty pickup. She goes over to him and looks in the back of the truck to see what he’s selling. As soon as I see her face, I know that this is the saved life.

‘A chicken, Sissy?’

‘Chickens are little.’

‘Yes, yes they are.’

So she buys a chicken and a big wire cage that she can set up in her yard. I buy six bulbs of flowers that bloom in the fall. We carry everything back to the Duster.

Sissy is ecstatic.

I want the chicken to go in the trunk, but she insists on putting it in the back seat so she can put the seat belt around the cage. And when Sissy smiles and says ‘pleeease’ like she’s doing right now I can’t say no.

‘You did a good thing today, Sissy.’

‘I love that chicken already.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘Buck, of course.’

‘You’re real awful with names, Sissy.’

‘It runs in the family.’

She gives me another big grin, and me and Sissy and Buck and six fall-blooming bulbs head home.

When we get to the trailer, King and Spiney are waiting for us, ready to take the second shift in case Sissy was still in a mood. King has bought all kinds of ice cream treats. We eat Drumsticks as Spiney sets up the cage for Buck and Sissy gives us all a running narration on the proper care and maintenance of chickens.

Spiney is so glad to have Sissy back to normal that you would think he was happy to have that mangy chicken show up.

King holds his Drumstick up for a cheers and says, ‘Nice work, Hazel.’

‘As Old Joe says,’ I quote, ‘there’s nothing a little bit of sweetness can’t fix.’