Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House Read online

  Taking a break and leaving the wheelbarrow where it stood, Lee had taken a little time to appreciate the work. In the seventh grade his class had gone on a field trip to the art museum at the state capital. The guide, who had ushered them about on the tour, had taught him quite a bit that day. He'd explained about different kinds of painting and sculptures, oils and watercolors, marbles, bronzes, mosaics, and bas-reliefs. Lee had soaked it all up, finding it fascinating. One of the original bronze castings of Rodin's The Thinker was on loan. It was by far his favorite sculpture, the big, muscular man bent over engrossed in thought, a subtle blend of strength and sensitivity. And of all the paintings he saw that day, Monet's beautifully impressionistic painting entitled “Poppies,” he'd found almost hypnotic. In it a woman and a girl were walking down a hill through a field of tall grass, with a house seen standing off in the distance, and the scarlet splashes of a scattering of colorful, red poppies adding a touch of fiery brightness to the blends of greens and golds. Too bad Morrison printing didn't ever print anything like this; he would have loved for his dad to get him a copy to put up in his room.

  The guide, a spindly man in a gray jacket with red lapels, had also advised the kids to always take a moment to let the full work of art sink in. “Don't just walk by and judge,” he'd said. “The inspiration provided by the careful appreciation of art is well worth the investment of a little time."

  Remembering this, Lee had stood back and given the pair a patient appraisal. He even put his right hand under his chin supporting his elbow in the left hand like he'd often seen Jack Benny do. It was immediately obvious the sculptor had paid close attention to the eyes, lips, and other prominent physical details, making the little pair very, very lifelike even down to the nubs of their belly buttons and the threads passing through the buttons sewn on their pants. Surprisingly, it was the quality of the work on pants and the suspenders that stood out to Lee's eye. Having studied about Germany, Lee knew enough to know that what they were wearing wasn't actually called pants, but Lederhosen. The Lederhosen looked soft and pliable, almost as though he could stick his hands in the pockets. But the suspenders were the best part; they looked real. The leather straps with their little buckles, fashioned from the same piece of stone as the rest, appeared flexible, in places even standing away from the skin naturally in tune to the positions of the children's bodies. Whoever the sculptor was he was good. These were no poured concrete statues, like those they sold at Timpkin's Nursery.

  Then another observation had come to him. Lee was well aware the little girl was just a statue, but he still didn't think most folks around here would deem it proper for the artist to have fashioned her parading around without a shirt.

  Suddenly thinking of Maggie, he could imagine the hissy fit she'd throw if Patty was to ever go outside dressed in only a pair shorts, at least since she'd grown past the age where she no longer wore diapers. Maggie was as much a stick in the mud about protecting Patty's modesty, as she was prejudiced about the word “ain't."

  The funny thing was Lee could remember back to when he was little; in the summertime, Maggie had rarely dressed him in anything more than just a pair of old underwear, except when they went to the store or had a rare visitor.

  Now that he was older, it was somewhat embarrassing to recall the tiny back yard pool his dad had bought a year or so after moving into the house on Keystone. He was only about four-years-old when his dad had come home with it, and it had been such a big deal to him, it stood out clearly in his memory. It had been a flimsy thing; really just a ten-foot circle made of thin, corrugated sheet metal for the wall and a plastic liner inside to hold the water, no more than about two feet deep when full. Blue dolphins leaping upon the waves were painted on the outside wall, and the plastic liner was printed with a collection of smiling fish and seahorses swimming about amongst a bunch of bubbles.

  Maggie had always had him play in the water naked when they were alone. She called it his “pool bath.” She'd sit in her lawn chair wearing her bikini, sipping on a big glass of sweet tea, reading and rereading her two favorite tabloids she'd picked up that week at the supermarket checkout. Lee could still see that two-piece bathing suit. It was bright yellow and had colored drawings of slices of fruit on it: oranges, limes, bananas, and little red cherries with curly stems. She'd sit rubbing herself with oil, basking in the sun, just lazing about while working on her tan.

  Outside, the same as when she was in the car, Maggie never used an ashtray. She'd just drop her spent Kools on the ground. There always seemed to be so many littering the grass. He always had to be careful getting in the pool as if he didn't brush them off they would stick to his feet and get in the water. Still, the pool was paradise to Lee. He would splash around for hours and hours, at least up until it was time to go in for Maggie to watch her soaps.

  Recalling it, as for the most part, they had seemed to be happy times, every now and then she'd join him, sitting down in the water for a splash fight or a tickle war. She was the one who even taught him to squirt a stream of water, with deadly accuracy, just by squeezing together with both his hands. Occasionally, too, Maggie would let him play with her flip-flops, floating them about like boats and making burbling sounds as he navigated between all the pieces of dead grass, leaves, and Kool butts which somehow always seemed to collect in the water. And at that age he'd still been little enough to actually be able to swim around, doing circular laps for the fun of it in the shallow confines of the pool.

  The only problem he remembered was the pool leaked so much it always transformed the shady little backyard into a mud pit. Like most of the junk sold at Brown's Five and Dime, the cheap thing had surely been made in Japan. The mud problem was made even worse since there wasn't much grass around, due to the shade from the huge elm tree standing in the center of the yard. Adding to the shadowy, cloistered feel there was a thick row of tall, Boxwood hedges choking the chain link fence, which afforded privacy from passersby on the street and sidewalk.

  Sometimes, Maggie would chase him around, spraying him with the garden hose they always had nearby to keep the leaky pool filled. He'd get so muddy, slipping and falling, she'd have to give him a thorough hosing down before he could get back in the pool or go inside. The water from that hose had felt so wonderful running down his face and chest and legs. It was all so innocent, so natural. Being alone with Maggie he never even remembered feeling awkward or of really being conscious about being naked, even though he was old enough to know he was outside. But it was always just the two of them. Pool bath. Breathless after running around and laughing, muddy and spattered with bits of twigs and grass, he'd just stand there, close his eyes and raise his arms and turn slowly around just letting that cool, cool flow all over him. It was heaven.

  As he could vividly remember, another one of those permanent memories that stayed with him as clear as yesterday, it was the summer after kindergarten that it all ended. He was six-years-old, and it was late August, as he was excited about first grade coming up. Maggie was probably no more than just a few weeks pregnant with Patty. His dad had come home from work, having forgotten his lunch, and surprised them. Standing there, dressed in his blue work clothes, he had crossed his arms and told Maggie point blank he thought Lee was too big to be out in the back yard in broad daylight without a stitch on.

  "For Christ's sake, Maggie, he's a young boy, he's not a baby any more,” he remembered his dad had said. “He's going to be seven-years-old next February, and you've got him parading around out here naked as a jay bird. What's the matter with you?"

  "There ain't nothing the matter with me,” she shot back. “He's just a baby, for Christ's sake, Ted! I'm his mom you know? I'm the one who takes care of him, feeds him, gets him dressed, and I give him his bath at night, remember?"

  Lee could see the ice in Maggie's glare. Just over a month ago his dad and Maggie had had a big fight about something he hadn't understood. There'd been lots of hollering and screaming, and he and his dad had moved out for mor
e than a week, staying over at Uncle Ed's. He'd really hoped all that was over, and was terrified they were about to start fighting all over again.

  His dad had stood there, now with his thumbs hitched in his pockets, resolute. “I just don't think it's proper. A bath in the house is one thing; but this is different. This isn't right at all."

  "Who are you to tell me what's proper?” There was real acid in her voice, and she'd sat forward dangerously in her chair, her Kool smoking between her fingers clenched on the arm rest. “Maybe if you wanna talk about what's proper we can talk about that waitress some more? Was that proper? Huh? What about all that? Is there anything else I ain't already found out about?” She pressed herself back in the chair and crossed her arms, her fingers locked around her elbows.

  Lee was standing where he was, dripping, looking back and forth. He was acutely aware Maggie had said “ain't” twice. But, he wasn't about to point it out to anybody.

  His dad's hand came out of his pocket, and he pointed at Lee, wiggling his finger around while he spoke. “That doesn't have anything to do with this. Lee's not even your son. He's your sister's boy."

  For a moment there was silence. Even at this age, Lee could recognize the volcano building in Maggie.

  His dad dropped his finger, speaking just before Maggie could explode. “It reminds me of all that stuff with your dad. Or is it you who doesn't want to remember? What about what happened in the shower? You know Darva Anne told me a thing or two about what's proper and what...” he emphasized the last word “...and what ain't."

  This was one of the only times he could remember his dad taking an angry tone with Maggie when she didn't snap right back at him and shut him up. In fact, sitting in her lawn chair, with her Kool between her fingers and her arms folded up, she pinned her knees together, leaned back, and didn't say a thing.

  Lee remembered that long, silent moment before his dad turned his attention away from Maggie and told him: “Lee, go get your butt in the house and put on some clothes."

  Standing in his little room, as he stepped into a pair of clean, dry underwear, he'd known right then that something else had changed, irrevocably. Nothing had been the same since that big Saturday night fight just a few weeks back. Even before the main event that ugly July evening, he'd known something was wrong. It was in how for the longest time he'd never seen Maggie and his dad kiss anymore, and how his dad never seemed to come home; and when he did, when Lee got up in the morning, he'd find his dad not in his bedroom, but sleeping out on the couch. This had all built up gradually for some time prior to the fight.

  Lee stepped into a pair of shorts, feeling alone in his little room. Up until now he'd always felt natural around Maggie, just as though she were his real mom. Now though, after how his dad had looked at him, and how Maggie had jumped and been so flustered when his dad had surprised them and stepped into the back yard, he couldn't help but be intensely aware of what he'd not given any thought to but a few minutes ago. As surely as Adam, after he'd had that bite of apple, Lee knew he'd been naked. He could feel it, especially in the look in his dad's eyes.

  Still, though, he was confused. This was Maggie. Through his father he could now sense the wrong. But it had always been like this. Even when his real mother was still alive he could remember Auntie Magnolia, as she liked him to call her back then, being there as much, if not more, than his real mom ever had.

  His real mom had always seemed to be busy, especially when his dad was away in the army, and he was always left at home with Grandma and Auntie Magnolia while she was out. Then, after his mom had gotten sick and died, it was Maggie who had stepped in. Prior to his mom's death, Maggie had never been really what could be called overly attentive, such as spending a lot of time reading to him; she hated books, even kid's books. It was Grandma Bonham who had read to him every afternoon before naptime. Grandma was the one who had taught him to recite his ABC's and to begin to read simple books well before he was even three. She even had him adding and subtracting at that same early age, using Popsicle sticks at the kitchen table. He remembered how amazed people were by it, but to him it was nothing more than just another game. Too, it was Grandma with whom he'd played so many other games, like Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders. And like a kid herself, they'd had fun, running around and playing hide and go seek outside.

  Auntie Magnolia hated both indoor and outdoor games as much as she hated books. He'd once seen her tear a Monopoly board clean in half. But she had liked to let him sit in her lap while she watched TV. And as Grandma Bonham forbids smoking in her house, he'd always liked to go out with Auntie Magnolia while she had one of her Kools. He very vividly recalled the afternoon when she had successfully cajoled him into finally trying a puff. To this day, he remembered how hard he had coughed and how sick he'd felt. And he had always kept the secret and not told anybody about it, not even Ronnie, just like she'd asked.

  Standing there, he had mixed emotions in the memories. Surprisingly, Maggie wasn't entirely without a domestic side. Unlike Grandma Bonham and his real mom, it was Maggie who liked to cook, and he remembered it was she who always saw to it he and everyone else was fed. And unlike his real mom, Aunt Magnolia never sweated the little stuff, like if his face was washed or his hair was combed. Too, she never gave a flip or became cross with him, like Grandma Bonham did when he spilled or made a mess.

  And it was Auntie Magnolia who was always there to help him get dressed in the mornings, even if it was only just a pair of underwear. And if he was scared from thunder in the night, she always let him sleep in her bed. In so many ways, back then, Maggie seemed so much more like a big sister than ever an aunt.

  But, after his mom had died and his dad came back from the service and then he and Maggie had got married and moved out to the rent house, as he begun to grow older, Maggie was a far cry from the laid back, sisterly Auntie Magnolia who'd tried to get him to puff on her Kools behind his Grandma's house. Right after she and his dad had their civil service, which only Lee and Uncle Ed had attended, for a while life had been real pleasant. But his dad started working more and more, and was almost never around. Maggie didn't seem to miss him, even he could tell that. And around the house nothing seemed to matter, even as a little kid he knew it was a mess.

  Most of the times in the house she did dress him in just a pair of underwear. But strangely, Maggie was always terribly concerned with how he looked when they went somewhere in public. She always, always made a strict point to get him properly scrubbed and dressed before ever letting him go to Kindergarten or Sunday school, and she'd get really riled when he came home dirty.

  He wasn't exactly sure, but that August day at the backyard pool, he could tell his dad had been angry about something deeper with Maggie, even more than he was angry about the fact that Lee had been outside without anything on. But how was it different? What had he meant about Maggie and her father and the shower? And what could be so wrong with a pool bath? Nobody could see into the backyard. It was just he and Maggie. It didn't make sense. After all, Maggie was always there when he took a bath in the bathtub. Always. She might never clean the bathroom, but she never missed reminding him about bath time. And over at Ronnie's house, Lee knew Ronnie usually took a bath with his sister, Melissa, so what could be the big deal? Family was family.

  Thinking about it, he did realize even back then he'd had a swimsuit. It was bright blue with a red stripe on each leg. The few times he'd worn it out to their pool, when the trunks were new and he'd been so proud of them, Maggie had knelt down and helped him step out of them, then hung the bathing suit on the arm of her chair, insisting it was “pool bath” time.

  He realized, without question, he was always supposed to wear his trunks when they went as a family to the big public pool in the county park over by the high school. Too, he always wore them on the rare occasions when his dad was home on the weekend, or when Ronnie's mom let Ronnie come over to play in the pool. Of course, that wasn't all too often, as Ronnie's mom didn't like him to
swim if she wasn't there to watch, and she and Maggie couldn't get along for too long of a stretch without one getting on the other's nerves. But the look on his dad's face, and the manner in which he'd spoken to Maggie, had made him feel like he'd never felt before. He would always remember that particular afternoon.

  That day was the last time he'd taken a “pool bath.” And it wasn't too long after that he'd begun trying to take his evening bath without Maggie's help. Though Maggie's adherence to that motherly duty would still be a long time in the dying.

  Now though, standing before the statues of the children and thinking about it, he recalled that even these days Maggie was never shy about just walking in on him in his room, or barging into the bathroom if he forgot to lock the door. With Patty though, it was an entirely different story. Maggie hovered over her like a hawk. Neither he nor his dad had ever been allowed to be in the bathroom when Patty was taking a bath, and that was tough for a family of four with only one bathroom. And when Patty wore a dress you could count on Maggie to always end up in a sour mood. She'd yell at her to exasperation at a birthday party, “Sit like a young lady! Keep your knees together, Patty.” At the playground at church she'd shrill, “Patty! Patty! Cut that out! Put your dress down! Jungle gyms are not for proper young ladies! Don't you know you've got a dress on?” All the other young mothers seemed to always be standing apart from Maggie. They'd look at her and shake their heads while talking amongst themselves.

  Lee had been with them at Patterson's Department Store when Patty had asked for one of those two-piece bathing suits, just like Maggie's. She had firmly been told, “No! Positively not!” And of course, even though they no longer had the little pool, “pool baths” were completely out of the question.

  At least after Patty had been born relations had gotten better between Maggie and his dad. He'd once heard Uncle Ed say she was a “Reconciliation baby.” He'd looked up the word, and deduced Patty had been the result of the fence mending when he and his dad had moved back in, after their brief stint as houseguests of Uncle Ed and Miss Laura.