A novel by Leo Gonzales

My parents ask if I can say grace and I spread my hands so Ma’s holdin’ my left and Mary’s holdin’ my right. “Lord, bless this food, bless this house and bless this family.” I look up at Pa after he clears his throat, his eyes openin’ before I say Amen. He’s trying to tell me somethin’ but I don’t know what it is. I say my prayers just like he says it, and then I get a squeeze from Mary. “And bless our neighbor, Mary,” I say. 

Pa’s eyes close and I say, “Amen.”

“Amen,” the rest of them say and Mary smiles.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Ma says, “That was lovely.”

“It’s just like Pa says it,” I say and Ma makes that awh sound like she sees a baby trynna walk.  

Mary’s in her uniform, all white and dirty with brown and red stains. She closes her eyes. “My daddy always waited ‘till after supper to say grace,” she says, and she leans in to get the potatoes as she points her eyes up. “Just to make sure he’s keeping his end.” 

“Mary,” Ma says, “How is work going?”

“Terribly,” she says, “I quit.”

Ma frowns as she chews and Pa drops his fork on the plate. 

“I’m sick and tired of takin’ care of people.” She leans forward and makes her eyes all squinty. “A man vomited blood on me today. The one day I don’t bring an extra pair of scrubs.”

“Oh, now, now,” Ma says, pattin’ the table, “you’re doin’ beautiful work, God’s work. One should be so lucky!”

“I should be so lucky,” Mary repeats. “No!” She moans. “I’m sick ‘n tired of all these nights! Changin’ bedpans and moppin’ up after these – puke and piss! When’s someone gonna take care of me?”

“Oh, you just need a man,” Ma sings, lowerin’ her voice. “Someone to talk to.”

“I know what men are for,” and she tells the whole table that her cats listen to her and she smiles at me ‘cause I’m tryin’ not to laugh. “Perhaps I’m better off coercing that lunatic off in the woods!” 

My mother shushes her, pattin’ the table. 

“Who?” I ask

“I’m serious,” Mary says, “I’m gonna trudge up those hills, take my clothes off, and let the mad man have at it.” I start laughin’ and Ma waves her hands. 

“None of that now here,” Pa says. He looks at me ‘specially and I shut my mouth. “What about little Robert?” he asks.

Mary waves her hand, ignorin’ the question like she thought of it already.

“Ma,” I say, clearin’ my throat. “Timmy and I are goin’ campin’ when spring comes,” and Ma scoffs.

“How you boys stay out there with all those wild animals and dirt, I’ll never know,” she says, laughin’.

“It’s because he’s with his best friend,” Mary says, winking at me. “That Timmy boy’s your best friend, idn’t he Charlie?”

“I ain’t afraid of wild animals,” I say, “there’s nothin’ out there but opossums and doe.” I take a bite of my meat and look at Mary. She looks different. I feel my face to see if there’s somethin’ on it and notice her face, her skin. It’s pale and a li’l wrinkly, but soft. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’ ‘cause . . . ‘cause I got God’s love,” I say and Mary grabs the table all hard. 

“Oh, now why can’t I find a man like that?” she shouts, pointin’ over at me. Ma and Pa laugh with her and I feed Peanut some celery under the table. “Where are all the good men at?”

“Yeh,” Pa says, “Muh boy’s quite the man. Just the other day a bluebird flew right into his windah.”

“His window?” Mary asks, looking at me with her eyebrows all low. 

“Well not into his window, Papa.” Ma says. “The poor bird just tried to fly right in and of course our little Charlie boy took it upon himself to nurse it back to health.”

Mary looks down at me and I nod, seein’ the chewed up green stuff Peanut left beside me. I always forget which he likes, whether it’s the celery or the carrots. 

“How long it take yah, boy?” Pa asks, “Two days? Three days? Yeh, that’s right. Three days to nurse it back to health and then Charlie said the bird flew right out the windah, all on its own.”

“And you did this all by yourself?” Mary asks and I nod again, chewin’, chewin’ so much that I can’t speak.  “My, my,” she says slowly, “You should take my job.”

Someone did a bad job cuttin’ this grass in the garden. I’m walkin’ slow, lookin’ at the vines and the shrubs. If there weren’t no little plants, there wouldn’t be no forest at all. With trees it’s all the same – just a buncha flowers ‘n plants with no forest. I see an airplane fly over and start lookin’ at the trail of clouds behind it, blendin’ in with all the other clouds. 

I get to the river, but I’m afraid to cross it. It’s deep and there’s a buncha snakes inside. I know they’re there. I see some waves comin’ from one side, slow ‘n easy. I keep walkin’ along the river, steppin’ through the vines. They rub against me. I see flowers growin’ on ‘em and I like how they feel, all cold and soft. I see Mary in the water, her nurse clothes tossed in the sand. She’s spinnin’ in circles with her hands up, lookin’ up at the sky. She’s in the sun even though it’s cloudy and she stops spinnin’ when I step on a crunchy leaf. 

She holds her arms out with a smile. “Charlie boy!” she shouts, her chest boppin’ up and down the water. “Come in! Come in!” I start to feel warm in my pants and I shake my head.

“No, thank you ma’am,” I say and she walks out of the water. Her body is beautiful and shiny. She takes me to a beach and lies down by the shore so that she looks asleep. I go up to her and give her all the flowers I took from the vines. I put ‘em all over her body, coverin’ her up as she giggles. “Oh, Charlie, what are you doing?” 

A loud metal sound comes from the woods and I remember it. I’ve heard it before, but I don’t remember where. It scrapes ‘n gets louder, ‘and Mary has this worried look. She stands up and points, “It’s him!” she shouts, backin’ up into the water. The petals fall off her and the metal sound gets louder. 

 I’m holdin’ her hand, askin’, “Who? Who?” but she can’t breathe. 

“Him!” she yells.

I wake up slow and almost forget about what I saw ‘till I think about it. I think of Mary’s body, floatin’ through the water. My favorite part is when she takes the robe off all slow while she looks at me, ‘n I press myself on my pillow over ‘n over, thinkin’ of Mary. I do this ‘till everything’s wet, and I get up to take my PJs to the trash and see the clock tickin’ over the stove. It’s three in the mornin’. I wonder what goes on this time of night. I open my parent’s door and see Pa sit up, his eyes half open.

“Huh,” he says all low. He’s just starin’ at me in the doorway. He looks at me like I’m someone else and says, ”Charlie.” He falls back into bed and I shut the door ‘n walk back to my bedroom, sayin’ my name in my head – Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, ‘till it’s just a sound. I even say it out loud, “Charlie.” Then I think ‘Charlie is going to church,’ and my name means somethin’ again.

This work was featured in issue #16

Read Charlie Boy: V next Friday