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Thursday, October 20, 2011

Chapter 5: Aaron's Last Supper Part II



The colors of a rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They’re really saying, I love you.

I hear babies cry; I watch them grow
You know, they’re gonna learn
A whole lot more than I’ll never know
And I think to myself, What a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself, What a wonderful world.
Louis Armstrong

Justine plopped down in the dining room chair that had always been her chair, the one to Mom’s right. She watched Dad seat Mom at this head of the table then sit down at the other head. Aaron seated Grandma to Dad’s right and sat down across from Justine.
Everyone in their place.
“Justine,” Mom said. She was frowning and motioning with her eyebrows.
Justine followed her look. There stood Grandpa behind her chair, fresh drink in hand, looking befuddled. Justine hadn’t waited for him to mix his drink and come to seat her.
“I’ll get up,” she said.
“It’s too late now.” Her mother unfolded her white linen napkin and placed it in her lap, her busy eyebrows telling Justine to do same.  
“I’m sorry, Grandpa.”
Grandpa ignored her. Pay back. Justine waited to feel embarrassed, waited for the need to clamp down on her lip.
Nothing there.
And the nothing felt cool.
Why’re they so uptight about sitting down at a table?
She looked at the faces. Dad smiling at Grandma. Grandma fiddling with her hat. Grandpa chewing on ice from his drink. Mom smiling. At the table.
Plastic faces wearing good manners.
It didn’t matter and warm all over, she looked up at the wallpaper that ringed the dining room. Those ladies in their high hats and long dresses riding sidesaddle around the ceiling. Those gentlemen in their top hats, brandishing whips. All parading around the ceiling in pretty greens and pretty pinks. Pink feathers in the ladies’ hats matching pink bows around the ladies’ waists. Had she noticed that before?
Louis Armstrong sang about a wonderful world while Grandpa said grace:
“We thank the Lord for these bounties of life.”
Justine had forgotten to bow her head and close her eyes. Aaron looked right at her and Mom and Dad looked at each other. The only ones praying were her grandparents. She felt a kinship with Aaron, then, as if their eyes built a bridge.
            “What can I send you,” she asked. “While you’re over there.”  
            “Amen,” said Grandma and Grandpa.
            “Oops,” Justine said.
            Mom handed Justine her napkin.
            “I can do it.”
Her mother stared down at her plate.
The yummy bridge feeling disappeared but she didn’t feel that rush of embarrassment or anger.
And Louis Armstrong continued to sing about a wonderful world.
            “Cookies,” Aaron said. “Send me dozens and dozens of chocolate chip cookies.”
            “They’ll spoil in all that heat,” Dad said, carving the ham.
            “It certainly was hot today,” Grandma said. “I was out trying to salvage my garden.”
            “I’m sorry, Grandma,” Justine said.
            “Why it was that dog’s fault, not yours. I’m sure you did your best.”
            “Goddamned dog,” Grandpa said.
            Viola passed the platters and they ate the ham warm, with horseradish, and yams with marshmallows, green beans with bacon, and coleslaw with red cabbage. All prepared just the way Aaron liked it.
            “You could send tapes,” Justine said. “Lori’s brother sends tapes.”
            “Do tell,” Dad said.
            “Don’t encourage her,” Mom said.
            “He sits in a tree at night,” Justine said. “He’s a sniper.”
            “How can he see at night?” Grandpa asked.
            “Some special thing,” she said.
            “Infra-red light, Grandpa,” Aaron said.
            “How does that work, son,” Dad asked.
            “I don’t know how it works, but I know it gives off a red light the enemy can spot.”
            “That’s why he shoots gooks even when they look like a family.”
“Justine!”
“That’s what he calls them, Mom.” Justine answered the look on her mother’s face with a new look of her own.
            “I’m not planning on calling them that,” Aaron said.
            Silence again, only this time the record had ended. Even Grandpa had stopped eating.
            “What does a fella need to do around here to get another drink?” he said.
            “Viola,” Dad called.
            “What will you call them?” Mom asked.
            “Hopefully, I’ll be so busy working in Supply I won’t have to call them anything.”
            “Yes, sir,” Viola said, peeking in through the swinging door.
            “More ice, Viola, and more drinks.”
            “Not for Justine,” Mom said.
            “A short one for Justine,” Dad said.
            “Won’t matter where you are if they pull something like that TET Offensive,” Grandpa said.
            “You’ll have to call them something,” Mom said.
            “Margaret, let the boy be,” Dad said.
            Viola came in with more ice for the ice chest.
            “They’re Vietcong,” Aaron said. “I guess I’ll call ‘em that.”
            Viola went around the dining room table taking up the empty cocktail glasses, placing them on the silver tray.
            “If everybody calls ‘em ‘gooks,’” Grandpa said, “call ‘em gooks.”
            “A man has to have values and stick to them,” Dad said. “What good are values—“
            “Civil rights don’t apply in wartime. Remember, you haven’t seen combat,” Grandpa said to Dad. “I have.”
            Viola served Grandma her drink first and then Mom.
 “What was war like, Grandpa?” Justine asked.
 “For one thing,” he said, taking his freshened martini from Viola. “We didn’t treat the enemy with respect.”
            “Walt,” Grandma said.
            “Not dinner table talk, is that it, Mother?” Grandpa winked at Grandma. “Aaron, after dinner, I’ll tell you stories. Pass those yams, would you please, Maggie?”
            “Thank you, Viola,” Aaron said when Viola served him his drink.
            Justine saw the smile creep across Viola’s face.
            “Justine, you’ll be applying to college soon, won’t you?” Grandma asked.
            “She’s going to Berkeley,” Dad said. “That we know.”
            You think you know.
            “Justine, your grandmother asked you a question,” Mom said. “And why aren’t you eating your dinner?”
            “She’s applying to Berkeley, Margaret,” Dad said. “And when you get home, Aaron, we’ll get you back on track.”
            “Honey, I think Justine ought to speak for herself.”
            “Margaret, we’ll have none of your women’s lib nonsense tonight,” Dad said, picking up his cocktail. “We have a man going off to war and, whether we believe in the war or not, it’s the men who fight it. And it’s the men who make the money around here, I might add. Tonight we’re going to forget all about those books you’ve been reading.”
            “Books?” Grandma said.
            “Never mind what books she’s reading, Frances,” Grandpa said.
“And Justine will go to Berkeley,” Dad said.
Justine looked across the table at Aaron. He stared right back at her and they rolled their eyes at the same time.
Bridge.
            “Viola, we’ll have dessert in the living room,” her mother said. “Justine will help you with the dishes, won’t you, dear?”
            You think it’s punishment but I’d rather wash dishes than be plastic.
            Had she said that? Justine drained her drink, sucking it off the ice.
The others stood up and pushed their chairs back. Justine watched Grandpa put his arm around Aaron and take him away from the table. Grandma picked up her plate.
            “I’ll help, too,” Grandma said.
            “No, Florence,” Mom said. “That’s Justine’s job.”
            “Don’t read tonight,” she heard Dad say to Mom and she saw his hand rub up and down, pulling at the fabric of her dress. Mom leaned into him.
            “You help Viola, won’t you dear,” her mother said again, over her shoulder.
            I heard you the first time.  
            Aaron, Dad and Grandpa were probably lighting up cigars right now. Not Justine. She had to do the dishes.
            “Don’t stack them,” Viola said when she brought the first load into the kitchen. “You’ll break something.”
            So she cleared the table without stacking. Didn’t matter how many trips. No stacking the fine china.
            Table cleared, Justine’s hands felt good in the hot, soapy water.
Washing, rinsing, placing each plate in the dish drainer.
Rather be in here thinking about Jesse than in there, anyway. Would he go off to college? She wondered what his parents had to say about his future.
 Mom said it was a new day for women, and her counselor at school said all she needed was a BA in Liberal Arts and a teaching credential. Dad said forget about what the counselor says. “Look at your GPA,” he said. “You’re going to Berkeley.”
Justine scraped oil and drippings from the roasting pan into the metal Foldger’s can.
            “Viola, what do you think I ought to do when I grow up?” she asked.
            “Not for me to answer,” Viola said, wiping down the stove.
            “I’m not charming like Aaron,” Justine said.
            “Aaron’s Aaron and you’re you,” Viola said, setting out a towel on the counter next to the sink so Justine could place the roasting pan on it.
            “That’s why I come to you, Viola,” Justine said, drying her hands. “You’re such a big help.”
            Viola, her back to Justine, the tie of the white apron around her waist hidden in the folds of her plump middle, reached behind to untie it, dried her hands on it, and turned to face Justine.
            “Your brother’s going to get on a bus tomorrow. It’s going to leave with him on it, so get in there. Memorize his face and the sound of his voice.”
            Justine wished she never asked Viola anything.
            “Where are you going?” Viola asked. "Get back in here."
            “I'm going to walk the dog,” Justine said, tossing her dishtowel on the counter. “Like I promised Aaron I would.”








1 comment:

  1. Wonderful writing, June! I am taken so completely back to that time and those family situations. Thanks.

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