3 Early Novels

By Gene Brewer

Ralphy is the story of a typical Midwestern U.S. family into whose lives is thrust a misfit, a boy who was born flat and resembles a fish. Ralphy is a throwback to the time when human beings made a wrong turn and separated themselves from the other animals.

In Breakthrough, Arthur M. Raintree, Ph.D., achieves his lifelong desire to become a research scientist, but discovers that his work is of far less importance than living in peace and love with his family.

In the year 2020, the government has become a wasteland of military and religious righteousness. There is only one person who can save us from self-destruction before it is too late, a genius who is prepared to die in order to accomplish this revolution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 28, 2007
• ISBN: 9781477179574

Gene Brewer

Before becoming a novelist, Gene Brewer studied DNA replication and cell division at several major research stations. He is the author of ON A BEAM OF LIGHT, K-PAX II and the forthcoming K-PAX III, published in summer 2002, which will complete the K-PAX trilogy. He lives in New York City.

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Copyright © 2007 by Gene Brewer.

ISBN:

   Hardcover   978-1-4257-1887-9

   Softcover    978-1-4257-1888-6

   eBook         978-1-4771-7957-4

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

RALPHY (1981)

BREAKTHROUGH (1983)

2020 (1985)

BOOKS BY GENE BREWER

K-PAX

K-PAX II: On a Beam of Light

K-PAX III: The Worlds of Prot

K-PAX: the Trilogy, featuring Prot’s Report

Creating K-PAX (memoir)

Alejandro (short story) in Twice Told

Murder on Spruce Island

Wrongful Death

Ben and I

Watson’s God

K-PAX IV: A New Visitor from the Constellation Lyra

The American Way

K-PAX Redux: A Play, a Screenplay, and a Report

Three Stories and a Novella

Three Early Novels

RALPHY

CHAPTER ONE

Ralphy was born flat—his mother had tripped coming off the escalator at Sears and squashed her unborn baby. From the side he looked normal, more or less, but from the front he resembled a flounder. It was assumed that his brain had been flattened, too, and that its pancake-like configuration was what had made Ralphy differnt. At the age of four he had not yet walked or said anything. He never cried, nor did he laugh, unless those peculiar sounds he made were little sobs and chuckles. By this time his body had rounded out except for his head and a little hump on his back. The doctor said that Ralphy was physically healthy, but that he might be somewhat retarded. Although, he pointed out, Einstein had also appeared to be rather slow-witted early in life. He said they would have to wait and see. Ralphy was almost five now, and they were still waiting.

Ralphy had two brothers and one sister. His oldest brother, called J.T., was a big, muscular teenager. He wanted, after graduation next year, to join the Marine Corps, or to be a cop, or both. J.T. thought that Ralphy was weird. He used to give him a pinch or pull his hair whenever he passed by—until the time that Ralphy emitted a screech like one that J.T. had heard once coming from a rabbit he had shot. It aroused the neighbors as well as the rest of the family. J.T. did not approach Ralphy again. And, anyway, those shiny black eyes gave him the creeps.

Mark, the middle brother, was fourteen. He was a good-looking boy despite his acne, with delicate, almost pretty, features and long dark eyelashes. Because Ralphy had to have his own room, Mark, along with his matchbook collection, had to move in with J.T. Mark didn’t mind, but J.T. resented the intrusion. He became curt and even nasty, and Mark didn’t understand why. The latter spent many hours trying to communicate with Ralphy but finally gave up, thinking, as he had heard Reverend Turk say, that we do not need to understand God’s plan.

Becky was the only girl. People liked Becky; she smiled a lot. When she got older she was going to get married and have lots of babies. She practiced for motherhood on Ralphy. When she was home she assumed the responsibility for bathing and changing him, for keeping his nose wiped, and for trying to get him to laugh. Ralphy’s mother was happy with this arrangement—she was already looking forward to grandmotherhood.

Ralphy’s mother, who was ninety pounds overweight and had a large red face, was a housewife. The TV set had informed her that she was more than that—a homemaker or a domestic engineer—but she thought of herself as jist a housewife. Her house was clean and she cooked large and filling meals. It would be an understatement to note that she loved her family. Indeed, it was the only thing that justified her own existence.

Ralphy’s father worked in a factory that produced chemicals which were then sold to other factories all over the country. The chemicals ended up, for the most part, in a variety of household products. He didn’t know where the chemicals ended up and didn’t care. It was a good job and he had a nice home and the family had plenty to eat. He paid little attention to Ralphy, who, anyway, was an accident.

Tylersville was a medium-sized town not far from Indianapolis. It was founded in the mid-1800’s by Edgar Tyler, who invented the Tyler bolt. Also the Tyler nut and the Tyler screw. The area around Tylersville was referred to by the residents as the country, which was what it used to be. Now it was a conglomeration of two- and three-acre lots with rectangular houses, or developments with little square houses lined up in rows. In either case, the homes were 80% wood and 20% brick, and the well-kept lawns had few or no trees, though some exhibited half-buried wheels or shiny green balls on posts. The streets had names like Old Mill Road and Fox Run Lane. Those in Ralphy’s neighborhood were named after Indian tribes. Two cars stood in front of each of the two-car garages, which were full of other things.

There was still some farmland left behind the developments, and even some woodland. Behind Ralphy’s house was a field which showed the stubble of last year’s corn crop interspersed with a few wild mustard plants, and behind that an area known as Mercer’s Woods.

Ralphy’s room was next to Becky’s in the back part of the house. In the mornings he sat in his pen, surrounded by little plastic soldiers, listening to the sounds and smelling the smells that came through his open window. After he was fed his midday dinner he was put back to bed for the afternoon, and after supper he was allowed to sit in the living room for a while with the rest of the family and watch TV. At night, from his bed, he could look out his window and see the floodlit backyard. Even when there was no moon, the light was so bright that he could see the cornfield and, beyond that, the woods. And he would watch the animals come out of the forest into the cornfield and, sometimes, into the yard.

*

Ralphy’s father enjoyed the drive to work. It took him more than half an hour to get to Progressive Chemical over on the west side of town. He had a couple of cigarettes, listened to the radio, traffic wasn’t bad. He usually took the bypass in the mornings and came home through town in the evenings when he had to stop at the grocery or hardware store.

It was May and the trees were already leafed out. He liked spring. It wasn’t too hot, no mosquitoes yet. Something about spring made him think of past times. When the kids were little. When they were born. Even before that…

 . . . Mom on Mother’s Day this year with a beautiful set of unbreakable dinnerware from… said the radio.

Kathy. He had waited too long. Before he had found the nerve to ask her for a date she had become engaged. When he had finally asked her to go to the basketball game she had looked at him and smiled, and that cute little dimple came into her cheek—not both of them, just the one—and she said that she didn’t know he was interested, and that she was sorry, and he had said it was okay. But it wasn’t.

 . . . that the new hybrid will help us to keep pace with the population increase, which is expected to… He exited onto Willingham Pike.

Ralphy’s father had not been feeling right. It wasn’t anything he could his finger on exactly: no headaches, his stomach wasn’t bothering him much, except for that little pain in his gut once in a while. But he was over forty, now, and he had heard that people over forty always have a little pain in their gut. Anyhow, he hadn’t been to a doctor for twenty years, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go to one if he didn’t have to. Every day he would think he didn’t feel much worse than he had the day before, sometimes better. In this way he was able to accept, gradually, more and more discomfort while convincing himself that it was nothing to worry about.

He didn’t discuss his situation with anyone. He rarely discussed anything with anyone, except for the cost of living, sports, and sometimes, during presidential election years, politics. On those occasions he was torn between voting Democrat, as recommended by his union, or Republican, because he worried about what was happening to the country. His principal complaint was that taxes were too high, mostly because there were too many people on welfare, and these were either big-city blacks or Appalachian whites, both of which don’t want to do nothin but lay aroun n fornicate.

 . . . tew yew, bay-buh, Ah’ll give it all tew yeeeeeeewwww, said the radio.

Ralphy’s father turned onto Whitewater Road. It was a sunshiny day and he’d forgotten about the pain he had in his gut yesterday. He thought again about Kathy, and he saw her face and that wonderful little dimple. He wanted to reach out and touch it… .

*

J.T. didn’t like English class. He couldn’t read very well, and the stories and plays that were assigned were of no interest to him. They talked about kings and unfamiliar places. He had no books of his own and, indeed, there were no books at the Warner household except for several Bibles, a big yellow cookbook, and scattered issues of Reader’s Digest. A bookshelf in the living room held knickknacks. Ralphy’s father had said that books were a waste of money when they had a TV set. Besides, he added, there ain’t no substitute for experience. You can’t learn to fix anything by lookin in no book.

Despite J.T.’s agreement with this axiom, he still had to pass English and, on this particular day, he was called on to read aloud. J.T. had been studying Gail Hershey’s shoeless foot, her toes wiggling inside her soft pink sock. When he stood up to read, it immediately became evident to everyone in the classroom, including Mrs. Humphrey, that J.T. had an erection. Some of the boys began to whistle and laugh, and some of the girls blushed. So did J.T., whose embarrassment eliminated the problem. Mrs. Humphrey chose the only possible means of dealing with the crisis, that of ignoring it. A little louder, please, J.T., she admonished crisply. J.T. stumbled through the poem and sat down. Later, the matter would be discussed among the teachers, and the elimination of blue jeans for boys was considered and rejected as being unenforceable. Besides that, it was almost the end of the school year.

J.T. suddenly became more popular. Where there had once been blank stares across hallways, he was now receiving smiles and Hi, J.T.! His swagger became perceptibly broader, and the future looked very, very promising.

*

Ralphy’s mother tied back the curtains in Ralphy’s room to let in the sunshine. Ain’t it a nice day, Ralphy? She stood looking out the back window toward the cornfield. Look, Ralphy, there’s a bluebird. I ain’t seen wunna them fer a long tim. Ain’t they perty? Ralphy stared at her through the bars of his bed. She opened the window. Maybe we cn go outside fer a little bit after dinner. Would yuh like that, hon? We’ll go out fer a little bit after we eat, okay? She wiped Ralphy’s nose and lifted him out of his bed. After checking to see whether he pants were wet she set him down in his pen. She smelled like coffee. I’m gonna do my work now, so you jis set here n injoy the sunshine. I’ll be back in a little bit, okay, hon?

Through the bars of his pen Ralphy watched her leave, then turned and looked at the cloudless blue sky. In his mind an image formed… the last time he had seen a cloudless blue sky… a flock of Canada geese… the air was cold and rough, but he was warm and his wings strong and soft. Ralphy smiled.

After drying the breakfast dishes, Ralphy’s mother swept out the kitchen floor and watered all of her plants. lessee we could have beef pork chicken macaroni n cheese macaroni n cheese sounds good no we jis had macaroni n cheese I wuish Daddy n J.T. would eat more feesh only thing they want is meat n potatuhs I know we ain’t had pork chops fer a while wonder if there’s inny in the freezer

 . . . Ah crad a great ol big crocodahl tear over yeeeeeewwww, said the radio.

Ralphy’s mother went into the living room and turned on The Bob Evans Show. lessee what cn I have with it peas is good with pork chops an what else besides potatuhs maybe the leftover macaroni n cheese that’s so good cold hope there’s enough maybe I’ll have ice tea fer a change don’t that sound good With one eye she watched herself dust the chairs and the coffee table while the other focused on the TV set. She picked up an orange-colored candy peanut from the dish.

 . . . incidence of pregnancy among teenagers and especially pre-teenagers is decreasing, the number of children experimenting with sex is still on the increase. This means that… said the TV set.

oh why do they hafta talk about that ever day ain’t there nothing else tuh talk about She chewed the candy peanut while she dusted the TV set.

 . . . among ten- and eleven-year-olds has increased dramatically in the past few years. Of course no one…

what do they mean ten- an eleven-year-olds that ain’t right my kids is oldern that an they wouldn they mus mean in New York n places like that Ralphy’s mother sat down and allowed both eyes to focus on the TV set. She remembered when Mark and Becky were just little. How Mark was always frowning and serious about everything, and Becky was just the opposite. She smiled as she remembered Becky in her little yellow dress with the white ruffles, falling down, sitting there laughing and clapping her hands… .

 . . . cleans the entire bathroom! One product for all your cleaning needs! And remember—it kills germs, too!"

She got up again, with some difficulty, and continued her dusting. lessee I could have pie fer dessert I know brownies we ain’t had brownies in a long time even J.T. likes brownies oh it’s sich a perty day why can’t they all be like this I’ll take Ralphy outdoors after dinner till my shows start whatm I gonna give eem fer dinner I know that leftover rice I’ll hafta look in the frigidaire maybe there’s some green beans from the other day

In Ralphy’s room a light breeze blew away the smell of bacon still coming from the kitchen and replaced it with that of freshly-dug earth from the garden in back of the house. Ralphy could hear the murmur of the TV set and, beyond that, a country tune on the kitchen radio. He watched the curtain rustle with the breeze. Suddenly a chickadee landed on the windowsill. It pecked at a loose wire in the screen. After a few seconds Ralphy chirped. The bird stopped pecking and looked around behind her. Ralphy smiled and chirped again. The chickadee peered into his room. She saw Ralphy, who chirped once more. She responded. The conversation continued for several minutes until, finally, the chickadee flew away. Ralphy leaned his head against the bars of his pen and looked out toward the sky.

*

Nobody is supposed to like school. But Mark did. He liked everything but biology. He enjoyed his classes, he enjoyed taking tests, he enjoyed reciting, and he even enjoyed doing homework.

According to consensus among the girls in his class, Mark was kinda cute. Still, he wasn’t particularly popular with his peers of either gender. The boys thought he had little sense of humor, especially about himself. It was hard to joke around with a guy who thought everyone should do right. The girls thought he wasn’t interested in girls. If one of them started a conversation with him he would answer yes or no, then find an excuse to go away. And that habit he had of squinting his eyes! If you watched him for very long you began to do it yourself.

Mark couldn’t remember when he had decided to be a minister. It seemed as if he had always known that. But he didn’t know why. He found the Old Testament very dull. But he liked the gospels. He had no doubts about the story of Jesus Christ (I mean the gospels were written by people who had actually been there). Had anyone questioned that truth he would have received an uncomprehending stare from Mark. But no one questioned it.

Today, for the first time, Mark briefly considered an alternative to his chosen vocation. He had been walking down the main hall during lunch hour when he noticed a younger girl, whose name he didn’t know, standing slightly bent over, one hand on the stair railing, the other in her mouth. A long drool hung from her chin and she seemed to be trying to throw up. Mark froze, terrified. She stared at him with a look of terrible anguish. He wondered if maybe she was choking on something. He didn’t know what to do. He tried to pray, but couldn’t think. He had never seen a dead person before, except for Uncle Arthur a long time ago. Much less somebody actually dying. Suddenly Mr. Wilson ran up, grabbed the girl by the back of her neck with his left hand, reached into her throat with his right one, and pulled out a ball of hard candy. The girl coughed, gasped, took a couple of deep breaths, and began to cry. By this time a few others had gathered, and they watched Mr. Wilson lead the girl toward his office.

Thank God, said Mark, squinting his eyes repeatedly.

And Mr. Wilson, said someone else.

All afternoon Mark ran instant replays of this terrible event through his mind. For an hour or so, based on his new-found respect for Mr. Wilson, he thought that if he couldn’t be a minister he might like to be a school principal. Then suddenly he had an inspiration: it must be great to be a doctor! He imagined himself in a white coat—taking temperatures, giving shots, pulling hard candies from people’s throats. Being a preacher seemed pale by comparison. However, after taking a thousand temperatures, giving a thousand shots, retrieving a thousand hard candies, he was faced with a difficult question: which is more important—saving lives or saving souls? and bein a preacher’s well maybe not exciting exackly but what rewarding besides I’d hafta take a lotta biology n stuff wouldn I and biology is dumb all yuh do is cut up worms He imagined himself standing in front of a large congregation. Speaking brilliantly. The congregation spellbound. No coughing, even. Emoting into the radio microphones and God said let there be light

 . . . tell us, Mark? said Mr. Cole.

What? said Mark, squinting his eyes. I’m sorry Mr. Cole, I didn hear yuh.

Can anybody else tell us? said Mr. Cole, gazing sternly at Mark, who looked down at his book, then glanced over at David’s to see what page they were on. He thought again about the girl in the hallway. Again he got a little thrill in his stomach. That look on her face. He tried to see how long he could hold his breath. He would never again eat a piece of hard candy. He was a little afraid to go home and eat supper.

*

Becky wasn’t the prettiest girl in school, but she was cute enough to have plenty of friends. She had reddish hair, a tiny nose, and a nice smile. She was cheerful but not saccharine, attentive if not bright. She got Bs and Cs and was happy with them. Becky liked home ec. She hated history and English and math, and she thought that health class was stupid. In home ec she learned about meat and dairy products, green and yellow vegetables and cereals. But she liked baking and sewing best. The teacher was a plump, middle-aged woman with huge glasses. Her name was Mrs. Buzzard, which she pronounced with the accent on the final syllable, and which her students did not.

Today was muffin day. There were twenty-five in the class and only four stoves, so everyone had to finish mixing the batter in time to get it into the oven with everyone else’s. There weren’t enough muffin tins to go around, either, and some of the girls had to bring one from home. They worked in pairs in order to save equipment and help each other. Becky baked with her best friend, Amy Barrett.

HAVE YOUR ATTENTION FOR A MINUTE, GIRLS, shouted Mrs. Buzzard in a piercing falsetto. The chatter slowly subsided. Now it’s very important not to mix your liquids and your drys too much, otherwise your texture will be wrong. Just get the dry ingredients wet. Okay? Also, we’re using paper cups in our muffin trays so as to save on cleaning. She held one aloft. But I like to put just a touch of butter or margarine in the bottoms of the cups anyway. Sometimes your muffins will stick to the paper if you don’t do that. Okay? Now you only have ten more minutes to get your muffins in the oven if you’re going to get to your next class on time. Okay? Now preheat your ovens if you haven’t already. Okay?

I’m done with the liquids, said Amy. You bout got the dry stuff mixed up?

I guess so, said Becky. That’s probly good enough. Who’s gonna—you know—dump it in? You wanna dump it in?"

I don care, said Amy. You can if yuh want to.

I know, said Becky. You dump in the liquids and I’ll stir.

Okay, here goes, said Amy, and she slowly poured the liquid mixture into the dry ingredients. Becky gingerly began to stir them together. I think you cn go faster n that, Beck. I’ve helped my mom make muffins before. They’re not that delicate.

HAVE YOUR ATTENTION FOR A MINUTE, GIRLS? screeched Mrs. Buzzard. GIRLS, ATTENTION! Remember to put your liquid ingredients into the small bowl, and your drys into the large bowl. Or else when you pour your liquids into your dry ingredients you won’t have enough room. Okay?

A chorus of groans went up. Now she tells us, said Amy with her hands on her hips, though they had done it right.

I think that’s stirred enough, don’t you? said Becky.

Here comes Mrs. Buzzard, said Amy.

Their teacher came up and looked into their bowl. You didn’t mix it up too much, did you, girls? Her breath smelled like peppermint. It’s very important not to mix your muffin batter too much. That looks fine. Now fill the cups two-thirds full. Okay? Two-thirds full. All set? Mrs. Buzzard moved on to the next table.

You’ve don’t this before, Ame, you dump it into the cups, okay?

Okay, Warner, but it idn that hard. I’ll do the first ones and you do the rest, okay?

Amy?

What?

You goin tuh that party nex Saturdee?

I guess so. Why?

Oh—you know—jis—you know—wonderin.

Here, now you do the rest.

Okay. Becky’s tongue waved from the side of her mouth as she spooned the batter into the remaining cups. Who yuh goin with?

Oh, jis dumb ol Ricky, I guess. Who you goin with?

Becky temporarily retrieved her tongue. I don know. Maybe Doug White.

Doug White? Did he ast yuh tuh go with him?

Well, no, he hasn’t exackly ast me yet, but he sat by me at the assembly las week, an ee ast me—you know—who I wuz goin with, n stuff, n I sorta thought ee wuz gonna—you know—ast me to go with him. There ain’t enougha this batter to go aroun.

Jis take a little bit from summa the others n fill up that last hole. Here. Lemme do it. Tongue waving, Amy redistributed the batter. Well ee better ast yuh perty soon. The party’s nex Saturdee, idn it? Could you open that oven door?

I know. I havn even seen eem since assembly.

Amy put the tins into the oven. Well I don wanna seem like a real twerp, Warner, but maybe ee wuz jis shittin yuh.

Oh, I know. But he’s so cute. I thought maybe—you know—

My brother’s in his class. Want me tuh ast eem tuh find out who ee’s goin with?

Oh, could you do that, Amy? That’d be great.

I’ll ast eem tonight. Gee whiz, Beck, I didn’t know you even liked Doug White.

I didn’t until assembly. She looked out the side of her eye toward Amy, who was doing the same. Both girls grinned.

HAVE YOUR ATTENTION FOR A MINUTE, GIRLS? EVERYBODY SHOULD BE IN THE OVEN NOW. EVERYBODY GOT THEIR MUFFINS IN THE OVEN?

*

J.T. came noisily into the house. Got anything to eat, Mom?

I wuish you wouldn drive up the driveway suh fast, J.T., honey. Some day yer gonna run over somebody. Ralphy’s mother bent down and got some potatoes out of a drawer. The effort left her slightly dizzy.

Who? I ain’t never seen nobody layin in the driveway whin I come up. Whatcha got tuh eat?

Well, yuh never know, hon. I jist heard on the radio the other day bout some little girl got run over in er own driveway. Why don’t yuh make yuh a lunchmeat samwich er a bowla breakfasfood? We’ll be havin supper fore too long.

We ain’t got no little girls, said J.T., looking into the refrigerator. Cep Becky. Course she’s perty dumb, but she’s got sense enough not tuh lay down out in the driveway, ain’t she?

 . . . n if yew don know, honey, Ah ain’t agonna tell yeeeeewww, said the radio.

I jis want yuh tuh be careful, hon. People gits killed on the highways ever day.

I am careful. I ain’t had inny bad wrecks yet, have I?

There’s always a first time, ain’t they? She peeled a potato.

Mom, I ain’t a little kid innymore.

I know you ain’t, hon. I jis worry, that’s all.

You don’t need to worry bout me, Mom. I know xackly what I’m doin. He made himself a pickle-and-pimiento-loaf sandwich and took half of it in one bite. While he chewed that, he fixed an enormous bowl of Sugar-Frosted Flakes. Guess what, he said through the sandwich and cereal. I got me a summer job.

You did! Doin what?

Buildin houses. Mr. Sayers, you know, the shop teacher? He works building houses durin the summers an he ast me n Eddie today if we wanted tuh work building houses this summer. A trickle of milk ran down his chin.

Well that’s jis wunnerful, hon. How much money d’yuh git doin that? She continued to peel the potatoes, deftly missing her eye with the knife as she scratched her nose.

J.T. swallowed. I don know, Mom. But yuh make good money, I know that.

 . . . said today that he would support a strong anti-abortion measure. The President said that it is wrong to take a defenseless human life for any reason… . said the radio.

I hope yuh make enough money tuh git yuh some new clothes fer school next year. You need some new school clothes. An a new suit fer graduation. An some new shoes.

Aw, Mom, I ain’t gonna buy me no clothes with that money. I wanna git me a motorsickle with that money.

Ralphy’s mother stopped peeling. What do you need a motorsickle for? You don’t need no motorsickle. What you need is some new clothes n shoes. She began peeling again somewhat more fiercely.

Aw, Mom, I already got plentya clothes. Look. Eddie’s gittin a motorsickle. Jack’s already got one. I’m gonna be the only guy in the whole school don’t have a motorsickle. They take lots less gas n cars do, yuh know.

Yow, n whadda yuh do whin it rains? Stay home from school?

Hey, there’s an idea! J.T. finished his flakes and put his spoon beside the sink.

You jis talk tuh yer dad about that motorsickle whin ee gits home. She started on the last potato. Is that the school bus I hear?

He won’t care. Besides, it’s my money, ain’t it? He lifted his bowl and drank the sugary milk.

 . . . today, cloudy, high in the mid- to upper sixties, chance of precipitation fifty per cent today, ten per cent tonight, and…

Ralphy’s mother cut the potato in half and dropped it into a pot of water along with the rest. You jis talk to yer dad about it. J.T. started to leave, but she wasn’t finished. You always hear on the radio about people gittin killed on them things.

He turned around. Yow but that’s not me, Mom. I wouldn git killed. I know xackly what I’m doin.

You jis talk to yer dad about it.

He’ll probly want to ride it as much as me. Hey! Maybe we could go halvsies on it. That’d be great!

I wuish yuh wouldn talk about it no more, hon. I’m scareda them things. An they’re suh awful loud.

J.T. laughed. That’s why I like em!

Ralphy’s mother turned on the potato water. She had meant to do it earlier, but he had gotten her so worried. Hon, would yuh go in n check on Ralphy fer me?

What for? He ain’t goin nowheres.

Jis go n see if ee’s all right, wouldja, hon?

Here comes Becky. She’ll do it. I’ll be out in back thowin the shot till Dad gits home.

She watched him go out, knowing that Ralphy’s father would love the idea of a motorcycle. She had just wanted to put off thinking about it. they’re both the same why do they wanna worry me tuh death all the time why do min always wanna do that

 . . . number is 248-98 hundred. That’s 248-98 zero zero. That’s 248-98 oh oh. Call today! said the radio.

*

Ralphy’s father swallowed the last of his beer and crushed the aluminum can in his hand. still tough as nails

Whaddaya mean you lost my chair? How can you lose a chair? said the TV set.

C’MON, SUPPER’S READY, Ralphy’s mother called from the kitchen. EVERBODY WARSHED THEIR HANDS? REBECCA ANN, GIT RALPHY, HON.

J.T. raced Mark to the bathroom. Mark won, but his big brother knocked him away from the sink and began soaping his own hands. C’mon, J.T., I know yer biggern me, you don hafta keep provin it all the time. J.T. turned and flipped his wet fingers in Mark’s face.

By the time Becky arrived with Ralphy, everyone was already sitting at the table except for Ralphy’s mother, who was pouring milks and coffees. Mark was wiping off his glasses.

 . . . gas company, all we want to do is to serve you! said the radio.

Mark, will you say the blessin? said Ralphy’s father. He smelled faintly of sweat and chemicals. Mother, turn off that radio, will yuh? We can’t hear the TV.

Mark bowed his head. Dear Lord, we’re thankful for this day and all that you have given us. We ast…

 . . . stronger than an ordinary mouthwash. You need a breath deodorant! said the TV set.

 . . . the use of ar bodies. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Looks good, Mother, said Ralphy’s father. What is it?

Beef stew n biscuits, hon, and that’s razzaberry Jell-O with bananas. An them’s Rebecca Ann’s muffins she made at school today. There’s one fer each one of us.

Love beef stew, said J.T.

C’mon, J.T., said Mark. You’d eat beef even if it wuz raw.

Swat makes me big n strong, squirt.

Malmost s tall s you are, J.T. Jis wait.

I’m not gonna hold muh breath.

Mark, honey, how’s that girl you said almos choked tuh death yesterdee? said Ralphy’s mother.

I didn see er today, but I guess she’s okay.

 . . . arrested today twenty-two-year-old Charles Carswell in the March tenth slaying of…

Pass me wunna them muffins Becky made, said Ralphy’s father.

They look good, don’t they, hon?

Guess I’ll hafta try wunna them things, said J.T. Hope they’re bettern the last ones she made. Pass the butter.

What last ones? I never made no muffins before.

Well, whatever they wuz. They tasted jis like little rocks.

How do you know what rocks tastes like? said Becky.

Eat em alla time, said J.T. Makes be tough.

Oh, J.T., you do not, said Ralphy’s mother. She gave Ralphy a bite of his muffin.

Yes ee does, Mom, said Mark. His head’s chock full of em. J.T., cheeks filled with beef stew, Jell-O, and muffin, glared at Mark.

 . . . anything for hemorrhoidal itch, Mr. Tucker? I been drivin my truck all day and . . ."

Hey, J.T., whaddaya say we run over tuh Naptown fer the time trials this Saturdee? said Ralphy’s father.

J.T. swallowed hard. Can’t, Dad. Got track practice. Sectional’s nex week. But maybe we could go on Sundee.

Oh, yow. I fergot about track practice. But Sundee sounds good, too. After we bring yer mother home from church. We could run right on over there after that, grab a samwich on the way.

Ralphy’s mother took a bite of her muffin. She had hoped that they could’ve gone to the Ponderosa or something after church on Sunday. Everyone else apparently had forgotten about Mother’s Day. These muffins is real good, hon, she said, and gave Ralphy another bite. Ralphy likes em, too."

Becky smiled. Thanks, Mom. Amy helped me make em. Ralphy spit out the muffin.

J.T. laughed. He ain’t as dumb as I thought.

 . . . and itch of swollen hemorrhoidal tissues… . said the TV set.

*

Everyone in the Warner household went to church on Sundays. Except for Ralphy’s father. And Ralphy wasn’t taken very often anymore because of his tendency toward certain vulgarities, such as his unpredictable flatulence. And J.T. was also beginning to find reasons not to go. He had to fix his car, or he had to practice his shot putting, or he had come in late Saturday night and was too tired to get up, or he jis didn feel like it.

Ralphy’s mother liked to go to church. It was the only time that she ever got to see anyone. And she loved the music. She couldn’t carry a tune herself, so she only mouthed the hymns, but she loved the organ and the choir. And she just liked to be in church. It was relaxing, somehow, like a hot bath.

She had never learned to drive. So Ralphy’s father, or sometimes J.T., had to take the rest of the family to church. She might have liked to come on Sunday night sometime, or to Wednesday night prayer meeting once in a while, but neither wanted to haul them that far to church more than once a week. Ralphy’s father used to go to church with her before the children were grown up. But now he didn’t want to get dressed up all the time, and he hated organ music, and, besides, somebody had to stay home with Ralphy. The truth was that he liked the hour or two of peace and quiet. No wife, no kids, just a cup of coffee and a cigarette, the Sunday paper, and a little blessed solitude.

It was a warm Sunday in May. And it was Mother’s Day. So Ralphy got to go, too. Everybody was smiling, everybody commented on the weather, and when church started, everybody basked in the rays of sunlight and the warm breezes coming through the open windows. The stained glass was never brighter, the choir never sounded better, and the anticipation of a good Sunday dinner waiting at home added immeasurably to the aura of good feeling.

In his sermon Reverend Turk noted the weather right off, and he promised a short message. Despite his vow, however, the sermon stretched out to the usual length. But Ralphy’s mother didn’t care: it was spring.

She thought about a time long ago when she and Ralphy’s father were first married. He had an old green Ford which always had something wrong with it. That first winter, when they were coming back from a movie, the car died on the way home. It was late and he didn’t want to wake anyone up, but he didn’t want her to have to walk all that way in the snow, either. So he gave her his earmuffs and wrapped her in his coat, and held her all night while she slept. In the morning, a car came along and took them home. It was only then that she discovered that his ears had been frostbitten. Now, as she sat in church, she couldn’t wait to get home and tell him that she loved him.

Reverend Turk was winding up his sermon, which was titled, Great Mothers of the Bible. Before the prayer he asked Sister McCord to stand up and be acknowledged, on this beautiful Mother’s Day, as the mother with the most children, fourteen, all of whom were lined up beside her. Sister McCord stood up and smiled wanly. Her teeth were almost black with decay. There were shouts of Hallelujah! and Bless you, Sister! Ralphy farted.

The organ played music to leave the church by. Everyone thanked Reverend Turk for the wonderful sermon, and unfailingly noted that it was a glorious day for it. Then everyone went home to a delicious Sunday dinner, except for the McCords, who had only fatback and dandelion greens to eat.

When Ralphy’s mother got home she baked her meatloaf, and she had mashed potatoes and gravy and Parker House rolls and canned corn and macaroni and cheese to go with it. And apple pie á là mode for dessert. Since it was Mother’s Day, Mark and Becky did the dishes. She didn’t get a chance to tell Ralphy’s father that she loved him. He had gone to the time trials with J.T.

CHAPTER TWO

Ralphy’s mother looked out the kitchen window and watched the sky darken. She had already unplugged most of the electrical devices in the house when she heard the first tornado warning on the radio an hour ago. Someone had told her once that electricity would leap right out of the toaster or the TV set during a storm. She hoped that the phone wouldn’t ring because she had heard also that fire would jump out of the mouthpiece if lightning struck the telephone wires while you were talking into it.

After every country song, and before the commercials, the radio (she left it plugged in, but stayed clear of it) gave her and Ralphy an update on the progress of the severe weather. Tornadoes had, in fact, been reported earlier around Terre Haute, as well as in central Illinois. They were informed that the storm system was traveling north and east at twenty-five to thirty miles an hour, and that the tornado warning would be in effect until four P.M. She looked at the clock. only 12:30 lessee oh no we still hafta wait three more hours She looked out the window again. Low, heavy, dark clouds passed by, and to the west the sky was almost black.

Oh, Ralphy, I don like this. Please, God, I don want this. Ralphy swallowed the last spoonful of his soup. His mother came back to the table and gave him the rest of his milk. The radio advised them to take cover immediately if they spotted a funnel cloud. whir would we go yer spose tuh set in the southwest corner of a closet or somethin er wuz it that yer not spose tuh set in the southwest didn Daddy say we should git under the workbench in the gradge She looked at the sky again. It was frightening to see the whole sky turn black like that. Even if she had seen it a hundred times before. She was afraid of avalanches and tidal waves, too, even though she had never been near a mountain or an ocean. They made you feel so tiny and helpless. Ralphy ate a cookie.

 . . . wanna go back tuh Dixie—Ah wuish Ah’d never leeeeeft . . . . said the radio.

It began to hail. oh God hail Ralphy’s mother had heard once that a tornado was always preceded by hail. She was afraid to look out the window again. She scooped Ralphy up and carried him out to the garage. They sat down under the workbench. Ralphy looked up and saw a spider with brown and orange striped legs walking upside down under the bench. They could hear the wind whistling outside. Then it began to roar. She had heard one time that a tornado sounds just like a locomotive going right over your house. The wind sounded to her like a locomotive. She started to pray. Ralphy listened to the wind and the rain. His mother heard neither.

Suddenly it stopped. Ralphy tugged at her print dress. She quit praying and listened. It was quiet. She crawled out from under the workbench and peeped out the little window. It seemed much brighter than before. She got to her feet and went over for a better look. In the west the sun was shining. The east was still dark. The storm had passed them by.

Oh, thank God. She picked up Ralphy and, with an enormous smile, carried him into the house. Thank God, Ralphy, thank God.

 . . . at least four people have been killed and several others injured today as a tornado struck a trailer park near the town of… said the radio.

*

J.T. pulled his singlet over his head and glanced at the mirror to see if his number was on straight. Then he turned sideways and took a more encompassing look at himself before closing his locker and heading out to the track. God, how he loved the smell of a locker room! It wasn’t just the odor of linament and sweat, exactly, it was they triggered in his mind: the anticipation of the contest, the lust for victory. He had never heard an angry remark at a time like this. Maybe sometimes after a meet or a game, never before. Just jovial bantering, happy camaraderie reminding him that life is good.

As he left the locker room J.T. passed two more mirrors, and he took two more quick looks at himself, and was pleased. He hoped there would be some girls around to appreciate this gorgeous hunk. Or were his legs just a mite heavy? well that’s sexy ain’t it girls like big muscles don’t they makes em imagine being taken that’s what they all want underneath heh heh a joke gotta member that even the ugly ones want it even if they act like they don’t

He jogged out onto the track. It was still early and there weren’t many spectators. He didn’t see even one good-looking girl. well hell why don’t girls come tuh track meets Of course there were the girls’ events, and they always ran around in little tight shorts but hell girls that run track is usually suh skinny

J.T. found a grassy spot that wasn’t wet, and he sat down and started some stretching exercises. He grunted as he tried a few toe touches. When he looked up he saw the coach coming. He liked the coach. Everyone liked the coach. The coach was so calm and cool, and he looked right into your eyes when he talked.

Hi, coach.

Well, J.T., how we feelin today? Ready for the big one? The coach squatted down beside J.T.

Ready fer innything, coach.

Good. Gladda hear it. Listen. Now I don’t hafta tell yuh this is the big one of the year, bein as how it’s the sectional and all. You know that. But listen. It’s a lot more n that. I’m dependin on yuh, J.T. The whole school’s dependin on yuh. Know watta mean?

Yeah, coach, I—

Now the shot’s one of ar strongest events and if wer gonna win this thing we gotta take the shot. Mean win it. Second’s no good. Know watta mean?

Yeah, coach.

Now listen. Take a good warmup, an while yer doin that take a gander at that guy from Littlefield over there. The big colored guy. That’s yer competition. You didn throw against eem this year, but I know you’ve heard of eem. Name’s Reed. Yuh see eem over there?

J.T. looked at Reed. the only coon in the whole school probly an ee has tuh thow the damn shot I see eem, Coach. He don’t look as big as I thought ee wuz. He felt his confidence growing.

Well, ee ain’t tall, but ee’s strong as a bull. Can you beat eem?

I cn beat eem, Coach.

What I wanteda hear. Now the shot put’s scheduld fer 9:40. Jis git loose, take a few easy tosses, an keep lookin at that big stud. Stare the sunnavabitch down, know watta mean? Ever time yuh look at eem, I wantcha tuh magine eem with yer sister. Know what I’m talkin about?

J.T. was incensed. He saw that big black stud grab his sister and… Don’t worry, Coach. I’ll beat ees ass."

That’s whut I like tuh hear. Member what I tol yuh, now. Second’s no damn good.

I hear yuh, Coach.

Okay. Listen. I’ll see yuh later.

Okay, Coach. J.T. got up and started to jog slowly around the track. He heard the cinders crunching rhythmically under his feet. here comes the great marathoner las two hunnerd yards world record time knowed I could do it He glanced across the infield toward Reed. stay cool now can’t git up too soon He saw Eddie sitting in the infield. Hey, Ed. What yuh runnin today besides the mile? The half?

Naw, Coach wants me in the two-mile. He says we can’t git inny points in the half. Coach really wants this one.

I know. Give em hell, Ed.

Give em hell, J.T.

J.T. finished his jog around the track, walked over to the field area, and picked up a shot. It felt good. Hard and round. He tossed it back and forth between his hands and looked up into the stands to find a girl in a skirt he could look under. But the only girl he saw in a skirt was Becky. dammit why does she hafta wear a skirt to a damn track meet Ralphy’s father and Mark were with her. They waved. He waved back and proceeded to take a few easy practice tosses.

Reed came up behind him. You’re Warner, aren’t you?

J.T. whirled around. Yeah, he said, looking back toward the shot he had just thrown. he don’t look like no black cat ee looks like a white guy with black skin

I’m Ben Reed. Guess I’ll be tossin with you today.

Yeah, said J.T., who walked away to retrieve his shot.

Good luck, Reed called after him.

Yeah, good luck, said J.T. over his shoulder.

FIRST CALL, SHOT PUT, said the public address system. A few moans went up from the scattered crowd as a pole vaulter hit the bar. J.T. turned and stared at Reed. I’m gonna take that black SOB He tried to imagine Reed with Becky, but couldn’t.

Tylersville South, Warner, said the official. J.T. stepped into the circle, concentrated hard for several seconds—black bastard—whirled and threw. It was a good throw, but he had done better. He walked over to the other side of the field and sat down on the grass where he could keep and eye on Reed until his turn came up. black bastard sure looks strong His toss was just inches short of J.T.’s, who nodded and smiled.

J.T.’s second put beat his first by more than three feet. It was his all-time best, and just short of the sectional record. He heard a cheer coming from the stands. He looked up, but they weren’t cheering for him. They were watching the finish of the mile run. Eddie came in fourth, ran into the infield and threw up.

Reed’s second throw again came up short of J.T.’s. He was beginning to feel as though he had just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. boy I’m gonna eat about a hunnerd hamburgers tonight

It seemed like hours before he came up for his final toss. He went over to the fence and talked to Ralphy’s father, who assured him he had it made in the shade. After he went back to the infield he thought up a line about a Spade in the glade. He was always thinking of good stuff to say after it was too late.

The coach came up and told him that this was it. He was depending on him, the school was depending on him, the whole damn country was watching, practically. if that wuz true how’s come nobody in the stands wuz

At last he came up for his third put. He would go for the record. He would blow the black bastard away. He looked into the stands. Nobody seemed to be watching him, not even his family. what the hell they lookin at J.T. closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As soon as he started his turn he knew that his coordination was off. He hesitated but couldn’t stop himself. It was a lousy throw.

Now he had to wait several hours, days, years, for Reed to come up. He saw Eddie running the two-mile. He was last. J.T. began to sweat. Finally, Reed came up. He seemed huge. Calm. Self-confident. dammit ee’s gonna do it dammit ee’s gonna do it dammit ee’s gonna do it He did it: a new sectional record, close to the state record. A feeble cheer went up when the P.A. system announced the winner and the record. J.T. started for the locker room. Reed came running up and offered his hand.

Nice goin, said Reed.

Thanks, said J.T., taking his hand uncertainly. Nice thow.

Reed smiled. Thanks. See you next year.

Yeah, said J.T. Jesus does the SOB have to have perfect teeth too

The coach found him in the locker room. Nice try, J.T. You got us a second.

Sorry bout that, Coach. I’ll git eem next year.

Don worry about him, said the coach. He got a brother comin up next year that’s biggern he is.

*

Mark sat in the easy chair watching the TV set. On his lap lay a yellow tablet, which was blank except for the words WHAT AMERICA MEANS TO ME written across the top. When the commercial came on he glanced down at the tablet. what does America mean to me can’t wait tuh finish this thing when this s done school’ll be over n I’ll be a southmore

 . . . teeth their whitest, brightest and (pause) sexiest! said the TV set.

Mother, could you bring me another pack of cigarettes? said Ralphy’s father.

hmm well it means freedom don’t it er liberty what’s the differnce between freedom n liberty innyways so I cn go innywheres I want to n do innything I want to n well I can’t exackly do innything but mostly innyways oh everbody’ll be writin about that what else does it mean

 . . . can call me Ray, or you can call me Jay, or you can call me…

hey that’s good yow At the top of the page, under the title, he wrote: America means you can grow up and be anything you want to be. lessee you cn be what a doctor a lawyer a TV actor a what a shoe salesman a He thought for a long time, but couldn’t figure out what to say next. I mean sure you cn become a shoe salesman er a minister er whatever you want to be but what else is there tuh say about it darn it why is this so hard what’s there tuh eat I’m hungry

 . . . give you exactly ten minutes to come up with that formula…

MOM, CN I HAVE A BOWLA BREAKFASFOOD?

SURE, HON. WHAT KIND YUH WANT?

I DON KNOW. WE GOT INNY SUGAR-FROSTED FLAKES ER INNYTHING? lessee you cn be a shoe salesman er a minister er hey waitaminute freedom of religion I’ll write about that Right under the title he wrote FREEDOM OF RELIGION. yow that’s what the forefathers came over here for in the first place an you cn still be whatever you want a Catholic er a Protestant er a Jew even if the Jews are all gonna go tuh hell they still cn hmm are all the Jews goin tuh hell well innyways they have a right tuh

Here’s yer Frosted Flakes, hon, said Ralphy’s mother.

Oh, thanks, Mom. Mark put down his pad and dug in.

Cn I have some Frosted Flakes, Mom? said Becky.

Sure, hon. You want inny Frosted Flakes er innything, Daddy?

You know what I wuz jis thinkin about? said Ralphy’s father. Cracklins! You member cracklins? Sure could use one right now. Can yuh still git em at the store? He took a puff from his cigarette. Gramaw wuz always eatin cracklins. Not much smoke came out of his mouth and Mark wondered where it went.

I don know, hon. You want me tuh look fer some nex time I go tuh the store?

Yow. You ain’t got inny potatuh chips er innything, have yuh?

I think we got some Cornies er somethin. You want some?

If yuh got some.

Mark swallowed a mouthful of Sugar-Frosted Flakes. hmmmm freedom tuh eat Sugar-Frosted Flakes n Cornies nah

*

Okay, Ralphy, less git these dirty clothes off yuh n git yuh intuh the tub, said Becky. Ralphy didn’t seem to want to get into the tub. He spread his arms and legs and somehow seemed to increase his weight considerably. But Becky had seen this before. C’mon, Ralphy, why do yuh always gimme sich a hard time? If yer not gonna be good, I’m not gonna take yuh tuh see Gramaw tomorruh. She picked up his legs and draped them over the tub. Then she got behind him and lifted him up so that he was sitting on the side of it. Finally she took a deep breath and hauled him into the water. I sure hope my childern r easier tuh git intuh the tub than you are.

 . . . some fifty area churches staged a rally today in Monument Circle in support of the President’s policies in dealing with… said Becky’s portable radio.

She filled the washcloth with water and squeezed it over Ralphy’s head. He squealed, but she was never sure whether that meant he liked it or that he didn’t. She started to sing as she rubbed in the Johnson’s Baby Shampoo. Go tuh sleepy little bayaybee. Go tuh sleepy little bayaybee. Whin you wake will patty-patty-cake—an riiiiiiiide a shiny little pohohneeeeeee. Ralphy looked at her. She smelled like a sour apple. Go tuh sleepy little… hey, wait a minute. It’s not time tuh go tuh sleep yet. Hmm. I wonder if there’s inny songs about takin a bath? She tried to think of one, but all she could think of were songs like, There is a Tavern in the Town, which she was learning to play on her plastic ukulele. From the living room they could hear loud laughter coming from the TV set. Oh, I always miss ‘Hee Haw,’ darn it.

 . . . gimme some, gimme some, gimme summa that good, good, stuff… . said the radio.

You have a perty back, Ralphy, did yuh know that? Course it’s bent some, but that’s not yer fault, is it? Suddenly she sat straight up. what if wunna my little babies is crippled er innything A jolt of consternation wrinkled her forehead. Oh, Ralphy, she said. Oh, God, don’t let inny of em be like Ralphy. Ralphy tilted his head and looked at her. Im gonna have lots n lots of babies, yuh know. Minny, minny, minny, minny, minny byooteeful babies. Hol still, Ralphy. You know, you might not be so bad-lookin yerself if you wuzn soooooo… She tried to imagine him with a round head. You’ve got nice soft hair, jis like a—you know—an actual person. An yer elbows have dimples. I wuish my elbows had dimples. I wuish I had dimples innyplace. Dimples are so neat. She washed his arms. Whin I have a baby, I’m gonna bathe eem ever day, n feed eem n take care of eem. I think I’ll call my firs one Adam. You know, like Adam n Eve?"

 . . . turning cooler tonight, with a low in the mid-forties, high tomorrow in the…

Oh, Adam, yer sich a byooteeful baby, so round n perfect n byooteeful. Now stand up, Adam, so’s I cn warsh yer privates. Ralphy looked at her. Yer gonna be difficult today, aren’t you, Adam? Well, that’s all right. You won’t git inny of the delicious pie I made fer dessert, that’s all. She washed Ralphy’s privates. Would you like to have a little sister, Adam? I think you oughtta have a little sister. What should we name er? I’ve always liked Tammy. Er Candy. I think I’ll have six boys n six girls. Wouldn that be nice, Adam? We would have so much fun, n everbody would always have somebody tuh play with. Course everbody would hafta do their chores. Er no pie! She glared at Ralphy. You hear me, young man? She washed his legs and feet. Oh, Adam, yer sich a byooteeful boy. Now don move—I’ll be back in jist a minute.

Ralphy sat in the tub and watched the water drain out. A spider that had fallen into the water a few minutes earlier floated past him, its legs working. Ralphy cupped his hands and lifted it from the water. It lay in his hand as the water drained out, its legs still moving slowly. Ralphy blew gently on the spider until it was almost dry, then reached out and gently dropped it onto the little yellow rug. It walked slowly away. He could still feel the prickly hairs in the palm of his hand as he watched it disappear behind the toilet.

Becky came back with a towel. She spread it out on the toilet seat and, with some difficulty, lifted Ralphy out of the tub and set him on the towel. Then she dried him off with another. Oh, Ralphy, yer jis gittin too big. What’s gonna happen whin yuh grow up? I know. You cn move in with me n Doug. We’re gonna have a great big house n you could have yer own room with a big winduh, n you could set n look out at the birds all day. Would you like that, Ralphy? Hm? She put her face against Ralphy’s and touched her nose to his. He sneezed.

And remember! Your electric company cares about you! said the radio.

*

On Sunday, the day before Memorial Day, the Warners went visiting. First, the cemetery. Then to see Grandma, Ralphy’s only surviving grandparent.