by Gretchen Peetham
Mama laughed that day they came with the trucks. Before they took her away she winked at me and said “honey, anything worth doing is worth doing right’’. I never forgot that.
Brother came over just the other day, Daughter told him he needed to come. Brother said he was also there, that day they took Mama, but he never took her seriously like I did. Brother says I’m becoming just like Mama. He tells me I’m so bad, that Daughter called him at his office crying.
“Uncle you need to talk to Mummy, we can’t take living with her no more. Mummy needs help’’ I told him that everybody eventually becomes just like Mama, one way or another. I told him that he’s like Mama too, though he doesn’t realise it yet. “Besides’’, I asked him, “what was so wrong with Mama, she started out just like you and me’’.
Mama was Grandma’s only child. She was a shy girl, my Mama. Daddy was drawn to her when they met. They had Brother, then they had me. She loved photos Mama, and there were always many in our house growing up. Me and brother in a bubble bath, me covered in chocolate pudding. Mama and Daddy holding hands at the dance. By the time I was fourteen, we couldn’t open the closet because of all the photos and magazines. News around town was that Daddy had taken up with Flooze, the single mother with the big hips who worked at the make-up counter at the mall. That was when Mama first started collecting. By Christmas of that year, our kitchen was too cluttered to eat in. Grandma came over that holiday and helped Mama clean up. She bought five packs of black bags and they used up every one. Mama was mad at Grandma that day. By New Years Day the house was back to normal. Grandma made us all hold hands and pray that it stayed that way. She prayed loudly that the Lord give Daddy the discipline and decency to be the head of the family. Daddy didn’t like Grandma – ‘Jesus freak’ he called her. Brother loved Grandma. Before long, we stopped inviting our friends over. I kept my cup, plate, knife and fork in my bedroom so that whenever we ate, I had something to eat with. We ate fried chicken at least twice a week, sometimes pizza or Chinese. Mama stopped cooking though she was good at it, because of all the boxes full of things which sat on the stove. Brother and me kept a cooler in my room because the fridge was such a mess. Everyone liked my room. It was the only place in the house that was clean. Daddy didn’t care. As long as there was brandy, Daddy didn’t care. Neighbour next door called the authorities just before I finished high school. They pushed through the back door holding clip boards and looking at one another. They stepped over the old cans and had to push the laundry aside so that they could see down the passage. They called our house a ‘health hazard’. They gave Mama two months to clean up or they would do it, they said. They called in a doctor. A nice man, Psychologist, who tried to tell Mama that things were just things; things were not people or feelings. Mama smiled at him when he spoke and nodded her head. I agreed with Psychologist, I liked the place to be clean, but brother called me from Varsity and told me that Mama was sick and that the stuff was a sickness, he told me that Mama was too sick to ever change. Still, Brother came to help us put the things in boxes before our deadline was up. Daddy didn’t help, sat on the veranda and drank and drank. That morning we worked. The people from the department made Brother and me wear masks because they kept saying our house was a health hazard. We thought Mama would complain, cry at least but she didn’t. By the time the last black bag was thrown on top of the pile of the second truck, we hadn’t heard a peep out of Mama. Brother and me went looking for her. When the two of us and Psychologist found her, she was lying bloodied on the bathroom floor with a piece of broken ornament in her hand. Brother blocked my eyes. The psychologist ordered us out and called the department people. The trucks had left by then, but the ambulance was parked on our front lawn. Mama was bleeding but she was still Mama. They let me and Brother say goodbye, he didn’t say a word.
“Bye Mama’’ the shock had turned into sadness and I started to cry. That’s when she told me.
There was no need for anyone else to look after us after that, not Brother that’s for sure. Now and then we’d hear that someone saw our Daddy, with a new woman. They said Daddy’s handsome face had changed. That his cheeks were bright pink and his lips were blackened. ‘Weather beaten’ was what Grandma called him and told Brother that that’s how a man starts to look when he likes brandy as much as Daddy does. Mama always told us that Daddy reminded her of Grandpa, but instead of cards, Daddy liked brandy. They both said they weren’t surprised the day that Grandpa died. Grandma called it the Lords vengeance, that Grandpa, old as he was, was found dead in the way that he was, without even his trousers to cover his dignity. She told us that if we chose to associate with the kind of elements that Grandpa did, that we’d end up just like him, and that we’d cause suffering on our families, the way Grandpa caused it on Grandma and Mama.
I was an average girl. I found happiness like you can’t imagine when I married Husband. Husband never really knew how to show happiness but I think in his own way, he was as happy as I was. We had daughters Oldest and Youngest and I thought everything was perfect. Daughters were cute, Oldest was so beautiful and Youngest was so smart. I saw the light in Husband’s eyes when they greeted him at the door. I used to think it was because he loved them so much. But after nights of coming home late from the office I realised it was impossible for any parent not to react so warmly when seeing their rarely-seen children. Husband worked night after night, Saturdays and Sundays too. When I tried to talk to him about it he told me that’s why we lived in This Suburb. And that’s why the girls go to such A Good School. He told me that’s why I drive A Luxury Car and that our last family holiday was to a 5 Star Hotel. I stopped nagging him about it. I didn’t want the car but knew that Husband had to buy it because it was a tax deduction. Husband never buys something unless he really has to. Husband would crawl through the desert and before reaching for water, first ask “how much?’’. He hated to spend money, loved to make it, loved knowing it was there but never wanted to spend any of it. I hardly see Husband even though he officially lives here. Daughters are concerned that Husband may be like my Daddy was, and that he’s working on other things besides his portfolio, but I tell them no. And I’m fine if I don’t know as well, because I know not me nor Oldest and Youngest, no woman can ever hold the place his heart that his true love does. And his true love minds her own business in the vault at the National Bank.
“God is merciful’’ Grandma used to say and I know it’s true and that’s why I had daughters, I don’t know what I would have done with sons. Even so, Oldest tends to make a mess more than Youngest does. I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable. It just seemed right. This house and all the nice things in it, Husband bought with his hard earned money, the least we can do is keep it clean. I enjoyed having Friends over here, when we first got the stuff. Now, no-one comes over. Oldest tells me her girlfriends refuse to sleep over in case they make a mess. This is nonsense I told her. Just because I like to keep the place clean doesn’t mean everyone else has to. She grabbed my wrists and showed Youngest my calloused hands. The dryness from the detergent. Sometimes when I don’t have any plans I get a head start for the following day by preparing the things in advance. People don’t fuss if someone sits in front of the television until midnight, but if I pick up a scrubbing brush and bucket, I’m made out to be crazy. Is there a law which says that cleaning can only be done during daytime? I tell them I don’t want roaches or worse, rats like we had growing up. I tell them they should be proud of the house they have instead of criticising me for wanting to keep it clean. Oldest knows the rules, it was her own fault. She convinced her father to let her keep the thing because she knows I wouldn’t. They all thought it was cute when it arrived and so did I. I’m not a monster, but Dog kept shedding fur all over the carpets. I warned her to vacuum them twice a day and then sanitise the rug after that. She insisted she did vacuum it, but I could see traces of fur on the carpet. It put me off my meals, that filthy Dog. That’s when I said it to her: “Anything worth doing is worth doing right’’. I mean, I’m her mother, would she rather see me starve to death than give up her beloved Dog, and that’s what I told her. Youngest left the room. Oldest told me I couldn’t eat because I was turning into a freak. I weighed myself straight afterward. I’ve always been slim. I’m not on a diet; I just can’t stomach food when it’s prepared in an unsanitary environment. That’s what I tried to explain to Husband when he took me for dinner on our last anniversary. He paid for my can of apple juice and for his glass of wine, then he drove home, dropped me off and went back to the office. The following day while Daughters were at school, I put my gloves on, put Dog in my car and dropped him off at the pound. That’s when Oldest called Brother. Brother thinks that all of this is my fault, that I’m doing things unconsciously. But I know the real reason Oldest called him. She’s trying to deflect the attention from her to me. I was polishing the wood skirtings in her bedroom and found a box under the bed. When I looked inside I found condoms. There were photos of her naked with vulgar notes written at the back. I see how the Neighbourhood Boys stare at her when she comes home and how much attention she gets at the mall. I know she sends photos of herself on the internet and that she’s not a virgin anymore. I know her web-name is “Hot Nympho 16” I know how promiscuous she is. Husband was angry when Mr Neighbour’s Son told him Oldest has boys over at the house when he’s at work. Mr Neighbour’s son has always had a crush on Oldest, so we know he feels hurt more than others.
“Besides’’ husband said to me “You’re always here, you’d know if boys were coming over to the house.’’
I said nothing. In truth I did know. I could hear the creaking while I was sweeping outside. It’s not that I intentionally didn’t do something about it. What kind of a mother do you think I am? It’s just that in a big house like this is, there’s so much to do. The washing alone takes three hours. Then there’s the cooking and ironing. The house doesn’t clean itself y’know. Daughters are not babies anymore. Even Youngest who is serious and scholarly has a boyfriend now. Last week as we ate on the patio, Youngest wouldn’t take her jersey off. Husband asked her why, she said ‘’flu’’. She let me look at it. Big blue bruises on her arms. Red streaks along her neck. I asked her why she let that happen and she told me she’s in love. I let her go back to her room and carried on cleaning the kitchen. Brother tells me we need help. He takes the girls for weekends now and lets them spend time at his house. Brother’s Boyfriend has been teaching them guitar. Brother is a good man. He has to be good, he always has to do what he thinks is right. His compulsions don’t harm anyone and that’s why we all trust him. I knew he’d step in when Daughters called him. He tells me his conscience and my cleaning is not the same thing. I tell him; eventually everybody ends up like Mama, one way or another.
