Apples

         Mayella was still a little girl, and in my memory, she was in the pink dress, and she picked an apple from the tree.  She giggled and she smiled and she took a bite out of the apple.  She wrinkled her nose and dropped the apple and ran off to the tire swing.
Mama washed the dishes as she looked out of the window over the sink.  She opened the window.  “Mayella,  darling.  Stop wasting our apples!”
         Mayella looked up at her from the swing.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about Mama! I didn’t get no apples, nah-uh. Nope, not me, Ma’am.”  Her thumbs pointed at her heart on her little chest as she nodded her head left and right.
         “My baby darling,” said Mama.  “Pretty soon, you’ll be a sweet, little liar.  Get that apple you just dropped on the ground there, and bring it to me.”
Mayella wiggled her way out of the tire and ran to the tree and bent down to pick up the apple.  She saw her bite in it, already turning brown.  She picked at its softness.
         “Come on now, Mayella.  I’m going to give it to the horses if you ain’t gonna eat it.”
Mayella turned away from the apple she was picking at, and ran toward the backdoor.  Once opened, she was in the kitchen.  It smelled like peach cobbler.  It was cooking in the oven.
         “Come here, my baby.”
Mayella walked toward Mama, worriedly.  Mama grabbed Mayella’s arm still and gave Mayella a pat on the rump, just hard enough to make Mayella squeal a little. Then Mama kneeled on the floor, face to face with Mayella.  “I won’t have little liars growing up in my house, all right?”
         “Yes, Mama.”
         “Ok, now give me the apple.”
         Mayella handed it to her.
         “Mama?”
         “Yes, baby darling?”
         “Can I go with you to give it to the horses?”
         “What’s the magic word?”
         “Please, Mama?”
         “Yes, you may.  Come on now.”
         Mama and Mayella walked out of the kitchen, into the living room, and out of the front door.  Papa just got back home; he pulled in the truck and grabbed some things from the trunk.  He had in his right hand a new toy for himself: a shiny and sturdy modified ax that Joe’s Tool Shop was advertising the past weeks, as Papa said.  He’d been meaning to cut away some branches that were occupying too much space in the back.
In his other hand was something for Mayella: a small, plastic, brown toy horse.
         Mayella ran toward Papa and jumped.  He caught her in a hug, and gave her the horse. “Oh Pa!  I love it!  Me and Mama just ‘bout to go to the horses to feed’em an apple!”
         “Is that so, Mayella?  Just one apple?”  Mayella looked at Mama.
         “Our little baby got an apple from the tree and decided she didn’t want to eat it.”
         “Oh Mayella.  What a wasteful thing to do.”
         “But it was sour, Pa.”
         “Sometimes a little sourness gives you the tiniest jolt you need to grow ten times bigger.  You know, I always tell your mama, if it don’t taste good, it should at least be healthy.”  Papa released Mayella from his arms and Mama took her hand.
         “How’s work, honey?”  Her eyes burned him and he felt it brand his skin.  The pain from the stare wasn’t something Pa could shrug off, I noticed, but he answered anyway.
         “Why don’t you and Mayella go feed the horses. I’ll see you at supper, sweetie.”
“Our son is in his room.  He’s feeling a little bit better today.  Should be awake by now.  It’d be nice if you talked to Billy a little.”
         Pa didn’t respond, but just looked at Mama.
         Mama and Mayella started walking toward the barn where our horses were.  Mayella’s eyes were solely for her new toy horse.  She had named it Dixie.
         Meanwhile, I saw Pa walk inside the house, through my bedroom window.  So I wheeled my chair back to my bed.  I got up laboriously and lay down, catching my breath.
*****
         “Knock-knock, son.”
         “Pa?”
         Papa opened the door and took off his old raggedy hat.  He sat down on my bed beside me and put his hat on my head.  I felt the weight of his old bones.  They still had life in them; a certain kind of unbridled robustness about them that’d throw you off if you look at his wrinkled face.  He was old for a father while Mama married young.
         “Mama tells me you’re feeling better.  I’m happy to hear that.”
         “Thanks, Pa.”
         “What’d you do today, Billy?”
         “I read a book about the cowboys.”
         Did you now?”
         “Yes, Pa.  I also read a book about bridges and a book about the Pilgrims and the Indians, and one more book, but I read that in the morning.  Gosh, I already forgot.”
         “It don’t matter.  You’re my little reader.  Soon enough though, we’ll get you playing outside again with your baby sister.”
         I felt my heart take a good squeeze and I bent my head down and frowned.
         “What’s the matter, Billy?”
         “Mayella said I’m gonna be stuck like this for the rest of my life.”
         “Our Mayella said that?  Why, I’m gonna have a talk with her.”
         “She said I’m gonna stay in this room until I die.”
         Papa looked alarmed.  He stood up and quickly walked out of my room.
         Moments later, Papa brought back Mayella and was holding her by her shoulders.  He kneeled down to face her
         “Mayella, baby.  Billy told me that you told him some troublesome nonsense – nonsense that I will not have in the house.”
         “I didn’t say nothin’ Pa!” Mayella protested in a fit of screams and squeals.
         “Tell the truth now!” yelled Pa.
         Mayella started to cry when she heard Papa raise his voice.  Papa got Mayella by the arm and started patting her rump like Mama did, except he patted her more roughly.  With each pat, Mayella had to take a few steps forward to keep her balance; but when she did this, her arm twisted a little from where Papa was holding her to keep her still.
         When he stopped, he grabbed Mayella with both hands and started to shake her.
            “Your brother is going to be all right!  Don’t tell him otherwise, you little liar!”
            “Pa, stop!”  I screamed from my bed.  “She didn’t mean to!  She was just playin’!  I didn’t mean to say nothin’ about it!”
            “Stay out of this, Billy!”  He smacked me across the face with the back of his hand. Blood rushed to my cheeks and I was both confused and thankful that he didn’t have his wedding ring on.
Mama ran into my room after hearing the commotion.
            “Isaac.  Stop! Stop, she’s just a little girl!” Mama grabbed Mayella and hugged her and shuffled her out of my room to the bathroom to wash away the tears on her face.  Meanwhile, I covered my face in my hands.
            Papa cursed out loud.
            “Isaac!  Not in front of them and don’t you touch them!” yelled Mama from the bathroom.
            Papa stormed out of my room.  I got out of my bed and climbed back into my chair and wheeled it to the window.  Just as soon as Papa arrived home, he was out of here twice as fast.
*****
            I heard the crickets chirp and my room was dark as a cave.  I couldn’t sleep at all.  My door was slightly open and I saw a small light from the candle in the hallway. Mama always lit a candle there at night because she didn’t want secrets roaming around when everyone else was sleeping in their beds.
Papa never came back for supper.

            I pulled off the blankets and began to make my way to my wheel chair.  Then my door made a noise and I looked: it was Mayella.  She tip-toed to my bed.
            “Billy.”
            “What is it, Mayella?  What are you doing up?”
            “I can’t sleep.”
            “Me neither.”
            “Billy.”
            “What is it now, Mayella?”
            “What are you doing?”
            “What does it look like I’m doing?  Help me get to my chair.  I want to go by the window.”
            We spoke in whispers so as not to wake Mama.
            Some nights Mama was a deep sleeper and some nights not so much.  Some nights she didn’t sleep at all.  I’d hear her pacing in the hallway or she was in the bathroom turning on the faucet. But Papa was always a deep sleeper and if he wasn’t sleeping in their bed, he wasn’t even home for the night.  One morning I asked Mama about this and she said, “some nights your Papa is too drunk to recognize which bed he belongs to.” I imagined Papa, then, as a wandering dog with rabies; he’s got no mind for his own in that state.
As for me, I fell asleep easily, but on some other nights, the pain in my legs was too much.  When that was the case, Mama went to Papa’s cupboard and brought out an old, dusty bottle of whiskey.  She’d pour me a tablespoon and make me drink it.
            The alcohol burned all over inside, and I soon learned to protest it as much as possible.  I started preferring the pain in my legs and I do believe that was what taught me to endure more pain than other school kids around my age at the time.
            But even though it burned my insides – even though it made me cough up my lungs and scrunch my face as if I sucked on a lemon, except only worse – the whiskey never failed to put me to sleep, often times within five minutes.  Or so Mama told me.
            When I was in my chair, Mayella wheeled me to the window.  We stayed there together for a long while, watching to see if Papa was gonna come back.
            Mayella started to fall asleep.  She kneeled on the floor and rested her head on my lap. Her sleepiness made me sleepy like how I yawn when the old folks on their stoops yawn right before turning i n for the night.
            I nodded off but then woke up when I heard my door again.  I knew it must have been Mama, so I pretended to sleep.
            It was Mama and she picked up Mayella who was still sleeping like a log, and she brought Mayella to her room.
            Then she went back to my room, picked me up out of my chair and tucked me in my bed.
            She hugged me and kissed my forehead, then walked to the window and stared at the yard for some time.
            I like to think she was hoping Papa would come back home, like me and Mayella were hoping.  But then sometimes when I think back to this night, I feel like she was hoping Papa would never come back.
*****
            I remember the next morning aftert hat night.  I was surprised to hear Papa’s voice in the kitchen.
            Mayella entered my room and jumped on my bed.
            “Watch it, Mayella, my legs.”
            She didn’t watch it much because she was too excited playing with Dixie and makingthat plastic horse gallop all over my body, over the covers.
            “Papa’shome, Billy.”
            “Yeah, I heard him in the kitchen.  What time he come?”
            Mayella started having Dixie trump on my face.
            “Mayella, quit it.  What time Papa come back?”
            “How should I know, Billy?  I woke up and him and Mama were already in the kitchen, making breakfast.  Come on, let’s eat.”
            She helped me get to my wheel chair.  I remember her struggling to hold Dixie while helping me at the same time.  I got frustrated with that plastic horse that I wanted to throw it out the window but I knew how much Mayella loved it.
            When we got to the kitchen, Papa was all smiles.
            “How was your sleep, Billy?”
            “It was ok, Pa.  Where’d you go last night?”
            “Never you mind that, son.  How’re you feeling today?  How are your legs?”
            “Ok, I guess.”
“What do you say, after breakfast, you and Mayella go out to the barn and play with the horses?  They could use some good, youthful company once in a while, and Billy, you haven’t been out and about for quite some time.  How ‘bout it?”
            I looked at Mama, who stayed quiet.  I didn’t know what was going on with Papa, at that moment.  All I was thinking was that maybe Papa wanted me and Mayella out of the house for a little bit.  Maybe he and Mama were going to talk things out about what happened between me, Mayella and Papa the other day in my room.  Then I thought if only I hadn’t ratted out Mayella, Papa wouldn’t be acting all funny and happy-like.
            Whatever it was, I knew Mama was playing along, whether she wanted to or not.  I saw it in the way her body was stiffer than it was most mornings, and the way her mouth looked stitched up like how it is with people who’ve made the cross-over and passed on and are lying in their coffin.  Mama and Papa don’t know it, but I read in a book once that they sew up the mouths of the dead so that the bottom jaw don’t drop.  It looks unpleasant that way, so that’s why they do it.
            That morning, Mama looked like she was ready for her coffin, the way her mouth stayed closed and wouldn’t open for a peep. Her lips were even chapped and rid of color.  I remember wanting to hug her, but before I could she walked out of the kitchen and into their bedroom.  When Papa saw her leave, he sat down on the chair between me and Mayella as we were eating our breakfast.
            “Mayella, baby, I want you to take care of your brother. Push him in the chair nice and easy. No racing with it.  Can you do that for me, baby?”
            “Of course, Pa.  I know how to push Billy.”
            “Alrighty.  And Billy, you make sure Mayella don’t runoff and do something wild, you understand?”
            “Yeah, Pa.  I understand.”
            “The both of you take care of each other out there with the horses and don’t comeback in the house until I call you two. You understand?”  His eyes looked at me first.
            “I understand, Pa.”
            And then they looked at Mayella, who began playing with Dixie.  I gave her a nudge.
            “I understand, Pa,” said Mayella.
            “Good.  Now run along you too, ok?  And Mayella baby –”
            “Yeah, Pa?”
            “No more wasting our apples.”  Papa pointed his finger at Mayella when he said that and then smiled.
            Aftert hat he followed Mama into the bedroom.
*****
            Mayella pushed open the barn door with all her childhood might.  I imagine it must have been twice her weight or so, as her face turned as crimson pink asthe shirt underneath her overalls.  A couple of times Dixie fell out of Mayella’s front pocket, and when it did, Mayella just picked it up, wiped it clean on her pant leg, and put it back in her pocket.
            After she got the door opened, she wheeled me in.
            We had three horses: Rutherford, Bolton, and Cherry.  My favorite was Rutherford.  Before the accident, me and Rudy would leave the barn and set out to the hills near the creek.  At the time, Rudy was still pretty young like me, and Papa always let me ride him. Papa said I was a born natural and said that I’ve been given a gift from the All Mighty Lord, and that gift was the skill of handling and riding horses.  At one point, I envisioned myself as a professional horse-racer. But when the accident happened, I knew that was a dream thrown to the dogs.  I had cried for days after the accident because that meant I wasn’t going to be able to ride

Rudy.  Mama always told me I cried a great monsoon, like the ones in the islands of South East Asia, swallowed up in the Pacific.
            “Mayella, bring me to Rudy please.”
            “You gonna start crying again?”  I didn’t answer for all I cared.
            She obliged and left me with Rudy as she ran off to a hay stack.  She sat on it playing with Dixie.
            Something felt familiar when I pet Rudy.  The muscles in my arms felt as if they knew what they were doing automatically.  I didn’t know what it was called then, but I know now that it was called muscle memory due to all the times I pet him before the accident.  It felt comforting to pat Rudy’s mane and it felt, also, more intimate than its scientific name warranted.  It was as if I were retreating to a soft, yet powerful memory.
            Mayella was being distracted by showing Bolton and Cherry her toy horse, so I didn’t mind to let out a tear or two.
            But that was when me and Mayella heard it: the cry. We looked at each other and in a split second we were rushing out of thebarn.
*****
            “Mayella,f aster!”
            “But Pa said –”
            “Forget what Pa said, just push faster!  Hurry!”  The hellish cry came again.  It sounded oddly like Mama’s but at the same time it didn’t, mostly because it didn’t sound like it came from a human at all.  It was painful and strained and it shook me to the bone, leaving me anxious as it scared the devil out of me.  Sweat ran down my temples and my heart was racing.  “Faster, faster!”
            Mayella got me into the house through the back door. We rushed from the kitchen into the hallway.  When we finally recognized that it was indeed Mama sobbing in her room, Mayella stopped pushing.   
“Come on, Mayella, what are you waiting for?  Why’dyou stop?”
            “Billy I’m scared!  I’ve never heard Mama cry before.”
            “Mama needs us; I knew something was off between’em!”
            “What are you talkin’ ‘bout, Billy?”
            “Please, Mayella, just keep pushing me. Wheel me in the bedroom.”
            We opened the door and saw Mama kneeling on the floor with her back toward us.  The floor was covered in blood and on the floor next to the bed was Papa’s body with his pants down, and off in the corner was Papa’s head.  Mayella and I saw it at the same time.  Mayella screamed the loudest and highest she’s ever screamed in her entire life.  Mama realized we were behind her when she heard Mayella and she turned to face us.
            Bloodstained her hands and forearms and even her face and her nightgown that she hadn’t changed out of since the morning. Her face looked distorted and marked up with tears and sweat.  Her hands trembled violently and she let go of Papa’s ax. She rushed to Mayella and hugged her, putting Mayella’s face into her stomach.
            I was speechless.
            She let go of Mayella for a minute to reach into Papa’s pants pockets to retrieve the keys to his truck.  Then she carried Mayella and wheeled me out of the house, hurriedly.
            We got into the truck and Mama started driving. Her hands were still trembling and she and Mayella were still crying.  Mama never looked back.  Mayella patted the front of her overalls and realized Dixie was missing from her pocket. She cried even more.  As for me, I was arrested by absolute disbelief.  I waved good bye to Rudy, whom I knew I would never see again.
            Papa was gone, but I could tell, despite her tears, that Mama was relieved.  She must feel like how I felt when me and Rudy went off together into the hills.