The Freedom in American Songs Read Free

playing Mother May I ; motionless only because you were looking. Marianne looked away so they could move again, then whirled back on them. But they were too clever to let her catch them. They were good.
    She remembered to look at the rose and its bud that had cracked into existence on the road. Near them lay a giant upturned root, like a crazy sun-wheel. There was Mrs. Ruby’s house, across the road. Marianne saw no smoke—was she in? You had to go around the back since they closed the store down. Over the gate to Walter’s cabbage garden ran a clothesline with cup towels on it. The store sign lay near the back door: Ruby’s Store painted in black and green. It looked too new to be lying on the ground, the paint twinkling. Marianne knocked. A huge cat hunched on the gatepost, motionless. The head of Mrs. Ruby peeped around the door; scrawny, curious and bedraggled as a murre hatchling.
    â€œAre you not up yet, Mrs. Ruby?”
    â€œYes child, we’re up, come in. What were you doing over in Ralph Carlyle’s house?”
    â€œHow did you …”
    â€œNever mind, come in, child.” Mrs. Ruby wore a bright yellow blouse with black and brown zigzags that looked like buildings falling down. Walter sat at the table eating a chicken leg. The kitchen was full of cooking smells, the woodstove crackling and throwing waves of heat. Leo, the grown son, fried fish and onions in a cast iron pan.
    â€œI’ve brought you a few shavings …”
    â€œWell look, would you believe it, Walter, what the girl has brought, and her with no way of getting wood.” She flung the shavings on top of her woodpile without ceremony.
    Walter, thin and ancient, appraised the armload. “Good splits they are, too.” He returned to his drumstick.
    â€œYes, very good ones they are too,” parroted Mrs. Ruby. She brushed her hair at the mirror by the back door and it was as if a dandelion clock had brushed its fluff. Then she took a mop leaning in a corner, threw a teacup of water over it, and mopped a spot on the floor, sending bread crusts clattering. Marianne had never seen anyone mop a floor with a cup of water, and looked to see if this act surprised Walter, but it did not.
    â€œWe’re waiting for Sister Jean to come from town with the laundry. Here, Walter, take that off—you don’t want Sister Jean to see that dirty old thing.” Mrs. Ruby brought an Adidas sweatshirt out of another room. “Put this on.” She rived his sweater off and pulled the new shirt over his head.
    Once it was on, he kept being startled by the three white stripes down the sleeves. “I keep thinking,” he confided to Marianne, “they’re on the floor.”
    Mrs. Ruby spied the pan of fish and onions crackling on the stove without Leo, who’d gone upstairs.
    â€œHe goes up and leaves the pan on!” She thudded over to shake it around with a knife. It sizzled loud. The pieces of fish shone in chunks from the dark thickness of the pan. “Come look at the new calendar in the mail from Sister Jean’s friend Sister Amelia in Ecuador. Marianne, come over, look!” Illustrated Bible stories. Moses and the burning bush. Jesus alone and palely loitering in limpid gardens, his beard ethereal. A verse on the back said take life one trial at a time.
    â€œPeople had whiskers all over their faces at one time,” said Walter. “All you could see was a bit here and here,” he pointed at two spots above his cheekbones, “and their two eyes. Dirty-looking.”
    Mrs. Ruby made a quick pounce at him across the table. “Don’t go saying that, Walter. Her boyfriend has a whisker.” Her eyes were bright for battle.
    â€œI’m not saying they should do anything about it or that it’s right or wrong. I’m just saying they had them like that, the whiskers. And it’s dirty-looking.”
    â€œHe’s only got a small moustache,”