The Night Watchman(10)

And the babies, oh the babies were always up to something. One was blubbering lightly in sleep and one was trying to get his chubby foot into his mouth.

Rose had a kettle of hot water ready on the stove. She gestured at the basin. He poured a measure into the bowl, and she added a dipperful of cold from the water can. After Thomas washed, he whisked up lather in his copper shaving mug, dabbed the foam on his upper lip. The small square mirror in its carved wooden frame belonged to Rose. It was made of good thick glass, well silvered. She had brought it with her when they married. Thomas had about forty whiskers on his face. He stropped his razor, elaborately shaved them off. Then he stripped to his waist and used a cloth to wipe himself clean. He took the cloth and bowl into the bedroom to complete the job.

Rose’s mother was dozing on a chair beside the washing table. Noko snored lightly, head bowed. Her fragile old skull was bound in a brown head scarf, tiny shell disks hung from the drooping petals of her earlobes. Her gnarled hands rested in her lap. She twitched, dreaming. Then her head jerked up, her lips pulled back, and she hissed like a cat.

“What is it, Momma?”

“Gardipee! He’s at it again!”

“Gawiin, it’s okay, that was a long time ago,” said Rose.

“He’s right there,” she said. “He busted in again!”

“No, Momma. That’s Thomas.”

The old woman glared suspiciously.

“That man’s old. Thomas is a young man,” she said.

Rose put her hand over her mouth to hide her laugh.

“What, Noko, don’t you think I’m young anymore?” Thomas grinned.

“I’m not a fool, akiwenzi. You’re not Thomas.”

The old woman said this with firm indignation, and slowly folded her skinny arms. She remained like that, watching every move Thomas made. He sat down at the table.

“What are you here for?” She narrowed her eyes as he ate the plate of fried mush Rose put in front of him. “Are you after my daughter?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Noko, I’m Thomas. I got old. I couldn’t help it.”

“Rose is old too.” Noko widened her eyes and looked helplessly at her daughter, whose hair was nearly all gray.

“Rose is old. Rose is old,” said Noko, in a wondering voice.

“You’re old too,” said Rose, irritated.

“Maybe,” said Noko, sneaking a crafty look at Thomas. “You gonna take me back home? I’m damn sick of this place.”

“Stop talking like that to him,” Rose cried out.

It was difficult for her when Noko became too estranged from this life. She yelled, as if that would jolt Noko back into the reality they’d once shared. Now, overcome, Rose picked up an armload of laundry and rushed out to the shed, where her wringer washer was set up. Thomas heard the gurgle of the last of the water and remembered how she held the washing back so he could sleep.The rain barrel was empty. He’d better hop to and fill the cans at the well by the lake. He touched Noko’s hand and said, “You’re tired. Can I walk you over to your bed, so you can sleep?”

“I can’t get out of my chair.”

“I’ll help you up,” said Thomas.

“I’m stuck.”

Thomas looked down and saw that Noko’s long thick white hair had wrapped around the doorknob. Sharlo loved to comb her grandmother’s hair and had left it loose.

“Come here, Sharlo,” he called, and together they unwrapped the hair.

“Oh, Noko,” said Sharlo. “I tangled up your hair!”

“Don’t you worry, my girl,” said the old woman, stroking Sharlo’s face. “Nothing you can do could hurt me.”

But when Sharlo went outside to get her mother, Noko despaired again and tried to surge out of the chair. Thomas caught her and held her hand.

“Stay still, you could fall and hurt yourself.”

“I wish I would,” said Noko. “I want to die.”

“No you don’t,” said Thomas.

She glowered at him.

“You raised my sweetheart,” said Thomas. “You did a good job.”

“Tell that to Thomas,” Noko said. “He don’t believe it.”

Thomas reached around the chair and helped Noko to her feet. She collapsed. He pulled her up and they tottered stiffly to the bed. Rose had the sheets off. She was washing them today. Noko fell onto the bare mattress face-first. Thomas rolled her over and lifted her legs onto the bed. He arranged her there, stocking feet sticking straight up.

“You can’t put her on our mattress like that,” said Rose, standing in the door. Her voice sounded almost tearful. “She needs a soft pad underneath. The mattress buttons will give her bruises. Her skin takes bruises so easy now. We should buy her a fancy mattress pad for her little cot.”

“With what money?”

“Your car money.”

Thomas stood quietly under the raking heat of anger. It was coming off her in jagged waves. But then, as he stood there, he could feel it ease and the Rose with the funny little smile came back. She caught her breath and laughed.

“Oh, Momma, look at you. Little feet sticking straight up.”

Rose and Thomas eased a folded blanket underneath the old woman. It was the only thing they could think of to do and now Noko was slowly crossing the river of sleep, floating away from them on her sinking raft.