Almost Paradise Read online

  I keep wondering about that shot. A tiny bit of time, a single action that ripped up lives forever and can never be undone. Why on earth did he shoot my father? And why did he not shoot my mother—and me inside of her? I can understand why he might steal wallets—a person can really need money—but what possible good comes from shooting a man? I’ll never ever know his answer to that, because they never caught him. He’s probably walking around like a normal person and nobody knows he’s a murderer. Not only was he a murderer, but he stole part of my life, taking away my father and leaving me with the likes of the Catfish.

  But that horrible day at the lake, Mother was so shocked by the violence and loss that I started to get born. I think I was trying to take care of her even then. Between the policemen and the ambulances, she just barely made it to the hospital. I was a preemie in an incubator with lung things, and heart things, and needle things; and six weeks later she took me home in a shoe box. And that was about all she could take of this runaround world.

  That’s also why Mother has a little problem celebrating my birthday. It was not a festive day. And birthdays are, by definition, festive. Why, it was six years before I could even get her to tell the day I was born. “Which one you want to know?” she said. “The day you were born, the day you were supposed to be born, or the day you came home from the hospital? ’Cause they were all pretty far apart.”

  It sounds like Mother was a careless woman, but she was not. She’s everything I wanted in a mom. Sometimes she would just give me my own day, out of the blue. “This is your day, Ruby Clyde,” she’d say. But never on my birthday. I wouldn’t celebrate that day either, not if I were her. What she’d been through! And she’s never once acted like it was my fault.

  FOUR

  The Catfish was in a hurry to leave the campground, of course. Gus and he were going into town to do some business, manly bidness, he said, like he was president of the United States or something. Last time the Catfish did some business, we ended up with a hundred hamster cages in the living room. Don’t ask. Catfish was a businessman, you know. He slipped behind the steering wheel, gunned the engine, and yowled, “Get in.”

  Mother and I looked at each other.

  Angie stood and leaned over the fire. “Go on, I will wash my coffeepot.”

  “Why can’t we stay here?” I asked, because I wanted nothing to do with the Catfish’s business, whatever it was. Nothing good ever came from his big ideas.

  “I’d be glad to have the company,” Angie offered. I looked at her yellow car and wondered if she might just drive us all the way back home. We’d wait for the Catfish to go to town with Gus Luna, then skedaddle.

  But he was having none of that. The Catfish flailed around—“Oh shoot, just get in the car because I ain’t driving all the way back out here to get you. Gus has a friend I need to meet. When me and Gus finish our bidness we are leaving Arkansas and heading to Texaw. Get it? Get it?”

  And as much as I liked wordplay I wasn’t about to give him the benefit of the laugh. It only made me dizzy that I was going to have to listen to Catfish say Texaw for however long it took to drive across the biggest state in the union, except for Alaska, which doesn’t count because it’s not connected—all ice, no roads, just oil rigs and polar bears. And who in their right mind would want to drive across Alaska anyway?

  Mother did what he said. She got in the backseat.

  I wanted, more than anything else on earth, for Mother to get out of that car and stay at the campsite with Angie. Then take me back home where we belonged. But she didn’t. Instead she patted the seat, asking me to get in and sit beside her. I did, reluctantly. As we drove away, Angie stood with the coffeepot in one hand and waved. The morning sun caught her blond curls and formed a halo around her head. If only she were an angel, she could … well, it was too late.

  Mother held my hand, absentmindedly tickling my palm with her pinky. We sped out of the campground, which I did not like one little bit, because the campground was full of dogs and children and it would have been just like the reckless Catfish to run over some of them.

  We had left so fast that I was still wearing my pajamas, so I had to change in the car. Mother held a blanket to shield me from the men while I undressed. I dug my jeans out of the tangled wad of clothes they stuffed in bags for me—all the while thinking the whole day, my whole life (except for my new cowboy accessories), was a mess, and I had no entire clue how to fix it.

  I talked from behind the blanket. “What the heck are we supposed to do while you and Gus conduct your business?”

  “Why, sightsee, of course,” Catfish said.

  “Sightsee?” I said. I had never been sightseeing in my life. Never even thought about it. I wasn’t even sure what it was, except maybe looking at Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon, things from picture books. “You mean like going to see the Statue of Liberty?”

  “Ruby Clyde,” Catfish said, “sometimes I think you are as dumb as a box of rocks.”

  Imagine somebody like the Catfish calling you dumb. I yanked on my new boots, trying not to like my cowboy outfit after his crack about my intelligence. I didn’t want to be beholden to the Catfish, but I couldn’t help myself; I just loved my boots and hat, lasso and gun. Once I had them all back on, Mother dropped the blanket.

  I leaned over the seat between the men and listened to them do man-talk.

  “Hot Springs is just hopping with sights to see,” Gus the Doughnut Cutter bragged, since he was the local expert. He went on about these Duck Trucks and the IQ Zoo, which was full of smart animals—something I definitely needed to see. Better than Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, and the Statue of Liberty all rolled into one.

  I asked if there were any hot springs in Hot Springs.

  “Oh lordy, yes,” Gus said. “Everywhere. That’s why they call it Hot Springs, silly.” He told us the hot springs water was supposed to heal the sick. I liked the sound of healing waters, what with my interest in nursing. He said the water trickles down to the center of the earth, gets boiling hot, and shoots back up. Takes about two thousand years to go down and only about a minute to come back up.

  “Whoo-hoo mercy!” said Catfish. “Would you listen to Professor Gus, I’d a never taken you for a schooly man.”

  “Shut your face, Carl,” Gus said.

  “Who’s going to make me?” Catfish said.

  Gus clenched a little fist and showed his teeth. Catfish made a fist too and they boxed at each other until a wheel caught the edge of the road and hit gravel. Gus cried, “Watch the darn road, why don’t you?”

  “You watch it,” Catfish said.

  “No, you,” Gus said. And that went on for a while. They really liked each other, that much was clear.

  Catfish turned the steering wheel and said, “I got a friend in Hollywood. The one we’re going to see. He’s a real big shot to the stars.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Gus said. “It reminds me of my extra good friend in Austin. He’s a big shot to the music people. That’s the place to be. They just throw money at you in Austin.”

  “Oh yeah?” Catfish said. “How good a friend?”

  “Bosom buddies,” said Gus.

  “I don’t believe you for a minute,” Catfish said.

  “True,” said Gus, “go there and call him. Tell him Gus Luna sent you. He used to be a doughnut cutter with me, but now he’s rolling in the dough.”

  The Catfish swerved the car off the side of the road just to make his new friend shut up.

  * * *

  Catfish let us out on the street corner none too soon, and he put a hundred-dollar bill in Mother’s hand. “Don’t ever say Carl doesn’t take care of his women,” he said, showing off for Gus the Doughnut Cutter. Mother put the money in her purse. You might think Catfish was rich because he had hundred-dollar bills and all, but he wasn’t. It was just that he was a construction worker on houses and offices and things and they paid him in cash. That’s what Mother told me. Maybe he stole it. Who kn
ew?

  Before he left, we agreed to meet back up at the big fountain at some certain time in the afternoon. “Exact o’clock!” Catfish said. “And don’t be late or I’ll ditch you.” He shouldn’t have said that—it frightened Mother. But I couldn’t have been happier with the thought of him leaving us. I could get Mother back home where we belonged, no trouble. Come to think of it, if he was going to leave us there in Hot Springs, Arkansas, he should have just left us at home to begin with.

  FIVE

  After Catfish left us on the corner, Mother and I decided to drink water from a hot spring, ride a Duck, and visit the IQ Zoo—in that order. Saved the best for last, and that worked good, because the IQ Zoo was where I met Bunny the Pig.

  We found our first sight and saw it—a real hot spring. Sure enough, that old water was hot. We even drank it.

  I thought about the water sloshing around in my stomach. And my stomach wasn’t the final destination. That two-thousand-year-old water would come out of my body one way or the other, and make its way back down to the center of the earth to be shot up to some space visitors in two thousand years. I’d be dead and gone. Everybody I knew would be long gone. The circle of life gave me the willies.

  I took Mother’s hand firmly. The sidewalk was busy with people coming and going, in and out of the big fancy hotels. I was proud to be strutting there in my new cowboy outfit. We fell in behind a couple of big girls who walked with great confidence on platform shoes. They wore long skirts made of bright handkerchiefs stitched together, and their tops didn’t all the way cover their backs so I could see their knobby spines swaying like cobras. I didn’t think I would ever be that beautiful when I grew up, if I agreed to let myself grow up. I might just be a Peter Pan. Who wants to be a stupid old adult?

  * * *

  Sight two: the Duck Trucks. They were advertised everywhere. We paid to take a ride. I used Mother’s hundred-dollar bill, with a picture of Ben Franklin on it. For change I got a fifty-dollar bill, with Ulysses S. Grant on it. I’d never seen a fifty-dollar bill before. Also got a twenty, and a five, plus coins. As I said, I could handle money. Before she died, my mean grandmother told me all about counting the change because people would keep more, hoping you wouldn’t notice. “Sneaky snakes” she called them. Her world was full of sneaky snakes and, more often than not, she made me feel like a sneaky snake.

  The Hot Springs Duck did not have feathers. It was part tank, part houseboat, and part open-air bus—if you can mix those three. When all the seats on the Duck Truck were filled, the tour guides jumped on the platform by the driver and grabbed the microphones. They were a couple of old people in overalls and big straw hats. Grannie rocked back and yelled, “Howdeeeee.”

  I “howdeed” back at them. All the adults smiled kindly at me, but all the kids looked at me like I was some kind of maniac. I didn’t care, not a titch. It doesn’t cost you anything to be polite.

  Then the Duck sped down a boat ramp and paddled out into the lake with a great splash. Everybody on the Duck screamed, myself included. We all knew it was coming, that big splashdown, but we all screamed just the same. It’s funny what groups of people will do just to be part of a group. Scream, laugh, riot, fall on your knees and pray.

  As we picked up steam and paddled away from land, I took Mother’s hand in mine. “Let’s go home,” I said.

  “I don’t know, sweetie.” She loosened her fingers.

  “I do, Mom. We probably have enough money to get a bus or a plane or a taxi.”

  “That would be dangerous.” Mother pulled her hand away and ran it over her forehead, brushing windblown hair back.

  “Not as dangerous as being with Carl and Gus the Doughnut Cutter. They’re up to no good, I tell you.”

  “Don’t be silly, Ruby Clyde.”

  As I said, Mother was a good mother, no joke. It’s just that she was so busy avoiding danger that she never saw it right under her nose. As my mean grandmother used to say, “If it had been a snake, I’d’a bit it.”

  When we got across the lake, a baby in a lime-green sunhat went to screaming. The mother kept shoving a pacifier in its mouth but she couldn’t hush it up for nothing, and there we were, stuck out on the water. People started rolling their eyes and looking as miserable as the screaming baby.

  Finally Mother leaned over to me and whispered, “Ruby Clyde, could you do something?” Mother liked my healing powers, even though they were limited, at that time, to crying. She believed in me.

  I shook my head. “Not in front of all these people.”

  She nudged my arm and said, “Go on, put your hands on that poor child.”

  Mother nagged me like the mother of Jesus at Cana, when she wanted him to turn the water into wine. Now if that wasn’t a trite miracle, nothing was. I mean, what possible difference could it make if the wedding guests had to drink water instead of wine? Grandmother said water was poisoned back then and wine was healthier (but that was no excuse to drink it today, she said). I don’t think the mother of Jesus was worried about their health anyway—she just wanted wine.

  Finally, I said, “Oh all right.” Then I stood up and walked toward the crying baby. The baby screamed louder, its face all rubbery with fury. The mother seemed scared of me when I stopped in front of them, but before she could interfere I laid my hand on the baby’s little green hat. The baby made a perfect O with its mouth and blinked. Tears caught in its eyelashes, and it got quiet—completely quiet. I took my hand away and said to the mother, “There.”

  Everyone on the Duck stared at me.

  * * *

  The next sight: the IQ Zoo. The big windows were painted black with big yellow words: IQ ZOO. The wall had cartoon elephants, camels, cobras, and ostriches, all holding college diplomas and those flat-top hats that people wear to graduation.

  What a wondrous variety of animals. My hopes escalated, and I almost forgot that I had been dragged away from home without my permission on my birthday. In addition to the animal pictures, there were circus people painted on the windows. I’d always thought it would be quite nice to join the circus.

  A miserable teenager was selling tickets at the IQ Zoo. He rocked back on a stool, smoking a cigarette and looking pained beyond his years. It was the circus outfit he was wearing that made him look so put out. He was hawking the business with a little jingle: “Come see the IQ Zoo, say who? You is who should come see the IQ Zoo, say who? You’s who should…” Something about that boy gave me the willies.

  It cost twenty-six dollars for the two of us to go inside. I hated to let it go, but I paid with that fancy fifty-dollar bill. The unhappy boy took old Ulysses S. Grant, then counted back change: one, two, three, four single-dollar bills, and then he stopped and looked over my shoulder at the next customer, like maybe I wouldn’t notice that he was stealing my money. I stayed put and squinted hard at him until he slid the twenty across the counter. He was a sneaky snake, if ever I saw one.

  Inside the showroom, a big round man wore red-striped circus pants, gathered at the ankles. A shapely woman and a little girl wore red majorette costumes with black top hats and batons. I was pretty sure it was a family business. I mean, I don’t think that little girl would be there without her parents. There’s such a thing as child labor laws.

  The Circus Dad sang into a microphone while a bunch of chickens performed a square dance. Yes sir, they did. Promenade and do-si-do your partner! If you don’t believe it, go to the IQ Zoo and see for yourself. You will find square-dancing chickens with little red kerchiefs tied around their necks. The people cheered for those chickens and the chickens seemed right proud of themselves.

  Mother was not amused. She had a soft spot for animals. I did too, but hers was bigger and softer.

  After the chicken dance came Noah’s Ark. The spotlight swiveled to a big boat, like a Duck Truck, on a shallow pond of water. There was a wide ramp attached. Out of the dark came the voice of God:

  “Make thee an ark of gopher wood…”

  And whi
le I was pondering a tree made of critters, the Circus Mom and Circus Girl pranced around in their matching majorette costumes and began herding the animals up the ramp onto the ark. They poked the poor animals with silver batons.

  You know the rest. So there they came: white mice, hamsters, chickens, ducks, dogs, cats, and green parakeets—two by two. I was deeply disappointed. That seemed like a puny boat full of punier animals, what with the outside window promising camels and snakes and ostriches. Those were just a bunch of house pets. Where were the exotics we had paid to see?

  The lights dimmed and Circus God said his business about raining for forty days and forty nights. While he talked, Circus Mom rocked the boat. The little Circus Girl brought out a sprinkler and sprayed rain. Oh, those animals looked miserable indeed, and I wondered how many times a day they had to suffer the ultimate wrath of God.

  So anyway, the storm got over. The lights came up while the animals shook water off their feathers and fur. At this point a lovely white dove flew down from the darkness, and with a sweep of his wings, he landed on a perch atop the ark. The bird held an olive branch in his mouth, or some kind of twig that was supposed to be an olive branch. And that was that.

  The room went black. Suddenly a rainbow flashed on the far wall and God recited from the darkness: “I do set my bow in the cloud and it shall be a token of a covenant between me and this earth, between me and you and every living creature of all flesh.”

  My mother didn’t like Noah’s Ark, not one little bit. She said out loud, “I hope you plan to wipe those animals dry. They’re going to catch their death.” Circus God snapped his head around and bugged his eyes at my mother. I, myself, was surprised at her boldness, but before I could give it much thought, it was time for the next animal show.

  A spot lit up the center ring and—Lord help me—they had a little pink pig driving a miniature Cadillac. Around and around he went, American flags waving off the back of the little gold car. Everyone laughed except my mother, who raised her voice. “Now this is carrying things too far. A pig is an intelligent animal.”