Aberration of Starlight

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Everybody but Marie and John and Helga had gone to the first day of the Grange Hall Fair that afternoon and John was sitting on the porch alone while Helga talked German in the kitchen with Frieda. He felt good, satisfied. Helga and he had talked about how wise it had been of him to finally put his foot down on all the shenanigans with Thebus. Just before she’d left the porch she told him that he had done a great favor for his daughter, that she was sure to see someday how right he was, even though now she thought it was terrible of him. He was her father and everybody only has one father and she would forgive him and even thank him someday. This was the kind of thing she needed to give her some gumption and let her stand on her own two feet because it was a good experience and she’d learn from it what two-bit, is that how you say it? sports there are in this world. And it was time, well past time, that a woman her age stood on her own two feet and not expect her father to do everything for her.

Marie was remote and almost totally silent, still shocked and hurt and angry about him finding that trashy bathing suit, but she’d get over it, she’d better damn well get over it. John didn’t really care a good goddamn now if she wore it or not with the assless wonder of the world gone. It wasn’t very modest, but who was to see her? They only had a week or so left anyway here, then all the foolishness would be over and done with and Marie could come down from her high horse. She had never listened to him about anything, took after Bridget, stubborn as a mule! But by God she’d do what he told her about this. That goddamn little mutt with his business in the city! That was a good one, him running with his tail between his legs just like a cur. He hoped that Marie got a good eyeful of that. That cock-and-bull story wouldn’t have fooled a six-year-old. Helga had put it right when she said that he’d run away when he knew he couldn’t strut his stuff anymore. Now maybe Marie would realize that she was a married woman and act it.

Speak of the devil, Marie came out on the porch. She sat down in the rocker next to John’s and said that Mr. Thebus — oh, he liked that! “Mr. Thebus”—had forgotten his tobacco pouch and that he wanted, well, and she handed him Thebus’s note. The anger and contempt that John felt when he finished the note made his face almost blue. His lips were drawn back and his false teeth looked hideous. The son of a bitch is not welcome in my house and he won’t put one foot inside it! But Poppa … he only wants to get the … and explain … I want to give him his personal… his belongings. She stood up, shaking, and took the pouch out of the pocket of her pinafore. His pouch, Poppa! My God, what do you take the man to be? My God! Poppa! He stood up too, and took the pouch out of her hand. Well, young woman! You want to fly in my face again, you go ahead and fly in my face! If you want to see that half-assed mongrel with his little smudge of a moustache you just make damn certain that you pack your valise first and take yourself and your boy with you. Poppa! Marie sat down again, her hands clasped in her lap. John shook the tobacco pouch in her face. And this sly little trick … This will be in the mail, today. The son of a bitch will not set foot inside my house and if you don’t like it you can go and beg Katie to take you in off the street!

He banged the screen door entering the house and went up the stairs. In his room, he wrapped the pouch in paper cut from an old brown paper bag and then went up the stairs to Marie’s room, pulled her address book out of her drawer and oh, sure, the silly jane had his name in her book as neat as you please, how sweet, how goddamn sweet! He addressed the package and went downstairs again, walked out on the porch and shook the pouch at Marie. I’m going down to the Post Office past the Bluebird and that will take care of Mr. Thebus! She sat and looked at him, her knees drawn together, her arms folded tight across her chest, her face blank and homely. By God, the girl was getting old! Running around like a little chippy and anybody with half an eye could see that she was no spring chicken. What the hell is the matter with her?

John walked steadily, keeping as much as he could in the shade of the trees, stopping every now and again to take a breather and mop his face. When he reached the Post Office, he mailed the package first class, and asked how long it would take to arrive. He was pleased when the clerk told him a day, at the most two. Then he started back, stopping off at the Bluebird for a glass of beer at the bar. Summer’s almost over, the bartender said. Sure went fast. John agreed. Fella with the little moustache, always smoked a pipe, he gone back already? John nodded. Nice fella, said he was a salesman? John nodded again and said that it was time for all of them to put their noses to the grindstone again. That’s for damn sure, the bartender said.

As he got near the house, he saw the Copans’ car parked in front and the two daughters in their bathing suits putting blankets and towels in the trunk. They must have got bored with the Fair, John thought. No boys to shake their behinds at, and of course, those damn fool parents of theirs bowed and scraped and took the brats home and now, with it three o’clock already, now they were taking them bathing. Anything the princesses wanted — what they need is a good swift kick in the ass! Coming closer, he saw Helga on the porch, smiling at the girls and saying something to the older one, the little tramp. Next to Helga, and with a towel folded under her arm, stood Marie. She was holding a polo shirt out to Billy, who stood before her on the bottom step, tightening the belt of his trunks. Well, he was glad to see that she was going bathing too, instead of spending her time cooped up in her room with a face on her like death warmed over. Her robe was open and John could see that she was wearing her old flowered bathing suit. Good, he thought. Maybe she’s got some sense after all. Helga Schmidt saw him and waved.