Grim

SHARPER THAN A SERPENT’S TONGUE by Christine Johnson

“Clara! Dina! Whatchoo you doing back there? It’s gettin’ on five o’clock!” Their mother’s voice screeched down the hall, rough with cigarette smoke and slurred with whiskey.

The fact that it hadn’t yet gotten to five o’clock was no reason for their mother to ignore her bottle of Jameson.

Clara looked up from the battered desk, where she had a trigonometry book open in front of her. “It’s time to go over to Mrs. Swanson’s,” she said. “Do you think you could go today?” she asked Dina. “I’m right in the middle of this.”

Dina plucked an earbud out of her ear, and raised her bare foot off the bed, wiggling her black-painted toenails. “Can’t. These are still wet,” she said, raising an I-dare-you-to-contradict-me eyebrow.

Clara sighed. “Okay. I guess I could use a break from this, anyway.” She pushed back her chair, stood up and stretched. The late-afternoon sunlight streamed in, diffused by the dirty window. The light tangled in Clara’s blond hair, making her look like the perfect, shining angel that everyone said she was. Teachers, neighbors, the people at school—everyone praised Clara for being a sweet, optimistic good girl, capable of rising above her upbringing.

When her back was turned and they thought she couldn’t hear, they all whispered that Dina was just like her mother. It wasn’t a compliment, since her mother was a drunk bitch who’d been born to fail.

Clara looked over at her sister. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Keep an eye on Mama, okay?”

Dina closed one eye and reached for her sketch pad. “An eye. Of course. Yep.”

Clara let out a long-suffering sigh and headed for the front door. Her mother was sprawled on the sagging couch. The bottle of whiskey that sat on the floor next to her was almost empty, but Clara could see the neck of a fresh bottle poking out of a paper sack on the coffee table.

Clara wondered how her mom had paid for the liquor, but she didn’t dare ask. She just needed to go across the street—Mrs. Swanson would pay her enough that they’d at least be able to buy a few groceries.

Outside, the sun was thick and hot against her shoulders, and she turned her face toward it, welcoming the glow against her skin. The tangle of bushes that pressed up against Mrs. Swanson’s windows and shadowed her tiny front porch seemed to lean away from the sun, and the sight of it made Clara sad without exactly knowing why. With pity weighing her down, she darted across the street and up to the peeling front door.

The bell was broken, so Clara knocked. When the door opened, Mrs. Swanson peered up at Clara. The gray frizz of her hair floated around her face, and she raised a crooked finger to beckon Clara into the house.

“Come into the kitchen, dearie. I have a project for you today.”

Clara turned the corner and stopped. Standing next to the counter was Mrs. Swanson’s grandson. He was older than Clara—Mrs. Swanson had a series of pictures of him taped to the refrigerator door, and Clara had looked through them with the old woman more times than she could count. He was twenty-four. He was out of work. Mrs. Swanson was sure that, underneath it all, he really was “a good boy.” The sigh that she inevitably used to punctuate that statement made Clara wonder how much she believed it.

“Nick, this is Clara. She lives across the street. Clara, Nick’s fixing that leak in my faucet. Instead of tidying up, I thought maybe you could help him? He was just telling me that he needs someone to hold the flashlight for him. I thought, since your knees are so much younger than mine, maybe you could do it.”

Clara barely heard the words. Nick was eyeing her in a way she didn’t like, his thumb running along the side of the wrench he was holding. Stroking it. Clara crossed her arms and glanced down at Mrs. Swanson. The old woman’s eyes were crinkled with happiness. “I can’t tell you how much that leak has had me worried. I’ll be so grateful to have it fixed.”

In spite of the fact that Nick made her uncomfortable, Clara couldn’t turn down such a simple request from a helpless old woman.

It will be fine, she told herself. She thought of the bottle of Jameson and the empty cupboards at home. It has to be fine.

Mrs. Swanson doddered out of the kitchen, muttering something about her knitting bag, and left Nick and Clara standing in front of the dripping sink.

“Flashlight’s just there,” Nick said, nodding at the counter. The rasp of his voice startled Clara out of her frozen state and she reached for the flashlight.

“Right. Got it. Where, ah...”

Nick crouched down in front of the open cupboard doors. His eyes traveled up the length of her legs, slowly. When his gaze finally met hers, Clara’s stomach had started to churn. “Just shine it at that,” he said, pointing at the glint of silver pipe visible beyond the doors.

Clara did as she was told, holding the beam steady while Nick fitted the wrench to the plumbing.

“My grandma says you come over almost every day,” he said, grunting as he forced something to turn. “Says she pays you. Says you need the money.”

Embarrassment flashed through Clara, hot and sticky.

“Yes,” Clara said. “That’s true.”

Nick looked up from what he was doing. “Maybe I should hang out over here more often, then,” he said. He reached out his hand. His fingernails had been bitten ragged and they caught at Clara’s skin as he trailed his fingers up the inside of her leg. She’d frozen in place—unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to believe that this was happening. When the tips of Nick’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shorts and grazed the elastic edge of her panties, the flashlight fell from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

“Please, don’t,” she choked out.

At the same moment, Mrs. Swanson came around the corner, exclaiming, “What is going on in here?” Her rheumy eyes went straight to Nick’s hand, which slithered back down Clara’s leg in a way that made her struggle not to vomit. Clara jerked back and hurried toward the door. Mrs. Swanson reached out a hand and stopped her. Tears blurred Clara’s vision, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull out of the old woman’s grip.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Mrs. Swanson pleaded, throwing a glance over Clara’s shoulder at Nick. “Please. For my sake. It will never happen again. I promise. He promises.”

Clara hesitated. Her skin still crawled where Nick had touched her, and the tears were running freely down her cheeks.

“Please,” the old woman begged again.

“Okay,” Clara whispered. “I won’t say anything. But I really need to go now.”

Mrs. Swanson placed a gnarled finger against Clara’s trembling lips. “Bless you, child. You are a good girl, and should be rewarded.”

A sick heat flashed through Clara’s middle and the room began to spin. She had the bizarre thought that Mrs. Swanson’s finger was the only thing holding her up. When Mrs. Swanson spoke again, her voice had taken on a musical quality.

“From this moment on, every time you speak, flowers and jewels will drop from your lips. Enough wealth that you will never want again. Take this gift, with my gratitude. Go home and rest.”

Insane. The old woman was insane.

Mrs. Swanson dropped her finger from Clara’s mouth and, feeling sure she was about to be sick, Clara sprinted for the door. The sunshine outdoors did nothing to lessen the heaviness in her stomach, and Clara hurried across the street. It wasn’t until she threw open the door to her own house that she realized how much trouble she was really going to be in—she’d left without Mrs. Swanson paying her, and there was no way that she was going back over there right now. Too bad the old woman’s nonsense blessing couldn’t have been true.

“Clara?” Her mother sat up, licking her chapped lips and fumbling for her glass.

“It’s me,” Clara said. The sound of something hitting the peeling linoleum caught her attention, and she looked down. At her feet lay a sapphire and a ruby, each as large as the tip of her thumb.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. The words half gagged her as a shower of peonies sprang from her mouth, landing near the gems.

“What in the Sam Hill?” her mother said, peering at the bounty near Clara’s feet.

“Mrs. Swanson made me promise not to say—something bad happened with her grandson.” The patter-swish of gems and flowers hitting the ground accompanied Clara’s words, and she winced as a sharp pain shot through her lip. She reached up to touch her mouth, and her hand came away bloody—the fault, no doubt, of the many-thorned rose that lay on top of the pile at her feet.

“I don’t get it,” her mother said. “This is some sort of jacked-up DT or somethin’. I need to get to the hospital. Or a drink. Yeah. I need a drink. I hate seein’ stuff that ain’t real.”

Clara couldn’t tear her gaze away from the glittering, sweet-scented pile in front of her. Her lip throbbed, and she was half-afraid to speak again. “You’re not seeing things,” she whispered, watching as a fine hail of topaz clattered from her mouth.

“What. The actual. Fuck.” Dina stood in the doorway to the living room, staring at the treasure that surrounded Clara.

Clara looked at her sister. “Mrs. Swanson. She—she did this, somehow.” A pearl rolled back into her mouth, and she nearly choked on it. Spitting the jewel into her hand, she looked at Dina, who, along with her mother, was staring slack-jawed at Clara.

“But why?” Dina asked.

“Her grandson, Nick, something...happened....” Clara trailed off. She’d agreed not to tell, and truth be told, she was a little afraid of what would happen if she did, considering that Mrs. Swanson was clearly no regular elderly neighbor.

Dina stepped forward, her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, something happened?” Anger edged into her voice. “Did he hurt you somehow?”

Clara didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything—but the look in her eyes was enough for Dina. Dina’s face turned cold and hard. It was the same look that had preceded almost all of the trouble she had ever gotten in.

“Absolutely not,” Dina said. “He is not getting away with that shit.”

“No, Dina, wait,” Clara said, but it was too late. Her sister had brushed past her and out of the house. Clara watched Dina storm across the lawn, until the sound of scrabbling behind her made her turn. Her mother was sifting through the flowers at her feet. She came up with a palmful of gems. The smile that she gave Clara was hungry.

“We’s gonna be rich,” she announced gleefully.

The heavy feeling in Clara’s stomach grew.

Across the street, Dina pounded on Mrs. Swanson’s door.

Clara and her mother watched through the window as the door opened.

“God, if she can do this to both of you, I’ll be the happiest woman on earth,” her mom said.

Clara winced, but she kept her mouth shut, for any number of reasons.

The old woman’s face appeared in the doorway.

“Let me in,” Dina demanded.

“I—I don’t understand.” Mrs. Swanson gripped the door frame.

“Your grandson. He’s still here?”

Nick’s face appeared over Mrs. Swanson’s shoulder. “I am. What do you want? Sloppy seconds?” He smirked at her.

“You fucking wish,” Dina spat.

“Language! Please!” Mrs. Swanson said, shocked. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk about all of this like civilized people?”

“I’m not coming into this house ever again. You may have convinced my sister not to say anything, but I’m not the nice girl in the family.” Dina’s gaze cut through Nick and he shrank beneath it.

“Nothing happened,” Mrs. Swanson insisted.

“Don’t lie to me. That bastard hurt my sister, and I’m not about to let him get away with it!”

Mrs. Swanson pasted her hand across Dina’s mouth, not hard enough to be called a slap, but hard enough that it stung.

“Your sister is a good girl who understands that Nick made a mistake, and I rewarded her for it.” Dina tried to swat the old woman’s hand away from her mouth, but she found herself unable to lift her hand, unable to step away, unable to move at all. “You, though.” Mrs. Swanson’s eyes narrowed. “You have a nasty attitude, and from now on, you’ll have a gift to match. Snakes and toads from your serpent-tongued mouth, that’s what you’ll have. Now get off my porch.” Mrs. Swanson peeled her hand from Dina’s mouth and slammed the door in her face.

Dina’s stomach churned. She wouldn’t have believed the threat, but she’d seen Clara spitting rubies onto the floor at home. Still, she wasn’t going to let that slimebag get away with assaulting her sister. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911.

When the operator asked what her emergency was, Dina said, “My sister and I have been assaulted.”

The snakes hit the ground in front of her with a tiny thud that made her wince. They raised their heads and looked at her before slithering off into Mrs. Swanson’s bushes. Dina expected to feel disgusted. She waited for her stomach to roil. Instead, the operator asked her where she was, and Dina told her, calmly catching the tiny frog that leaped from her lips along with Mrs. Swanson’s address. The frog wrapped one of its feet around her finger and she set it in the grass.

When the police were on their way, Dina walked back across the street to get Clara, to force her to come tell her side of the story.

Her mother threw open the door as Dina stepped up to it. “What happened?” she asked eagerly.

“I called the police,” Dina said. The snake that fell with her words slithered into the house, which was an unfortunate occurrence. Her mother shrieked. “Don’t say anything else! Jesus. Just—just shake your head yes or no. She didn’t give you the same...same thing she gave Clara?”

Dina shook her head.

“And you called the police?”

Dina nodded emphatically.

“Oh, my God.” Her mother yanked her into the house. “We have to hide Clara.”

“What? We can’t hide her! That’s who they need to talk to!” This time, rather than fall to the floor, the snake that escaped her lips gently wound itself around Dina’s neck. It did not make her nervous—in fact, its cool weight against her collarbone was soothing somehow. Her mother clearly didn’t feel the same way, since she scuttered into the corner of the kitchen. Clara sat in one of the wooden chairs with a bucket in her lap. She looked up at Dina.

“Why do they need to talk to me?” A shower of tiny diamonds accompanied her words.

Dina gaped at her. “Because of what Nick did to you?”

Her mother thrust a bucket at her, just catching a toad as it fell. “For God’s sake. Talk over the bucket. Jesus.”

“It doesn’t matter what Nick did to me,” Clara said. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Yes, it was!” Dina insisted. “You can’t just let people like that walk around in the world.”

The sound of gems and reptiles hitting the plastic of their respective buckets punctuated their words, and the truly strange nature of the situation washed over Dina. She sat heavily in a chair next to Clara.

“Clara is not talking to the police,” her mother insisted. “She can’t.”

“Why not?” Dina asked, horrified.

Her mother looked at her like she had lost her mind. “Because they will take her away. They’re not going to overlook a girl with jewelry dropping out of her mouth. They’ll take her away, and I need her. Do you hear me?” Her mother’s eyes were wild now, her fingers curled tight around the edge of the countertop.

Dina looked at the bucket in Clara’s lap. She knew exactly what her mother meant. Clara was her mom’s ticket out of debt and out of this crappy house and into an endless supply of whiskey.

“What about you?” she asked Clara, catching the tiny snake as it fell and wrapping it around her wrist like a bracelet. “What do you want to do?”

Down the street, Dina could hear the wail of a siren.

Clara’s eyes widened. “I don’t want anyone to take me away. I don’t want any of this.”

“Both of you, get back in your bedroom.” Their mother shambled toward the door. “I’ll handle this.”

“You’ll get arrested,” Dina said. Since their mother had been arrested at least three times that Dina could remember, she was pretty sure the self-righteous look her mother shot her was unwarranted.

“You just stay back there, and for God’s sake, dump that bucket of vermin in the backyard before they escape into my house!”

Dina put an arm around Clara and guided her back to their room. The rhythm of Clara’s heartbeat thudded beneath Dina’s hand, too fast.

“Shhhh,” Dina soothed her. “It will be okay.”

Clara bit her lips, as though she couldn’t bear to say anything. She shook her head, and tears welled in her eyes. Dina half lowered her sister onto her bed and then crept toward the window. She lifted one of the slats of the closed blinds and peered outside. Her mother stood in the middle of the yard, her hands on her hips, gesturing wildly.

The cops were looking from Mrs. Swanson’s house to her mother and back, and their faces became more stern with each passing second. One of them began to fiddle with his handcuffs. He was not looking at Mrs. Swanson’s house while he did.

Clara sidled up next to Dina and peered out through the blinds. “I have to go out there and stop her, before she gets herself in trouble.”

Dina looked at her sister. Clara’s eyes were red rimmed and her cheeks had paled. There was a new chip in one of her front teeth, and Dina winced when she realized Clara had probably broken it on one of the jewels.

“You stay here,” Dina said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Clara gripped her arm. “But—if the police see you...see what’s happening...”

“I said I’ll take care of it.” Dina set down her bucket and took Clara’s hand off her arm. She walked out into the yard, sighing as her mother rounded on her.

“I said stay in the house!” her mother hissed.

“Ma’am, I think it might be better if we all continued this conversation inside the house.”

“No! Absolutely not! I don’t have to let you in there, not unless you’ve got a warrant.” Her mother began to flail.

Dina turned just slightly, so that the police officers couldn’t entirely see her mouth, and said, “You are making things worse. Calm down, and I mean now, or you are going to ruin everything.” She caught the tiny frog that leaped from her mouth and cupped it in her palm, praying that the cops hadn’t noticed and saying a silent prayer of thanks that it had been a small frog rather than a huge snake.

Her mother’s eyes focused on her, the fog of whiskey and panic clearing for just a moment.

Think. Dina mouthed the word at her mother.

Her mom nodded. Her shoulders dropped, and her entire demeanor changed. “I’m so sorry, officers. I didn’t mean to get so upset. I’m sure you understand—when I thought one of my daughters might have been hurt...” She trailed off meaningfully. The cops’ faces softened.

“Of course,” the taller one said. He looked at Dina. “You’re okay?”

She nodded. Her mother put her arm around her. “I’m just going to take my daughter here back inside. Do you need anything else from us?”

The police looked slightly stunned at her sudden shift in attitude, but they glanced at one another and shrugged. “Not really.”

“Good.” Her mother turned and guided Dina toward the house. It was then that Dina noticed that her mother was gripping her shoulder so tightly that it ached. The second the door closed behind them, her mother pushed her up against it. The alcoholic mist of her mom’s breath washed over her face.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing out there? What if they’d seen? Have you lost your mind?”

“I was trying to stop you from getting arrested. Again.”

Dina’s mother leaped back in disgust as a snake landed at her feet. “Looked to me like you were trying to get me in trouble. Again.” She danced around the snake, into the kitchen, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table.

“Yeah. Jameson. That’ll solve everything,” Dina grumbled as she scooped the snake up off the ground.

“Shut your damn mouth. You think I need you? You think I even care what happens to you now? How’m I supposed to take care of a freak-show daughter who won’t even do what I say? Huh?”

Clara appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening at the words freak-show daughter. Their mother didn’t notice her. She unscrewed the cap from the bottle and pointed it at Dina. “Maybe we would be better off without you. Maybe you should just get out.”

Dina twined the snake around her arm. “Maybe I should.” She looked at Clara. “And maybe you should come with me.”

“No!” Her mother slammed the bottle down onto the table with enough force that the liquor splattered out onto the scratched wood.

Clara cowered.

“Come with me,” Dina said.

Clara looked at the bucket she still had clutched in her hands. “I can’t,” she whispered. A shower of sapphires fell from her lips like tears.

Dina nodded.

“I want you out of here by the time I finish this drink,” her mother spat.

“Fine.”

Dina thought about the things in her room. Her posters. Her clothes. Her art supplies. In the end, she stalked down the hall, threw her clothes and her sketchbook into a duffel bag and zipped it shut. When she turned around, Clara was standing in the doorway with a purple Crown Royal bag in her hand.

“Please,” she said, “take these.” She caught the large ruby that dropped along with the words and tucked it into the bag before holding it out to Dina.

The velvet was heavy against Dina’s hand.

So this was what it was like to hold a fortune.

“Come with me,” she begged Clara again.

Clara shook her head, her eyes darting toward the kitchen. “I can’t.” There was a defeat, a surety, in the set of her shoulders that told Dina there wouldn’t be any convincing Clara otherwise. At least not right now.

Dina crossed the tiny bedroom and wrapped her sister in a fierce hug. “If you ever want to get out of here, you just call. Okay?” She plucked a garter snake off Clara’s shoulder.

“I will,” Clara said. Dina caught the daisy that dropped from her sister’s lips and tucked it behind her ear.

She grabbed the bucket of snakes and toads and walked out of the house. She did not look back.

Outside, she opened the door to Nick’s car, which was still parked in front of Mrs. Swanson’s house. She could tell it was his because it had a decal in the back window declaring it “Nick’s Ride.” She looked down at the reptile-filled bucket.

“Sorry, guys,” she whispered. “But this is important work you’re about to do.”

She tipped the bucket, gently releasing the animals into the car, where they promptly slithered and hopped into every hidden corner of the interior. It wasn’t much in the way of revenge, but it was a start.

A door slammed. Dina looked up and saw her mother hurry out to the car with her purse cradled against her chest. Dina knew she was headed to the pawn shop, cashing in the jewels that Clara was churning out like a human ATM.

Dina shook her head and walked toward the bus stop. She had enough money in her pocket to get downtown, and a guaranteed, no-questions-asked bed at the warehouse that her artist friends lived in.

Blessings. Curses. Who was to say which was which?

* * * * *