You know we do wait until snow’s deep on the ground, said Mrs. Webid.
I do know that, said Malvern, enraged now. It was me who originally remembered that rule and Ignatia who tried to break that rule. The beings who might bring our stories to the lowest levels of the earth, to the underwater lions and the giant snakes and other evil beings, they have to be froze in the ground, sleeping.
There’s one more piece of frybread left, said Emmaline.
Let her have it, the one who tells the stories out of season, said Ignatia, pursing her angry lips at Malvern.
Gawiin memwech, said Malvern. Let’s give it to the one who tried to steal my husbands, all six of them, one right after the other one. She tried to snatch away the fathers of my children by jiggling her stuffs at them! For shame!
They never saw nothing they didn’t want to see. Ignatia gave a choking snarl. You were so mean you scared them limp. They couldn’t take it. They swarmed after me.
Giiwanimo!
Don’t you call me liar. Your pants are smoking!
Emmaline cut the piece of frybread in half and slathered it with butter and jelly. She put a piece in each woman’s hand. The antagonists gnawed off bits, glowering and guttering, and for a moment it looked like they might soften. Then Malvern blurted.
Giiwanimo! Giin! Your underpants are burning! Hot pussy, you, at this age. For shame!
Ignatia threw her buttered bread at Malvern and it stuck to her breast, right at about her nipple. She looked down and snorted.
Here, let me help you, my darling, said Sam Eagleboy. He lifted the bit of bread off, then spit on his handkerchief and scrubbed slavishly at her bosom. Malvern pretended to bat his hands away.
Sam automatically popped the frybread in his mouth.
Sam ate the whiteman’s food! Mrs. Webid leaned excitedly toward Malvern. He must love you pretty bad, eh?
A man who will do that will do anything, said Ignatia. I should know. Her face screwed into a wink.
NIGHT SHIFT? YES, I believe . . . I am certain. I will be. Quite happy with those hours, said Romeo, nearly dumbstruck with excitement.
Sterling Chance had a round, worn, dignified face. His hands were calm between the stacks of papers on his desk.
You are working out real good here, Romeo. Don’t always get to see that. We don’t just clean and repair stuff, you know, we are kind of the guiding force around here. If we don’t do our job, nobody can do a damn thing to fix people, right?
So far, Romeo had tinkered with and revved up an emergency generator. He had hot-wired the ambulance. He had gently broken into file cabinets and even an office when nurses had forgotten their keys. He had squeezed a breathing pump for a kid with asthma during a blackout. He had figured out stuck windows, coaxed fluorescence out of touchy bulbs, unclogged toilets, and dehairballed showers. All without uttering one single swear word that could be heard outside the sanctum of his head.
You’re polite, said Sterling Chance, with gravity. That also counts.
As Romeo walked out of the maintenance office, his prospects expanded.
Not only would he not be alone, at home, at night, which had gotten tedious, but certainly there would be only sleepy supervision at the hospital. Certainly the rules would relax. During the first week of work, he found that he was right. All around Romeo, over the upside-down hours, there was talk. Gossip ruled the night shift. Not mean gossip, like at the Elders Lodge, just valuable updates. You had to talk to stay awake. And you had to move around to stay awake, too, so Romeo might as well do some work. He continued to normalize servile behavior in order to get close to many conversations—any of them might be useful. He let himself be seen polishing the floor on his hands and knees.
You know, we’ve got a floor-polishing machine, someone said to him.