The woman nodded.
Good, that’s how you keep your food for winter. We told ’em. That cold was hard on the Indians. Mister said, they’re dying off. One goes every day. So I’m glad to see you boys, glad you made it over here. Your family is the good kind of Indian. Mister always said when they’re good they’re the best friend you ever had. A bad one will steal you bare and they’re wicked when they’re drunk. You boys have always been good. Good boys.
The phone rang, jolting them all. The woman licked her lips and stood to answer it, a black wall phone, numbers worn on the dial. She held the receiver grimly to her big ear.
Just fine, she said. She was glaring at the box of the phone as if whoever had called was inside of it.
Haven’t eaten it yet, she said, her face uncertain as though it was a trick question. Yes, the stove’s off, she said meekly. I’ll go take it out. Yes, yes. I’m hungry.
A crafty look came over her face and she turned to wink at the boys. Hungrier than I ever been!
Okay, night.
She hung up the phone and said hmmph. The warming smells of all the different foods had filled the kitchen, but she didn’t notice. She sat down at the table again, frowned into space.
Should we take out the food? asked Romeo.
The woman’s mouth worked silently, then she startled.
Take them dishes out, will you, boys? Let’s eat!
Mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed corn, creamed spinach, chicken potpie with peas and carrots, corn relish mistakenly baked to a pretty good taste. A thick pork chop, which the boys divided, corn bread, soft buttered carrots, macaroni with cheese, macaroni with meat, macaroni with tuna. A thick piece of steak meat with mushrooms. More gravy. It all went down. Some of it tasted questionable, but hot and good at the same time. And on the counter underneath a dish towel was an apple pie, plump and oozing thick sweet juice, uncut.
The old woman relaxed, leaning back to marvel as she watched them eat and eat and eat.
You boys always could eat, always could, she murmured.
When they were done, sitting back, stupefied, she said, We don’t have much to warsh except our plates and forks. Ceel says to leave them soak. Says he’ll have to do them over anyways. Then I suppose you boys have to be getting back to your people. You could take summa this along, what’s left. Your brothers and sisters might go for it. I don’t need it. Can’t stop cooking for a crew of people. So, you pushing off?
We . . . we can’t go home, said Romeo. Could we stay here? With you?
The woman looked from one boy to the other.
You never done that before, she said.
It’s kinda dark, Landreaux ventured.
The old woman laughed. Your dad says Indians can see in the dark, but maybe you ain’t learned yet. Sure. Do me a favor. Go sleep in that big room upstairs with the green bedcover. Mess it up good and don’t make it in the morning. I like having my radio music at night, down here. I like listening on the couch until I nod off. It’s a good couch, but Ceel always checks if I slept there. On account of my back. Like hell. Go on! Go on! She shooed them upstairs, laughing.
That’ll fix Ceel’s leg, she said, turning the dial on the radio until she found some slow waltzlike music. She turned off the light and settled back in the pillows.
The boys, exhausted and well fed, slept long into the morning and woke to voices downstairs. The young man’s was loud, petulant, and he wore clomping shoes. They could hear footsteps rattling around, the young man’s voice fading but always audible. The woman’s voice was small and placating, like she’d been on the phone. They couldn’t tell what she was saying.
They heard him in and out of the kitchen, saying the same thing over and over. You couldnta eaten that much! And I came over here to clean your fridge out and you couldnta eaten that much!
The young man must have rummaged in the garbage.
You didn’t toss that food. Unless maybe you threw it in the woods.
The old woman said something.
Okay, okay! You wouldn’t do that. Did you sleep down here on the couch again, Mommy? Well, did you? Did you? I told you not to, didn’t I? You want throw your back out, make me haul you to the chiropractor when I got so much to do? Huh? Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. Don’t turn your head away that way.
She must have admitted she’d slept on the couch, because the young man, her son, scolded her harder. The boys were stunned, listening. Though they’d heard grown-ups fighting, this way the son sarcastically talked down to his mother disturbed the very order of love.
Okay then, the son said meanly, okay thank you for being honest with me. Okay then I don’t need to go and straighten upstairs.
By which they knew the old woman had remembered they were there.