The Great Santini Part 6

"I'm gonna mix those tears with a little blood if she isn't careful," Bull said.

"I said stop, Mary Anne, and I mean it. Remember who you are."

"I'm a weirdo," Mary Anne answered.

"You are a lady," Lillian said imperiously. "And ladies don't catch their tears in spoons and hurl them at their families. A lady grieves in silence. She always has a smile on the outside. She waits until she is alone to express her sorrow."

"I like to do it in full public view. I'd like to draw huge crowds of people and weep all day. I'd flick tears at the crowd until each one of them was. .h.i.t with a tear. I like people to share in my misery. I like them to feel it when I feel bad. G.o.d, I feel miserable."

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Lillian admonished her daughter. "Ladies ..."

"I know, Mama. Ladies don't speak with vulgar tongues. How do ladies talk? I'd really like to know."

"A lady just knows how to talk. It's not something she is taught. It is something within her, something inherently gentle and refined. She says nothing that offends or upsets. A lady speaks softly, kindly, and the world spreads out before her and fights to do her favors. If a woman is not a lady at birth, no amount of money or education can make her one. A lady just is."

Mary Anne sang with false joy, "What a perfect description of me. Yes. That's how a dictionary would define me."

"Boy, what a joke that is, huh, Mom?" Matthew said.

"Was that a voice?" Mary Anne answered cupping her hand to her ear. "I thought I heard a tiny voice coming from a little insect body. It sounded almost human."

"Cut that out, Mary Anne. Quit teasing Matthew."

"Yeah, because you're gonna die real young if you tease me one more time, freckles," Matthew huffed.

Mary Anne retorted, "The only way you could kill me, little one, would be to enter my bloodstream."

"Let's cut it out," Ben said firmly.

"Ah," Mary Anne mocked, "the voice of sublime perfection. Was that the G.o.dly one? The sainted brother? The perfect son?"

Before Ben could answer, Bull thundered out at all of them, "I'm gonna give you hogs about five seconds to cut the yappin' then I'm gonna pull this car over to the side of the road and I bet I can shut your yaps even if your mother can't."

"Hush," Lillian hissed at her children. "Not another sound." Her eyes cast a stern, desperate communique to her children.

But this time there was no need. Bull's tone had registered. Each child knew the exact danger signals in the meteorology of their father's temperament; they were adroit weathermen who charted the clouds, winds, and high pressure areas of his fiercely wavering moods, with skill created through long experience. His temper was quick fused and uncontrollable and once he pa.s.sed a certain point, not even Lillian could calm him. He was tired now after driving through half the night. Behind his sungla.s.ses, the veined eyes were thinned with fatigue and a most dangerous ice had formed over them. The threshing winds of his temper buffeted the car and deep, resonant warning signals were sent out among the children. Silence ruled them in an instant. They resumed watching the diminishing countryside on the outskirts of Ravenel. "Control," Lillian said soothingly. "Control is very important for all of us." She was looking at her husband.

Chapter 5.

This is it, sportsfans. This is Ravenel," the colonel said, talking more to himself than to his family.

"And to think I mistook it for Paris, France," Mary Anne whispered to Ben in the rear of the station wagon.

They were riding down a street lined with sharply spined palmetto trees. To the right of the car, the last fingers of a tidal creek groped among the extreme frontier of marsh gra.s.s that edged up against the backs of gas stations and hamburger stands.

"Yes, it's a military town all right," Lillian said to her husband. "Half the town is liquor stores to keep the Marines happy. The other half is covered with mobile home salesmen to cheat the young enlisted men with families out of their pitiful salaries."

"This isn't the good part of town. So there's no sense yappin'," Bull muttered.

They came to a traffic light. To the right stood a decaying high school with a gra.s.sless campus. Behind the school was a garbage dump perched on the edge of a dying marsh. The school had an empty, dried-out look, like the sh.e.l.l of a June bug on the bark of a tree.

"If that's where we're goin' to school, you can forget it, Popsy," Mary Anne blurted out.

"That's the colored high school, Mary Anne."

"It looks terrible," Matthew said.

"That's where the spearchuckers learn to blow darts," the colonel laughed.

"Bull, you hush," Mrs. Meecham warned.

They turned the corner and soon were driving along a high, gra.s.sy bluff that sloped down to a glistening river that flowed through the main part of town. Live oak trees, festooned with cool scarves of Spanish moss, and gnarled by a century of storms, loomed over the street. On the left, large white houses with long columns and graceful verandas ruled the approach to the river with mute elegance. Each house was a ma.s.sive tribute to days long past. In one of the houses drawling conspirators had planned the secession from the Union; in another, Sherman himself had slept after his long march to the sea.

On the other side of the town a drawbridge crossed the river, connecting Ravenel with the three sea islands that separated the town from the Atlantic Ocean. A yacht knifed through the early morning water in a long, green V. Sea gulls, balsa-light, hovered on invisible currents above the river. Three black fishermen fished from the bridge.

But Lillian Meecham was looking at the houses that bordered River Street.

"These are lovely, lovely houses, children. Bull, you didn't tell me Ravenel was such an incredibly charming town."

"I wanted to surprise you, sportsfans. But the big surprise is coming up later."

"You mean the house you rented, Dad?" Ben asked.

"Affirmative."

"Why aren't we living in base housing? No one's told us that," Ben continued.

"Because all the quarters billeted for majors and above are filled up," Bull explained.

"That just means you're not high-ranked enough to get us a house, huh, Popsy," Mary Anne said.

"Of course that's not what it means," Lillian snapped. "Your father will be one of the highest ranking officers on this air base. It simply means that we'll have to wait for quarters to open up to move in."

"I guarantee you we won't move from these quarters I am about to show you," Bull said proudly.

"Tell me about the house, sugah. I'm still perishing from curiosity."

"Not until you see it."

"You know I'm not wild about two bedroom mobile homes, Dad," Ben said.

"Are you wild about having a fist slammed down your throat up to the elbow, wise guy?" Bull bellowed.

"Temper, temper," Lillian cooed. "Aren't these mansions lovely?"

"I gotta go to the bathroom," Matthew said.

"Cross your legs, Matt, and offer it up to the Lord," Lillian said.

"Look at that one, Mama," Karen said, pointing to a large two story mansion with ten columns on each level. It was encircled by a wild, untended garden fierce in its reckless blooming and accidental color.

"That is a true southern mansion," Mrs. Meecham said reverently. "It reminds me of Tara in Gone With the Wind except for its garden. Maybe it's hard to get help around here."

"I guess I kind of remind you of Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind, huh, Lillian?" Bull asked.

"No, darling, you don't even vaguely remind me of Rhett Butler."

"You do remind me of somebody in the movies, Dad. I can't think of who it is. No, I got it. You remind me of Bambi," Ben said.

"Dad reminds me of G.o.dzilla from the movie by the same name," Mary Anne suggested.

"Naw," Ben said, "I liked G.o.dzilla."

"Ask a simple question, get a lot of yappin'," Bull growled. "Anyway, I remind myself of Rhett Butler. A real ol' stud horse."

"It's a desecration to compare yourself to Rhett, Bull. There's no comparison."

"Yeah, I guess not. Ol' Rhett just can't measure up to the Great Santini."

"That's not what I meant."

"Gone With the Wind was a real horsec.r.a.p movie."

"It is considered the best ever made."

"I still have to go to the bathroom," Matt whined.

"Put on the brakes, Matt. You should have gone when we stopped for the train."

"I told you I didn't have to go then, Dad."

"Offer it up, son," Lillian suggested for the third time.

"You got to learn, Matt," Ben said, "that Dad just doesn't allow his children to excrete when he's on a trip. It's a family law."

"I didn't think men went to the bathroom when I was a little girl," Karen added, "because Dad never had to stop during a trip."

"We'll be there in a minute," Lillian said. "Think about something else and it will help."

"Think about how your kidneys are gonna blow up soon, if you don't take a whizz pretty soon," Ben said.

"Quit the yappin' back there."

Before them in two symmetrical files of stores stood the center of town. It was a three block area with stores facing the street, the river visible in fragments of green through the alleyways that cut through to unseen parking lots by the water. Some of the stores were old with graceful eaves and cornices; others had been modernized or sterilized with plate gla.s.s windows and neon; still others were new. In one alleyway, a large black man had parked his mule and wagon and was lifting off bunches of flowers to sell to the morning shoppers who were beginning to appear at both ends of the runny street. The hard fragrance of the salt river and the marshes filled the car. It was a smell that all of them would remember as their first smell in Ravenel.

"The river is beautiful, Bull," Lillian said after a moment. "Look, it runs right behind the stores."

"This town is hicksville," said Mary Anne.

"Give it a chance, honey. You're always too quick to judge."

"I've given it a chance," Mary Anne retorted, "and this town is definitely hicksville."

"You could find a t.u.r.d in a scoop of ice cream, Mary Anne," Colonel Meecham said.

"Where's the main part of town, Daddy?" Karen asked.

"You're in it, sportsfans."

"We better find a priest," Ben said. "I don't think Matt's going to make it."

"Matt's turning yellow, Dad," Mary Anne said. "You know, Matt, I think you look good yellow."

"Yeah, and you're gonna look good b.l.o.o.d.y," Matt shot back, though he was moaning in a rigidly held fetal position.

"Are we almost to the house, Bull?" Lillian asked.

"Almost," he answered. "Now I want all you hogs to look out the window and see if you can guess which house the Great Santini rented for his family."

"Since the Great Santini has the worst taste in the free world, this should be easy," his wife said pleasantly.

"Has the Great Santini ever let his family down?" shouted Colonel Meecham.

"Yes," the family shouted back, pleased by the spontaneous unanimity.

"You do not trust the Great Santini?" he asked with fake incredulity.

"No," the family screamed.

"Aha," he said, "then it is up to Santini to prove to his doubting Thomas family that he is the tops when it comes to choosing a house for his family."

"Watch out for a place that looks like a pentagon," Mary Anne said.

"Or an airplane hangar," Ben offered.

"Look for the one you think it is," said Bull, smiling under his sungla.s.ses.

"I hope it's soon, sugah. Matt is undergoing rigor mortis," Lillian cautioned.

They had entered a neighborhood of splendid quiet, hushed gardens, and columned houses. The houses were not as spectacular as those that lined River Street, but many of them were older and more tastefully understated. The river had curved around to the boundary of this neighborhood. Four large houses sat at the farthest extremity of this point of land, each of them overlooking the water. Each house was almost hidden by huge oak trees that hovered over them. On the far right was a large house that looked straight to the most oblique curve in the river. It was a house that needed painting, one that seemed to cry out for habitation and laughter beneath its roof. The other homes along the river were vigorously tended. This one was vacant.