19

IN THE WEEK AFTER HAROLD MCPHERON’S FUNERAL, THE first-grade teacher in the elementary school on the west side of Holt noticed one morning, within the first hour of classes, that something was the matter with the little boy in the middle of the room. He was sitting peculiarly, almost on his backbone, holding himself slouched far back in his desk, and he was only playing with the worksheet she’d handed out. She watched him for some time. The other children were all working quietly, their heads bent over the sheets of paper like so many miniature accountants. After a while she rose from her desk and walked back between the rows and came to him and stood over him. He looked as undersized and ragged as ever, like some wayward orphan turned up by mere happenstance and misfortune in her class. His hair needed cutting, it stuck out behind against the collar of his shirt, which itself was not clean. Richie, she said, sit up. How can you work like that? You’ll damage your back.

When she put a hand on his shoulder to urge him forward, he winced and jerked away. Why, what’s wrong? she said. She knelt beside him. There were tears filling his eyes and he looked very frightened. What is it? she said. Come out in the hall a minute.

I don’t want to.

She stood and took hold of his arm.

I don’t want to.

But I’m asking you to.

She pulled him to his feet and led him toward the hallway door, but as they passed her desk he grabbed at it, dragging one of her books to the floor with a loud flat crash. The other students were all watching.

Class, she said. Keep working. All of you get back to work. She stood until their heads were bent again over their desks and then took him under the arms and pulled as he struggled against her and kicked and caught at the door. She got him into the hall and knelt in front of him, still holding him.

Richie, what’s wrong with you? she said. Stop it now.

He shook his head. He was looking off along the hallway.

I want you to come with me down here.

No.

Yes, please.

She rose and took him by the hand in the direction of the office along the empty tiled hallway past the other classrooms, their doors all shut to the noises and murmurings rising from behind them. Are you sick? she said.

No.

But something’s wrong. I’m worried about you.

I want to go back to the room, he said. He looked up at her. I’ll do my work now.

I’m not concerned about that, she said. Let’s just see the nurse. I think the nurse should look at you.

She took him into a small room next to the school office where a narrow cot was pushed close to the wall opposite a metal cabinet with locked doors. The nurse sat at a desk against the far wall.

I don’t know what’s wrong with him, the teacher said. He won’t tell me. I thought you better have a look.

The nurse stood and came around and asked him to sit on the cot but he would not. The teacher left and went back to her classroom. The nurse bent over him and felt his forehead. You don’t seem hot to the touch, she said. He looked at her out of his big wet eyes. Will you open your mouth for me, please? She put her arm around him and he squirmed away. Why, what is it? Are you afraid of me? I won’t hurt you.

Don’t, he said.

I need to look at you.

He leaned away but she pulled him close and examined his face and looked briefly in his ears and felt along his neck, and then she lifted his shirt to feel if he was hot and then she found the dark bruises on his back and below the belt of his pants.

She peered into his face. Richie, she said. Did somebody do this to you?

He looked frightened and he wouldn’t answer. She turned him around and drew down his pants and underwear. His thin buttocks were crosshatched with dark red welts. In some of the places the welts had bled and clotted.

Oh, my God, she said. You stay right here.

She left and went next door and came back at once with the principal. She lifted the boy’s shirt and showed the welts to the principal. They began to ask the boy questions but he was crying by now and shaking his head and he wouldn’t say a word. Finally they called his sister out of her fifth-grade classroom and asked her what had happened to her brother. Joy Rae said: He fell off the slide at the park. He had a accident.

Would you go out? the nurse said to the principal.

All right, he said. But you let me know. We have to report this. We’re going to find out what’s going on here.

The principal went out and then the nurse said: Will you let me look at you too, Joy Rae?

I don’t have anything wrong with me.

Then you’ll just let me look, won’t you?

You don’t need to look at me.

Just for a moment. Please.

Suddenly the girl began to cry, covering her face with her hands. Don’t, she said. I don’t want you to. Nothing’s wrong with me.

Honey, I won’t hurt you. I promise. I need to look, that’s all. I have to examine you. Won’t you let me, please?

The nurse turned to her little brother. I want you to step into the hall for a minute, so we can be alone. She led him out and told him to wait there near the door.

Then she came back into the room and took the girl gently by the shoulders. This won’t take long, honey, I promise, but I need to look at you. Slowly she turned her around. Joy Rae stood sobbing with her hands at her face, while behind her the nurse unbuttoned the back of her blue dress and drew down her underpants, and what she saw on Joy Rae’s thin back and thin buttocks was even worse than what she’d seen on her brother.

Oh, honey, the nurse said. I could just about kill somebody for this. Just look at you.

 

AN HOUR LATER WHEN ROSE TYLER FROM THE DEPARTMENT of Social Services came into the nurse’s room, the two children were still there, waiting for her. They had been given pop and cookies and two or three books to look at. And soon after Rose arrived a young sheriff’s deputy from the Holt County Courthouse came in and began to set up a tape recorder. The two children watched him in terror. He talked to them but his efforts were of little use, and they watched him without blinking and when he wasn’t looking they glanced at his thick leather belt and revolver and his nightstick. Rose Tyler was more successful in her attempts, the children knew her from before and she talked to them quietly and gently. She explained that they were not in any trouble but that she and the officer and the nurse and their teachers were all worried for their safety. Did they understand that they only needed to ask them some questions? Then she asked the deputy to go out of the room and she took photographs of their welts and bruises, and afterward when the deputy returned they began the interview, with Rose asking most of the questions. These were not meant to be leading questions, so as to avoid planting anything in the children’s minds but to allow them to tell their story in their own words, but it didn’t matter, the children were very reluctant to talk at all. They stood uncomfortably at the edge of the cot, standing side by side, and looked at the floor and played with their fingers, and it was Joy Rae who spoke for both of them, though she herself answered very few of the questions in the beginning. Instead she adopted a kind of bitter defiant silence. Gradually, though, she began to talk a little. And then it came out.

But why? Rose said. What would make him want to do this to you?

The girl shrugged. We didn’t pick up the house.

You mean he expected you to clean the house.

Yes.

Yourselves? The two of you?

Yes.

And did you? The entire trailer house?

We tried to.

And was that all, honey? Was there anything else he was upset about?

The girl looked up at Rose, then looked down again. He said I talked back.

That’s what he said?

Yes.

Do you think you talked back to him?

It don’t make no difference. He says I did.

Rose wrote in her notebook, then finished and looked at the two children and looked at the sheriff’s deputy and suddenly felt she might cry and not stop. She had seen so much trouble in Holt County, all of it accumulating and lodging in her heart. This today made her sick. She had never been able to numb herself to any of it. She had wanted to, but she had not succeeded. She looked at the two Wallace children and watched them for a moment and began again to question the girl. Honey, she said, where were your mother and father at this time, while this was happening?

They were there, the girl said.

They were in the room?

No. We was in the bathroom.

Were they in the room when he began talking to you?

Yes.

But they weren’t in the bathroom when he whipped you?

No.

Where were they then?

In the front room.

What were they doing?

I don’t know. Mama was crying. She wanted him to stop.

But he wouldn’t stop? He wouldn’t listen to her?

No.

Where was your father? Did he try to do anything?

He was hollering.

Hollering?

Yes. In the other room.

I see. And you and your brother were with him in the bathroom at the same time?

No.

He took you in there separately?

Joy Rae looked at her brother. He took him first, she said. Then me.

Rose stared at the girl and her little brother, then shook her head and turned away and looked out into the hallway, imagining how that must have felt, being taken toward the back of the house and hearing the other one screaming behind the closed bathroom door, being afraid of what was to come, and the man’s face all the time getting redder and redder. She wrote in her notebook again. Then she looked up. Do you have anything else you might want to say to us?

No.

Nothing at all?

No.

All right then. I thank you for saying that much, honey. You’re a brave girl.

Rose closed her notebook and stood up.

But you won’t tell him, will you? Joy Rae said.

You mean your mother’s uncle?

Yes.

The sheriff’s office will certainly want to talk to him. He’s in serious trouble. I can promise you that.

But you won’t tell him what we said?

Try not to worry. You’ll be safe now. From now on, you’ll be protected.

 

ROSE TYLER AND THE YOUNG DEPUTY DROVE IN SEPARATE cars to the east side of Holt to the Wallaces’ trailer on Detroit Street. The weeds surrounding the trailer were all dry now and dusty, dead for winter, and everything looked dirty and ragged. Still, the sun was shining. They went up to the door together and knocked and waited. After a while Luther opened it and stood in the doorway shielding his eyes. He was wearing sweatpants and a tee-shirt, but no shoes. Can we come in? Rose said. Luther looked at her. We need to talk privately.

Well. Yeah. Come on in, he said. We’re in a terrible fix here. Dear, he called back into the house. We got company.

Rose and the deputy followed him inside. There was the sweetish-stale smell of sweat and cigarette smoke and of something spoiling.

Betty lay stretched out on the couch, sunken into the cushions and covered by an old green blanket that she kept wrapped about herself. I ain’t feeling very good, she said.

Is your stomach still hurting? Rose said.

It hurts me all the time. I can’t never get rested.

We’ll have to make you another appointment with the doctor. But I wonder, is your uncle here?

No. He ain’t here right now.

He’s over to the tavern, Luther said. He goes over there most days. Don’t he, honey.

He’s over there every day.

We need to talk to him, Rose said. When will he be back, do you think?

You can’t tell. Sometimes he don’t come back till nighttime.

I think I’ll just go find him, the deputy said. We’ll talk later, he said to Rose, then let himself out.

After he was gone Rose sat down on the couch beside Betty and patted her arm and took out her notebook. Luther went into the kitchen for a glass of water and came back and lowered himself into his cushioned chair.

Do you know why the officer and I came here today? Rose said. Do you know why I need to talk to you?

My kids, Betty said. Isn’t it.

That’s right. You know what happened, don’t you.

I know, Betty said. Her face fell and she looked very sad. But we never meant him to do nothing like that, Rose. We never wanted that, ever.

He wouldn’t even listen to us, Luther said.

But you can’t let him mistreat your children, Rose said. You must have seen what he’d done to them. It was very bad. Didn’t you see it?

I seen it afterwards. I tried to put some hand ointment on them. I thought maybe that might help.

But you know he can’t stay here if he does anything like that. Don’t you see? You have to make him leave.

Rose, he’s my uncle. He’s my mother’s baby brother.

I understand that. But he still can’t stay here. It doesn’t matter who he is. You know better.

I was trying to make him stop, Luther said. But he says he’s going to break my back for me. He’s going to take that kitchen table and throw it on me just as soons I turn my head.

Oh, I don’t think he’s going to do that. How could he?

That’s what he says. And you know what I says?

What?

I says I can find me a knife too.

Now you better be careful about that. That would only make matters worse.

What else you want me to do?

Not that. You let us take care of this.

But Rose, Betty said, I love my kids.

I know you do, Rose said. She turned toward Betty and took her hand. I believe that, Rose said. But you’ve got to do better. If you don’t, they’ll have to be taken away.

Oh no, Betty cried. Oh God. Oh God. The blanket fell away from her shoulders and she jerked her hand free and began to snatch at her hair. They already taken my Donna away, she cried, and then she started to wail. They can’t take no more.

Betty, Rose said. She pulled at her arms. Betty, stop that and listen to me. Calm down now. We are not taking your kids away. It shouldn’t ever come to anything like that. I’m just trying to get you to see how serious this is. You have to do things differently. You have to change what you’ve been doing.

Betty wiped at her face. Her eyes were wet and miserable. Whatever you say, Rose, I’ll do it. Just don’t take my kids away from me. Please, don’t do that.

What about you, Luther? Are you willing to make some changes too?

Oh yes, ma’am, he said. I’m going to change right now.

Yes. Well, we’ll see about that. In any case you can start taking some parenting classes at night at Social Services. I’ll arrange for it. And I’ll come by here at least once a month to see how you’re doing. I won’t tell you when I’m coming, I’ll just show up. This will be in addition to your coming to my office to collect your food stamps. But the first thing, the most important thing, is that you have to agree not to let him stay here anymore. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?

Yes ma’am.

Do you promise?

Yes, Betty said. I promise.

I just hope he don’t break my back, Luther said. Quick’s he hears what we been talking about here today.

 

WHEN THE SHERIFF’S DEPUTY WALKED INTO THE LONG dim stale room at the Holt Tavern on the corner of Main Street and Third, Hoyt Raines was at the back shooting pool for quarters with an old man, and he had already begun drinking for the day. A glass of draft beer stood on the little table near the pool table, with an empty shot glass beside it and a cigarette smoking in a tin ashtray. Hoyt was bent over the table when the deputy walked in.

Raines?

Yeah.

I need to talk to you.

Go ahead and talk. I can’t stop you.

Let’s go outside.

What for? What’s this about?

Come out with me, the deputy said. I’ll tell you at the station.

Hoyt looked at him. He bent over the cue stick, lined up his shot, and knocked the seven in and said to nobody: Hoo boy. Hot dog. He stood and rounded the table and took a sip of his beer and drew on his cigarette.

Let’s go, Raines, said the deputy.

You ain’t told me what for yet.

I said I’d tell you when we get there.

Tell me now.

You don’t want other people to know about what I got to tell you.

What the fuck’s that suppose to mean?

You’ll know when we get there. Now let’s go.

The old man leaned back against the wall, looking from the deputy to Hoyt, and the bartender stood watching from behind the bar.

Well, if this ain’t the goddamn shits, Hoyt said. I’m shooting pool here. He drank from his glass. He looked at the old man. You owe me for this game, and the one before.

It ain’t over yet, the old man said.

Yeah it is. It’s close enough.

I was coming back on you.

You was coming back, my ass.

And this one would of put us even.

Listen, you old son of a bitch. There’s no way you was going to win this game and you still owe me for the last one.

Let’s go, the deputy said. Now.

I’m coming. But he still owes me. You all seen it. He owes me. I’ll see you boys this afternoon.

He downed the rest of the beer and set the glass on the table and sucked on the cigarette once more before stubbing it out. Then he walked out ahead of the deputy. On the sidewalk he said: You got your vehicle?

Waiting on you, around the corner.

They went around to Third Street and got in and the deputy drove two blocks to the reserved parking lot on the east side of the county courthouse. He led Hoyt down the concrete steps to the sheriff’s office in the basement, where they took him behind the front counter to a desk and charged him with misdemeanor child abuse and read him his rights. Then they booked and printed him, and afterward they led him back through a little corridor to a small windowless room. After they sat him down at a table, the deputy who’d picked him up switched on the tape recorder while another sheriff’s deputy leaned back against the door, watching.

He claimed he was teaching them discipline. He did not try to deny it. He thought well of himself for it. He told them it was the right thing. He said he was putting order into their lives. Now when do I get out of here? he said.

There’ll be a bail hearing scheduled within seventy-two hours, the deputy said. What did you whip them with?

What?

You whipped them with something. What was it?

Let me ask you something. You ever seen those kids? Walking around town? They need discipline, wouldn’t you say? And you think their folks are ever going to do it? I don’t think so. They don’t know how. Wouldn’t even know where to start. So I was doing them a favor. All of them. They’re going to thank me someday. You have to have discipline and order in this life, isn’t that right?

That’s what you think? You believe that?

Goddamn right I do.

And you think an eleven-year-old girl and a six-year-old boy need to be physically abused to learn discipline?

It didn’t hurt them. They’ll get over it.

They’re in pretty bad shape right now. They look real bad. We have pictures to prove it. How long have you been doing this?

What are you talking about? That was it. One time. It’s not like I enjoyed it. Is that what you think?

You’re sure about that.

Yeah. I’m sure. What have they been saying about me?

Who?

Those kids. You’ve been talking to them, haven’t you?

What did you hit them with?

You’re still on that.

That’s right. We’re still on it. Tell us what you used.

What difference does it make?

We’re going to know.

All right. I used my belt.

Your belt.

That’s right.

The one you’re wearing right now?

I never used the buckle end. Nobody can say I used the buckle. Is that what they’re saying?

Nobody’s saying anything. We’re asking you. We’re not talking to anybody else right now. We’re talking to you. You used something else too, didn’t you.

I might of used my hands a couple of times.

You hit them with your hands.

I might of.

You used your fists, you mean. Is that what you’re saying?

Hoyt looked at him, then at the other deputy. What if I smoke in here? he said.

You want to smoke?

Yeah.

Go ahead. Smoke.

I don’t have my cigarettes. They’re out there in the front. Let me borrow one off of you.

I don’t think so.

Then let me buy one off you.

You got any money?

You mean on me? What the hell are you talking about? You emptied my pockets when you brought me in here. You know that.

Then I guess you can’t buy any cigarette, can you.

Hoyt shook his head. Jesus Christ. What a asshole.

How’s that? the deputy said, moving toward the table. Did you say something?

Hoyt looked away. I was talking to myself.

That’s a bad habit to get into. You can get into a world of trouble doing that.

 

WHEN THE SHERIFF’S DEPUTIES AT THE HOLT COUNTY JAIL finished questioning him that day, they led him back through the little corridor to the double row of cells. There were six in all, three on each side, and they were rank with the smell of urine and vomit. Hoyt stepped into the cell they’d indicated and sat down on the cot, and after a while he lay back and went to sleep.

The next day, upstairs in the courtroom, the judge set his bail at five hundred dollars. Hoyt had a little less than five dollars, no more than that. So they walked him back down to his cell in the basement and handed him orange coveralls that had HOLT COUNTY JAIL stenciled on the back in black letters.

It turned out the next docket day in this outlying district was a month away, since there had been one three days before, so Hoyt had to stay in jail waiting until then for his court date. When he heard about this state of affairs he cursed them all and demanded to see the judge.

One of the sheriff’s deputies who was nearby said: Raines, you better shut your goddamn mouth. Or somebody is going to come in there and shut it for you.

Let him try, Hoyt said. We’ll see how far he gets.

Keep it up, you smart son of a bitch, the deputy said. Somebody’s going to do more than just try.