Dave Materna: October Story

A Special Place

“Well wha’d ya go down there for anyway?” Boris asked his little sister.

~

“I was looking for something,” Na’sha said matter of fact. “But I couldn’t find them.”

“You just went down for a look like always.”

“No, I was looking for the Halloween decorations if you must know.”

“So where are they?”

“They’re gone, I guess”

“Mother’s gonna be very angry again,” Boris warned. He looked at his little sister’s clenched fist.

“What’s in your hand, Na’sha?”

“None of your business.”

“Let me see.”

Na’sha unfurled her delicate hand. “See, he gave me another one.”

“How many is that now?”

“Just six. He only has ten. Had ten.”

“You shouldn’t bother him. You know mother doesn’t like it”

“I know. But I just can’t help it. He says he loves me.”

Boris and Na’sha went into the parlor and sat next to each other and held hands.

“He always remembers your birthday. He never remembers mine.”

“Maybe I’m special. Besides, it’s not like I get one every year.”

Boris agreed, “Nope, just the special birthdays.”

“Like when I was twelve and I got a pony from mother.”

“Yep, just like that. Special.” Boris looked at his little sister. She was still quite pretty. Cute even.

“Did you see his face this time? Did mother feed him today?”

“I took him some of my cake.”

“And he knew this was a special birthday?”

“I guess. But I don’t know what’s so special about it.”

“Mother says you’re seventy-five years old now.”

Na’sha nodded, “But I don’t believe her...”

“Well,” Boris observed, looking at his withered hands, “this finger he gave you still has his wedding band on it. Your golden anniversary birthday.”

“Oh.”

“Put it with the other ones, I suppose?”

“Yup. In my little red finger box.”

“That smells bad ya know.”

“I know. But I can’t throw them out. He loves me.” A groan escaped the cellar. “He loves me a lot.” Na’sha felt sorry for Boris. Daddy never cut off anything for him. Maybe because he was the oldest. Or because he was the boy.

“Daddy would know too, wouldn’t he? He always keeps a calendar on the walls. With his knife.” Na’sha held her hand like she was carving a wall with a big knife.

“I didn’t think mother would let him.”

“You know how she always says no, then changes her mind.”

“He’s had that knife since nineteen-fifty-four.”

“I know. We gave it to him for his birthday.”

“He won’t talk anymore, will he?”

“He tells me he loves me, but that’s about all. Why won’t you ever go down there? To at least let him see you?”

“Because you know damn well that mother won’t tolerate that.”

“Maybe he’d cut off something for you sometime,” Na’sha sneered. “Maybe that’s why you never get anything.”

“I just don’t like looking at him in that room mother made for him.”

“And he doesn’t like being looked at,” Na’sha wanted to be honest. “It’s like he’s ashamed of his little hole. Mother could open the door every now and again. Like for a special day. Like Halloween.”

That’s when they heard the ’54 Pontiac heave and roll into the over-grown driveway.

“Jesus,” Boris glanced at his wristwatch then the oaken front door, “Mother’s home.” He slowly stood and balanced on his wobbly seventy-eight-year-old feet. “We’d better get this place looking like Halloween. For Daddy’s sake.”