CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I guess if I really had time, I could write a book on Edie -- maybe someday I will. It's awfully pleasant thinking about those days now.
I guess I entered a world that I never knew existed when Edie and I settled down in that house. There was the world of classic music, beautiful music, the kind that Edie loved and taught me to love, once I got around to listening to it. And there was the discovery of books to read and pretty paintings to see. Life with her was just a constant adventure.
But I think the thing I remember most was the way she practically renovated the house. She had an artist's mind in many ways. You know, deep with a touch of perception. I guess she had seen the way the house should have really looked the moment she had first glanced at it.
By the next sprint, the home was a wonderland of color, inside and out. Edie loved flowers and it didn't take her long to have the place alive with all kinds of roses and things. It wasn't anything for me to come home from work and catch her with a shovel or spade or a paintbrush doing something to make our home a little more livable.
She was also a perfect homemaker. The house was always spotlessly clean, the food was never dull or ordinary, and there was always something special waiting for me. There were all the little things and the big things too. And --
------
Excuse me again. Someone else is knocking at the door. This place is getting to be a regular bus station these days.
"Come in! Come on in!"
"Mr. Smith?"
"Yes, that's me."
"I'm from the city water company."
"Clad to meet you. How's business?"
"Pretty good, I guess. Wouldn't really know myself. I'm just a serviceman."
"Oh, one of those."
"I guess you know what I'm here for?"
"About the water bill --"
"Yes. You're a little more than three months behind. And--"
"That long, time sure flies when you look backward doesn't it?"
"Yes, I guess so. You owe us thirty-three dollars and eighty-seven cents. That's a lot of water."
"Sure is. Well, I'll take care of it next Monday."
Monday, huh? Well I don't think I can let it go until then, Mr. Smith. My instructions are to collect the bill or turn off the main valve."
"Why not? It's only a couple of more days. It shouldn't matter that much to the water company."
"Maybe not. But I'm not the water company. I just work for them. If I don't do like they tell me, I'll get fired, and I sure got to worry about feeding my family."
"Oh, Well, heck, I just don't know what to tell you. I just won't be able to do a thing until Monday."
"Sorry, Mr. Smith. You know how things are. I just can't wait that long. Say, what happened to all your furniture. Selling out?"
"Something like that. But I don't need the water for myself. It's the kids I'm thinking of."
"Kids? You've got children?"
"Five of them. Three boys and two girls."
"Gee, Mr. Smith, I didn't realize. Must be pretty hard on your wife the way things are."
"No wife."
"Gee, I'm sorry. Guess some guys don't know how tough things can be. Didn't mean to butt into your personal affairs."
"That's all right. Lots of people make the same mistake."
Don't you get no help from anybody or nothing. I mean you just aren't living here by yourself, are you?"
"I'm afraid so. But things ought to be straightened out by Monday.
"Gee, I'm sorry, Mr. Smith. I can't do it. Maybe if you could call my boss and explain things, he'd let it go until Monday. At least that'd get me off the hook."
"No telephone."
"Oh. That makes it difficult, doesn't it?"
"Couldn't you stop somewhere and call your boss and tell him. I'm sure he'd understand."
"Not my boss, Mr. Smith. I used to do that all the time when I first started, but he'd just get mad and call me a coward and a soft touch and send me back to shut the water off, anyhow."
"Sounds like a tough guy."
"He is."
"No doubt."
"Well, what's it going to be, Mr. Smith? The money or the water?"
"I haven't got a dime."
"Gee, I'm sure sorry, Mr. Smith. But if you like, I'll stop by the first thing Monday morning and turn it back on, if you can come up with the money, that is."
"Don't make it too early. I might not be here."
"Listen, if you've got a couple of buckets, I'll fill them for you so you'll have some water to drink."
"I don't know. I suppose there are some in the kitchen."
"I'll take care of it for you. Just sit still. I sure hope you don't get sore at me. I'm just doing my job, you understand."
"I understand."
Listen to him clink around on those pipes. I knew this one was going to be trouble. I could tell by his squeaky voice. No guts. Thought I had him there for a while, though. Well, at least he's kind enough to leave drinking water. The kids are going to be awfully put out about this. They won't like missing their baths. Oh, well, I suppose one night won't hurt them.
"Mr. Smith -- "
"Yes."
"I want you to know that I'm sre sorry about having to turn your water off. It's my job and all that."
"Don't worry. It's been turned off before."
"I found two buckets and filled them for you. They're in on the sink where you can find them easy."
"Thanks. I appreciate that."
"You're welcome. I noticed that you had a nice little radio setting on the back of your sink. Wouldn't want to sell it would you?"
"I might consider it."
"What's it worth?"
"What's it worth? Well, I'll tell you. If I valued it for what it means sound-wise right now, it would be priceless. You'd never realize how much it fills up the house and keeps me in touch with reality."
"I meant what's it worth in money."
"Well, I paid almost sixty dollars for it."
"Gee...I couldn't spend that kind of money."
"I realize that. What would you give me?"
"I couldn't say, Mr. Smith. It's your radio. You tell me what you'd take for it, and I'll tell you whether I can afford it."
"Cash?"
"If I got enough and the price is right."
"Well, I sure hate to part with it. Do you think five dollars is asking too much?"
"No. I think that's more than a fair price. Cheaper than I expected for such a good little radio."
"You'll take it then?"
"Sure. Here's your money."
"Could you give it to me in singles?"
"Why?"
"Five ones feel like more money than one five dollar bill."
"I guess I could, if I've got them. Sre, I have. Here you go. One...Two...Three...Four...Five. Okay?"
"Just fine. Take good care of the radio, It's an awfully nice one. You'll like it, I know."
"Sure, I will, Mr. Smith. I'll take care of it like it's brand new. See you Monday to take care of the water thing."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
I sure can't say that I like getting my water shut off, but I'm kind of glad in a way that that fellow came by and took a liking to the radio. Something always seems to turn up to get those old groceries on the table. I guess that ought to prove to Harry that it's worth being an optimist, although I'm sure going to miss that radio. I don't think the kids will, because they never listen to it much. But then they don't know that it was one of the last things that Edie and I bought together.
------
After we got really settled in that neighborhood, Edie made me use my GI-Bill and take a two-year course in a business school, where I didn't learn much, but tried, just to please her. Then along came the end of that and Alice the same day. I guess I'm one of the few people who ever busted ranks to run across a graduating platform to get my diploma and then leg it to a hospital just in time to greet my baby daughter and wife rolling out of the delivery room. I was so excited that day that I kissed my wife and the nurse holding Alice.
After Alice and Edie came home, I found a job with a manufacturing company, and there I was just completely domesticated. I went to work every day and punched a time clock like any other ordinary guy.
Then about a year later, Edie had a miscarriage, and things tightened up some. It was the first time we ever worried any about money. Then a year later, along came Harry, who was followed the next three years by Laurie, John and Marty. There we were, a happy little family in a cottage too small, just struggling along like everybody else.
Then the company I worked for decided to change its base of operations to Chicago. It was either move with them or find a new job. I'll have to admit that I looked plenty of times for another one, but there just wasn't anything available for a clerk with one good leg and a hobble-pin for the other and a screwed up work background like mine. Edie and the kids and I had to move when the company did. We had to sell the house to do it.
I knew it hurt Edie to give up her dream home. I could see it in her eyes everyday...not as an accusation but as a burning dullness that seemed to destroy every flicker, every spark of joy that had gone wit our marriage.
We moved into a monstrous old Brownstone in a concrete glazed suburb of Chicago. Space there was, like the echoing hollowness of a mausoleum. It was one of those places where no amount of imagination could do anything to improve it. Edie kept it clean as a pin, much like a surgeon cleansing a gangrenous wound, but the thrill was gone.
It wasn't long after that that I began to catch the smell of my old friend the wolf. Not real strong, but I could tell he was there.
And then my home became a battleground, a cold war with the heavy cannons of silence and awkward stares. I was hurt because Edie was hurt, and angry with myself because I had let her down worse then a runaway gigolo.
Then Old Yellow Fangs began to howl even louder, and I didn't want to hear him. I refused to listen, and, before I got my optimism up to the boiling point to bring happiness back to my home, he bit.
He bit, and the wound was insufferable, because he took my Eddie away.
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