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CHAPTER 23

Normalade Speaks For Herself

      THE TV was showing its test pattern, and Normalade was sound asleep on the sofa when Lucy got home.

      Lucy looked at her. Asleep like that, snuggled up under Mama's afghan, with her soft pink hair was spread out around her, Normalade was pretty enough to be a picture in a magazine advertisement. "If all you wanted from a wife was for her to look good," Lucy thought sadly, "Then Normalade'd be just about perfect."

      On the floor in front of the couch was a makeshift baby bed. Normalade had confiscated Lucy's plastic wash basket, and padded it with a pillow and diapers. When she watched TV, she set the basket on the floor with the baby in it, close enough so he wouldn't have to get up if he squeaked. But she was sleeping so soundly that he evidently hadn't squeaked in some time.

      Lucy turned off the TV and went over to look at the baby. His eyes were wide open, and he seemed to be looking right back at her — although Lucy had read somewhere that tiny babies couldn't see very well.

      "Well hello," Lucy whispered. She crouched down beside the basket. "Hello there, you."

      What color were his eyes now? Not blue. Not brown. They were no-color, mud-color. Even so, she thought they were just the right color for somebody's eyes to be. "Pretty fine color eyes you got there," she said to the baby.

      The baby made his mouth into an Oh-shape and waved his little arms up and down like he was keeping time to music. Lucy thought he looked as sweet as a rose. Looking at him made her feel funny. Because he was . . . just about the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen in her life.

      "I sure am glad you waited up for me," Lucy whispered. "And I'm glad to see you're being such a good boy, too. You been doing a little serious thinking during the wee small hours, have you?"

      She touched his fist with her finger and instantly the little hand clenched it tight.

      How could she have forgotten how wonderful he was? "All this time," she thought, "While I've been thinking about tending bar, and paying the beer man, and making chili, and other people's love-lives . . . things that don't really matter. While the most important thing in the world was lying right here in an old wash basket, waving his little arms like a band conductor."

      A phrase came into Lucy's mind — something she'd read in English class years before, "Trailing clouds of glory do they come, from God, who is their home." That seemed just right.

      "Clouds of glory," Lucy whispered to him. "You came to us in clouds of glory, didn't you . . . ?"

      "He is something, isn't he?" Normalade said, opening her eyes.

      Lucy jumped. Darn! Why did Normalade have to wake up and spoil it.

      "He's special all right," Lucy agreed.

      "I never noticed other babies being this cute." Normalade said, as she sat up. "Listen, Lucy, I got to talk to you."

      Instantly, Lucy recognized the tone in her voice. And she didn't want to deal with those complaints tonight. "Aw Normalade, I'm pretty tired . . ."

      Normalade's voice hardened. "This won't take long. I made up my mind to something tonight, and you ought to know it. First off — where's Bobby now?"

      "What? You mean right now?" Lucy had a sudden awful image of what Normalade would do if she knew the answer to that question — of her bursting in on Bobby and Swan when they were asleep in bed together. "How would I know?"

      "Well, I bet you do. And yet I'm his wife and I don't have any idea where he is. Suppose the baby got sick. Or your Uncle Bob, or you. I wouldn't even know how to get hold of him. And I think it's awful of him to treat me this way!"

      "You'd call Tagg," Lucy said reasonably. "I guess if Bobby wasn't with Tagg, he'd know where to reach him." Even though that was the literal truth, the words felt like a lie.

      "Tagg! You mean I have to call Tagg to ask how to find my own husband? That's humiliating."

      Privately, Lucy had to concede that Normalade was right about that. And it made her feel guiltier still. "I'll — listen, when I see him at work tomorrow, I'll make him call you." she offered. But that sounded pretty lame.

      "And what would he do if he did call up? Ask me for a date!" Normalade said bitterly. "No, I've made up my mind. I can't stand being out here all alone, with a new baby, and no husband and no money and no way to get around. Having to wait on a crazy man hand and foot. (Because your Uncle Bob's a real loon, Lucy. And you might as well admit it.) No, I'm leaving here, first thing tomorrow morning."

      "Leaving?" Lucy was appalled. "But this is your home."

      "No it's not. It's Bob Vance's home. And yours and maybe even Bobby's, but it's no home of mine. It's got nothing of mine in it. Over there, that's your Uncle Bob's chair. And those are his newspapers and his books. And over there's his desk. They're all his things, and I'm not supposed to mess with them. And that chair your stuff's sitting on is your Mama's chair — and, hell! she's been dead for years. Even dead people have more rights here than I do."

      She was pacing up and down the room now. "But where's Normalade's chair? And who says 'It's Normalade's turn to watch TV?' Who ever says that? Does anybody here ever stick up for me, or take care of me? Hell, no!"

      She shook her head so hard that her soft pink hair stood out all around her. "So I'm thinking I'll go find someplace where people will think I'm someBODY!"

      She was at the far end of the room now, and as she turned to look over her shoulder, she added, low and urgent, "Lucy, I hate it here! I feel like a goddam trespasser! And it's not as if anybody'd miss me. Even Bobby. He doesn't care if I live or die. Not any more." She'd started out brave and angry. But now there were tears running down her cheeks. Her anger was all used up, and she stood hugging herself as if she were cold.

      "Oh Normalade . . ." Lucy stared at her, not knowing what to say because she felt so sorry for her. Because of course, she thought, it's all true. Even the part about everybody being relieved if she did go. Bobby especially.

      Normalade sniffled. "I thought I could keep from crying when I told you this. I wouldn't have even said it, only you were good to me while Hero was being born, so I thought it was right to let you know I was going."

      "Normalade, don't go. Listen, I don't want you to go." At any other moment, that would have been a deliberate lie, but as Lucy said it, she meant it — she felt so sorry for her.

      "Used to be there was nothing could make me cry. And now — look at me." Normalade whimpered, pressing her advantage.

      "Well, I want you to stay. And Bobby does, too, I know it!" (A real lie.) "Why — my goodness — you're his wife and the mother of his baby — so you know he's got to love you. You two'll make it up, you'll see."

      "I just don't see how it's possible," Normalade picked up the baby, then held him away from her in distaste. "Oh, he's wet again!"

      She put the baby down in the basket again, spread a flannel baby blanket on the sofa and laid him on it. Very calmly she unpinned the wet diapers, took them off and dropped them on the floor, leaving the baby's lower half bare, except for his little pink socks that continued waving very cheerfully as he kicked his feet in the air.

      Lucy felt a little embarrassed for the baby, lying around bare like that, while Normalade rummaged in the baby bag for fresh diapers, but he didn't seem to mind.

      At last Normalade found a clean square of birdseye, folded it to size and laid the back half under him, letting the front half hang down off the edge of the sofa while she dived back into bag for the baby oil. She poured some on her hands and began rubbing the baby's private parts with her fingers. The baby looked astonished.

      "Come here and look at this," Normalade giggled. "Isn't that cute."

      Fascinated and embarrassed, Lucy did look.

      Normalade rubbed him some more. "What a little bitty thing. How can a little thing like that ever grow up to be a real man — I ask you. And yet he's put together just perfect."

      She gave Lucy a sudden, sly look. "You ever seen anything like this before? You want to touch him?"

      "M-me?" Lucy swallowed. "No, I . . ."

      "Go on," Normalade urged. "He's so little, he won't know. And he likes it. Men always like it. Might as well give it a try. You know, get the hang of it."

      "No."

      Amused, Normalade sat back on her heels, giving Lucy a good view of her hands, which were still on the baby. And she kept rubbing him, knowing now that Lucy couldn't take her eyes off what she was doing. "Your Aunt Lucy doesn't like to see me do this, Baby Boy — but you . . . you looooves it, don't you. Because you're my little Hero. Going to be a b-i-i-ig hero with the ladies, aren't you, someday? Be a b-i-i-ig man, won't you?"

      "Normalade, don't do that," Lucy whispered. But still she couldn't look away.

      "But he l-i-i-ikes it, Lucy. What's the matter, you think it's unnatural or something? It's not."

      Again that sly look. "Say, don't you know anything at all? Bet you always thought cooking was the way to a man's heart, didn't you. Well you're wrong; this is where it's at. Right exactly there."

      Then she laughed again and rubbed her hands together to get rid of the rest of the oil. "I know what ails you, Lucy. You're scared, of men, aren't you. I bet you never even ever touched a man, did you?"

      She closed up the baby's diapers and picked him up, rubbing his nose with her nose. "You know something, Hero? I think your Aunt Lucy's a virgin old maid — that's what I think. I think she never even saw what a man looks like until tonight. Until she got a glint of you. Whadda you think of that. You just flashed your first virgin!"

      "Normalade, stop it!"

      "All right, I'm stopped. I just think it's funny, that's all. And I like knowing how dumb you are about some things — you know that?"

      She gave Lucy another smug look. And then, very deliberately, she opened her dress and exposed one milky breast. "This baby's gotta eat. You want to watch that, too?"

      Lucy, who was still sitting on the floor, now got up. "No thanks," she said, as casually as she could. "I'm going to look in on Uncle Bob now."

      "All right, he's in there. Awake, too, last time I looked. That crazy old Bertie Watkins was here a while back and got him all excited, but he's had time to calm down since then."

      "I'll go see him," Lucy said.

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