Joy Williams - Taking Care

Otilla was picking through the remaining maps when the baby tipped off her lap and into Lavinia’s side. Lavinia stomped on the brakes and beat at him with her hand. “Get away,” she shrieked, “You’ll break my hip!” She tried to pull her waist in from the weight of his head. His smell was sweet, fertile, like an anesthetic and she felt frightened as though someone had just removed something from her in a swift neat operation. She saw the dust motes settling like balloons upon the leather dashboard and white thread tangled in the baby’s fingers. Slow Down You’re Almost There Only 2000 Yds. The baby’s face was wrinkling her linen and his hand was fastened around the bottom of the steering wheel.

“Lavinia, you’ll frighten him,” Otilla said, pulling the baby back across the seat. She arranged him in her lap again and he instantly fell asleep. The Mercedes was almost at a standstill. Lavinia pressed on the gas and the car labored forward, out of gear, past an empty burnt-out shack. Six Lbs For $1 Free Slushies For The Kiddies. The door to the place was lying in the weeds.

“That’s all right, that’s all right,” Lavinia said. She took off her sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. The fingers of her gloves were wet. The engine was skipping, the tachometer needle fluttered on o. She stopped the car completely, shifted into first and resumed. You’ve Gone Too Far! a sign said. She felt like spitting at it. Otilla had fallen asleep now too, her head slightly out the window, her small mouth shining in the side-view mirror. Lavinia picked up a piece of bread, folded it into an empty sandwich and ate it.

When Otilla woke, it was almost dark. The baby had his fingers jammed into his mouth and sucked on them loudly. Otilla unscrewed the top of the mason jar and pushed the lip toward him. He took it eagerly, sucking. Then he chewed, then he lapped. Enough drops went down his throat for him to think it was worthwhile to continue. He settled down to eating the milk that was slapping his cheeks and sliding down his chin back into the jar.

They were on a narrow soft road just wide enough for the car. Close on either side were rows and rows of orange trees, all different shades of darkness in the twilight.

“It’s like riding through the parted waters, Lavinia.”

Her sister’s voice startled her and Lavinia gave a little jump. Her stylish dress was askew and her large faded eyes were watering.

“You woke up to say an asinine thing like that!” she exclaimed. All the while Otilla and the infant had been sleeping, she had driven with an empty mind and eye. She had truly not been thinking of a thing, and though she was lost and indignant and frustrated she did not feel this. She had driven, and the instructions she had received cautiously from the few people she had seen she wrote down on the back of a pocket calendar. When she left the people, they became bystanders, not to be trusted, and she drove on without reference. And the only sounds she heard were the gentle snappings somewhere in her head of small important truths that she had got along with for years — breaking.

She had not looked at the car’s equipment, at its dials and numbers for a long time because when she had last done so, the odometer showed her that they had driven 157 miles.

“How long have we been traveling, Lavinia?”

“I don’t know.” She remembered that when she had bought the Mercedes, the engine had shone like her silver service. She remembered that there had been one mile on the odometer then. Sitting in the showroom on a green carpet, her automobile had one mile on it and she had been furious. No one could tell her why this was. No one could explain it to her satisfaction.

“Well,” Otilla said, “I suppose Louisa and Marjorie have eaten by now.” She looked out the window. A white bird was hurrying off through the groves. “This is an awfully good baby,” she said, “waiting so long and being so patient for his meal. And this being not the way he’s accustomed to getting it besides.” She looked behind her. “My, they certainly make these roads straight. It seems like if we had intended to, we could be halfway to New Jersey by now, on our way to seeing all those interesting things. We could stay in a New Jersey motel, Lavinia, and give the baby a nice bath and send out for supper and I’ve even heard that some of those motels are connected with drive-in theaters and we could see a film directly from our room.”

The soft sand tugged at the car’s wheels. The stars came out and Lavinia pulled on the headlights.

“Lavinia,” Otilla said softly. “I have twelve hundred dollars sitting in the teeth of my mouth alone. I am a wealthy woman though not as wealthy as you and if you want to get there, I don’t understand why we just don’t stop as soon as we see someone and hire us a car to Pridesup.”

“I have no respect for you at all,” Lavinia said.

Otilla paused. She ran her fingers over the baby’s head, feeling the slight springy depression in his skull where he was still growing together. She could hear him swallowing. A big moth blundered against her face and then fell back into the night. “If you would just stop for a moment,” she said brightly, “I could change the baby and freshen up the air in here a bit.”

“You don’t seem to realize that I know all about you, Otilla. There is nothing you could ever say to me about anything. I happen to know that you were born too early and mother had you in a chamber pot. So just shut up Otilla.” She turned to her sister and smiled. Otilla’s head was bowed and Lavinia poked her to make sure that she was paying attention. “I have wanted to let you know about that for a long long time so just don’t say another word to me, Otilla.”

The Mercedes bottomed out on the sand, swerved and dropped into the ditch, the grille half-submerged in muddy water and the left rear wheel spinning in the air. Lavinia still was steering and smiling and looking at her sister. The engine died and the lights went out and for an instant they all sat speechless and motionless as though they were parts of a profound photograph that was still in the process of being taken. Then the baby gagged and Otilla began thumping him on the back.

Lavinia had loved her car. The engine crackled and hissed as it cooled. The windshield had a long crack in it and there was a smell of gasoline. She turned off the ignition.

Lavinia had loved her car and now it was broken to bits. She didn’t know what to think. She opened the door and climbed out onto the road where she lay down in the dust. In the middle of the night, she got back into the car because the mosquitoes were so bad. Otilla and the baby were stretched out in the back so Lavinia sat in the driver’s seat once more, where she slept.

In the morning, they ate the rest of the bread and Otilla gave the baby the last of the milk. The milk had gone sour and he spit most of it up. Otilla waded through the ditch and set the baby in a field box beneath an orange tree. The fruit had all been picked a month ago and the groves were thick and overgrown. It was hard for Otilla to clear out a place for them to rest. She tried to fan the mosquitoes away from the baby’s face but by noon the swarms had gotten so large and the bugs so fat and lazy that she had to pick them off individually with her fingers. Lavinia stayed in the Mercedes until she felt fried, then she limped across the road. The sun seemed waxed in the same position but she knew the day was going by. The baby had cried hard for an hour or so and then began a fitful wail that went on into the afternoon.

Every once in awhile, Lavinia saw Otilla rise and move feverishly through the trees. The baby’s weeping mingled with the rattle of insects and with Otilla’s singsong so that it seemed to Lavinia, when she closed her eyes, that there was a healthy community working out around her and including her in its life. But when she looked there was only green bareness and an armadillo plodding through the dust, swinging its outrageous head.