Kent Haruf - Eventide

You ain’t at home now, Betty said. You better behave yourself at Rose’s house.

Well, you better be quiet and shut your mouth and not tell no lies to people.

I ain’t telling no lies. What I tell is the truth.

There’s things I can tell too.

You don’t have no reason to tell something on me.

Yes sir, I do.

Here now, Rose said. We’re going to be civil. Or you can both go on back home.

You hear? Betty said. You better mind Rose.

Well, she ain’t just talking to me.

Hush, Rose said.

They entered the house through the front hall and went into the living room, and Joy Rae and her brother Richie looked at everything with a kind of awe and surprise, as if they were seeing a set display of furniture and paintings arranged for view in a city museum. They sat down with their mother on the flowered couch and were very quiet and still — only their eyes moved, looking at everything. Luther had started to sit in a wood rocker but it was too small and Rose brought him a chair from the kitchen. He sat down carefully, testing with his hand for the seat of the chair.

Betty, why don’t you start, Rose said. You said you wanted to go to your aunt’s house. What was that about?

That was about he’s being mean to me, Betty said. He just slapped me for no reason. I never did nothing to him.

I never either slapped her, Luther said.

Oh, he’s the one lying now.

I just pushed her a little. Because she did something to me. Well, she said I was eating too much.

When was this? Rose said.

Bout a hour ago, Betty said. Joy Rae wasn’t eating her dinner and he tells her you better—

I said you better eat if you want to keep your strength up.

No. He says you better eat or I’m going to eat it for you. Joy Rae, she said she didn’t want it. Said she was sick of this same old food all the time. So then he took her macaroni-cheese dinner off her plate and ate it looking right at her. I guess you’ll eat it next time, he says. I don’t care, she says. You going to learn to care, he says, and that’s when I come between them and he says watch out, and I says no, you watch out.

Then what happened? Rose said.

Then nothing happened, Luther said.

Then he slapped me, Betty said.

That’s a lie. I only just pushed her a little.

You slapped me in the face. I can still feel it. I feel it right now. Betty lifted her hand and caressed her cheek and Luther looked at her from across the room with slit eyes.

The children sat on the couch and appeared to be uninterested in what was being said, as if they were not involved in these matters or couldn’t affect their outcome even if they were. Studying the furniture and the pictures on the walls, they sat next to each other without so much as glancing at the three adults.

Rose stood and went to the kitchen and came back with a plate of chocolate fudge and held the plate in front of the children before offering it to Betty and Luther. She sat again. I think we all need to cool down, she said.

I just want to go to my aunt’s house, Betty said. I can cool down over there.

Does she want you to come?

We been there before.

But does she want you now?

I think she does.

Didn’t you call her?

No. Our phone ain’t working.

What’s wrong with it?

It don’t have no dial tone.

Rose looked at her. Betty sat slumped beside the children, her lank hair fallen about her pocked face, her eyes reddened. Rose turned to Luther. What do you think about this, Luther?

I think she ought to come home like she’s suppose to.

But she says she doesn’t want to be in that house right now.

I’m her husband. The Bible says man is lord of his own castle. He builds up his house on a rock. She’s suppose to mind what I say.

I don’t have to mind him, do I, Rose.

No. I think Luther’s wrong about that.

I want to go to my aunt’s house, Betty said.

WHEN THEY BACKED OUT FROM THE DRIVEWAY LUTHER was standing forlornly in the headlights, the beams sweeping across him while he looked back at them with his hands in his pockets. Overhead, above Holt, the rain seemed nearer. Betty sat in the front seat with Rose, the children in back, staring out the window at all the houses and the intersecting streets and the tall trees. The houses all had lights burning beyond the window shades, and there were bushes and narrow little sidewalks leading around back to the dark alleys. The streetlamps glowed blue at the corners and the trees were evenly spaced along the sidewalks. Rose drove them through the quiet streets and at the highway she turned east.

As they approached the Highway 34 Grocery Store Betty said: Oh, I forgot my napkins.

What do you mean? Rose said.

It’s my time of month come round again. I don’t have my napkins. I’ll have to change sometime.

Do you want to stop and buy some?

If you please. I better.

They pulled in and parked among the cars near the front doors. Beyond the plateglass windows the store was brightly lit and there were women standing at the checkout. Go ahead, Rose said.

Betty looked toward the store but didn’t get out.

What is it now?

I don’t have no money. I didn’t bring my pocketbook. Could you loan me some? I’ll pay you back first of the month.

Rose gave her some bills and Betty went inside. When she disappeared into the aisles, Rose turned in the seat to look at the children. Are you two all right back there?

She’s not going to want us, Joy Rae said.

Who isn’t?

Mama’s aunt.

Why do you say that?

Last time she said not to come back again. I don’t see why we have to go out there.

Maybe you won’t have to stay very long. Just until your parents can calm down a little.

When’s that going to be?

Soon, I hope.

I don’t want to go out there either, Richie said.

Oh? Rose said.

I don’t like it out there.

Cause you wet the bed the last time and she got mad, Joy Rae said. He wets the bed.

So do you.

Not no more.

Betty came back with a paper bag and Rose drove east from town on the highway out into the flat open treeless country, then turned north a mile to a little dark house. A light came on above the front door as the car stopped. Okay, Rose said. Here we are.

Betty looked at the house and got out and climbed the steps to the door and knocked. After some time a woman in a red kimono opened the door. Her hair was flat on one side, as if she’d been in bed already. She was smoking a cigarette and she looked past Betty at the car. Well, she said. What do you want now?

Can me and my kids stay here tonight?

Oh lord, what happened this time?

Luther slapped me. He’s being mean to me again.

I told you the last time I wasn’t going to do this again. Didn’t I.

Yes.

I don’t know why you two even stay together.

He’s my husband, Betty said.

That doesn’t mean you have to stay with him. Does it.

I don’t know.

Well I do. I got to get up in the morning and go to work. I can’t be running you all over town.

But he’s being mean. I don’t want to stay with him tonight. Betty looked back toward the car. Rose had turned the engine off.

Then suddenly the rain started. It came down slanted brightly under the yardlight next to the garage and glinting and splashing under the yellow porch light. Betty began to get wet.

Oh, all right, the aunt said. But you know you’ll just go back to him. You always do. But you listen to me now, it’s just for tonight. This ain’t going to be anything permanent.

We won’t make no trouble, Betty said.

You already have.

Betty looked away and put her hand up over her face, shielding her face from the rain.