Mark Dunn - American Decameron

“What if Vivian Crowley is in a mood, for that matter? What if your new patio furniture catches fire from one of Maddie Jorgenson’s foot-long Fatimas? What if Russia drops a bomb on our house right in the middle of the angel cake and plum ice cream?”

Tessie turned away from the window. “I can’t talk to you anymore. You go out of your way to make my life a daily trial.”

Rory finished brushing and scraping the backyard grill and then drove across town to pick up his wife’s aunt Irma.

Irma Chambers was in her early sixties. She had never married and lived alone in the small house she’d inherited from her mother. Irma had once been a schoolteacher but had to retire after a couple of years because of her nerves.

Rory had seen her only three days before, when she came into the Piggly Wiggly supermarket where he was employed as head butcher. He had caught her out of the corner of his eye in the pet aisle, holding a can of Ken-L-Ration dog food.

Aunt Irma didn’t have a dog.

“Howdy, Irma. How are you?”

Irma quickly returned the can to the shelf. “I’m doing well. It was a lovely morning so I thought I’d do my marketing.”

“How’s that old Chevy Clipper of yours getting on? Time to put her out of her misery?”

Irma shrugged, then shook her head. Her skin was pale; the over-application of rouge to her cheeks gave her a slightly clown-like appearance. She wore a scarf over her hair, which looked upon the margins as if it hadn’t been washed in a while. This was a woman who didn’t expect to be bumping into her nephew-in-law, or anyone else she might know, for that matter.

“Is she still running?”

“No. I think the battery’s dead.”

“I should come take a look at her. How’d you get over here?”

“I walked. It isn’t far, you know.”

Rory glanced at the cans of Ken-L-Ration dog food lined up on the shelf. Then he nodded in the direction of the meat department. “We just got in some really fresh ground chuck.”

“Did you think I was going to eat that?” asked Irma, pointing with a slightly quivering finger at the dog food cans.

“They eat horse in Europe,” said Rory matter-of-factly.

Irma didn’t respond. Rory looked down at her grocery cart. It held a small carton of milk and some over-ripe bananas that he was certain Irma had gotten from the “reduced” produce bin. “Let me get you some of that chuck. It’s on sale. In fact, we got a new thing here at ‘Mr. Pig.’ Ground chuck is free to family members of employees every other Wednesday.”

“Thank you, Rory, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.”

“Then at least come to our house on Saturday. We’re having some friends and neighbors over. I’m grilling some prime-cut T-bones and sirloins, and Tessie’s making something with broccoli and cheese she got out of McCall’s .”

Irma’s response was another shrug. She seemed tired. What she seemed even more, though, was weak.

Weak with hunger.

“No ifs, ands, or buts, Irma. I’m picking you up at one.” Then, with a sly wink: “And you’re taking that ground chuck.”

It was one o’clock. It took a full two minutes for Irma to come to the door. She was still in her robe. The robe looked old and unwashed. Irma herself looked as if she hadn’t had a bath in weeks.

“Is everything all right?” asked Rory. Irma didn’t invite him in. In fact, she seemed to be blocking the door in case he had a mind to come in on his own. “Are you sick?”

Irma nodded. “I’m not feeling well.” Irma’s face seemed even paler than it had on Wednesday at the Piggy Wiggly. And there was a skeletal angularity to it. Formerly the face had appeared rounded, even doughy.

“Is there something I can pick up for you at the drugstore?”

“No. I’ll be all right. I just have to rest. Tell Tessie that I’m sorry I can’t come to your barbecue. Maybe next time.”

At just that moment Irma’s knees began to buckle. Rory caught her as she collapsed. He carried her into the house and laid her down on the sofa in the living room. The room was tidy, but everything within it seemed tattered and faded, as if it contained nothing that had been purchased in the last thirty years. At first glance it appeared to be the room of someone who was not only poor but had given up on trying to be anything else. Although they had Irma over to their house two or three times a year, it had been quite some time since either Rory or Tessie had visited her —years, even, since they had seen what had become of Tessie’s grandmother’s old house.

“Do you have someone who can come and stay with you?” asked Rory. He had pulled up a chair and sat down next to her as she lay slightly jackknifed upon the threadbare sofa.

“Oh, I don’t—” Irma shook her head.

“Then you’re coming with me. We’ll put you in our guest room until we can figure all this out.”

Irma shook her head again. “I don’t want to leave my home.”

“You can’t stay here, Irma.” Rory started to get up. “I’m gonna go look in your refrigerator and cupboards.”

“Don’t.”

“Let’s get your things.”

Tessie stared at her husband in horror. “She’s where ?”

“I put her in the guest room.”

“But we have guests coming.”

“It’s June. Nobody needs a coat bed. She’s not doing well, Tess. I’m going to have Dr. Vickery come give her a look on Monday. Or would you rather have your Dr. Crowley check her out when he gets here?”

“You’re too funny. Besides, Dr. Crowley wouldn’t be right for her. He’s a pediatrician. With the new children’s hospital. I thought you knew that. What do you think is wrong with her?”

“I think your aunt is starving to death.”

“What?”

“That’s my diagnosis.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“She has no money, Tessie. On Wednesday, I came upon her right as she was about to put a can of dog food into her cart. I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

Tessie sat down in one of the patio chairs. She and Regina had been putting decorative paper tablecloths over several borrowed card tables. Regina was in the kitchen at that moment cutting cucumber and tomato slices.

“She’s our responsibility, Tessie. She’s family.”

“I knew the day would come when I’d be saddled with her. I cannot believe this is happening to me. What if she comes out of that guest bedroom and has one of her episodes? ”

“You act like she’s Olivia de Havilland in Snake Pit . She has nervous spells, Tessie. She wrings her hands and bites her lips and then eventually she gets hold of herself and everything’s okay. If you can’t live with that …”

“What do you mean, ‘live with that’? Are we taking her in?”

“If she’s no longer able to take care of herself, we may have to.”

“Over my dead body. I’m not going to have her here. People come here. People who shouldn’t have to see her; people who wouldn’t want to see her. You don’t put someone like Aunt Irma on display , for crying out loud! What are you trying to do to me?”

Regina was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She’d heard everything that her mother had just said.

“Regina,” said Rory calmly, “make your Great-aunt Irma a sandwich. There should still be some of that chicken salad in the fridge. Put the sandwich back in the fridge for when she wakes up. She’ll probably be okay for a while. I got her some soup at the diner on the way home.”

Tessie turned to her husband. She scowled. “Is that what took you so long? We have people coming over in less than half an hour and you’re stopping off at a diner with my batty aunt?”