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Show in my father's house/ 195 "Well, they married twin brothers," I said, missing the point of Aunt Helga's verbal acrobatics. "Twins married twins?" The woman's eyes were disbelieving. I nodded and flushed. "I have to go home now," I had said, and hurried away, my hands shaking. "Mama," I whispered again, and shook her shoulder. "Mama, wake up. I've been bad. What if I go to hell?" "You shouldn't say that," my mother mumbled in her sleep. "But Mama, what if I die tonight?" She opened her eyes. "Just say your prayers. Then you'll feel better. Now let me rest." I knelt in bed and asked forgiveness for my sins. But somehow I knew, even as I prayed, that tomorrow or next week, someone would ask about ray family and I would lie again. I tried to think about good things - the creek and the garden back home, the times we stood around the bonfire, singing. I remembered the miracles - how I got what I wanted for my birthday, how my father had not died when his ulcers hemmorhaged on Christmas Eve. My thoughts enfolded me like a soft silver blanket, and eventually I drifted into sleep. But sometime during the night, I dreamed about the Gulf of Mexico, of being sucked deeper and deeper into its bottomless darkness, and woke myself and my mother with my cries. The year Saul was student-body president, I joined Girl Scouts. In late spring, we planned a father-daughter banquet, and I was elected chairman of my troop's part in the festivities. I was so caught up in planning that I forgot the likelihood that my father |
