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Show 37 "Revo, say cow, " I would tell the baby. "Revo, say cow, " she would repeat "No, don't say Revo say cow, say cow. " "No, don't say Revo say cow, say cow. " I would giggle until I was weak and she would smile doubtfully. Uncle Will and Uncle Ase were part of our family now, because Grandmother died a few days after the previous Christmas, when I was five. We drove the Spalding buggy through the snowy canyons. Uncle Hen, Aunt Eff and Uncle Will, who was staying with us, went ahead in their buggy. Uncle Joe was with us. Papa had gone to Kanosh on horseback when he heard his mother was sick. I was old enough to remember this trip, the hot rocks we had in the quilts, the awe of seeing Grandmother dressed in unfamiliar clothes, left alone in a cold room with the blinds down. Mama explained it carefully and truthfully to me, lifted me up to see her, so that I understood it thoroughly and was not frightened. Some time before her death Grandmother had asked Mama to take care of her boys, especially Ase, as he had something missing in his make up, we could never tell exactly what. His mother wept and wondered what would become of him, and Mama promised, without knowing how trying Uncle Ase would become. He was a sexless little man, tall and thin, with a memory like an encyclopedia for small, insignificant details. His clothes, work shirt and bib overalls, seemed to touch him only one place, his shoulders. |
