In My Father's House

Page 129

in my father's house/ 111 Aunt Helga turned back to my uncle- My head was spinning. Tears prodded dangerously close to the corners of my eyes. I looked around. There was my father beside the coffin, shaking hands and smiling gravely. People were lined up to speak to him. The other mothers were scattered across the room. They paid no attention when I passed them, calling for my mother. She was nowhere. My left arm was numb and the floor moved like a merry-go-round. I felt stifled by the sickening sweetness of the flowers. I was going to cry. I couldn't cry. My mother was always crying, crying until she was sick. Suddenly I felt a draft of fresh air and I followed it out the door, past the picket fence to the lawn. Then I stopped running. I sat down. The grass felt good, needling my legs and bottom. Above me was the hazy, beckoning blue of the sky -- the same blue as my grandmother's eyes. It seemed very far away. I could hear my mother playing the piano. I knew then that she must be in the other room, where people were sitting down for the funeral, and I began to feel better. But I stayed there, outside, alone.