Christina swept the broom in a quick line across the doorway to the great room, creating a mushroom cloud of dusts and danders and pollens. The cloud’s fallout drifted downwards, creating a suffocating layer over the dead pine needles.
After assessing the way the disturbance settled, she considered her options. Of course she could sweep horizontally, from the right wall to the left, and then finish the chore with a few vertical sweeps across the West wall. But since the now-dead tree—which Carl was supposed to bring to the curb two weeks ago—sat in the center, flanked by a fireplace to one side and recessed windows on the other, the rectangularity of the room was in question, and Christina decided it would be best to avoid the horizontal choice. Vertical arrangements were then also to be avoided.
Perhaps if she broke it into smaller rectangles, and made a circle around the tree, the room would be swept. Or, as she had done the evening before Thanksgiving, she could make diagonal passes toward the tree. Even though the particle deposits would then become an out of reach mess under the burly branches of the pine, perhaps Carl would take the initiative to clean it himself when he did eventually remove the tree. Perhaps Carl, while on his hands and knees, would take the time to polish the area as well, because He, the Lord, knew that His tannenbaum could add years of wrinkles to Christina’s valuable hardwood floors. Perhaps Carl, with the rag already in his left hand, would decide the windows needed some cleaning as well, letting the beams of sun caress the walls of the great room as it did when they had moved in, 33 years ago.
It had been an ill-conceived plan, sure, but Christina was nonetheless delighted that her first night in this house had been the night she and Carl returned from their honeymoon. The rooms were much sparser then, but Carl’s love filled their bedroom with an overabundant presence as they christened the bed. Afterwards, she slept insulated from all troubles and feeling the most intense love from Carl she would ever feel again. Of course, Christina was in the final stages of fatigue after the five nights in Venice; she never was good at traveling so our Lord Jesus stayed awake with her for all eleven hours at thirty-two thousand feet as she clutched His Holiness’ blessed rosary. Perhaps the warmth she thought she felt was no more Carl’s love than her exhaustion’s sense of exaggeration.
At this, Christina clutched her rosary, the same one that had traveled with her 33 years ago, and the same one that she presumed would be placed beside the urn when her life on His earth concluded. Letting the rosary fall back to its nesting place inside her apron’s pocket, Christina made another rapid broom stroke which sent countless particles toward the tree. When Christina paused to sigh, arm resting on the broomstick, she saw how the dust was beginning to make the tree look like the center of some great beach. The sweeps were putting sand on the shores and the polished floor reflecting the sunlight played the role of the water.
Of course, this scene within the great room served only as a reminder to another, albeit less successful trip that Christina and Carl had taken. One of Carl’s business associates, Merv, had convinced Carl to use his lake house for a week. “Beautiful rustic living!” Merv had told him. “ Get back to the basics and enjoy your wife!”
However, it was basics, indeed, Christine mused, the same sarcastic retort she had mused 10—or was it 15?—years ago. As it was, Christina hated the forest—“Peace and quiet in the woods!” Merv had touted—and she was perfectly content to enjoy another week at home with Carl.
But Carl insisted and the two drove for seven hours to arrive at a small log cabin on the edge of what could best be described as an ambitious pond; by no means was this the glamour that Merv had describd. And, when Christina entered the kitchen in which she would prepare their meals during the week, she was horrified to discover that the electric burners did not work, the oven would not heat above 200, and one of the small pantry’s corners had been repossessed by mealworms. Perhaps the week hit its climax for Christina when Carl, intent on taking Christina for a rowboat ride, dropped the single oar into the water. Stranded in the middle of the pond, Christina appealed to the rosary and His hand did push Carl’s hands to paddle the two back to shore.
Releasing yet another sigh, Christina regripped the broom to make another brush across the floor. She was beginning to smell the scones now in the oven. The powerful smell sweetened dough beginning to cook was the first to grace her nose, but underneath was the softer note of the cranberries turning hot and gooey.
Christina used to bake for Carl, but now his business trips kept him away for longer and longer lengths of time. Now, kneading the dough for scones was a way for Christina to keep her hands busy. She could still remember the times where she and Carl would sit nightly or on Sunday afternoons at the kitchen table. Carl would be reading the newspaper, Christina a magazine. But with their free hands—Carl’s left and Christina’s right—they would clasp fingers and meet palm to palm. When Carl started to travel for work, she replaced his left hand with the rosary in her pocket. Now that Carl was gone all the time…well, Christina used scones as a way to break her hand free of the rosary.
The great room was now two, if not one skillful, sweep away from being clean. Christina bent a little to put her weight into the stroke and then stopped abruptly as the phone rang. Christina ran to the phone clutching the rosary. She knew it must be Carl. She had told him to call when he got in to Chicago the night before; even though he had forgotten, he must be making up for last night now. The rosary draped around the knuckles of her right hand, her left hand raised the phone to her ear.
After listening once, her heart dropped and her lungs became heavy. She must have misheard the serious man on the other end. Although her request for the words to be repeated was choked and breathy, the man understood and, slowly and more delicately, repeated his words.
Christina felt her limbs go numb. As she braced her body against the counter to keep from falling over, the rosary slipped from her fingers and broke apart, beads scattering all across the old oak floor.
Mate,
ReplyDeleteI dreadfully need your vehicle. Reading your blogs entertains me. That is all.