beets, and we three got in on that.
Since nobody liked sitting behind Grandma, we settled on the back row. There was some socializing she didn’t take part in. Then the projectionist got the film threaded, and the show started. Mary Alice had been hoping for a Shirley Temple, but it was a Dracula, not too old, starring Bela Lugosi.
I have to say, it got to me. All those living dead people with black lips. When Dracula turned into a bat at the window, the night behind him merged with the night around us. It was a good audience for a horror picture. Several people screamed, and once a whole bench turned over. A night breeze sighed in the tree, making the screen waver. Mary Alice kept her eyes shut through most of it. Grandma barely blinked.
Afterward, we walked home in the dark. Mary Alice stuck close to Grandma, and I wasn’t far off myself. The town was just one shadow after another. When a big lilac bush threw leaf patterns on the walk ahead of us, Grandma shied like a horse. Then we came to an old oak tree growingclose to the road. Grandma pulled back and edged around it like Count Dracula was standing on the other side, in a cape.
Two or three years earlier we’d have thought the movie had spooked Grandma. Now we wondered if she was trying to spook us.
When we were safely inside at home, she made a business of latching the screen door. Then she looked meaningfully at the window over by the sink, like Dracula’s electric eyes might be staring in, out of his terrible fanged face. Mary Alice and I were frozen to the linoleum in spite of ourselves.
“Grandma, there aren’t such things as vampires, are there?” Mary Alice asked. Did she want to know, or was she testing Grandma? Every summer Mary Alice seemed to pick up another of Grandma’s traits.
“Vampires? No. The only bloodsuckers is the banks.” Grandma stroked her chins. “Movies is all pretend. They’re made in California, you know. But they prove a point. Make something
seem
real, and people will believe it. The public will swallow anything.”
That seemed her last word for the night. Now Mary Alice and I had to stumble up that long staircase to the darkness above. Being the man of the family, I ought to have gone first, but didn’t.
“Sweet dreams,” Grandma said behind us.
It was a long night, and hot. Mary Alice shut her window to keep vampire bats out. I know because I heard her closing hers when I was closing mine.
The next morning, after that restless night, I said to Grandma at the breakfast table, “I need two bucks bad.”
“Who don’t?” Grandma said. “What for?”
“Driving lessons, and Ray Veech wants two dollars to teach me.”
“What do you want to learn to drive for anyway?” she said. “Don’t you go around Chicago in taxicabs and trolleys?”
I couldn’t explain it to Grandma. I was getting too old to be a boy, and driving meant you were a man. Something like that. I shrugged, and she slid a belly-busting breakfast in front of me.
Mary Alice turned up, looking like the ghost of herself. She was pale-faced with bags under her eyes. Though glad to see daylight, she was worn to a frazzle.
“Anyhow,” Grandma said, “you don’t have time for driving lessons. I want you two to poke around in the attic. I can’t get up there anymore. You have to climb up through a trapdoor in the closet.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Any old rummage for the church sale.”
So Grandma, who didn’t take part in community activities, wanted to go to the rummage sale. She ate with the fork in one hand, the knife in the other. Then she looked up like she was having one of her sudden thoughts.
“Tell you what. Find that old stovepipe hat up there. It belonged to a preacher who knew my maw and paw. He was visiting one time, trying to convert them, and he dropped dead on the parlor rug. They kept his stovepipe hat on their hat rack ever after, to remember him by. I stuck it up there. Get it down. I saw
Since nobody liked sitting behind Grandma, we settled on the back row. There was some socializing she didn’t take part in. Then the projectionist got the film threaded, and the show started. Mary Alice had been hoping for a Shirley Temple, but it was a Dracula, not too old, starring Bela Lugosi.
I have to say, it got to me. All those living dead people with black lips. When Dracula turned into a bat at the window, the night behind him merged with the night around us. It was a good audience for a horror picture. Several people screamed, and once a whole bench turned over. A night breeze sighed in the tree, making the screen waver. Mary Alice kept her eyes shut through most of it. Grandma barely blinked.
Afterward, we walked home in the dark. Mary Alice stuck close to Grandma, and I wasn’t far off myself. The town was just one shadow after another. When a big lilac bush threw leaf patterns on the walk ahead of us, Grandma shied like a horse. Then we came to an old oak tree growingclose to the road. Grandma pulled back and edged around it like Count Dracula was standing on the other side, in a cape.
Two or three years earlier we’d have thought the movie had spooked Grandma. Now we wondered if she was trying to spook us.
When we were safely inside at home, she made a business of latching the screen door. Then she looked meaningfully at the window over by the sink, like Dracula’s electric eyes might be staring in, out of his terrible fanged face. Mary Alice and I were frozen to the linoleum in spite of ourselves.
“Grandma, there aren’t such things as vampires, are there?” Mary Alice asked. Did she want to know, or was she testing Grandma? Every summer Mary Alice seemed to pick up another of Grandma’s traits.
“Vampires? No. The only bloodsuckers is the banks.” Grandma stroked her chins. “Movies is all pretend. They’re made in California, you know. But they prove a point. Make something
seem
real, and people will believe it. The public will swallow anything.”
That seemed her last word for the night. Now Mary Alice and I had to stumble up that long staircase to the darkness above. Being the man of the family, I ought to have gone first, but didn’t.
“Sweet dreams,” Grandma said behind us.
It was a long night, and hot. Mary Alice shut her window to keep vampire bats out. I know because I heard her closing hers when I was closing mine.
The next morning, after that restless night, I said to Grandma at the breakfast table, “I need two bucks bad.”
“Who don’t?” Grandma said. “What for?”
“Driving lessons, and Ray Veech wants two dollars to teach me.”
“What do you want to learn to drive for anyway?” she said. “Don’t you go around Chicago in taxicabs and trolleys?”
I couldn’t explain it to Grandma. I was getting too old to be a boy, and driving meant you were a man. Something like that. I shrugged, and she slid a belly-busting breakfast in front of me.
Mary Alice turned up, looking like the ghost of herself. She was pale-faced with bags under her eyes. Though glad to see daylight, she was worn to a frazzle.
“Anyhow,” Grandma said, “you don’t have time for driving lessons. I want you two to poke around in the attic. I can’t get up there anymore. You have to climb up through a trapdoor in the closet.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Any old rummage for the church sale.”
So Grandma, who didn’t take part in community activities, wanted to go to the rummage sale. She ate with the fork in one hand, the knife in the other. Then she looked up like she was having one of her sudden thoughts.
“Tell you what. Find that old stovepipe hat up there. It belonged to a preacher who knew my maw and paw. He was visiting one time, trying to convert them, and he dropped dead on the parlor rug. They kept his stovepipe hat on their hat rack ever after, to remember him by. I stuck it up there. Get it down. I saw
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