“ . . . Not understand none of it. Just know only Petey go squoosh in dark and then over . . .”
I buried Petey in the woods today.
No, I didn’t do it myself. Mom helped, though I did the actual digging and most of the burying. She told me how to say the right words to God before we tossed dirt over Dad’s rusty old tool box that held what was left of the remains. You’re supposed to respect death, she says, so she wanted me to get it ‘zactly right, and I did too, you bet. She used the word ‘uh-propriate’ a lot so I guess that’s what my rest-in-peace speech was about. But to tell it true I don’t see much that’s peaceful about dying and I’m not sure I respect death the way everyone says I should. Seeing it close up I can tell you death is one ugly sucker and smells like rotten eggs someone left in the basement. ‘Course, I didn’t tell Mom none of that. She’s always saying how I shouldn’t question God’s ways, that the worst kind of alone is when you lose your love for God, so I shouldn’t show God I’m angry at him. I’m pretty sure Petey knows how angry I feel, though. At least what’s left of him. To tell it true, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t prefer having Petey around instead of God anyway.
It rained all last night so digging wasn’t so easy. There was lots of mud and that sludgy stuff gets damn heavy the further down you go, ‘cause all that water, it just seeps into the earth like the ground is one big dripping sponge. I kept shoveling mud clumps until I managed a decent enough hole to put Petey’s box into. Then I said what Mom told me to say. I can’t remember all the exact words now, but they were fitting, all right, something about how God forgives all his children when they die, even his worst sinners. I guess I sounded properly respectful of death ‘cause Mom, she was smiling even when she must’ve felt so sad. I can’t say I feel so good about what I was thinking, but I wasn’t scared if God read my mind or anything. Not if He really forgives all of us for the shitty things we think about him.
After I gave my little speech, I allowed Petey his moment when I didn’t say a word. I spent that time remembering how he’d lick my face when I got home from school. It was just his way of saying he was happy to see me, but Mom always told me that wasn’t very healthy because he had about a billion germs on his tongue. I didn’t care because Petey was the best friend a guy could have.
Anyway, today Mom and me, we just stood there by his freshly dug grave acting fittingly courteous while staring into that gaping mud hole. Finally she nudged me and said, “That’s enough, Robbie. Time’s come to say ‘Goodbye’.” It’s funny how, with all the stuff she told me to speak, my saying ‘Goodbye’ didn’t seem to matter so much. But I said it anyway.
See, what bothers me is that God, he never plays fair. There was no need to take Petey the awful way he did, especially when he meant so much to me. Mom tried explaining that it was just his time, that God was ready to bring him home, but I can’t see any sense in that since his home was here with me. I knew he was feeling sick and didn’t have much life left in him anyway, but just the same I wanted him to stay here a while longer, and I don’t see the harm his remaining alive would have caused. I even prayed, for all the good it did, asked God every night to let me keep my best friend a little longer even when I knew he was feeling so ill. God answered my prayer, all right. He told me, “Now Robbie, you know I can’t do that ‘cause, see, I want Petey too.” Mom always says God, he likes to keep you in the dark about the mysteries of his ways, but I don’t see the point, not unless God’s the type that likes pulling the wings off flies. So I guess you can say God and me, we don’t really see eye to eye about dying.
‘Course, none of that matters much since God always gets his own way in matters like this. That’s why Petey’s out there among all them sycamores right now, and I’m here in my bed just missing him so. See, we used to share this bed every night, and Petey, he’d crawl into my arms and sleep right here snuggled by my side until morning. I’m pretty sure Mom wasn’t crazy about his sleeping with me because of his germs and all, but she never said a word about it. Maybe she knew how safe Petey made me feel when the lights went out, and she decided to just let it go.
Anyway, that’s what I’d like to believe Mom was thinking after Petey died. But if God sees things different while watching us, well, I don’t much care. I might not understand what he’s all about, but I think I have him sized up pretty good, and I don’t think he’s what people say he is.
See, I’ve been watching God a lot too.
***
“And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out
and cast it from thee . . .”
- Book of Matthew
Chapter 18
Lord forgive me these thoughts and for what I’ve done. I have sinned but I know that you show mercy. What’s important is that it’s finally over. Thank you, God, for that.
For years this has been a living nightmare, and Robbie has taken Peter’s death very hard, even worse than when Ted left us. I wish I could find the tears but they’re just not there. Maybe that makes me into a monster too. Perhaps more authentic feelings will come later after all of this sinks in, but right now I can’t bring myself to grieve. My thoughts are with my younger son. He’s all I have, and life is for the living, isn’t that so?
It was messy today for a burial, although Robbie didn’t seem to mind last night’s storm. The little guy was determined to perform his task the way I showed him, and I suppose I sounded fairly insistent because I felt I owed Peter at least an appropriate funeral. I pray the experience has done my son some good, and that Peter’s dying served some higher purpose than his life was able to. From the start Robbie always looked after his big brother, blinded by his love to the abomination before his eyes. Perhaps that was your plan for Robbie all along, but your wisdom isn’t for me to know, is it? Children, bless their hearts. They’re so innocent, so trusting in a world whose wickedness is all around them.
Oh, I know Peter was not truly wicked, that he couldn’t help being what he was. That didn’t make it any easier. I’m sorry, but I could never bring myself to call that thing my son. Even now the word sticks inside my throat. I had my other child’s safety to consider. Something born so horrible, you can’t know what it’s capable of and the havoc it inflicts. Lord, forgive me if I seem ungrateful, but I have always been an honest and God-fearing woman, and I know better than to doubt your love. I understand Peter was delivered from my own loins and that there should be some shred of maternal instinct I’m meant to experience, but how would that have been possible when I could hardly bear to watch that thing slither across my kitchen floor begging for some scrap from my table? How awful I must sound, a mother rejecting her own blood. But could any sensible woman consider that sopping gargoyle as family? What choice was I given? I did only what I felt was best.
The day I gave birth the doctors told me Peter could not live a week being so small and with flesh that looked as if it had been turned inside out. He had to slither just to move, and the organs inside were all wrong too. I felt certain he could not linger for more than a few days. But he fooled all of us and just kept growing stronger and stronger, for months shrieking throughout the night while I cried myself to sleep fearing my Lord had truly abandoned me. Peter became so very powerful, and with those claws who knows what atrocity he might commit? Dr. Gracie told me he had never seen anything like it, but he did not call Peter’s surviving a miracle. No sane man would.
After Ted left I moved Robbie and me to these North Jasper woods to avoid prying eyes, and I prayed every morning curious neighbors would not step off the path to steal a peek through my curtains. During these past months Peter seemed even more horrible. He must have been reaching some new maturity with those misshapen teeth growing sharper and his claws stretching out like twisted hooks. I had to keep him locked inside the basement for my own safety, at least until Robbie came home. I suppose that’s what made Peter so sick towards the end. You see, there are a good deal of rats nesting in my fruit cellar, and lately they’ve been multiplying, so there must be more than two dozen down there. With Peter dripping all that sticky muck the way he always did it was difficult to spot the bites unless you were looking for them, so Robbie never suspected. I just told him that Peter’s condition was bound to make him ill someday, and that someday was fast approaching.
You showed me the way, Lord, without my having to do the deed by my own hand, for there is no torment worse than a child’s blood on his mother’s flesh. My most humble gratitude to you for giving me the strength to do what I had to!
I left enough garbage down there to make sure those cellar rats didn’t lose interest. I watched them grow fatter and fatter, all the while knowing what I must do. A merciful God understands and forgives even the worst sinners, and, Lord help me, I count myself among them.
The other day those rats were so very hungry. Robbie was off at school and our neighbors are nowhere near, so no one heard. Much better that way.
As for me, while I covered my ears I shouted my praise to you.
It helped block out the screams . . .
***
. . . know only Petey go squoosh in dark and then over . . .
. . . Petey in dark box not like. Used to other dark where mother puts him and hurt comes. Today was much hurt.
Wanted end. But only hurt, then more hurt. Petey scream and scream, then over. But in box dark stayed.
Parts of Petey gone. Little mad teeth chew Petey. Much teeth.
Rest of Petey not gone.
Whole everywhere is dark and alone. Bad, but is badder in box. Worse than hurt is the alone. Alone is so very much and now is baddest alone yet. No Robbie here in wet. Miss Robbie.
Mother not miss. Mother says Petey must not go in house, not go drip on floor. Mother shows mad teeth, puts Petey in dark. Then comes hurt.
This dark badder than other. This dark in box smaller colder with much wet. Petey not like small dark in wet cold box. No one find.
Tonight Petey scratch box. Not strong like once, but Petey can scratch and chew out. Petey love Robbie, scratch and chew with mad teeth, see Robbie soon.
Robbie Petey love much.
Mother not love, not no more.
So first Petey go in house.
At night Petey find Mother and go squoosh.
