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To Speak for Janey

Liz Betz

    There is a clearing that separates Ben Hyde’s farmhouse from a huge sprawling junkyard of rusty machinery that he and his father, and a couple of farmers before them, have abandoned rather than repaired.
    Inside the house that deserves abandonment too, Ben’s wife Mary Ann dresses and quickly applies the slightest amount of makeup. Not so much that her husband could claim that she looks trashy but enough to bolster her confidence. She is a woman of 35, with the plain honest face that seems to come from work in the fields. Dusted across her nose are freckles leftover from her childhood.
    She tugs furiously on a hair brush but with the humidity today she can only gather the tangle of red curls into a hair holder. Then with her hair pulled back, she becomes conscious of her overbite. Well, she frowns, short of a small fortune and an orthodontist they can’t afford... but she smiles slightly in memory of Janey’s statement that her teeth were cute, and suddenly she seems younger. How kind, she thinks, for a kid to say that, but that’s what Janey was like. She nods to her reflection then a question crosses her face. Did she mention Janey’s kindness? Or is that implied by loyalty to friends?
    Mary Ann lays out Ben’s suit and fresh underwear on the bed, and then tucks in a matchbook into his pocket. He’d remember his smokes but not necessarily anything else. That’s her job. She glances out the window as if she could hurry Ben by doing so. But Ben’ll be dragging his feet. He’s shown his irritation a hundred little ways, since she got involved with this funeral.
    She inhales deeply to push her ribcage out, for it seems her very bones squeeze when she thinks of the day ahead.
    Let her speak well for Janey. Please.
    She pauses at the window. Her hand rests above a water stain that has crept out from beneath her repairs. Spit and denial- Ben’s way or prayers or patches –hers- haven’t halted the house’s decay.
    The sky, Mary Ann decides, tells her a storm will move in. She can sense the electricity that can conjure clouds up from nothing. Rain would be so welcome, and might even settle Ben’s nerves. But if it rains on his fresh paint...
    Just this once, she prays, just this once, don’t let him be riled.
    He’s right. She’s the last person they should have asked to do Janey’s eulogy. But Janey’s sister tracked her down at the second hand store only minutes after she heard of the death, to ask for her help. Shock more than anything made her say yes, she told Ben. Really there isn’t anyone else. She gathers her notes. She could read them again, while she waits for Ben, but she doesn’t. Maybe they’ll sound right in the church. Please. Then she pauses in front of the mirror to pull at her rust coloured, second hand, silk pantsuit. Ben hated it the minute he saw it.
    Now Janey. Janey would have loved it. She would have draped her turquoise scarves around the neck or the waist. She would have posed and strode through the day wearing it, like a magpie in her boldness. She would never have tried to change it. But the silk is meant to be the color it is, god awful with her hair or not. It resists the black dye, she tries and in the end she is glad. Ben is not.
    Ben is outside painting on a bit of slab fence, might as well; he said when he discovers a half pail of paint amongst some boxes from an auction sale. That he would choose to paint this morning, hung over, with the service at 10 is just like him. But if Mary Ann said anything...
    Let him glance at his watch. Let him put away the brush and the paint. Let him do it now. Please, show this mercy. Her stomach knotted. Time has run short.
    Janey had plans for her time on this earth. That’s how she used to call it, “Mary Ann”; she’d say “we just have a certain amount of time on this earth. And we ought to fill it right to the brim”. The braveness she had as a teen. The life they dreamt of having. The life they should have by now.
    Finally Ben comes in and bangs and clatters as if the very walls have to move to accommodate his presence. His shadow looms in the doorway and he enters the bedroom where he sees the clothes that Mary Ann has laid out.
    “Do I have to wear that?” he asks but Mary Ann pretends to be preoccupied as if she isn’t ready to go.
    “Frigging hot and I have to wear a monkey suit.” He says as he sucks in his stomach to do up the buttons on his shirt then he frowns.
    “Jesus. You’re going to melt in that...that silk.” His lip curls.
    Mary Ann looks down at her hands. Her unpolished nails, she never thought, but then she’s hardly had time. It wasn’t until Ben’s brother Eddie drug Ben off to the bar last night that she had time to write the little bit that she has, let alone anything else. But in the past, Janey and she painted their nails all the time. They talked about their life that just called out for pink passion or rascal red as if they belonged in Hollywood.
    Ben is ready and they get into the half-ton truck, but not before Mary Ann arranges an old cloth on her side of the bench seat. Ben’s lips grow thin, but he says nothing. They drive to town and are soon pulling down the street where the church is. Clusters of people are outside.
    Let it be cool inside. Let her find the words.
    It is only a few minutes before the service, when they find a parking spot some distance from the church. The number of vehicles proves one thing about rural communities. No matter what the circumstances of the death there is always a good turnout for a funeral. The hearse is the only clean and polished vehicle. That says something too.
    They walk past houses; one yard contains a picnic table with legs half rotten, and then another has a swing set with one chain unattached to its seat. Beneath a cracked window Mary Ann notices a group of rose bushes that are bravely covered with buds, although many thistles intertwine.
    This kind of turnout for a funeral as well as the drinking last night, with Janey’s brother-in-law buying the rounds, is tradition. Mary Ann isn’t the only woman this morning whose lips hold tight on words as hangovers subside.
    Then Eddie swings in beside them. He’s wearing sunglasses, dark against his pale skin.
    “Can I bum a smoke?” Eddie asks. Ben should say there isn’t time but they stop and the brothers light up. Mary Ann hesitates, she could go on by herself but that wouldn’t go over. Best she wait it out, even Ben wouldn’t make her late on purpose. She looks as the men light up, thinks of a calm draw of smoke.
    “Relax.” Ben tells her and he turns her dress label back into her neck line, “Don’t get your shirt in a knot. We’ll go in together.”
    Fifteen years with Ben and Mary Ann knows not to hurry him unless she wants to go more slowly. Then she thinks, what is her rush? It isn’t as if the family will have some last thoughts for her eulogy. It isn’t as if someone else will jump up to speak if she’s not there. That impossible hope dispels like smoke. It is, as Ben continually points out– frigging well up to her.
    She nods at a couple of people, and watches as a little crowd stalls outside instead of stifling into pews for the ceremony. This late June day may turn out to be the hottest one of the summer. Then suddenly everyone is going inside. The brothers step on their half smoked cigarettes and they file in behind the others.
    Mary Ann tugs at her shirt, lifting it away from her body. She only now realizes the fabric doesn’t breathe and will turn dark with sweat. She will be in front of everyone with dark rings under her arms. Please let it be cool inside the church.
    Ben and Eddie sit on either side of Mary Ann and begin to talk. First is Ben’s estimated cost of the floral arrangements. Then it is Eddie wondering how much the whole thing has set Janey’s family back. Even dead, bloody women will cost you, is Eddie’s bitter assessment and Mary Ann winces.
    Is this what they talk about in the bar? She can picture them puzzling life and death through mugs of beer and in the lyrics of country music.
    Janey said it often, if they think we don’t give a shit, they’ll leave us alone. The words are cruder than what would cross Mary Ann’s lips today, but the truth of it stands.
    Surely Ben and Eddie can be quiet now, but they aren’t finished.
    “What I want to know is why did she have to come back to off herself. She could have done it in the city, couldn’t she?”
    Mary Ann is felled by the words.
    “I’m sure I don’t understand why any woman does anything.” is Eddie’s reply. The brothers nod in agreement on this mystery and glance at Mary Ann as if she would be the next woman to bewilder them.
    “Keep your voices down. This is a church!” Surely they know they could be overheard. Ben’s eyes narrow at her affront and then a blush slowly rises on his cheeks.
    “It’s not like anybody’s being fooled here.” He mutters but quietly.
    “I know. You’re right but this isn’t the place.” Mary Ann pats his hand then says a little louder, “It’ll be a nice rain, when it comes.” Ben and Eddie glance at one another but finally are silent.
    There is a rustle of hymn book’s opening and people arrange themselves for the service and grow silent. Mary Ann draws comfort from the crowd that has gathered. These neighbours have found reasons to pay their respects, if not to Janey herself then to her family or a sense of community. They are good people, even if many think like Ben and Eddie.
    The first hymn begins. Would that it buoy her upwards, would it inspire.
    Mary Ann gives in to the organ music that has begun and the familiar patterns of light high on the altar. This is a place of peace and a haven for the likes of her.
    Quickly it is her turn. She takes a deep breath. Let people remember something worthwhile. Of Janey.
    She arranges her papers on the stand and leans forward to the microphone. A squeal erupts and the minister steps forward to adjust something. He nods at her to step forward again.
    “Janey was my friend” she says, but to her ears there is falseness to her bravery. She should have said no. No she couldn’t. Not her. Then she wouldn’t be here. Facing these people. She swallows. There is no choice but to go on.
    “Janey loved color and brightness and textiles, and she had a dream to become a fashion designer. But...” Mary Ann’s papers tremble. “But, sometimes our dreams are not to be.” She draws an unsteady breath. “I don’t know how she lived. I wish I did. But I do know how she planned to live; she was going to live large and unafraid. She was going to have adventures, and she was going to love. I remember her dreams as well as I remember my own. Those were our days. We thought we’d live the life we decided on. We thought we couldn’t loose. Those were our dreams.”
    Mary Ann looks in Ben’s direction with an expression that asks -do you remember-, but many faces blur in front of her eyes and drive her head back down. “But somehow Janey’s life turned out differently then she expected and today it’s hard to see past that. But I remember Janey. Janey with her whole life ahead of her. I like to think of her like that. She was ready for fun. Loyal to her friends. Kind. Defiant. Bold.”
    Mary Ann looks up and catches the glint from Eddie’s sunglasses; he has put them back on. Janey’s family seem as though they are wax figures, even Ben avoids her direct glance by rubbing his eyes. No one is really listening.
    Hope drops away like the weak thing it is. It is impossible it is to erase away Janey’s failures in this community. Mary Ann catches the eye of Janey’s sister, who’d asked her this one thing and she sends a meek, I’m sorry gesture.
    She senses the minister’s approach behind her. She is so tempted to take his rescue, but shakes her head at his offer. She has one last thing that she can do. Mary Ann turns to the list of dates and places of employment and a summary of addresses that the family gave her. It’s a sorry conclusion but she reads it before she makes her way back to Ben’s side.
    Ben whispers “Remember this Mary Ann?” His voice comes as if from a distance. “Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust, if God won’t take her, then the devil must.”
    Then he chuckles and several people glance in their direction. Only Ben could mark this moment like this. Surely God will find mercy for Janey. Mary Ann’s breath is shaky and tears threaten.
    Ashes to ashes. Mary Ann thinks of the ashes from those boozy bush party campfires. Embers of light that went upwards then disappeared into blackness.
    Dust to dust. Little spurts of dust from under bike tires as Janey and her race down back alleys.
    Those summer evenings, so long ago, with this town watching them like an old dog ready to snap at a mongrel pup. A town more than willing to say ‘Janey dresses like a tramp because she is a tramp’. None of them knowing that the garish colors and sensuous fabrics eased a hunger in Janey. And helped her deal with what had been stuffed down her throat.
    Janey confides that her father is always after her. But Mary Ann didn’t know what she meant; thinking of how her own father might demand homework done or help for her mother. It is years before she really understood and then she is hot with shame that she could not help. Her own youth and innocence is no excuse to her. She should have done something to stop the sadness from slamming shut on Janey.
    Mary Ann swallows back a lump of tears. And now she’s failed. Miserably. When she could have spoken out for Janey. Around her, people have stood and she realizes that the service is over. Outside, beneath a forbidding sky Ben and Eddie smoke another pair of cigarettes but when the thunder booms, Ben says it’s time they get home. Mary Ann feels nothing but relief. She won’t have to face Janey’s family at the luncheon. Nor will she have to keep watch on Ben any longer. She tells him, good. She holds her arms over dark circles of sweat and pretends she is still comfortable in her silk pantsuit.
    Back at the farmhouse, Mary Ann slips downstairs. She stands on the corner of the plywood that serves as a floor for her washing machine and begins to undress. Next year perhaps, they’d replace the house. But that’s unlikely. It’s been 15 years and all that is happened is that Ben now has a prosperous stomach, and a full blown bad attitude and she still has these buck teeth, she’s still making do with second hand clothes, and still waiting for better things. And Janey? She has no idea of what time might have done to her. But then she realizes that she does know. Janey is dead. Time destroyed her.
    A close clap of thunder startles the farmhouse and the basement window above her shivers in its frame like a goose had walked over a grave. She struggles to pull her garment off. She has to peel it off her skin. Finally she pushes her clothes under the sudsy water, to wash out all traces of today. There is another thunder rumble and big drops of rain begin to smash against the window. The turmoil that has been building will now be released.
    She can hear the toilet flush on the main floor and then Ben opens the door to the basement. Mary Ann has placed her bra and panties in the water too, only to find that her housecoat is gone astray.
    Ben unbuttons his dress shirt.
    “This will need a wash too.” He says as he crosses the room to drop his shirt into the washing machine. He closes the lid.
    “Hmm. I’ve found a naked woman.” Ben lifts the hair off her neck to place a kiss, while pressing close. Mary Ann can feel his erection on her hip, the way you might feel a train coming if you were laying on the tracks. He nibbles on her ear and then traces one finger on her shoulder. He doesn’t notice her flinch.
    “There must have been some dye make it into your pantsuit after all. It’s come off on your skin.” Ben murmurs, pointing to a stain on Mary Ann’s breast. She understands that if the dye is on her, then it’s in the wash too.
    “Never mind. Bend over. Put your hands on the washer. That’s it.”
    His urges are not hers. Love, honour and obey, she remembers the promise, but this? Did she somehow misunderstood and promise to submit and endure? Detachment, Janey taught her, could be found in a shrug of the shoulder and thoughts of something other than what is happening to you. Janey faced desperate choices born in the darkest place. Did she gaze skyward, looking for shapes in the clouds while the train came closer and closer? Waiting until she had no option but to jump from the tressle?
    Mary Ann imagines the black dye releasing back into the water as the vibration swirls the load, changing the color of some things and not touching others. Ben pumps into her, the washing machine vibrates though the wash cycle, its load unbalanced. There is another rumble of thunder.
    Is there a hum of movement to be felt within a coffin, the spin of the earth perhaps, the bombardment of a storm? God save you, Janey. God save them both.
    Her body draws her back, surprises her with response. She is caught up in Ben’s release. Then for a moment they are frozen, caught without a pillow to turn to. The washing machine shudders dangerously. Mary Ann reaches to open the lid.
    She can barely see Ben’s sheepish expression, past the thundercloud that has squeezed into her brain.
    “Heh, heh, we can still manage to steam up the windows.” Ben avoids Mary Ann’s eyes, the way small planes avoid dark skies, but he adds almost proudly, “I haven’t come like that since I was a teen.”
    Trembling, Mary Ann looks at the rivulets on the window, that fall like tears over glass cheeks. Reaching into the washing machine she begins to rearrange the unbalanced load.
    Years ago, she and Ben had been necking when Janey pounded on the window of their car. It was beginning to rain hard. Ben laughed and locked the door. Mary Ann protested. But she didn’t insist that they let Janey in for shelter. It seems to her now that it incident was a signal to Ben that she would always let stronger wills decide. And so she has, but heaven as witness, it is wrong.
    She reaches into the washing machine and pulls up Ben’s dress shirt. Even wet they both can see the streaks of dye that stain it.
    “God damn it” Ben starts, but the words falter when he catches a glimpse of Mary Ann’s expression. “Oh, that shirt is too tight, anyway. Time for a new one. Don’t worry.” He chuckles.
    “It’s not do or die.” He laughs harder. “Dye? Get it?”
    There is a long moment before Mary Ann responds.
    “No, it’s not.” she answers, “It’s ‘nobody needs to take no shit’.” Janey’s words.
    Mary Ann turns her back on Ben as she closes the lid on the washing machine, very, very slowly.

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