Broken Star

In the summer of 1943, everything went haywire and changed all our lives forever. ‘Forever’ was my one of my favorite words, then. It sort of puts an importance on things.

It wasn’t really summer yet, just late May, but for us kids our summers began when school let out just before Memorial Day and ended just after Labor Day when school started again. Summer days didn’t have to answer to the mathematics of time and bells. Instead, they just rambled along.

One day, Old Lady Rainey, whom I am required to respect, and not call her that to her face, stopped and adjusted Junior’s blue Service Star Flag hanging in the front door window, as she entered, as always, after she smiled at her ‘lovely’ self in the glass reflection and straightened her ugly hat. There was a bell on the door that always rang but we had heard it so much we had stopped hearing it. It might as well not been there.

“Well,” she announced, “I see this star ain’t turned gold yet. Praise the Lord! Junior Wagner is still alive,” and she waved her hands around like a silly cheerleader.

“Yeah! Somewheres . . . Maybe.” I answered her. I was sitting and reading my favorite comic book, ‘The Submariner.’

“Chris, you can at least be optimistic.” Mother, who was behind the counter, corrected me, as usual. “Of course, he’s alive and coming back to us . . . and all in one piece . . . He has to! . . . Can’t you say, “Hello” to Mrs. Rainey? We haven’t seen her in a month of Sundays.”

I tried to shake hands with her, but she looked at my hand like it was something dead. “Is it clean?” she said. “I’m wearing white gloves.”

Mother went on like the old Hag was the Queen of England. “It’s so good to see you, Hattie Bell Rainey. We’ve really missed you.” She even came out from behind the counter to hug her. “I’m sorry about your sister’s illness.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t stay a day longer. Harry was about to divorce me. He just can’t stand it when I’m not at home.”

Harry Rainey, her dwarf-like, railroad conductor husband wore little gold rimmed glasses just like hers. Both looked odd, like they were wearing magnifying glasses. Except for the ugly flowered dresses and the fact that I never heard him say a word, I couldn’t tell them apart.

“You must be completely worn out, having to take care of her so long.”

“Well, it would have been a whole lot easier if that husband of hers had enough sense to come in out of the rain. He was just helpless when it came to taking care of things. I don’t know why she puts up with him. And that idiot doctor she had. All he cared about was how much money he could make off them. She didn’t need that operation, if you ask me. At any rate, they were certainly glad to see me leave. All of ‘em.”

“And we’re glad to have you back with us.”

I wasn’t so sure.

“It has been a while,” Mrs. Rainey said and wandered back over to the door and looked out at the new Army Hospital. “It just gets bigger and bigger, doesn’t it?” She shook her head. “I don’t see how you can put up with all this racket. It would drive me slap mad!”

There was a lot of noise. Hammers banged and road graders growled all day and half the night. But like the bell over the door, I guess we had gotten used to it.

“Pitiful sight ain’t it! Cripples just as far as you can see, I do declare.” She laughed, “I do hope they don’t all try selling pencils at the same time down on Main Street.”

“Mrs. Rainey!” Mother gasped.

“Well, they have to start somewhere!” She laughed again. “Wouldn’t you know, Temple would go and get something absolutely awful like an Amputee Center? Other places I can name, sure did a whole lot better. Tacky 'ole Killeen wasn’t any more than a greasy spot in the road and now they got Camp Hood and money rolls in faster than those illiterate cedar choppers over there can count it.”

“Temple has always prided herself on being a hospital center,” Mother answered.

“Ain’t much to pride ourselves with a bunch of torn up bodies nobody can fix,” Mrs. Rainey grumbled. She leaned down and picked up a peach from one of the bushel baskets sitting in front of the counter and studied it. “Albertas?”

“No, but they are cling free. And home-grown, too. Just got them in this morning.”

“Albertas is better for canning. Got more body.” She took a large bite, leaning out over the floor to avoid any dripping. Then she smacked her lips and made a terrible face. “Uhhhh weeeeeee! Sour as persimmons!”

“Good price. Only five cents a pound,” I said.

She just looked at me and smiled. “Just grazing, boy. Just grazing.”

But I noticed she managed to finish it in about three bites, dropped the seed in the trash can, and then licked her glove.

Old Lady Rainey never paid for what she could steal, a word I was forbidden to utter in her presence. It seems that we had inherited her along with the store because she claimed to have been Grandmother Flint’s dearest friend, which I have reason to doubt, although she had been ‘grazing’ as long as anyone could remember. Unfortunately, she lived behind us and had a well-worn path to our generosity. She was the only person I have ever known who would come into your house, open the refrigerator to see what we were having for supper, and decide right off, if she wanted to stay.