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CHAPTER 24

You Stole My Chili

      LUCY PUSHED the door open. "Uncle Bob?"

      "Who's there?"

      It was almost dark in the room. The only light came from the open bathroom — which he'd begun to keep lit at nights.

      "It's me. Can I come in?"

      "Turn on the light, so I can see you."

      She flicked it on and went over to the bed. "Normalade said you were still awake. How you feeling tonight?"

      He had the covers drawn up to his chin, and he lay there staring at her. "Who are you?" His eyes looked hard.

      "Who am . . . ? Well, come on, Uncle Bob, you know me." Then Lucy hesitated, remembering how this morning he'd thought she was someone else. "I'm Lucy. Remember me?"

      "Oh, are you?" he said coldly. "Is that your game? Well, you can't fool me. Because I know Lucy's a sweet little girl that does what I say. But you? You're just a woman that works at my restaurant and makes up her own mind about everything."

      "Well, Uncle Bob," Lucy said, wanting to soothe him. "Bobby and I work there together. But it's just until you come back and take over again — you know that. And we try to do things the way you taught us."

      He never moved, but his eyes seemed to flicker when he looked at her. "Is that what you want me to think? You're trying to pretend that everything you do is my idea?"

      Lucy was beginning to feel extremely nervous, but she sat down on the foot of his bed and said calmly, "Normalade said Bertie was here earlier. Did you and he have a good visit?"

      Instantly, he barked, "Get off my bed."

      She sprang to her feet. "I'm up. I'm sorry, did I hurt your leg?"

      "Never mind that." He sat up, bolt upright. "No you listen to me, woman: my friend Bertie was here all right. And I thank God he was too, because he was friend enough to tell me what's going on — and he told me what you did!" he shouted suddenly, his eyes flaming with anger.

      "Wha . . . what did I do? What do you mean!" Had he found out about Bobby and Swan? What!

      "You bitch! You goddam TRAITOR!" He was yelling now, his voice shrill and crazy. "You changed my chili! You goddam dared to go and change my famous hot-dog chili!"

      "Oh no, Uncle Bob . . ." she gasped. "I was coming in right now to tell you about that. It's just something new I was thinking of — not to change your chili at all. And I only first tried it today because somebody gave me a recipe they'd used at a chili festival. It's Montezuma's chili — and I thought it would be fun to try it. That's all — that's all there is to it."

      "Lies! I knew you'd lie about it." He was fumbling around in the bed for something. "Stole my business — destroyed my life's work. And now — you traitor! — you went to kill my chili!"

      He'd found something under the covers. "But you won't get away with it! No-no. Not with me you won't . . ."

      He threshed around in the bed, trying to pull out whatever it was he'd had hidden there. "I'm ready for you this time. I'll teach you . . ." It was his cane. He'd had it under the covers with him. And suddenly he was out of bed, erect and unsteady on his feet, waving the cane and shrieking, "Kill my chili will you? Not yet you won't!"

      Lucy saw it coming, but she couldn't believe it. She didn't even try to move away, and the cane caught her across the muscle of her upper arm so painfully that it took her breath, slamming her against the bed, so that she fell and landed on her knees in front of him.

      "Gotcha that time!" The old man yelled, dancing up and down. "Steal my things? Not yet! Not while I still got the strength to punish you!"

      As Lucy was getting up, the cane came at her again. "Uncle Bob —Don't —" and this time it caught her on the side of face, slamming into her cheekbone.

      She felt stunned. What was happening to her. As he loomed over her, triumphant, cane in the air, she crouched against the bed, sobbing looking up at him. He seemed so tall, towering, just as he had when she was little. Mixed with her pain and confusion was a confused memory of something long ago . . . Lucy was crying, because she'd done something awful — only she didn't know what. And the stick was coming, and she had to stand right there and take it, and she couldn't run away . . . .

      He was glaring down at her like a stranger. "You dared to wrong me! Me that took you in and trusted you? Did you! Well, punishment is coming now — and retribution is on the way . . ."

      "No, Uncle Bob," Lucy was begging him, crying. "Please — it's a mistake, and I didn't! It's me you're hurting! Me, Uncle Bob — Lucy . . ."

      The cane came up. He was holding it in both hands, aiming right at her head. At her face. He really meant to kill her, "No, please . . . "

      This time, as the blow came, Lucy dodged, and the stroke only grazed her. The iron bedstead took much of the impact, and it made a horrible noise, and the sound seemed to go off inside her head.

      He staggered from the shock of hitting something so hard and began to curse her, using words she'd never heard before. Words in Spanish . . . she was on the floor, trying to crawl under the bed as she sensed the upstroke of the cane. He was going in for the kill, and . . .

      No — somebody else was in the room . . . the cane was already in the air, and Mama was yelling, "Are you crazy? Stop that, you crazy man! Stoppit! You'll kill her!"

      Only — wait, it wasn't Mama; it was Normalade. Right behind Uncle Bob, jerking the cane out of his hands from behind as he raised it up for a last, terrible blow.

      "Are you crazy!" Normalade shrieked again. "Get out of the way, Lucy — run!" She flung the cane across the room — and it hit the bureau with a crack and fell down and slid away.

      Then Normalade gave Uncle Bob a big push toward the bed. "Lie down, you! Behave yourself — you're crazy, old man!"

      He staggered back, but he didn't fall. When he had his balance again, he turned to look at Normalade almost mildly. Then he glanced down at Lucy, who was still crouching on the floor, trying to slink away. When he turned back to Normalade, who stood panting but well out of arm's reach, he seemed bewildered.

      "But the parent must discipline the child," he said, in a reproachful voice. "Don't you know that? Even the Bible said it: retribution swift and terrible."

      "Don't be stupid." she panted back.

      He sighed, shook his head, and sat down on the bed, glancing again at Lucy and back to Normalade. "After all the wrongs I've suffered," he whispered, "You should have let me kill her."

      Then he lay down very quietly, pulled up the covers, smoothed them, and closed his eyes.

      Normalade stared at him. She seemed to have run out of steam. Finally she went and got the cane. As she bent over for it, muttered to herself, "That's it — I gotta get out of this crazy-house. It's not safe here. I've got my baby to think of."

      Meanwhile, Lucy had managed to make it to the door. She almost couldn't locate it, though, because everything seemed so strange and out of focus. And her arm hurt so . . . how could this be happening?

      Lucy stood with her forehead against the wall. This hadn't happened, had it? Her face felt like it was bleeding. Surely things like this didn't ever really happen . . . .

      Normalade said, "I got the stick. Let's get out of here." She opened the door, Lucy drifted through it, and Normalade closed it behind them. But then, Lucy couldn't seem to stand up very well, and Normalade had to help her across the hall.

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