My Mother Is Now Earth

11. The Last Bloom of Lilacs

My father is alone in the barn. Early this morning, he stood at the open door and watched men haul away his Holstein cows in their cage trailer. And then he went back inside, probably to reread the letter telling him that if he missed another month’s payment, they would have to come and take back their cows. I look away from the window above the sink and finish washing the fresh eggs. I carefully dry each one, then place them in the used cartons for my mother to sell. Michael sits at the table, trying to open my father’s can of Prince Albert tobacco. He wants to roll a cigarette and bring it to the barn. I tell him it takes years to learn how to roll a cigarette. “You’re gonna spill tobacco everywhere , and then I’m the one who’s gonna get blamed for it.” But he doesn’t listen. He pulls at the lid with his chubby fingers, even bangs the can on the table. Finally he opens a counter drawer and digs through spoons and forks. “Hey! Don’t touch that knife,” I say, slamming the drawer shut. I pick up the can and papers. “Here, just take it to him.” I wouldn’t think of bringing my father his tobacco unless he asked me to. He likes Michael more than the rest of us. My father sometimes lets Michael sleep with him in his bed, especially when f11g The Last Bloom of Lilacs 109 110 1972 Michael comes downstairs in the middle of the night, crying from a nightmare he had. Michael follows through the garden rows and even to the edge of the fields with my father. When my father realized the problem with the Oldsmobile was worse than a bad transmission , he had to make the decision to buy a used motor for the car instead of making payments on the Holsteins. Michael wanted to help him put in the motor. He spent a whole weekend in the garage holding tools for my father. When I put the last egg carton in the refrigerator, I realize I’d better head outside and protect Michael from the rooster. Even I get attacked by that rooster when I’m not looking. He doesn’t like any of us. He raises his wings and charges at us for no reason, picking at our legs with his sharp beak and jumping at us with his claws. But I got lucky when I was collecting eggs earlier this morning. That rooster did not see me slip into the chicken coop to get my mother’s eggs because he was busy picking and scratching at something, maybe an anthill, on the side of the road. The rooster is still on the road, but Michael runs as fast as he can toward the barn, holding his baggy pants. I drop the rock I picked up from the driveway and wait until my brother gets to the barn. My father meets Michael at the open door, smiling, taking the tobacco from him. I head back to the house and see my mother still hanging bedsheets on the clothesline. I reach the porch, then hear her call my name. Right away I want to start asking why I am the only one around here who has to work. “Why can’t I go to town like everyone else?” “Did you wash all of those eggs?” she asks. “Yes. Can I go with you when you go to town to sell ’em?” The Last Bloom of Lilacs 111 She hangs the last sheet on the line and pulls her hair away from her face. “Get me some clothespins,” she says. I reach in the basket and grab a handful. “Well? Can I go with you?” “I’m not going to town. Not today.” “Why?” She looks over her shoulder toward the barn. My father and Michael are coming up the path. “How many cartons are there?” my mother asks. “I don’t know, maybe six. How come you’re not going to town?” “Listen, you get inside and take five of those cartons to the basement and hide them under the stairs.” I look back at my father, and I know what she means. The old man is broke. Because he had to buy that used motor, he didn’t have much left over from his check...