Sperry, Sharon

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4 MANUSCRIPTSThe Smell of OilSharon SperryA SJlL\LL gray car pulled to the curb along a narrow street in theslum area of the north section of town. Frank, the socialworker, a narrow man in a green sweater, got out and stooelmomentarily studying the brown shack in front of him. He took abreath and sucked in the peculiar air that reeked of oil and coal dust.It was disgusting air that scratched his throat. Almost as if he hadgulped muddy water, he pushed it out, and wondered why after acareer of contact with this air he never learned to breathe it easily.While he stood thinking, the girl who had come along slipped upbeside him. Carol was a small girl with a head full of bobbed curlsand wide eyes that gazed at the scraggly lawn before them. She hadapproached him at the lunch counter at school. A paper for sociology,she had explained. Would he take her to a typical family? Typical,he had snorted. Typical was a middle class word where familieswere moderate in all their pleasures and failures. Nothing was at alltypical of poverty. There was no typical way to go about beingwretched. He had consented reluctantly. She was clean, almost tooclean and proper, and he wasn't able to guess, looking at those wideeyes, how she would react to the Har risons.He had briefed her as they drove across the city. Four peoplelived in one room and shared a bathroom with the family next door.There was no man in the family, only one young boy under ten.Grandma Harrison lived with her daughter, Greta, whose husbandhad disintegrated from alcohol five years earlier. He had left herchildless. Now she had two children, one of them a baby girl. Carolhad lifted her eyebrows at that.He tried to guess again, watching her absorb the shack whether/ that tiny lift of the eyebrows was his signal to turn the car aroundand take her back to school.. The shack door opened and Grandma Harrison's blubber ar111waved them both into the room where everyone sat around a longtable. Greta had the baby against her stomach which was still swollen.Carol asked if she could hold it and Frank watched Greta plop itunconcerned into her lap.The boy, Bobby, had a cold and hacked a cough that sounded toFrank like something more serious. He made a mental note to getthe boy to the clinic on the weekend. Greta had stuffed his ears withcotton. To keep them from dripping, she explained."Did ya see the flowers when ya come in?" she asked, leaningacross her lap.Frank shook his head and she burst into laughter."From the man that gave me that one," she pointed to the babyin Carol's arms. "Kin ya imagine? He sent me roses with a stork ona stem. Some joke, huh? Roses fer me. Jest on accounta the kid."[\IAN USCRIPTS 5"Who was the man?" Carol asked."Is, ya mean, honey. He is my man. He's married to the womantwo blocks down who runs the beauty shop. Gets pretty good busi-ness, I hear. Can't keep track of him, though, so I do it."She hooted and wiped a tear across her cheek. Frank noticedthat Bobby had crept to Carol's elbow and while Greta chuckled, hehad reached over and kissed the baby on the mouth. Carol's facetwitched and she darted a glance at Frank. He frowned slightly.Bobby kissed the baby once more. Greta saw it and slammed thetable with her hand."Git outa there. Ya wanna give her a cold, too?"Greta turned back to Frank, but Frank was watching Bobby whostill stood gazing raptly at the baby. He rocked slowly to the balls ofhis feet and leaning gracefully across Carol's arm, he dropped hishead slowly until his lips just touched the baby's cheek. Then, ascarefully as before he rocked back. In the silence which surroundedthe motion Frank could hear no crying fr0111the streets nor the tinrattle of cans on the pavement. The rats within the walls had ceasedtheir squealing and all the block was still as Bobby kissed the baby."Goddamit !" Greta screamed. "Can't ya hear? Git outa there !"Frank sighed as the little boy scampered into a corner of theroom, and catching Carol's eye he saw a lonely tear rolling down herface."Well, Greta," he said as he stood. "Thanks for letting us seethe baby. I'm coming by this weekend to take the boy to the doctor,and I'll see you then."The air was cold and dark. Frank stared at the row of shackswhich stretched along the street, and endless line of broken buildings,all exactly alike in the night. He knew the tiny differences to be seenin the day: a broken fence beside a dirt walk, a potted plant whichhung brown leaves across a porch, a three-corner tear in a screendoor, a frame chair rocked back against a wall. At night the formsof difference melted into shadows, and the smell, the ever-presentodor, was their common feature. Frank sighed again and climbedinto the car. Carol was already in, sitting on the front seat with herknees held rigidly together. He turned the key and started the heater."Wasn't it tender?" she asked."What ?""The way he kissed the baby.""Probably get pneumonia next week."She looked at him and the dashboard lights glowed in her eyes."What a cynical attitude.""It's natural.""You're just hardened, that's all. You've lost all sight of thebeauty that exists even in this place.""It's not beautiful that that baby has a slim chance of growingstraight and clean-that she's damned before she begins-that all thehelp I'll give her is to offer medicine and food and clothes-that ten6 MANUSCRIPTSyears from now she'll start the crooked race that leads at last to morebastards.""And didn't you notice Bobby's eyes?""What about them ?""They were beautiful. Round and full of love, so very deep andwarm.""It's all he has.""What ?""When your body is riddled with starvation and cold and yourmind never opens on the light of day, the eyes are all that's left. Hecan't hear anything more than the beer bottles in the trash or thesqualling from the next room or the talk of his mother, and he doesn'tcare to talk himself because all he could say is useless. Then all that'sleft is to look, and once in awhile, when the clouds of oil lift in theearly morning, he catches sight of the downtown buildings, the sand-blasted stone. Oh, that probably sounds cold to you. Dreamingabout stone buildings, because you know they're just of fices, but hedoesn't. He used to ask me who lived in them. I suppose he thoughtthey were huge castles, or something. But he'll grow up and learnthat they're just offices, that some of them are police courts. He'llprobably get to know them pretty well. He'll lose those big eyes, andhe'll take to the bottle, a sort of suicide, I guess you'd say."He had put a special stress in his voice and she turned her headaway. He shrugged and pulled into the street to begin the drive back."Then why, if you feel that way, do you do this ?""It's a job.""That's not an answer.""Listen. There are several things you'd better learn before youstart this sort of life. First, you don't get teary eyed every time onebastard kisses another bastard. If you do you'll go to pieces. You/ feel, yeah, but only within the limits of your own mental health."Rain had begun to fall and he switched on the windshield wipers.They flapped across the window and spread the beads to fine streaksthat rippled his view of the street."Then, I won't go into it," she announced flatly. "I can't stopfeeling.""Then don't come back again. Don't visit. Don't get close toanyone there."She looked curiously at him and frowned slightly."And why do you say that?""Because it happens that some people get too close, get so closethey can't get away," he paused. "Oh, it's just good advice. Takeit."He stopped the car in front of the castle like structure that wasthe dormitory and smiled."I'll see you.""Yes, do. Look me up if you're in the cafeteria when I'm there.Thanks for the ride."MANUSCRIPTS 7He waved goodbye to her, and started to pull from the curbwhen a numbing thought passed his mind. In the apartment building,an empty room awaited him. In his closet the clothes he ownedsmelled of oil. He looked back at the walk. She was inside the door,safe from the rain, shaking out her scarf. Watching her, he suddenlywanted to go home and shake out his clothes, to get rid of the stenchof oil.UNDER THE LIME TREESBlue unicorns bathing in the moonlight.And a wreath around the moon. . . .I, in my time have ridden the unicornAnd revelled in the glory of my loin.My flesh burns and I am without myself ;Yet I am called to reason by the sweepingIvory curve of a gentle throat descending unto a trembling breast.Come to me my love, and cool my brow with your caresses.Come to me my love and I will plait your hair,And we shall be as children in our love.Innocence unto innocence cleaves purity;And we shall walk hand in hand under the lime trees.CHRISTOPHER A. THOMAS

The Smell of Oil

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The Smell of Oil

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