Egyptian Goddess

The white bones appeared under dark loamy earth, beautiful as carved ivory. Inside me a pressure built, bubbling up, coming out as a chortle at first, then a laugh. I lost control, my eyelids tightened down, and the sound burst forth a hysterical, maniacal howl. I held my arms around myself and laughed until no sound came.

****

I knew I had to stay with Daddy after Mama passed away. You’d have thought she was his be-all and end-all, the way he went off the deep end, drinking a half case of beer instead of the normal six pack, shouting at night in the yard, going for days without sleep. He was mean, like when I was a little girl, but he was all we had for a man in the house, not like some fathers who’d take off and never come back. I figure I owed him the same, and settled in for the years ahead.

Years shrank to weeks. I needed to be free of him.

At night, he’d come in my room, growling with rage, grab me by the hair and start ranting about nothing. When he got that way, there wasn't a thing I could do except hide until it blew over. I'd hide in my closet, listening to crashing and scattering of broken glass. Over a two weeks he'd taken out most of the windows downstairs. The weather turned cold about that time and wind blew through the house, till I had to wear all my socks and sweaters when I broomed the shards into the trash. A handyman'd come by and put up plywood over the holes.

When he pushed me down the steps, I had to be in the emergency room for a broken arm. The doctor ordered a social worker to the house. But when she pulled in, Daddy took off in the field like he had some important work out there. Next, a parade of stone-faced officials marched up the sidewalk, took notes and left with downturned mouths and sympathetic eyes. They said something along the line of "Don’t you worry. He’s not going to hurt you anymore."

I phoned them the next time Daddy passed out, just like they told me to. In no time at all, a van pulled up, three men in all-white clothes carried with them a stretcher, gave Daddy a shot, lifted his limp self to the gurney and took him away.

A few weeks passed and he didn't come back, so I took a bus to the psych hospital where he had been in 'lockdown' as they called it. He used to have this terrorizing stare and curled lip that I got used to. Instead, he looked blank, like a cardboard man with a straight mouth and wide eyes. He didn't answer when I asked how he was. In fact, he said nothing. It was uncomfortable. I only went there because it was my duty. But after that, I didn’t go back.

****

One night in November, when the ground had begun freezing, the wind whistled through the eaves and leaves blew at the window. A plate of crumbs with bits of cheese from my dinner sat on the floor next to my chair along with a tipped over empty fifth of vodka. My red swollen bare feet, one on the footstool, the other askew on the braided rug, jumped at a sudden deafening bang at the back door.

I staggered to the kitchen, grabbed my loaded pistol from the drawer beneath stacks of mystery magazines. The banging kept on, staccato and vehement. I crouched, hiding in the dark, my heart pounded, wondering what to do next, jump up and shoot or raise to the window to see who it was. The door had double locks plus a chain but the way this monster thumped at it, the hinges might give way. I crept up slow-like shaking all over now.

 It was him.

“Daddy? Daddy? Is that you?" I flipped the light switch. "How did you get here?”

His eyes had lost their cushion and sank deep into his skull, the skin stretched over cheekbones and hollowed below.

“I walked,” he shouted, narrowing his eyes, staring into mine, menacing.

I laid the pistol down. “No, you didn’t. Daddy, the home is fifteen miles away. Who brought you? What the hell happened?”

“Fucking bitch, living in my house," he cried. “I don’t want nothing to do with you. I want you out. You hear me? Out,” he shouted.

I did not unlock the door, still trying to catch my breath.

Daddy bellowed, “I want my pipe. My pipe. My pipe. You threw it away, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed, “Devil’s child, that’s what you are. Should of buried you before your first night on this earth.”

“Alright, Daddy. Everything’s okay.” My legs were like jelly and my head felt submerged in underwater. “I have the pipe. I’ll be right back with it. You want a blanket? It's cold out there.” He answered with a grunt. I ran for a blanket, and tossed it out the front door then yelled to him through the window, "There's a blanket and water in the front."

*****

The next morning I tripped over a second empty bottle of booze. I ran from window to window but Daddy had gone. The wool Army blanket lay in a heap out front.

I drank some reheated coffee and set out to work on the raking. A fearsome tightness stayed on my neck. Keep going, I told myself.

The phone rang constantly and beep-beeped with messages. My nerves kept me from answering till that afternoon. The supervisor said she was sorry but my father was missing. It's okay, I told her, he's here, or was. He’s out in the woods or something.

Her voice had the air of someone in charge, saying they'd be right out within the hour to pick Daddy up and drive him back to the facility. But when they arrived, he was gone, kaput. Police were notified.

News people, cameras, cops were on my front lawn, nosing into my business. After awhile, I refused to talk to them. Daddy’s picture appeared on the evening news.

The sheriff and deputies congregated beyond the house. Bloodhounds jumped out of their cages, baying against their tethers, echoing in the hollow on that foggy morning. The dogs found something by the forest with their excited howls and barks everyone went running to them. It caused a lot of commotion among the community at the time, but it turned out the hounds had found the carcass of a dead deer.

After seven years of searching, Daddy was declared dead.

****

On the thirteenth anniversary of Daddy’s death, I dragged myself to the kitchen for coffee and aspirin. My head felt like an anvil, heavy, and pounded. The kitchen was fuzzy-looking even through my new glasses. In the middle of my kitchen floor, a cat sat with its front legs straight. At first, I thought it was a mirage. I blinked and waited before opening my eyes. The cat had disappeared then reappeared moments later. It seemed to wear a tuxedo and white shoes. I circled it in silence as it sat there unmoving. At last, I reached for it, causing a reaction of such ferocity; hissing, arching like a Halloween decoration. I jumped backward. Devil cat, I shouted. At that, it flopped on its side, still in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I named her Bastet after the Egyptian goddess known for her cats and because tuxedos are smart and have magical powers.

****

After Bastet arrived, strange things happened. Like one morning the bedroom wall had lit up without a light source above the bed. Outside a thick layer of gray clouds covered the sun, all lamps were off. Strange as it was, I finished smoothing the ratty cotton quilt before shining the flashlight against the wall and put my hand up. There was no shadow even with the flashlight’s beam. The light came from inside the wall. 

And like the day when Daddy’s old leather chair cushion sank as if being sat on. I put my hand to it and when I did, the depression inflated along air, cool as refrigerator washed by me. Bastet hid under the sofa that afternoon and wouldn’t come out for dinner or play. Damn cat.

A new mystery show called, looking for a story. These entertainment people always paid, conducted interviews, issued contracts; the usual routine I’d been through over the years. On the morning of the crew’s visit, I hustled through coffee and threw on my clothes. Bastet meowed underfoot as if purposely blocking my steps.

“Good morning kitty. Come here for a minute. There’s not much time for lovey-dovey. I have to hurry; the men are here to start excavating,” I said, reaching for her. She jumped away, raised her back, hissed, and raced from the room.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be back in a while, behave yourself you little ingrate.”

***

At the forest edge down the driveway, the bulldozer worked nonstop, its roar reminded me of my childhood when construction equipment was constant background noise. Daddy’s angry mouth, yelling that I’d missed dinner; no matter that I had no timepiece, no way to hear him calling over the racket. I’d lay in the dark listening to my stomach growl. My girlfriends at school used to ask about the marks on my arms and legs until I smartened up and wore long sleeves and long pants.

 Equipment crowded near the forest. A truck that hauled the machinery; the gigantic trailer, a white pickup truck, a dark van with an antenna on top. The two workmen wore plaid flannel shirts and steel-toed work boots, real he-men. I waved to the dozer driver. His full reddish beard reminded me of Grizzly Adams from the old TV show. He stayed fixated on his partner who ran a wide metal rake back and forth over the newly uncovered soil. Back and forth, Grizzly drove the blade into soft loamy dark soil, pulling layers backward little by little. I stood by, arms folded shivering in the cold, finally raising my hood to warm up my ears.

And then it happened, the bones, beautiful against the black dirt. We faced each other once again, his ivory-colored bones, having his way even from hell, telling the world what I’d done. A roar of men’s words blared at me; cameras in my face. A hyena’s voice, so loud my head could not bear it. Sirens, those men in white clothes. Were they here again for Daddy? He’s not here, I told them. Just me and my cat.

They gave me a needle. I woke up, unable to move my arms or legs. The door was shut and a window looked into a hallway but had wire over it. I must be dreaming. This is Daddy’s nut farm, where he used to live.

“What about Bastet,” I asked the attendant. “My tuxedo kitty. She needs help; someone needs to take her.” I felt myself winding up again. 

“Ma’am, there was no cat at your place. Nope, no cat or litter or food anywhere, just nothing.”