Pride's Joy

The tea kettle sat in its customary spot on the stove, waiting patiently.  Gladys paused briefly before lifting it.  That small piece of normalcy helped anchor her; too much had already spiraled out of control.  She wiped her swollen eyes.   A cup of tea is what she needed now, it always helped calm her nerves.

The kettle was a light beige in color.  A vine of yellow and orange Hibiscus circled the top, with offshoots going down each side.  The handle, a dark brown that was nearly black, curved over the top like a scorpion tail.

It had been a wedding gift from her sister-in-law, and while it wasn't the most glamorous, it's seen the most use.  It was also the only gift to survive the entirety of their marriage, though not unscathed.  A spiderweb of cracks have gradually formed in the painted finish, making it look the way that Gladys sometimes felt about herself: an antique.

Filling it halfway from a jug of purified water, Gladys placed it back on the burner and turned it on high until blue flames leapt up to hug the bottom of the kettle.  After a few seconds she reduced the flames to a medium high.

While the water slowly heated up, she turned back to the sink to put away the dishes.  Not that there were many to put away, but she had to keep herself busy.  An idle mind is the Devil's workshop.  That had been one of her mother's favorite sayings.  Gladys never really understood its meaning.  Not until recently, that is.

When she had finished putting the dishes away she glanced out the window above the sink.  The side yard was in rough shape.  The rains had been heavy this spring, turning their  yard into a pig's wallow. 

 The barn stood on the other side of the mud hole.  Its paint had long since faded, the boards pulling away from the beams as they bowed outwards.  The corrugated roof was streaked orange with rust.  Gladys let out a shuddering sigh.  Erwin would be ashamed at the level of disrepair.

Erwin had always been good with his hands, and he took pride in the fact.  Her mother, a good Christian woman who structured her life around the Bible and its gospels, often condemned Erwin for his pride.  He always took her criticism with grace, and a twinkle in his eye.

Early in their marriage Erwin had built their barn.  It wasn't huge by any means, but it was still more than enough for their needs.  Not long after completing it, her parents stopped over after services for Sunday dinner.  He took them on a tour of the barn, his enthusiasm barely held in check.

More than once her mother made disapproving clicks with her tongue, but Erwin's spirit wasn't dampened.  When they left the barn her mother commented "Pride is the robe worn by sinners."

Erwin nodded, replying with a conciliatory "Yes ma'am."  Later that evening Gladys questioned him about the exchange.  They were sitting beside each other on the couch, watching I Love Lucy.  

"Doesn't it bother you the way she puts you down all the time?"

Erwin thought about it.  "To an extent.  But I remind myself the intent of her comments are kinder than the actual words.  Also, not all pride is bad.  Pride in yourself can be considered sinful, if it's done to an extreme."  

He paused.  On the television screen, Lucy was balancing on a window ledge, hugging the side of a building while dressed in a homemade superman costume.   Erwin laughed as pigeons landed on her head.

"But when it comes to having pride in the accomplishments of others? Or the pride in completing a task, in a job well done?  That is essential.  It's what motivates people to work. to build and create.  Pride is just another word for joy, and satisfaction.  There's no sin in that."

He burst into laughter again as George Reeves, wearing his own Superman outfit, teased Lucy before helping her safely  back in.  Gladys snuggled his arm,  her heart swelling with love, and yes, with a measure of pride as well.

Gladys was still smiling from the memory when the tea kettle began to whistle.  That had been a good night.  Most were, in their fifty plus years of marriage.  The few that weren't?  Like passing shadows they were quickly forgotten.

A thump came from the next room, and her smile melted away.  Sadly, not everything could be so easily forgotten,  or swept away into a dark corner.  She closed her eyes briefly before placing a teabag in each cup and filling them with hot water.  She let them steep while she went to check on Erwin.

A small shiver went through her as she opened the bedroom door and entered. The oscillating fan was on high, filling the room with cool air.  Sitting atop the dresser, a small radio was tuned to a golden oldies station, the volume turned down low.  The curtains were drawn shut, keeping the room dark.  Lately bright light hurt his eyes, causing them to water.  A wicker chair sat in the corner closest to the door. Nestled against the far wall was the bed, with a circular nightstand sitting beside it.   At its base, a large pitcher was tipped over, its contents seeping darkly into the carpeting. 

The sheets were kicked into a pile at the foot of the bed.  Even though they were washed daily, she could still make out the stains.  Even with the oscillating fan, a sheen of greasy sweat coated Erwin's shriveled skin. His undershirt and boxers hung loosely on his emaciated body.  Stubble covered his sunken cheeks in mossy patches.  His eyes, once a piercing blue, were now milky with cataracts, a constant trickle of tears seeping from them. 

As always, her heart clenched in anguish, and though the tears threatened, they always held off until she was alone.  Sometimes she wondered if the tears were for Erwin or herself.  

Kneeling beside the bed, she lifted the water pitcher and put it back on the stand.  Reaching out, she caressed his cheek.  His eyes shifted in their sockets, as if searching for her.  Trembling with weakness, his hand lifted, patting at the air until it made contact with her wrist.  He clutched it desperately,  his fingers digging in slightly with a whisper of the strength they once had.  Slowly his hand moved up her arm.  Gladys closed her eyes, remembering how Erwin used to trace his fingers up and down her arm, teasing her with his touch.  Such a simple act, comforting and sensual. 

Gladys bent  closer as his hand inched towards her shoulder.  Lifting from her arm, it patted at the air until it brushed her cheek.  She leaned into it, and the tears broke free as the warmth of his hand melted her resolve.  She pressed her hand against his, holding it in place.

Erwin's mouth trembled as he struggled to speak.  It's been three months since she last heard his voice, and though she knew that she never would again, she still clung on to the hope.  Quivering with effort,  his lips formed a single word: Please.  Like a dagger it cut into her soul.  She moved his hand, kissing his palm tenderly.  His fingers curled over hers.

Gladys stared deep into his eyes.  Even through the milky cataracts, she could read the pain that consumed him.  The helplessness, and shame.   His body had deteriorated quickly, the diseases eating away at him.  But not his mind, making it even more heartbreaking. She kissed his hand a final time before placing it gently on his chest.  "The tea is almost ready, darling."  She combed the hair off his forehead with her fingers.  "I'll go pour us some."

The subtle aroma of tea rose in the air, riding the wisps of  steam from the amber liquid.  With care she pulled the teabag out of each cup, squeezing out the excess tea. Reaching into the cupboard,  she pulled out the sugar bowl.  Gladys couldn't stand a cluttered counter top, one of the traits she inherited from her mother.  As she stirred half a teaspoon of sugar into each cup, her thoughts drifted to the sugar bowl.  

She found it at the flea market.  The small porcelain bowl had a pale blue floral design, with a matching spoon.  It reminded her of the Westmoreland set her aunt had.  Even though she never felt the need to collect that brand, Gladys nevertheless had to have that sugar bowl.  The price was a little steeper than she had hoped, but not obscenely so.

That had been a beautiful day.  They spent half the morning at the market,  slowly walking past the stands.  Erwin was leaning heavily on his cane towards the end, but he never complained. There was a silent understanding between the two of them that this was likely their last outing together, and neither wanted it to end.

But it had.  Like everything eventually does, good or bad.  She set the spoon on the counter, closing her eyes in misery.  All she could see was Erwin's silent plea, the desperation and defeat.  She couldn't bear seeing him suffer.  She couldn't bear the thought of life without him.   She wiped her eyes.

Bending down, she opened the sink cupboard. The red and white box sat in front.  Gladys didn't remember pulling it forward,  but she must have, there was no one else to do so.  She reached for it and hesitated.  She didn't want to touch it.  It made her feel vile.   She grabbed it anyway, and stood back up.  Setting it on the counter, she stared at it.  The image of a black cat stretched across the box, fore paw lifted as if about to strike.  A snarling smile filled its face, one eye closed in a conspiratorial wink.  With trembling fingers,  she opened the box and pulled out a small block of green.  With deliberate care, she placed it on a paper plate and ground it into a powder. 

She stared at it, still torn.  Gladys tried to convince herself that it wasn't too late, she still had time to figure something else out.  Again, Erwin's silent plea filled her mind.  She lowered her head in resignation.  The bitter truth is that it was too late.  Fighting back the tears, she poured the powder into the tea.

She returned to the bedroom, reluctant yet determined.  She held the tea in front of her as if it were an offering.  Placing the tea on the nightstand,  Gladys again knelt beside her husband.  He was staring up towards the ceiling,  his neck arched sharply. She took his hand, held it between her own.  "Do you remember what you told me about pride, all those years ago?  You said that pride for others is just another form of joy, of satisfaction.  Erwin Acomb, I have felt nothing but satisfaction and joy since the first day we met.  I Love you with all my heart,  and if that's a sin, then God can judge me accordingly."

His head turned to face her, the milky gaze locking onto hers.  His lower lip quivered as he fought to form voiceless words. "Gladys please. Love you. "

Gladys buried her face in his shoulder, giving in to the grief and helplessness she felt.   She stayed that way for several moments before pulling back. She kissed his forehead, then his cheek.  "I brought your tea.  It will help you rest."  Gladys supported his head as she brought the teacup to his lips, gently urging him as he slowly drank the contents.   She held his hand as the convulsions shook his body.  They were mercifully short, and soon he was still.  Gently she lowered his hand to the bed and stood.

She went to the window and opened the curtains, illuminating the small bedroom.  The view outside was calming, and she stared outside for several moments,  soaking it all in.  When she felt that she was ready, Gladys took the wicker chair from the corner and moved it next to the bed.  She sat down and raised her husband's hand to her mouth, giving it tender kisses.

She still held his hand as she took the second teacup off the nightstand and drank from it.  She was prepared for the cramping pain and convulsions that would surely come as the poison ate away her insides. But she wasn't concerned, because Erwin would help her through it, and when the pain finally leaves, taking everything with it,  it will be just her and Erwin and all will be right.  He was her joy, her motivation.  What more could a person ask for?