When It Rains
Sam Yanko looked out the back door across the yard at Edna's back. She sat near the bushes along the fence in a wooden chair. Her dress was soaked by the rain, and her hair curled even tighter to her head. Sam did not like her hair style, but he was glad that the fifty-dollar permanent would at least stand up to the elements. It seemed funny, though, that she would sit without moving, facing the shrubs.
"I think it's one of those woman things," Sam said.
Tommy, their son, rummaged through the refrigerator. "Hey," Tommy cried. "We're out of ketchup."
"Bring her in," Sam said.
Tommy came to the door. "Wow," he said. "She still ain't moving."
"Go get her."
"But it's raining."
Sam pushed his son out the door and then he went to see if anything could be salvaged from the dinner. He heard the crash but had not seen Edna dump it. There were cabbage rolls and sauce over most of the kitchen floor, and a pile of lettuce, cheese, and cucumbers near the table. Tommy had been waiting at the table for dinner to be served and so had seen it happen.
"She was carrying it to the table," Tommy told his father after she went outside. "She stopped with this dazed look on her face, like she had to go to the bathroom."
"Why the hell weren't you helping her?" Sam said.
"I was waiting."
"Jesus Christ," Sam said.
"She dumped the stuff like on purpose," Tommy said.
"From where?" Sam said loudly. His face began to turn red at this point.
"Like she meant to dump it."
"Here?"
"Yeah," Tommy said.
Sam was frustrated: his son would be no help in figuring this out. At the shop, where he was a foreman, he solved problems by going over the machining with the operator, and noticing the error. Perhaps Edna had seen a mouse, and it scared her out into the rain.
Tommy's hair was soaked flat against his head when he came inside. "She won't move, Dad," he said. "I don't think she's even listening."
"Did she looked scared?"
"No. She looks kind of tired." The boy took a slice of bread from the table and stuffed it into his mouth. "Maybe she should take a nap after dinner," he said.
It could not be that she was simply tired. In twenty-three years of marriage she raised three boys (the oldest two were in the Navy) and never once complained of being tired. Dinner had never been late before this. And if Sam spilled on his shirt while eating, she took it off of him and cleaned it immediately. Edna was always the energetic one in the house.
"We should get her in before the neighbors see," Sam said.
"I poked her in the arm," Tommy said. "But she didn't even look at me."
Sam slid open the glass door and leaned out to see if any of the neighbors were watching from their windows. In the half-light of the evening rain, he could see all the houses clearly. "Jesus Christ," he said. "It won't be dark for another hour."
"Is she gonna' die out there?" Tommy said.
"I bet that son of a bitch Kovalik is getting his Beta-Cam set up."
In the distance a rumble of thunder sounded and the rain fell more heavily. The heat of the day was gone, washed away by the rain, and the cool wetness filled the air. With Sam Yanko it was the same: he was no longer angry about dinner being late, and he was resigned to the fact that his wife was going to sit in the rain. "Let's go get her," he said.
Sam marched out to where his wife sat, but his son stood inside the doorway with a bored look on his face. "God damn it, get out here," Sam yelled.
As Sam waited, he looked at the neighbors' houses. Light shined through the windows, and shadows moved within. Sam realized that he was only wearing white boxer shorts and a T-shirt, and that the rain soaked these against his skin. He remembered Kovalik and his Beta-Cam, and was overwhelmed with a sense of urgency. "For Christ's sake," he said.
"Dad I'm cold," Tommy whined.
"Just shut up."
"Can't we throw a tarp over her or something?"
"C'mon Edna," Sam said. "Don'cha wanna' come in now? I'll serve up the cabbage rolls and Tommy will wash dishes. Won't that be nice?" His wife didn't move; just stared at the bushes where the rain trickled from leaf to leaf, moving the bush in a slow wave. Sam wondered what the hell intrigued Edna about the bushes.
On the ground below the bushes there were small puddles. Sometimes a drop of rain fell into a puddle and the gray light shimmered across the waves. Most of the rain hit the dirt mounds and then gathered at the base in the puddles. Sam decided that the ground must have been very dry to absorb all the water that had fallen. I won't have to sprinkle the lawn for a week, he thought.
Sam had never before thought about the rain. Of course he understood that rain was something to be avoided as best as possible: if you're outside and it starts to rain, go inside; if you're inside already, don't go out. But now Edna had made it an issue, and he wondered if maybe she was just taking the rain too seriously. It did not seem possible that a mouse could have frightened her this much. Perhaps she worked too hard at the bank. He recalled that some of his men at the shop acted funny if they put in too much overtime. The rain drummed quicker and heavier on Sam's head, and reminded him how long he had been in the yard.
"Edna," Sam yelled. "What's going on? Did something happen at the bank today? Is that God damn boss giving you crap again? Is he?"
She did not react at all, not even a glance at Sam, so he looked up and yelled, "Son of a bitch." The heavens rumbled softly in response. He watched the clouds flicker in the distance, and he waited to give Edna one more chance to snap out of it.
Goose bumps arose all over his body. If I merely catch pneumonia, he thought, I'll be a lucky man. He motioned Tommy into position on the other side of the chair; together they carried the chair and the woman back to the house.
"If we drop her," Tommy said, "do you think she'll snap out of it?"
They set the chair in the kitchen and then held the woman to keep her in the chair. She protested with calm, continuous pressure, wanting to go back in the rain.
"We'll never eat dinner at this rate," Sam said.
"Maybe we should tie her up?" Tommy said.
"That probably wouldn't be so bad."
Tommy ran to the garage and returned with a coil of rope. "I brought something to stuff in her mouth in case she starts to scream," he said.
The man and boy tied the woman to the chair and then smiled as she squirmed and struggled in her seat. The woman was back in the house and they were out of the rain, but what they should do next was another question. The man and boy were confused, almost paralyzed, by the situation. They sat at the table and imagined that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.
Tommy ate bread, covering it with butter, or sometimes mayonnaise. Sam frowned at his son; he thought it was improper to eat with the woman still struggling. Sometimes he gazed at the rain with her, hoping to gain her trust, and snap her out of the funny state. But when the boy picked one of the cabbage rolls from the floor, he became angry.
"That's sick boy," he said. "Don't you eat anything more until your mother serves it."
"But I'm starving."
"Just sit still."
When finally the rain stopped, the man and boy were exhausted from watching the woman struggle. She became limp, and was held in place by the ropes.
"Jeez' Dad," Tommy said. "You think she's dead?"
"No," Sam said and stooped beside the woman to look at her. "I'm sure she's just wore out. Let's untie her and let her rest."
Sam and the boy went into the living room to watch television. They snacked on potato chips, and Sam soon laughed with his son at the situation comedies. He was not one to watch them, but now he wanted to be distracted and entertained. Then Edna came into the room. She wore dry clothes and her hair was in curlers.
"Get changed," she said. "You'll catch cold."
"Can I stay home tomorrow if I do?" Tommy said.
"We'll see," Edna said.
Sam wondered what to say to his wife. Should he yell now, while it was fresh and he had his wet clothes as proof, or wait until later when it might come in handy?
Tommy seemed glad about what happened, and laughed as he said, "Boy Mom, we thought you were going to die."
Although Sam's wife ignored the remark and busied herself in the kitchen, Sam grabbed the boy by the hair and shook him. "Get upstairs," he yelled.
Sam looked again at his wife and wondered if somehow she had not planned the scene in the backyard. She's looking for pity, he thought. It will put me off, and she will have more control around here. He had seen it before at the shop: men cutting fingers on purpose, just to complain about a certain job. With satisfaction he reminded himself that he was a good foreman because he noticed such things.
"Is supper ready?" he said firmly. Edna nodded quietly, so Sam went upstairs to put on dry clothes.
But as Sam trod up the steps, something about Edna's quietness bothered him. Edna was not like the guys at the shop, who were cutthroats, hoping to take his job. She had always been a good worker; maybe she was just tired. I'll have Tommy do the dishes, he thought. The boy ought to help his mother.
Since they married, Sam never doubted that she would be a dutiful wife; but now, for the first time, he saw that it might end some day. As he scratched himself, he realized that his huge stomach was as old as his marriage. He would be completely bald in another year. They both had aged unbelievably; and never once the whole time did he think he was getting old. But in just ten years I'll retire, Sam thought, and then...
It started to rain again just as dinner was served. Yet, things seemed normal with Tommy eating like an animal, and Sam telling them about his day; but soon they became aware of the rain, which now had become torrential and raised a loud clamor all around them. They lapsed into an awkward silence. Even Tommy was effected, and left without a second helping. While Edna cleaned the dishes, Sam drank coffee and tried to understand how their life had been disrupted. Though he wanted to smoothe things over, he felt an uncontrollable anger growing within himself.
"What was all that?" he said loudly. "Don't you want to go out again? It's raining. Why not sit in the rain now? Maybe we all can sit together." Although the woman was crying, the abuses eased the pressure on Sam's stomach, and so he could not stop himself. He flung the phone across the floor at her feet. "Call your sister. Cry to her."
Sam Yanko lumbered into the living room, and continued to yell. "I should've stayed in the army, and never been married. You hear that Tommy? Go with your brothers, and never get married."
Eventually, the house settled into its own sort of stillness: the lights were all off, and the television was on, receiving static. Sam Yanko, who was accustomed to the noise, slept peacefully on the couch.
He was awakened some time in the night by thunder.
Sam turned off the television, and now he could hear that it was still raining. When his mind cleared a bit, he went into the kitchen and crossed to the back door. He reached out to part the drapes so that he might look at the backyard, but changed his mind: for what was the point? If she was sitting out there again, what would he do differently this time? How was one to handle such a situation? Although he had once been a sergeant in the United States Army, and was a respected foreman of a major producer of machining tools, and had even managed twenty-three years of marriage fairly well, he had never claimed to be able to handle a woman gone funny. How could he begin to learn such things now? If this particular woman, his woman, wanted to sit in the rain, well, there was nothing to be done.
He went back to the couch, turned on the television, and fell asleep directly.
Ann Arbor, 1986