Early dawn. An old travel trailer sits on a vast, red mud plain under a heavy rain. The home is no longer mobile for it has two plywood attachments. A covered porch has been attached in front of the door. It is small, and when one faces the door, to the right, towards the pulling-end of the trailer, there is an alcove to protect firewood from the weather. The rest of the porch is open at the front and side. The porch roof slants to the left and a steady stream of water flows off, some of which is caught in three metal buckets.
Next to
the porch, the metal trailer side is visible where light comes out of a large
window. Inside, on the table, sits a
Coleman lantern. The figure of an elderly
woman moves past on the other side of the light. Her head is cut off from view by the top of
the window, but light can be seen on a dark green velvet blouse and warn, pale-blue
skirt. Light from the window reflects
off the rain-pocked puddles out front.
Next to
the window, towards the tail-light end of the trailer, is the second plywood
extension. It also has a window, but
there is no light. Water flows steadily
off the roof in front of the steel colored glass beaded with blue droplets.The only other modification to the old travel trailer is the stove pipe coming out of the roof. Black tar has been coated where the metal stack sticks through. Here a gray smoke rises against the blue-gray sky. Around the trailer, tall, slender, sporadic pine trees rise out of the soaked red plain and either a long plateau or a low bank of clouds sits on the horizon.
The door opens, and the figure of the old woman comes into view again as she gets three pieces of split wood from the stack. As she goes back inside, we see the small room with muddy, yellow linoleum. Where the butane stove would have been, sits a small wood stove. Corrugated metal roofing has been nailed to the wall behind it for fire protection, as well as against the ends of the cabinets. The rest of the walls are a dark wood paneling. When the woman bends down to open the stove door, her butt brushes against the table and the light from the lantern briefly rocks, setting the scene in visual motion.
Towards
the back end of the trailer, an old man is propped up in bed in sitting
position. He is thin, with a narrow,
stubbly face and a big nose. His eyes are
small, black and intense. We see his
wife feeding the fire in a scene reflected in his pupils.
Then we
see the room through his eyes. After she
closes the stove door, she stands up, and puts her finger in a big pot of steaming
water on the stove and quickly removes it.
“You
alright,” he asks.
“Sure. It’s ready though.”
She
then reaches up to grab two mugs and a jar of Folgers instant coffee from the
cupboard. She quickly dips the mugs into
the water one at a time and places them on the cupboard. Her wrist is pink from the steam. She puts in the Folgers and grabs the small
pint mason jar of sugar that is on the counter next to a pair of work
gloves. She unscrews the lid, adds sugar
and stirs.
She takes
one cup to her husband.
“That
should warm you up.”
He smiles in agreement.
She
walks back to the stove, grabs the gloves, puts them on, and carefully lifts
the heavy pot of boiling water from the stove.
She
walks back towards the man, but instead turns into the small plywood
add-on. It is lighter outside now and
rain can be seen streaming off the roof on the outside of the window. In front of the window sits a claw-foot tub
on the floor, which is also plywood. It
is not attached to any plumbing. She
rests the pot on the edge of the tub, holding it with her left gloved hand,
while she bends down and with the other gloved and hand places a rubber stopper
in the drain. She then stands up and
pours the hot water. It steams, barely
filling the bottom. She walks back into
the trailer and smiles at her husband.
“One
down, four to go.”He smiles back. “I tell you, it would be easier to shoot me.”
“You don’t expect me to argue that, now do you.”
“Well, that would be the polite thing, now wouldn’t it?”
“You knew I didn’t have any graces when you married me.”
He laughs. “What do you mean, I thought you were the queen of England.”
“Ha! I was out feeding Pa’s pigs first time you
saw me.”
She walks
past and drops her gloves on the counter as she passes the stove. She then opens the door, steps out on the
porch and rests the pot on the plywood floor.
She then reaches up to the first metal bucket, and slowly dumps the
contents into her pot, stepping a step back as the water splashes up. She kicks the partially full pot with her old
black shoe a couple times until it’s under the second bucket, and then she
repeats the process. The pot is too full
to kick towards the third bucket, so she bends down and jostles it over and
finishes her task.Then she carries the pot inside and places it on the stove, takes her mug off the counter and slides into the table bench, facing her husband. She holds up her mug. “I’m looking forward to this.”
“Nothing like a hot drink on a cold, rainy day,” he agrees.
She look turns and looks out the window. Runs of rain blur the soggy landscape outside. “You think it’ll ever quit?”
. .
. . .
The old
man sits in the tub in six inches of water. His one leg is missing, a rounded stub just
above the knee. The woman kneels next to
the tub, her skirted knees resting on an old pillow. She scoops an empty Cool Whip bowl into the
tub, brings the warm water up and pours it over his head.
“Hand
me the shampoo and I’ll lather up what’s left of your hair.”Outside the window, rain falls steadily.
© Steve Brown 2016
