FICTION | Margaret Rush Liudvika

FICTION

Liudvika

By Margaret Rush

The doorbell rang. It was an alarming ring that she hadn’t heard in months, perhaps longer. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray. She unplugged her phone and put it in her sweater’s pocket. She knew no one rang the doorbell anymore. Doorbells, like phone calls and doilies, were out of fashion.

They had a peephole, but its functionality was impaired by the screen door Bene had installed years ago. All she could see was the fuzzy shape of a person in a hat. She unlocked the deadbolt while trying to recall whether she had locked the screen door when she got back from buying groceries. (She didn’t always lock that one. The fence, though, she always locked that.) The door was heavy and the floor carpeted. She heard her daughter’s voice as she opened it, telling her Ma, you need to replace this death trap or put in tile flooring or do something to make it easier to open, okay? You’re going to throw your back out someday and you of course won’t have your phone with you at the same moment she realized she could now smell everything outside—the decaying fruit in garbage trucks miles away, the tar and gravel filling potholes down the street, her ripe tomatoes ready to be picked. And as the plump, red orbs faded from her imagination, she saw the screen door’s metal hook unlatched, dangling like a dead fly wrapped and waiting in spider silk. No. She would not let her mind play anymore. This was not a time for imagining. She opened the door a little more and did her best not to draw the hatted man’s eye to the

screen door’s lock.

He was taller than her but not by much. Most definitely younger but that was most of the world. A black tattoo peeked out from under his polo shirt’s collar. His hat bore a company logo that looked like one she recognized but it wasn’t right. She didn’t doubt that. Nor did she doubt that this was one of the men from the van. His eyes were cold, his smile forcibly wide. His uneven teeth were neither white nor yellow. The clipboard he gripped held what couldn’t have been more than a couple sheets of paper.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Good morning, Ma’am. I’m with the electric company and we received a report that there were power outages in the area.” The pitch in his voice bent and snapped back up.

“So?”

“Your neighbor,” he looked down at his clipboard. “Mrs. Dolinski is having an electrical problem. We think you may be at risk as well. Would it be all right if I come in and check to make sure your lights are A-ok?”

She waited for his eyes to meet hers before responding. There was determination there and some experience. Also, some strength. “I don’t know any Dolinski.”

“Well, then you can use this chance to get to know her then. Say hello.”

“You can’t check from the outside?” she asked.

“No, I would need to get inside to know for sure.”

She could feel her body forming a plan. She leaned forward and placed her hand on the doorframe. “Why?”

“Because that’s where the problem is.”

“But I don’t have a problem.”

“You might. That’s why I need to check.”

Lu flicked the porch light on and off a few times. “See, my lights are working fine. I don’t have a problem.” She slid her hand down and placed it on top of the screendoor’s handle.

“There are different circuits, Ma’am, and the lights out here in the front of your house aren’t the same as in the back.”

She gripped the door handle and pulled back on it. “Hmm. I will have to ask my Husband.”

“Is he home?”

“He’s in bed. You wait here.”

The man locked his eyes on hers. His smile didn’t waver as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and placed his hand on the screen door’s handle. “I didn’t know anyone else was home. I’m sure your husband will understand about circuits. Let me talk to him.” He pulled lightly on the handle.

Lu pulled back.

His smile fell. His gaze narrowed. “Your husband isn’t home, Ma’am. I know he isn’t.”

He yanked hard on the screen door and pulled it open.

There were two umbrellas in the stand near the door. Lu grabbed one and in one swift movement pushed the front door wide open with one hand so fast and with so much force it dented the drywall. She raised her other arm and brought the long, pointy umbrella down on the man’s head. He took a step back. His arms shot up in protection, blocking his view of Lu, and sending the clipboard to the ground.

Lu jabbed the umbrella’s metal tip into his rib. He gasped. “My son is a cop and he will be here at any moment. And you, you are a stupid crook!” And with a strength she hadn’t felt in some time, Lu lunged at him, elbow first. She hit him in the center of his chest and watched him stumble backward and fall down the concrete steps.

She knew better than to wait and see what he did next. She went back inside and locked one door then the other. She knelt and crawled toward the front window. She lifted the curtain up from the bottom and peeked. He was there, bent over on the sidewalk. His hat lay on her front lawn. He grabbed it and staggered up onto his feet in a forward run, managing to look up and down the street before hurrying back toward the alley. Lu rose to a crouch and tip-toed to her back window where she looked through the curtains and watched the man get into the van. He was speaking quickly to his comrade as he gestured with his hands, indicating something wide, something big. The other man looked toward her house and, in some haste, drove away.

She kept her face pressed against the glass, until she accepted it didn’t help her see farther down the alleyway. She took a step back, fumbled her way to the nearest chair, and sat. She felt her organs hitting up against one another and her muscles trying to leap off her bones. But her mind was fine. Her thoughts, unrushed and even. She should call someone. The police, perhaps, and her daughter. And as she put her hand in her pocket and touched her cell, she imagined a cop car in front of her house, its lights on but the siren off. And Mrs. Dolinski out on her front porch. And those new families with so many children spying. “Oh, forget about it,” she mumbled to herself as she lit a cigarette. She was over her smoking limit for the day. But, why not?

As she smoked, she remembered Matis and Ignas and Aldona. She saw their little hands in hers and recalled how she once pulled out a bad tooth from Ignas’s mouth. She put it in her pocket and after finding water to clean it off, let him keep it. He was so happy to have it. He showed everyone in their little

camp. Most smiled at the dear boy. He was precious. And then, Lu thought about her potatoes and beets, the coats she stole but not really stole, the children she birthed and raised, and the husband she once bore on her back. This time was different than the others. She knew that. She felt that. She had been alone and only had to save herself. There was something in that thought that pulled her wandering mind taut, that stirred her heart into feeling. And without being aware she was doing it, she put out her cigarette and cried for some time.

Later, she stood and looked out the window. Her tomatoes were still there. She musn’t forget to pick those. She should grab the clipboard off the front porch, too. And now there was the dent in the drywall from the front door. She would need to spackle that later. And she should do it before her daughter came by tomorrow.