The Green Rolling Hills Read online

  “Excuse me for asking, Leona, but just where is the Lord coming to? I mean where is he going to land?” Robert was not aware of his bemused expression. Crazy as he thought she was, he did not wish to offend her.

  “Land? Land? What do you think? He’s coming in a rocket ship or something?”

  “No, but where is He going to come to? It’s a big world, you know.”

  “That’s no consequence, Mr. Brewer. He’s coming in all His glory, that’s how. Our human minds cannot comprehend the scope of it. But believers will recognize it right away. Look! There’s no sun. The Lord is coming and I’ve got to get over to warn those two young men living in Ben’s place. What’s their names, Lennie and Jack? Well, now, as far as you’re concerned, I’ve done my part, the rest is up to you. And I beg you, Mr. Brewer, think of your two beautiful children.” And she hurried up the path as briskly as she came down it.

  “It is true,” Hedy said.

  “You must be joking.”

  “No, no, I mean about there being no sun.”

  And it was true that one could not actually see the sun. The world seemed stalled in a dim twilight. The only glimmer of light rose from the horizon, a pale and fading eerie glow.

  “Well, we’re not going to let it ruin our day, Hedy. At least we won’t have to worry about all that gloppy sunscreen. We’ll take a nice walk up to Look Out Point, and maybe stop over at Clem’s for Popsicles and a cold drink. And rest assured, the sun’s up there somewhere. I’m getting annoyed by all this pessimism. Where’s the bug spray? Chop, chop, kids, get on your sandals.”

  “But Daddy,” Alicia protested, tormented by a welt on her elbow, “it’s too hot to walk anywhere.”

  Robbie grimaced. “I have a terrible pain,” he wailed, clutching his stomach. “I don’t think I can walk at all.”

  They did not go outside. The heat was unmerciful and a sulfury pall was enclosing the world in its vise. Robert got out all the fans they never used, and plugged them in. Thankfully, they began to whir. Hedy pumped up an old plastic wadding pool that renters had thrown under the bungalow. She set it up on the screened porch for the children to play in. Robert plopped himself in front of one of the fans and opened his novel. Hedy retreated to the bedroom and switched on the portable radio.

  “They say the phenomenon is worldwide and the cities are in crisis,” she called out to him. “They say electric grids are failing all across the country, and oh my God, the elderly are dying like flies. The water supply is dwindling, and grocery shelves in most areas are empty. They’re telling people to stay in their homes. Oh God, Robert, do we have enough water?”

  “Yes, of course. The guy left three big bottles last delivery. Enough for a month.”

  “And food?”

  “You know very well we’ve got our emergency box, canned fruit and beans and such. Stop worrying.”

  “I’m not worried,” Hedy insisted, short of breath as she turned back to the radio. “They say the scientists believe it could be something to do with recent inexplicable sun flares, some kind of cosmic radiation high up in the stratosphere. Possibly explosions from a hyper nova. What does that mean?”

  “How the hell should I know, I’m a lawyer, not a scientist. They’re probably making a big deal over nothing, like they always do.”

  “Oh, my God, Robert! They’re saying a giant meteor may have fallen in some remote part of the world, disturbing the earth’s plates, and possibly causing widespread volcanic eruptions deep in the ocean. Isn’t that what killed the dinosaurs?”

  “Maybe the sun fell into the ocean,” Robbie gaily called from the porch.

  “Stop!” Robert said. “Turn off that damn radio. You’re upsetting the children.”

  Alicia peeked out from behind the sofa. She ran to her mother in tears. “I want everything to be like it was. I want the seaweed and the flies to go away, I want the sun to come out, Mommy. I want to go back to my room and my toys in the city.”

  Hedy took her in her arms and tried to soothe her. “Everything is going to be all right,” she cooed. “Just like it’s always been. Just like we like it, my sweet little Pumpkin.”

  Robbie called from the porch. “Maybe the sun fell into the ocean.”

  Robert jumped up, and went to him. He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

  “I do not want you to say that again. Ever. Do you understand me?”

  Robbie stood, stunned, in a puddle of water. “Ow, you’re hurting my arm.” He was not used to such rough treatment, and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Do you hear me?” Robert said, almost screaming.

  “Oh dear God,” Hedy said. She went to the porch, stretched out on a deck chair and looked at her long tan limbs. The legs she had always been so fond of. She stared at her manicured hands, and gathered up her hair into a ponytail to lift it off her neck. She sighed, a long weary sigh, and gazed out at an ocean that was no longer there. Nothing but hot dry sand, covered with bleached white shells and bones. And oh, yes, she could see them clearly: multitudes of soda cans and plastic bottles.

  The afternoon turned out to be unbearably long. The children were restless and irritable, and increasingly thirsty. The fans stood idle; the freezer had thawed. They ate canned baked beans for their supper. After the children were finally asleep in their stifling room, their parents listened to an address by The President, now in the hills of Camp David. The address was played over and over. He spoke in a soothing and self-assured voice. He advised people, above all, to stay calm.

  “The only thing we have to fear is fear,” he crooned dramatically. “The best scientists in the world are working on the problem and I have every confidence that they will find the causes, and solutions. Above all, we must have faith in God. I believe with all my heart that God loves this nation and will not abandon it. Faith is the only thing that will get us through this.”

  A scattering of the usual commercials were aired between repetitions of his speech. Local, not yet deleted: Buy three tires and get one free. End of summer swimsuit sale. Weight reduction guaranteed or your money back.

  * * * *

  Hedy and Robert lay on their bed in silence. They held each other for a while, but soon became slippery with perspiration. Enveloped in a crushing exhaustion, they lay separately. Alone––minds blank––almost indifferent.

  They were wakened by the sound of the children talking. As Robert groped for the flashlight, he felt an icy draft snake its way across the floor.

  He looked at his watch. Nine-twenty in the morning, and the world was black as pitch. He swung the beam up toward the door. Two shivering children, wrapped in blankets, stared back at him.

  “Maybe the sun fell into the ocean,” Robbie said, unblinking.

  METAMORPHOSIS, by Bev Rees

  A large-boned woman, with a rather handsome face, stood admiring the display strewn across the drain board. Golden carrots with lacy tops intact. Dark green kale. Three waxy red tomatoes and a flawless purple eggplant. Encouraged by the silence, a wall clock ticked the seconds forcefully. A portly orange tomcat, exhausted by a night of love, padded into the kitchen. He rubbed against the woman’s legs. She glanced down at him and smiled. “Does Valentino want his breakfy?”

  An avid gardener and sometime painter, Kitty Smallwood had always liked the idea of vegetables. Fruits and vegetables artfully arranged. She painted mostly for her friends, gifts for their lovely Connecticut kitchens; country kitchens designed by interior decorators. Exquisite little paintings that sold well at county fairs and church bazaars. It never went any further than that, though everyone agreed she had a talent for it. The truth was, Kitty had absolutely no ambition, and consequently did not apply herself.

  As soon as the crocuses poked through, and the air took on that soily-mulchy fragrance, Kitty abandoned her brushes. It was mucking about in the garden she loved most. She’d make tiny depressions in the rich dark loam, and gently set in the baby lettuces she had started under glass. She’d pull the soil
up carefully around their tiny necks, much like tucking them in bed, she often mused.

  * * * *

  Kitty’s life was secure and comfortable. A large Cape Cod, circa 1880, several cats that liked to sit on laps, and a cheerful golden retriever named Geraldine. And, well-screened from cranky neighbors and their silly zoning laws, five gorgeous Hampshire hens. Though a vegetarian, she justified the eating of those lovely pale brown eggs. It somehow seemed so natural. Besides, she reasoned, if nobody ate eggs, those charming feathery creatures would cease to be, and that to her mind, would be unacceptable.

  In her youth she had been, I guess you’d have to say it, a hippie. It came so easily to her. The peasanty costumes, the free flowing locks, the trekking around Nepal with a backpack. And all that lovely pot, yes, she remembers that, and numerous sexual encounters deeply buried in her psyche. Secrets she thought prudent to keep well hidden, even from herself.

  But that was then, and now was now, and it was permissible to wear her graying hair in one long braid in the garden. And as freewheeling as she was by nature, she was not altogether dismissive of current expectations. Consequently, every day at four or so, her muddy overalls got relegated to the potting shed, and after a leisurely scented soak she donned the compulsory low-slung jumper and a pair of Swedish clogs. She then disciplined her hair into a kind of upward backward twist, resembling a fresh baked challah. Most of her acquaintances––it would be false to call them friends––wore their hair in pricey cuts. And though they were somewhat amused at Kitty’s old-fashioned notions, they were largely tolerant. And soon she’d hear Ben come up the driveway, the wheels crunching yellow gravel. Everything so safe, so predictable, as through the door he’d come with: “Where’s my Kitty Cat?”

  The most objectionable thing about Ben was his carnivorous nature. Oh, she had known, she had known. Foot long hot dogs smothered in mustard, raw oysters by the dozen throbbing still with life, and oozing prime rib, barely warmed. She excused all this because he was, by God, a dentist. No longer young, that’s true, but still attractive.

  And Kitty? She had been a recovering hippie at that time, dabbling around in interior decoration. And, as luck would have it, Ben walked into the fabric shop one day and became absolutely besotted with her freckled easy-going ways; perhaps because she was the direct opposite of him in almost every way. Feeling that her prospects were anything but stellar, she decided she had better go for it.

  The first three years they lived in a rather swell apartment on the upper West Side of Manhattan, and it damn near suffocated her. Hadn’t she warned him she was not a city girl? When she became downright despondent, he said, “All right, Kitty, go out to the suburbs and find something nice. But please, not Jersey. That’s too close to my brother Jerry.”

  She found a lovely old Cape Cod, long neglected, and Ben spent a pile pulling it together––and here she was giving him his daily peck on the cheek. Soon the barbecue would be fired up for his half pound of flesh, and she would arrange the steamers for her veggies, and life was so peaceful, wasn’t it––and dry martinis in the pleasant garden. Not to mention her gleaming perfect teeth.

  Kitty spent her days deadheading roses, and in winter she and Geraldine took long snowy walks, and basically, that’s all she needed. The talk of children never intruded on their conversations, perhaps because Ben thought it was too late in the day to start a family. And possibly because he was so awfully busy.

  That was just fine with Kitty. She had never pictured herself burping squalling babies and wiping tender bums. Her mother seemed to have detested children. Come to think of it, her mother seemed to have detested her. So Kitty figured, at times a little wistfully, that no maternal genes had passed her way. Any stirrings in that direction had been promptly buried next to her youthful indiscretions.

  And Ben? What he needed was a wife, a replacement for a former one. Someone there when he came home. Someone who appreciated his substantial paycheck and didn’t complain about his evenings locked away with his rare coin and stamp collection. Someone by his side at office parties, cooperative in bed, but not too demanding. And by all accounts they suited each other perfectly.

  * * * *

  Then one fateful night, when the frogs were croaking like an ancient chorus, the telephone shattered life as they knew it.

  “Jerry’s dead,” Ben announced, his face as white as flour.

  “What?”

  “My brother Jerry. He’s dead.”

  “Oh dear God! I can’t believe it. Who called?”

  “Silverman. Along the Palisades Parkway. Apparently he was speeding, lost control, crashed into a guardrail and flipped. But Christ, he had to have that damn high-powered Ferrari, didn’t he?”

  “Oh Ben, how awful. How very awful. But where’s Paul?”

  “Paul’s with Esther, Kitty. He’s with Esther.”

  * * * *

  Ben kept putting off a discussion about Paul. Finally, on the way to the funeral, at the eleventh hour so to speak, he was forced to muster up some courage.

  “Kitty Cat, you understand, I will have to see to Paul.”

  “What do you mean––see to?”

  “Well, the truth is he has nowhere to go now, does he? You know the situation.”

  Kitty’s heart sank. “I thought you said he was with Esther.”

  “Sweet Baby, you and I both know he can’t stay with Esther. Didn’t I tell you just last week? She’s been searching for a retirement home for some time now. Oh Kitty Cat, why don’t you ever pay attention? You know full well she can hardly manage on her own. In any event, Esther is too old and too fragile to take on a thirteen-year-old boy.”

  Her pulse danced wildly on her wrist. “Who’s going to take him?” she asked.

  “He’s my nephew, Kitty, my only nephew.”

  “Perhaps a good boarding school then?”

  “No, Paul’s been through an awful lot. He’s the kind of kid that does not do well without a mother. He’s rather fragile and needs a good deal of support.”

  “Oh no, Ben. Oh no, oh no. I don’t know a damn thing about mothering. I don’t know a damn thing about adolescents. In fact, I was a lousy adolescent; everybody said so. How could I be of any help to him? Besides, it will all fall on me, every damn bit of it. When are you ever available, I’d like to know? Please Ben, please. I don’t want this in my life.” Hysteria was forming in her throat. “I just can’t do it,” she screamed. “I just can’t do it!”

  “Oh, Kitty, Kitty. You’re putting me between a rock and a hard place. There are things in life one has to do,” he said calmly. “Like it or not––this is one of them.”

  * * * *

  Paul came up the walk lugging two bulging backpacks and an exhausted looking Teddy bear. A tall gangling sort of boy with an angry complexion, and sad gray eyes. Kitty managed a chirpy welcome. He responded with a growl, and dropped his backpacks by the stairs. She took him up to his room. A lovely room that looked out on mostly hardwoods. When she pointed this out to him, he disdainfully glanced out the window. And it was quite clear to Kitty––he would have been just as happy with a slag heap.

  Mealtimes became stressful. The easy banter between husband and wife soon evaporated. Ben bent over backwards in an effort to make conversation. Paul’s responses were limited to shrugs and monosyllables. He spent his meals hovering over his food, pushing it this way and that, scowling, as if suspicious they might attempt to poison him.

  Paul lolled about listlessly for a week or so, and Ben, not knowing what to do, enrolled him in the local junior high school. His first day there, Kitty spent pacing up and down. She agonized about her fate and obsessed on their future, which at the moment appeared to be black as pitch. At four o’clock she could hardly breathe as she waited for him to walk up from the bus stop.

  When he walked through the door, her fingers were tightly crossed behind her back. She said, “How was it?”

  “Shitty,” he said. He climbed the stairs and slammed the door b
ehind him.

  Kitty’s heart sank. It was already May. How was she ever going to get through the summer? How was she going to endure three sultry months of Paul lying around, flipping channels and drinking endless colas? She begged Ben to send him to a nice camp, up in the Poconos, maybe, or how about Vermont? Ben diplomatically approached him. The boy’s answer was a resolute, “Fuck camp.”

  “Are you going to allow him to talk to you like that, Ben?”

  “We’re going to have to be patient, Kitty. Please remember he’s a kid whose mother abdicated her responsibility early on. In many ways, I suppose, he sees himself as an abandoned child. From what you’ve told me about your mother, I would think you might be able to understand that. And Jerry, well, you knew Jerry. His heavy drinking, an endless string of housekeepers, not to even mention his numerous female attachments. You couldn’t exactly call it a structured home life, could you? And now––his father dies in a car crash. Be fair, Kitty. This isn’t easy.”

  * * * *

  In mid-May Mr. Chandler came around and rototilled, but Kitty felt too paralyzed to plan a garden. Meditation proved impossible. Deep breathing didn’t help. The whole house seemed to be engulfed in an atmosphere of gloom. As May drew to a close she began to realize she would have to take refuge in her garden, or be strangled by her own relentless rancor.

  Then one late June morning, when she was down on her hands and knees, tucking soil around some baby lettuces, a shadow cast itself across her busy hands. Startled, she looked up and saw Paul standing there and, eying a hoe lying by her side, a grisly thought flitted through her mind: Oh God, he’s going to try to kill me.

  “What are those?” he said.

  “Lettuces,” she sputtered. “Little innocent baby lettuces.” She feared she might have to defend them from his flip-flops.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  “What?”

  “How long before they’ll be ready to eat?”

  Glory Hallelujah, he actually formed a sentence. “Not long at all. Would you like to set in the rest of the row?” she asked, as she tried to still her quivering hands.