Nose Beans
By Mariah Whitbread-Hardman

Ruth hung up the phone so carefully it barely made a sound.  She sucked saliva through her teeth.

 “Your Dad again?” Her husband Luke asked over his eggs and sausage.

 “Don't want to talk about it,” Ruth said without separating her teeth. 

 “What'd he have to say?” 

 “House is fine, dogs are fine, Mom is fine.  Everything is fine and they all miss me.  I don't want to discuss it ,” she said quickly, as if it were a single word.  With a long, harsh breath she stuck the rod back up her spine and turned back towards the table and her breakfast.  The thin, blue Mount Holyoke College tee shirt she wore to bed had damp streaks down the front.

She grabbed her fork as if she wanted to rip it in half, and began shoving eggs in her mouth so fast that yellow crumbs dribbled down the corner of her mouth.

Luke winced when she swallowed.  The breakfast table was silent save the sound of aggressive eating.  Luke did not speak until Ruth's spearing of her breakfast slowed to a tired, pained scooping and poking.

“Ma's coming today,” Luke mumbled into his forkful of egg, “to help out with the baby.” 

“When?”  Ruth sipped her tea and rubbed her face.  The aggression having passed, her shoulders sagged into her swollen breasts. 

“Around noonish.  She just called me at six this morning to let me know.”  Luke glanced at Ruth. Her eyes were shut as she took another taste of her tea.

“Fine.”

“She'll probably stay 'till supper.”

“Yeah, fine.”

“I wish I could stay to help you clean the apartment and all.”  Luke said as his hand slid across the table to cover Ruth's.

“It's fine Luke.  I can handle the house.”  Her fingers rubbed at the creases on her forehead and then massaged her eyes.

Luke leaned as far over the table as he could and peered at her face while her eyes were closed.  “How are you hanging in there Ruth?”

“Fine.”  Ruth opened her heavy lids and stood up.  She took her plates to the sink.
           
Luke got up and forgot his dishes on the table.  He walked through the living room to the bed room.  From where she stood at the kitchen table, picking up his dishes, Ruth could see him bend over the crib.

“Hey there little guy,” Luke whispered as he cupped the top of the baby's head. “Gaylin, you be good for your mom today.  Get lots of sleep, so we can see each other when I get home.  Kay?”  He leaned a little farther over the crib, balancing on one leg, and kissed Gaylin's round little fist.

He came back into the kitchen and put on his coat, though it did little to stop wind and rain.  He shoved his keys in his grease stained jeans.  They hung out of the hole in his pocket.  He rubbed his hand across Ruth's back at the kitchen sink, and kissed her cheek.

“I packed you egg salad for lunch today.  It's in the fridge,” she said as she leaned her back against the sink.

“Thanks babe.”  Luke grabbed his lunch.  “Call me if you need anything,” he shouted as he closed the door.

She watched through the kitchen window as he waded through mud puddles to the dented and scared red pickup truck.  The weather was uncertain; rain kept spitting at the glass.  

As soon as his truck pulled out of the drivewa,y she screamed and stomped and banged dishes and hurled a plastic cup at the phone.  That woke the baby up. 

***

Cradling the two-week old baby in one arm, Ruth dusted off the living room window sill and a small scratched table her in-laws had given Luke.  Outside, the weather still couldn't decide if today was a day for the lion or the lamb, so it drizzled indecisively instead. 

She slipped her dust cloth across the spines of her books in the milk crate bookcase she had made.   

“Damn it all to Hell!”  Ruth checked the driveway for Ma's baby blue Ford.  However, Ma wasn’t hiding in her car waiting to scold Ruth for being a bad person.  She wasn't yet.  Ruth dropped into a wicker rocking chair and tried to quiet the baby's howls.

“Hush Gaylin.  Don't worry.  Mama doesn't want everything to actually go to hell.  I didn't mean it.  Mama doesn't even believe there's a hell, so you don't have to cry.  I'm just tired.  I'm not mad at you.  Your Grandma Brown's coming today... uninvited.  And Grandfather Nick wants your Mama to come down to Virginia this weekend, but guess what?”  Ruth squinted her eyes and wrinkled her nose at the beet red face. “Mama doesn't want to go home this weekend!”

Gaylin kept crying.  His red fists and arms shaking with furious demands that Ruth could not translate.

Hopelessly, Ruth rolled the rocking chair back and forth.  “I wish you would learn to talk.  Or at least develop a face.  I'm sorry I yelled honey.  Just please go back to sleep.” 

The wooden drone of the rocking chair on the floor nearly put them both to sleep.  Ruth dragged herself out of the rocking chair and placed him in his crib.  She went into the kitchen and shredded a head of red cabbage and began boiling it in vinegar for dinner.

***

Around eleven Ruth put the meatloaf in the oven.   She sat down at the kitchen table to rest her heels.  A fly circled her face in a droning hum, then flew off and settled on the window sill.  It was quiet in Ruth's kitchen.

The baby woke up and began crying. 

Ruth rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.  She retrieved the baby from the crib, murmuring, “Can't you ever sleep?  Hush, Gaylin.”

Ruth stood at the sink bouncing him up and down in her arms.  His grating howls continued. 

“It isn't time for your next feeding yet.  I'm all dry right now.  You finished off both breasts an hour ago.”  She felt her chest as if to prove to him that there was no more to be had right now. 

Gaylin turned up the volume of his cries--the small apartment amplifying them so that it sounded like there were ten babies shrieking at her.  Ma chose this moment to knock on the door; then she let herself in.

“I brought you some jelly and biscuits and some lima beans for supper.  I figured you wouldn't be able to cook a full meal and take care of the baby.  What's wrong with him?  Oh, hand him to his Grandma.”

Ruth handed over the baby and took the food in exchange.  “He just started crying.  I don't know what's wrong with him.”

“I can tell you right now, he needs his diaper changed, for a start.”  Ma took off her coat while still balancing Gaylin in one arm.  Then she cooed to him. “Let's go get this dirty diaper changed, hon.”    

Ruth stood in the kitchen holding the soggy coat and watching Ma walk off towards her bedroom with her baby--his nearly bald head nestled into her big round shoulders.  Gaylin stopped crying to listen to Ma's cooing. 

Ruth hung the coat and followed Ma into the bedroom where she was already removing the poopy diaper.

“Oooo! That's a very smelly one,” Ma said, over dramatizing the “oo” sound.

Ruth handed her a moist cloth from the bathroom.

Ma, without looking up, said, “No amount of wiping is going to clean this one up.  We're going to have to bathe him.  Go get his bath ready and I'll bring him in.”

 “I wiped him down this morning.”

Ma looked up now; her brow wrinkled. “That don't matter now.  He needs a bath.  Go fill up his bath, then come get me.” 
           
Ruth obeyed.  In the kitchen she dropped the plastic tub in the sink and turned on the faucets.  Her hands patted a nervous rhythm against the stainless steel sink.
 
Ma didn't wait for Ruth to come get her.  Ruth finished filling the tub and testing the water with her arm.

Ma tested the water with her forearm. “That's a little too hot for you, hon,” she said to the baby.  Then she added a little more cool water.  Ruth hid behind her elbow.  Ma turned with the baby and held his naked, pink body out to her.  Ruth backed away.

“I only give him sponge baths.  I can't bathe him.  I'd probably drop him or something.”

Ma gave her that, either-you-do-this-or-we-can-have-a-discussion-with-a-switch-behind-the-house, look. “Ain't your mom been up to teach you how to do this?”

“Mom hasn't talked to me for a while,” Ruth said.  She glanced at the phone.

“Even after the baby was born?  You'd think your Dad and Mom would come up once and visit their only grandkid.  Ain't like they can put it back now.”  Ma scowled; the creases in her face looked ominous as she squinted.  Then, unexpectedly, her face relaxed and she smiled.  She placed the baby in Ruth's arms.  “Place him in the sink gently and hold his head. That's right, just like that, hon.”

Ruth uneasily held the baby up in the water.  He began to whimper.  Ruth tentatively withdrew him from the tub.

“He ain't hurting none.  Just you wait till he's older and he runs away from the bath tub.  You should learn to be firm with him now so he knows he can't argue you down none.”

Ma handed her the wash cloth that Ruth used on the dishes.

“That's for the dishes. If you hold him, I can go get his baby wash cloth,” Ruth said as she half turned to flee, while still cupping the back of Gaylin's wobbly head and neck.

“Dish rag never killed any of my kids.  It's fine.”

Ruth began wiping the baby down.  Her legs shook like she had just learned to stand on her own, but she held her arm steady.

“Loosen up Ruth.  You ain't holding a bomb in the bath.”  Ruth let her fingers, and then her arm, relax a little in response.

Gaylin had stopped whimpering.  His two blue-gray eyes looked up in shock and amazement at his mother's unrelenting response to his cries.  Ruth gently slid the wash cloth between his body and his arm; she tried to clean his underarm but didn't quite make it to the creases of his armpit.

“You can be a little more forceful with that wash rag.  Losing the dirt under his arm ain’t going to hurt him.  That's good hon, just like that.  Now add some soap to it.  Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and you want this baby to be a good Christian.”  Ma soaped up the wash rag. 

Ruth rubbed the soap in circles around his little pot belly, carefully avoiding his belly button.  Ma put her hand on Ruth's back and rubbed in circles.  Ruth and Gaylin smiled at each other.

“Don't forget in between his fingers and toes,” Ma reminded her.

“I can't go in between his fingers and toes.  I'll hurt him,” Ruth replied.

“What's going to hurt him is built up baby dirt until you get around to cleaning it,” Ma said sternly, but then more gently, “It ain't going to hurt him Ruth.”

Ruth still hesitated.  Ma took the wash cloth from her hand.  “Here hon, like this.”  Ma did Gaylin’s right hand.  Then she handed the cloth back to Ruth.

“Like this?”  Ruth glanced at Ma for reassurance. 

“Yep that’s right,” Ma replied.  Ruth finished the rest of his fingers and toes.
           
She was about to lift him out of the water when Ma said, “Now after you finish his backside like that, wrap him up in this towel.  I'll go get the diaper ready.”

“Back side?” Ruth asked weakly.

“You can handle it,” Ma replied over her shoulder as she retreated to the bedroom.

Gaylin stared expectantly at her.  Ruth awkwardly lifted his body on one arm, but couldn't get most of his back because her arm was in the way.  Placing him back in the tub, she tried again.  She slid her hands underneath him and blindly wiped him down.

From the bed room she heard Ma call, “You're doing fine, hon.”

Ruth dragged her rag gently over Gaylin's bald head.  The few wisps of blond hair clung to his soft round scalp.  She gently traced the delicate veins that ran across the top of his head.  Gaylin cooed at Ruth.  Ruth lifted her eyebrows, and then gently gurgled back at him.

His head done, she moved down to his genitals and butt.  She lifted his legs like she did when she put his diaper on.  Gaylin smiled up with his gums.

Ruth lifted him to her chest.  He made a small, damp, baby-sized mark on her tee shirt.  She quickly wrapped Gaylin in the towel and rushed to the bedroom, afraid he would catch cold.  Ma took him and unwrapped him.  She gently laid him on the white cloth that had been folded into a triangle.  Next to the diaper were two large safety pins and a bottle of cornstarch.
           
“I still don't understand why you use cloth,” Ma said as she stuck the diaper pins in her mouth.

“They're more environmentally friendly,” Ruth replied.  Ma gave her a look, so she added, “They're more affordable than the plastic ones.”  Ma didn't look like she quite believed her.

“While I'm putting on the diaper, you go get my bag,” Ma said through a mouth full of pins.

Ma was done wrapping Gaylin's diaper around him by the time Ruth lugged back the big old black bag that Ma took to town.  Ma rummaged around until she found a threadbare blanket.  It was faded to a brownish white, though it still showed signs of faint pink, yellow, and blue stripes.  The ends were frayed. 

“Are you sure that will be warm enough for him?” Ruth blurted out.

“This here was my Luke's blanket.  It was warm enough for him.  I figured I could pass it down to Gaylin.  It was just collecting dust in a box in my sewing closet.”  Ma's fingers smoothed the blanket out on Gaylin's belly.  She had wrapped it so his arms could be free, and for a moment, Gaylin's wrinkly hand captured Ma's bony pinky.  Ruth reached out and touched the tightness of the baby's chubby fist and the loose skin of Ma's fingers.

“You know, there's not one mother out there who's ready to take care of her own kids,” Ma murmured softly.  Ruth had to lean in to hear her.

“You were,” Ruth pointed out. “You were a good mother, too.”

“Aww Hon, even if you practically raised all your brothers and sisters like I did, you're never ready for your own.”

Ruth looked at Ma in confusion.

“You know, when Luke was little, my mother-in-law had to come and remind me how to wrap a diaper.  Now that was a scary woman,” she laughed.  Ma let her laugh trail off, then began folding the towels and diapers that Ruth had strewn out on the bed. 

Ruth blushed and began helping Ma fold.  “Luke doesn’t talk very much about her,” she said.

“She died when he was six.  And she scared him into behaving himself when she was around.  She was a great mother, though.”

Ruth waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.  “I can’t imagine you being scared of anyone,” Ruth tried.

Ma smiled.  “Well that’s what mothers are for.  She was a real smart lady, though she only went to school until she was in third grade.”

“Yeah?”

“I remember one time, we was sitting in the kitchen shelling beans.  I put a bean pod on the floor with Luke.  It was this big old dried pink and purple bean.  He was only two, and he kept trying to get my attention, so I thought the bean pod would be something to keep him preoccupied.  Well, wouldn't you know it, a few minutes later he started crying.  He had managed to get that bean pod open and had shoved one of the beans on up his nose.  I started to panic.  How was I going to pick a bean out of a two year old's nose?”

“What did you do?” Ruth asked.  She looked nervously at Gaylin's two, tiny, little nostrils.  Ma didn’t respond, but picked up the pile of towels and walked into the bathroom to put them away.  Ruth waited in mid fold. 

“Wasn't what I did.  It was Ma Cowles, my mother-in-law, that got it out.  ‘Ada, you just stop your worrying and ignore him.’  Well, when Ma Cowles talked to you that way, you listened. She was liable to smack you with a wooden spoon.  Well, I tried to ignore him.” 

“But wasn't the bean hurting him?”

“You about done folding that diaper?” Ma replied

Ruth handed the diaper over to Ma.  “How did you get it out?  Wasn’t he suffocating?”

“He wasn’t going to suffocate.  He had his mouth and another nostril to breathe with.  He eventually stopped crying.  A little while after that Ma Cowles bent down with a hankie, saying, 'Now honey you got snot coming out your nose.  Blow for Grandma Co.'” Ma imitated Grandma Cowles’s gruff, no nonsense voice. “And wouldn't you know it, that bean came out of his nose and he didn't even remember it was there.  And there I was, worrying it would be sucked up into his brain and he would be retarded for the rest of his life.”

Ma chuckled, and Ruth joined her. 

Ma lifted the baby and cradled him close for a moment, then handed him to Ruth as he began to cry. “Go feed him.”

Ruth sat down on the bed and began to lift up her shirt.  Ma raised her eyebrows, wrinkling her forehead.  She said, “I still don't understand why you breast feed him.  Formula's much better.”

“Breast milk is better for the baby's immune system,” Ruth reassured her. 

“I ain't sure about all this new information, but it's your kid.  Finish feeding him, then put him to bed so we can finish up supper.  You've probably over-boiled that red cabbage.  Don't matter. I'll fix it.  You can get the meat loaf in the oven.”