Martha's Pears

Martha was old and Deedee was ignorant of the most important things. Deedee had shown up in her kitchen uninvited, a little rag-tag bit of a very white young woman. Martha wondered who had brought her. She looked out the window at several young men waiting for the fish head soup to be served. The girl had no manners. She sat on the countertop that stretched along the back wall. Did she not know counters were for food prep, not dirty Levi's? She had to be told to sit in the nearby chair.

Deedee had no problems switching seats, although she swiveled the chair around, sat staddling it and leaned into the chairback like a boy to continue watching Martha cook. Nope, Deedee did not know the lay of the land and didn't seem to care. Martha thought there might be power in this strange person and her cavalier attitudes.

Martha figured out which kid had brought the girl when he waved and she waved back. They were all kids to her, some of them homeless, most of them hungry, broke and broken. So it was for the kids of today: no teaching, traditions, hunting, weaving or fathers. She did what she could. Bolt had brought the girl, Bolt the Boxer with a stutter he couldn't beat. They all had stories, injustices, chaos and now a bowl of fish head soup.

Bolt had come in, got the girl, got the soup, and were sitting on the front stoop by the pear tree where they could talk quietly. Martha could see the young couple with their heads bent together. There was a flash of heat from him and a hint of tears from her as he hurriedly left to join his friends in the backyard. Deedee could smell the pot and feared the whiskey that was probably on its way. Martha shouted out to her to bring in some pears for dessert.

Well, at least she could do something to contribute to this evening. She looked up into the branches and was overwhelmed be nature's beauty and Martha's kindness even if it was a little cold. Everyone here seemed to know things she didn't, she mused as she plucked her second pear from the tree which seemed a signal for Martha to come running out yelling,"No, no, no! Stop!" Deedee had no idea of what had happened but got silent and still as Martha rushed up to her.

"Here, here," she said pointing to a pear nestled on the ground in leaves, twigs, and dirt. "These ones on the ground. The good ones on the ground!" Deedee looked down and around and behold there they were. Martha and Deedee picked up pears from the ground together and Martha explained in a soft voice the procedure needed to collect pears. It surprised Deedee to hear that the ones on the ground were ripened and ready to eat. The ones in the tree belonged in the tree. Her speaking was so full of love and melody, Deedee felt the magic.

They brought the pears in, washed, cut, sprinkled them lightly with sugar and cinnamon, and set them in the oven to bake. Deedee fished her cigs out of her pocket and Martha piped up again with, "No, no, not in the house." Deedee replaced the cig into the pack and said nothing. Her eyes welled up and tears began silently sliding down her face. She turned away hoping that Martha had not noticed. But she had.

Martha moved quickly: put the teapot on, grabbed the mugs, and escorted Deedee to the front porch stoop under the pear tree where Deedee could finally have a cigarette. While Deedee smoked, Martha prepared and returned with the tea, biscuits, and hanky to handle the tears.

Before Deedee could speak, Martha said clearly, "I know, I know how is it with you."

"Really!!" Dee popped straight up, tea and all, offended.

Again in that slightly edged tone, Martha demanded Deedee to sit back down. Dee dropped to the stoop deflated, defeated with the reality of despair. Martha took out her smoking pipe, packed it, lit it, and hit it. Letting out a long bloom of smoke, she solemnly spoke," I will talk and you will listen then you will talk and I will listen."

" You come troubled and young. Running from the Law, your family and friends. Probably you are a pear not allowed to ripen. Your nails are broken and dirty. You have shame as the companion you travel with. How am I doing so far Deedee?" Deedee had her hand to head and the hanky to her eyes and just nodded in agreement.

"Ok then, light your cigarette, blow your nose, and take some deep breathes cuz I'm not finished yet. " Martha knew her best move had to be made now. If the girl left now she'd just be sucked into the lie of never again. Martha had to pull the scab off the sore to clean it up. " So you pregnant and it's not Bolt's. You come here to live on the Indian reservation to hide from yourself. There are decisions you must make now if you are to change your destiny, but you choose to wail and walk in pity. Let us try to find a way for you."

Deedee was stunned! How did that old woman know any of that! She did congratulate herself on not lying to Bolt. Besides she thought she had little chance of carrying that off. The skin would most likely tell.

So was it her turn to speak or what? Where was Bolt? She noticed it was dusk, the two cars had left! She was on her own. That wasn't too bad. She was as alone as a person can get on the inside. Her drunken Uncle had raped her but she kept it quiet. Now that she was pregnant her whole family would go up in smoke. The flames of hell were rolling in. She thought she would have her turn to yell and be angry, but it didn't come. She fell asleep listening to Martha chanting and softly drumming by the small fire under a moonlit night near the pear tree.