The Devil's Beating His Wife Read Online Free PDF Page A

floorboards creaked as Mother entered the room. She had taken a few minutes this morning to freshen herself up as there was no hint of perspiration on her now. She looked cool and composed, and she grasped a large iron pot. It must have been heavy because when she placed it in the center of the table, it made a large thunking sound and shook the table.
    "Dammit, Cecilia, is that oatmeal again?" asked Father as he pointed at the pot. There was a sneer on his face and a whine in his voice. He folded the morning paper and slapped it down onto the table. He glanced my way and gave me a long-suffering look.
    I marveled at him. The sun streaming through the window caused his whitening blond hair to shine. His tanned, weathered hands were now marked with dark freckles. My stern and powerful father had become a cranky old man. That in and of itself wasn't all that surprising. We all got old. But this had happened in only two years, since the day I waved goodbye to them and went off to war.
    Mother grabbed the lid of the pot and swept it into the air as if presenting some great feast. The stench of burnt grains filled the room. She grabbed a spoon and dug into the pot. She had to stab the oatmeal a few times before she was able to get a serving onto the spoon.
    "You like my oatmeal," Mother said, plopping the mush into a bowl. She placed the bowl on the table and slid it in my direction.
    I glanced down at the dark brown heap. I thought I'd rather take my chances with another serving of that English brown bread. I lifted my eyes and favored Mother with a slight smile.
    Father grunted in disgust. "I do not like your oatmeal. In fact, I hate it. I even hate you whenever you make this awful stuff." Father pushed away from the table. "I'm going into town for a real breakfast," he said as he stormed out of the room. I could hear the muffled words "shit" and "rather eat fresh maggots" as he left the house.
    Mother skipped to the doorway and peered around the corner. Tendrils of hair fell from the bun at the top of her head. She stood on her tiptoes as she watched Father climb into his truck. She shook her fist in the air and yelled, "Don't come home until you get that attitude sorted out!"
    Father honked his horn and drove away. Mother's back straightened as she pivoted away from the door. Her face was serene as she smoothed her filthy, oat-splattered apron. Shrugging her shoulders, she glanced at me, a hopeful expression on her face. I grabbed the sugar bowl and sprinkled several spoonfuls over the oats. Smiling outwardly and groaning inwardly, I lifted the spoon and took my first bite. I lowered my head so she couldn't see the dour expression on my face.
    "Damn it, Baxter, don't force yourself to eat it if you don't want to." Taking Father's place at the head of the table, she grabbed the paper and opened it. Snorting with laughter, she said, "Why don't you go over to Carver's house? I heard that slut of his is a damn good cook."
    Relieved, I pushed my bowl away. "Maybe you could invite her over sometime to show you a few things?"
    The knuckles of her fingers went white. She slowly lowered the paper. The fine hairs at her neck were standing on end. Her skin had paled beneath the dark red rouge that she wore on her cheeks.
    "There is no way on God's green earth that I will ever allow that person into my kitchen again," she said.
    "Jesus, Mother. It's been five years. You ain't let that go yet?"
    "What that girl did to this family is unforgivable, Baxter."
    "Unforgivable? You mean getting knocked up by Carver?"
    More strands of her dark blond hair fell from her sloppy bun. She was outright quivering with outrage. Her blood-red lips had disappeared into a grim line. I couldn't believe she was able to force out her next words: "Don't you dare use that type of language around me, Baxter."
    "You called her a slut not two minutes ago!"
    Her head swiveled on her shoulders as she looked for something to hit me with. It was too damn early in the