Cruel and Unusual Punishment
M. Toole | Jan 04, 2014 | Comments 0
Not a lot of ‘em in Stringtown much cared for Ma MacElliot or any from her whole pestering clan for that matter. They found the old lady (Ma) to be abrasive, petty, callous, loud and whiny. They didn’t like her because her dogs were mean and her sons were meaner. They didn’t like her because she constantly spit tobacco juice, often on their shiny shoes, nice green lawns and acutely swept Stringtown sidewalks.
And personal hygiene may have just as well been a French greeting. Rashes found a warm welcome in her every crevice, while matching socks would have been a coordinated victory. She broke wind at the most erratic times and in the most inappropriate places. She never washed her hair and her Rambler Ambassador smelled of rotten eggs and sour milk.
She wore a stained Bronco jersey, with some player’s name faded on the back. Ma’s mere presence at the grocery, a stroll through the second-hand store or a prowl at the dump she could anger and embarrass large swaths of humanity.
Nora Goode explained that resentment hatched because Ma had once been a blue blood and, like the other MacElliots had fallen on cumulative faces and now were just as broke as everyone else on the south side of the unraveling town’s bucolic social networks. They were has-beens and in less than two generations had fallen from Brahmans to bums.
Ma cursed as a mouse shot across the floor. She wished she had kept one of the feral cats that used to inhabit the place. She had exiled them, meows and all, to the barn where they now set up house, ignoring the purge of the rodent proletariat at the old home doublewide.
“Bet there’s no mice prancing around inside that barn,” she groaned. “They’re all over here.”
When Ma got her fifth DUI George W. was still President. Now it was her sixth arrest on drinking and driving. She had been coming back (doing the speed limit with at least one headlight on) from a tractor pull in Utah when a cow elk jumped onto the highway in San Miguel Canyon and collided with her pickup. During the ensuing investigation it became apparent that Ma had been sipping. Her low profile/high alcohol level was easily enough to win her a spot at the Montrose jail for the night.
“I only had a six-pack. That’s what I get for doing the damn speed limit,” said Ma. “If I’d have been speeding I’d never have hit that elk. Oh well, jail won’t be so bad. At least I’ve earned a few months away from my worthless relatives.”
Then she said, “It’s a conspiracy. The cops are hiding out and waiting for me! When I still had money it was different, more formal…all the lawyers and bail, the plea bargains and alcohol classes,” she sighed. “But now they tell me I’m some kind of indeegent, which means they can’t squeeze no more dollars outa this one!”
“Six offences I see,” said the judge and no sense of remorse…that’ll be 120 days or 160 days in lieu of fine.”
“I’ll take the 160,” answered Ma. “I just made forty bucks,” she had thought. “I wonder if any of the old gang is still in the slammer since the last time. Probably not. It’s been quite a while since I was behind bars.
***
Word of Ma’s arrest got back to Stringtown faster than Ma made it home the next morning. Already Aunt Polly and Cousin Slim were there, waiting on the step.
After the obligatory appropriate remarks the two started in.
“Who’s gonna watch your place while you’re cooling your heels in jail?” asked Polly. “Me and Earl have been kicked out of our rented potato cellar and winter is coming.”
“Yeah, my brothers and I will be needing a new place to live just as soon as workingman’s comp kicks back in,” chirped Slim. “They say we’re in for a cold winter.”
“But that won’t bother you Ma,” laughed Polly. “You’ll be plenty warm with three meals and a cot, heh?”
“What do you people want?” was all Ma could muster.
“Well, we though you might need someone to feed your cats and water your plants…”
“Don’t have no cats and the plants can fend for themselves,” said Ma.
“What about your mail? Somebody’s got to stop and pick up the mail,” said Slim. “Why if the boys and I were living here it would be…”
“Don’t get any mail,” said Ma.
“What about someone to keep an eye on things? Wouldn’t you rest easier knowing your trailer was in good hands?” asked Polly.
“My trailer is in the only good hands in this whole damn family…mine! Now unless there is other immediate business you really must be going. I have a lot to do before my jail time.”
“But we could do it for you and…”
“No, said Ma. “It even makes me nervous when you are on my property and I am here. Why would you think I’d leave you in charge of all this?”
Ma looked lovingly at her balled up, littered and disheveled yard, strewn with undistinguishable rummage, rubbish and refuse. She sighed, realizing she would miss the place while she was away.
When the big day came Ma grabbed her suitcase and locked the door to the trailer. Her brother-in-law, Clam had volunteered to take her to the police department to be checked in. He was most likely the only family member who was both legal, sober and owned a car. On the way he cleared his throat and told ma how, since he was painfully short, he had always looked up to her.
“What do you intend to do with your trailer while you are incarcerated? Four months is a long time to let the place sit empty,” he said. “You don’t know who might come along and break in or worse. Wouldn’t you feel better with me and your sister Evelyn living there?”
“No,” said Ma, “I would not.”
Clam and her sister possessed the keen ability to turn a calm, pastoral setting into charred chaos in moments. As far as Ma was concerned they would not come near the place.
“When one comes from a family as pathetic as the MacElliots there are virtually no serious threats likely to emerge from other circles,” she smiled.
The MacElliots, Ma thought. What losers to the man. Remember Aunt Pale, may she rest in peace…I gave her my old Chevy and she sold it to the neighbor that very afternoon for $50, which she drank down at the Henne House Bar. Then there’s my nervous son Elmo who got kicked out of the Navy because he couldn’t swim…
Arriving at the jail Ma thought that although her cell didn’t come with a microwave and Fox News it might work out fine. At least she was away from her relatives.
But not so fast, Ma.
Barely able to digest her first prison breakfast Ma was beset by an announcement that she had visitors. Wednesday was in fact Visitors Day, a day that brought hope and joy to convicts and a carload of needy MacElliots in Elmo’s brood, from up near Marble.
Surviving a slew of forced hugs Ma knew what her Elmo and his family were up to.
“We come down to take care of you while you’re in jail. Ma,” said Kenny, her second oldest son. Somebody has to visit you and make sure they are treating you all right in there. We figured we could just move into your trailer and feed the cats for you.”
“Don’t have no cats. Don’t need your help. Don’t need you to visit,” said Ma.
“But it would be better for you if we were close during these trying times,” said Kenny. “We could keep an eye on things around here. You never know what kind of creeps might happen by. They could break in and steal everything!”
“They can have it,” said Ma.
“Now you listen to me, Ma,” frowned Kenny. “I just lost my job at the slaughterhouse and Christmas is coming. I need a place to land for a few months while I look for work and your trailer is empty. I though we could…”
“No,” said Ma who was now getting to her brim in the patience department. “I don’t need your help. Where were you when I broke my leg last year? Where were you when the cows ran off? Where were you when that last husband of mine tried to stab me with those jumper cables?”
“Now listen, Ma, we’re moving in. If you don’t like it it’s just tough. Now you give me the keys and money to pay the bills and you can just sit back and relax. Oh and how is the pickup running? With just one car between 10 of us we could sure use another vehicle to get around.”
“No keys. I don’t want you on my property. I have hired a security team to keep people like you off my land, snipped Ma.”
“You’ll be sorry you did that,” said Kenny who announced that he and his troupe would be camping near the trailer for a few days.
TO BE CONTINUED JAN 18 POSTING
Filed Under: Fractured Opinion
