A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories

“Oh, you know Helen. Always stagestruck. Wanted to travel in a trunk. I just couldn’t see it. That broke it up. She was sweet, though. Sweet and kind.”

“What did it get her? A terrible brute of a husband like Charlie.”

“Dad,” I said.

“I’ll give you that. Charlie has got a terrible temper,” said Dad. “Remember when Helen had the lead in our high school graduation play? Pretty as a picture. She wrote some songs for it herself. That was the summer she wrote that song for me.”

“Ha,” said Mother.

“Don’t laugh. It was a good song.”

“You never told me about that song.”

“It was between Helen and me. Let’s see, how did it go?”

“Dad,” I said.

“You’d better take your daughter out in the back lot,” said Mother, “before she collapses. You can sing me that wonderful song later.”

“Okay, come on you,” said Dad, and I ran him out of the house.

The empty lot was still empty and hot and the glass sparkled green and white and brown all around where the bottles lay.

“Now, where’s this Screaming Woman?” laughed Dad.

“We forgot the shovels,” I cried.

“We’ll get them later, after we hear the soloist,” said Dad.

I took him over to the spot. “Listen,” I said. We listened.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Dad, at last.

“Shh,” I said. “Wait.”

We listened some more. “Hey, there, Screaming Woman!” I cried.

We heard the sun in the sky. We heard the wind in the trees, real quiet. We heard a bus, far away, running along. We heard a car pass.

That was all.

“Margaret,” said Father. “I suggest you go lie down and put a damp cloth on your forehead.”

“But she was here,” I shouted. “I heard her, screaming and screaming and screaming. See, here’s where the ground’s been dug up.” I called frantically at the earth. “Hey there, you down there!”

“Margaret,” said Father. “This is the place where Mr. Kelly dug yesterday, a big hole, to bury his trash and garbage in.”

“But during the night,” I said, “someone else used Mr. Kelly’s burying place to bury a woman. And covered it all over again.”

“Well, I’m going back in and take a cool shower,” said Dad.

“You won’t help me dig?”

“Better not stay out here too long,” said Dad. “It’s hot.”

Dad walked off. I heard the back door slam.

I stamped on the ground. “Darn,” I said.