"Mother--say it."
"Mother, why does the water have to be so hot?"
Perhaps Kitty liked the submissive tone in my voice, for she changed almost as if a magician had pushed a switch.
"Oh, honey," she crooned, "it's truly fer yer own good, really it is. T'hot will kill all t'germs. I wouldn't make ya do anythin that would hurt ya." Her seawater eyes turned soft, her tone as well; she appeared kind, motherly, persuading me I'd been mistaken. Kitty was a good woman needing a daughter to love. And I so wanted a mother to love me.
"See," Kitty said, testing the water by putting in her hand and arm up to her elbow, "it's not as hot as ya think. Now, step in like a good girl, an sit down, an let Mother scrub yer skin cleaner than it's eva been in yer whole life."
"Are you sure your bathwater is this hot?"
"Not lyin, honey baby. I do take baths in hot water like that all t'time." Kitty shoved me closer. "Once yer in an t'shock is ova, it feels good, real good; makes ya relax an feel sleepy. See, I'll pour in some pretty pink bubble bath. Ya'll like that. Ya'll come out smellin like a rose, looking like one, too."
Kitty had to let out some water in order to put in the bubble bath so she could again let the hot water gush in and make the pink crystals foam--and this, unfortunately, took away water that might have cooled down a bit from all I'd done to hesitate.
There it was before me, one of the dreams I'd prayed someday to enjoy, a perfumy bubble bath in a pink tub with mirrors all around . . . and I wasn't going to enjoy it.
I just knew it was going to burn.
"It'll be all right, sweetheart, really it will be. Would I ask ya t'do somethin that would hurt ya? Would I? I was a girl like ya once, an I neva had t'chance t'enjoy what-all I'm gonna do fer ya. One day in t'future ya'll go down on yer knees an give thanks ta t'Lord fer savin ya from t'depths of hell. Think of t'hot water as holy water. That's how I do it. Think of cold thins like ice, tons of crushed ice, sittin in ice an sippin cola drinks, think of that. It won't hurt. Neva hurt me, an I've got baby-soft skin."
Kitty moved suddenly. She caught me off balance, and in a flash, instead of hovering above the water to test it again, I was facedown in the water!
The scalding water seared me like liquid hot coals from Ole Smokey. I shoved upward blindly, pulled up my knees, balancing on my hands, trying blindly to fight my way out of the tub; but Kitty held me down, grasped my shoulders with strong hands, and twisted me over so I was sitting in the water. Now I could scream!
Time and time again I let go, howling, flailing my arms as Our Jane would, as Fanny would, yelling, "Let me go, let me go!"
Wham!
Kitty's hand slapped me!
"SHUT UP! Damn ya! Shut up! Don't ya be yellin when my Cal comes in, an make him think I'm bein mean. I ain't, I ain't! I'm doin what I have t'do, that's all."
Where was Cal . . . why didn't he come back and save me?
It was terrible, so terrible I couldn't find another scream, not when I was gasping, choking, crying, struggling to push Kitty away, to stop that brutal brush from taking off all my red, seared skin. I was stinging all over--and inside as well. The Lysol water was seeping into my most private parts. My eyes pleaded with Kitty to have mercy, but Kitty grimly set about scrubbing off the germs, the contamination, the Casteel filth.
It seemed I could hear Reverend Wayland Wise preaching, chanting me into paradise as I lingered on the verge of unconsciousness. Shock had taken over. My mouth was open, my eyes as well, and Kitty's face above me was a pale mean moon, bent on destruction.
On and on the bath lasted, until at last the water began to cool, and Kitty poured dark-looking shampoo from an orange bottle onto my hair. If my scalp hadn't already been burned, perhaps it wouldn't have stung so much, but it hurt, really hurt! I found strength to struggle and nearly pulled Kitty into the tub.
"STOP IT!" yelled Kitty, slapping me hard. "Yer actin like a damned fool! It's not that hot!" And there she went and put in her arms, thrusting her face close to mine. "See, it's not hot. I'm not screamin."
Oh, oh, oh . . . it was hot.
It was the worst experience of my life to flip and turn, kick and struggle, and never get away from Kitty, who managed to lather up every strand of my hair with that dreadful-smelling soap that was almost black. That was the worst thing anyone could do to my hair. It was long and fine, and screwing it around like that would mat it so badly it would never untangle. I tried to tell Kitty that.
"Shut up, damn ya! Ya think I don't know what hair is, an how t'wash it? I'm a professional! A professional! Been doin this all my adult life. People pay t'have me wash their hair, an yer complainin. One more yelp out of ya, an I'm turnin on t'hot water agin, an I'll hold ya down an take t'skin from yer face."
I tried to stay still while I allowed Kitty to do what she would.
After my hair was lathered it had to set to kill whatever was hidden in its depths, and during that time Kitty picked up the long-handled brush again and scrubbed my_ already tortured skin. Whimpering, I managed to stay in the water that gradually cooled more, and now I didn't have to wiggle or whimper, not that any of what I'd done had prevented Kitty from completing a thorough scrubdown and inspection of all my crevices that might conceal running sores.
"I don't have sores, Mother . . I really don't, not ever . . ."
Kitty didn't care. She was intent on what she felt she had to do, even if it killed me.
Dream of hell, that's what this was steaming vapors of hellfires, looming pale white face that wasn't pretty now that her hair was in damp strings, hanging all around that hateful moon that had a red slash that kept crooning about how babyish I was acting.