Chapter Eight

THE MOTHER OF EIGHT

In a few days, Dave Hamilton showed up at Wilbur's apartment with a rented van and a peace offering of sorts. He and Margo were getting a new waterbed for their bedroom. Dave sold the old one with a different headboard to a neighbor.

The peace offering Dave brought with him was a large painting executed by Margo during her Orange period. It had been in their bedroom, but they no longer wanted it. It clashed with the dominant pink in the room. Wilbur had expressed an interest in it, not for any aesthetic reason, but because it was so large, and the paint on it had the texture of Corn Flakes, one of his favorite breakfast cereals.

"Here you go, Wilbur," Dave said, after maneuvering the large panel up the narrow stairwell leading to his apartment. "This should really liven up the place."

Wilbur stared in disbelief at the large, canvas structure. The painting was as large as a piece of wall paneling. The focal point of the painting was a tree with orange leaves. It was in a clearing in the woods. Dave helped maneuver the monolith through the door. In order to fit it, they turned it on its side and went through at an angle. They had a similar problem finding a suitable place to display the masterpiece. Because of the low ceiling in Wilbur's small, faded green living room they accommodated it by leaning it at an angle against a vacant wall.

"Just right, Wilbur. Really adds some zip to the room, if you ask me," Dave commented.

Dave was thoroughly pleased that he was now the ex-owner of the painting. He immediately changed the subject when the painting was in place.

"Don't forget to call Mrs. Stuart. She wants you to call her. Even though you knocked half their house down, I think she's got the hots for you, Wilbur," Dave said.

"Me? You think so? I'll give her a call. She was nice. I wonder what she wants?"

Dave wasn't listening now that he had delivered the message. He had another concern.

He hated dealing with neighbors, but he inadvertently mentioned to one of his neighbors that Margo and he were refurbishing their bedroom. The neighbor was a very nervous lady with eight kids.

She had looked high and low for her husband's anniversary present. After eight kids and many years of marriage, nothing appealed to her until the day Dave let roll off his lips the fact that he had a used waterbed to "place." In her nervousness and delirium to please her husband, to please someone, she jumped at what appeared a good offer from her neighbor. Dave had not meant it as an offer though. It was merely innocuous conversation that he was an expert at, and it had gotten out of hand. Glib and as personable as he was, he had found it better to keep people, especially neighbors, at a distance. Before he had realized it and could extricate himself, he was entwined in his neighbor's anniversary gift "situation." Since this violated one of his unwritten covenants he would do the next best thing: remove himself from any exposure and send Wilbur instead. Hence, the demolished column and the Stuart's fractured roof were ancient history as far as Dave Hamilton was concerned. However, Margo filed the roof fiasco away for future reference.

"Just keep working. She'll talk your head off and slow you down some, but she's basically a nice lady," Dave explained to Wilbur.

Wilbur, who intuitively interpreted that he was no longer persona non grata, put on his blue, work shirt emblazoned with large, orange letters. Since his departure from the University of Urban Failures, this shirt meant more to him than the diploma that was sent to him in the mail.

"She's got eight kids," Dave advised. "I think that's why she's so hysterical. She must be on tranquilizers. I sure would be if I had eight kids. I told her we were getting a new Riviera and the old waterbed was going to the store. I got an old headboard in storage that we can slap on it. She's buying it as an anniversary present for her husband. It's a surprise, but she's not sure he's going to like it. It's just something else for her to be nervous about. She's trying to add a little more romance to her relationship. She wants a little more pizzaz. I told her to watch out with that waterbed. She might end up with eight more kids."

xxx

Dave and Wilbur made a brief stop at Dave Hamilton's house to get their used waterbed. Dave checked on his father in the locked bedroom across the hall, then he helped Wilbur load the old headboard onto the van.

In a few minutes Wilbur backed the van into a driveway a few houses away. There were three, young boys with dark, moppy haircuts. They were wide-eyed and curious as Wilbur navigated between a bicycle and an old, faded red Volkswagen. The delivery van was like a spaceship that had landed on their playground.

A hose crossed the driveway which Wilbur ran over. The mother of eight kids, who was tall and thin, smoked a cigarette in a rock garden that had rusty-colored pebbles and large pink and gray rocks under a palm tree. She wore a dark-blue blouse and white shorts that showed a lot of leg.

"C'mon back, c'mon back," she yelled to Wilbur.

He watched both side mirrors so he didn't run over any kids or bicycles.

"Move the bicycle, Peter! How many times have I told you not to throw your bicycle in the driveway. Pull that hose back too, Anthony. He'll probably need it to fill the waterbed. Son, what's your name?" she asked when the van door opened.

"Wilbur Dobbs, mam."

"Wilbur, will you need that hose?"

"Well..."

Before he finished his sentence, she was off and running like Dave Hamilton had warned.

"We can hook it in the back yard or in the house or just leave it right there. What do you want to do with it, Wilbur? Peter, you do what Wilbur here says. Do you understand me? He's the expert on this waterbed. God, your sister just parks that heap of hers in the middle of the driveway. Comes in late at night, and, oh my God, it's after 8:30. I've got to get her up, she's late for work again. You'd think she'd at least do that right. I'll be right back, Wilbur. I've gotta wake up the Queen of Sheba. If she loses this job I'll cream her. I just don't understand kids these days, and I've got eight of them. I wish she'd move out like her older brother did."

Wilbur waited next to the van until a body with disheveled hair angrily piled into the Volkswagen, cranked it up and backed into the street. She got out, slammed the door, and yelled an expletive at her mother who was lighting another cigarette with a shaky hand. The three brothers stared at the van in awe waiting for the contents to be revealed.

"The whole waterbed fits in there? Water and all?" Anthony asked.

"Where do you want it?" Wilbur asked their mother.

"Boys, don't bother him, just get out of his way. Do you want them to carry anything? Is the bed dismantled? You don't want to carry all that stuff, do you, son? They'd be glad to help you. Peter, Anthony, David, you three get over here and help him. You do what he says, hear?"

"Yes mam," they said in a chorus.

"The minute they start bothering you, let them know. Peter, are you going to just stand there. Grab that box."

Wilbur was already through the front door with a long side piece. The mother of eight still jabbered momentarily outside. Her daughter talked on the phone instead of dressing for work. Then the mother of eight brought the hose inside, and her sons carried in the mattress box and the particle board supports. Peter took a break after his first load.

"Mom, do you think God was an astronaut?" Peter asked.

The mother of eight stretched the garden hose across the living room carpet.

"If there is a God, he would have to be an astronaut to get around," Peter hypothesized.

"Not now, Peter," the mother of eight said.

There was water in the hose and it leaked onto the rug.

"I was just seeing if it would reach into the bedroom," she said with exasperation.

Wilbur walked by with his silver toolbox which he retrieved from the van.

"You bought a waterbed for you and Dad? Oh, yuckie," her daughter who was still on the phone commented. "Have you ever slept on one? I don't think he'll like a waterbed."

"Get off the phone and get to work. I think he'll like the waterbed. What do you know about waterbeds, young lady?"

"Oh, nothing."

"I bought a vibrator for it too. Your father has back problems," the mother of eight added. "Do you think he'll like the waterbed, Wilbur?"

Wilbur was amazed that the mother of eight remembered his name, considering the vortex of activity surrounding the delivery of the anniversary gift.

"Yeah, sure, he should like it."

"I hope he does. I want to make our relationship more exciting. Maybe I shouldn't have bought it. Well, I don't know. You know, you must be about the same age as my oldest son. By the way, you can call me Gwen."

"Uh, we don't need the hose in here right now, Gwen," Wilbur said. "It'll just get in the way."

"Okay."

"Do you want the bed in there where all that laundry is?"

"Laundry? What laundry? Oh God! She just threw the laundry on our floor. Mary Beth!! Get in here and get this laundry off the floor!"

"Do you want me to be late for work, Mother?"

Mary Beth was triumphant as she checkmated her mother with this last exchange.

"She's a nerd," Peter stated.

"Don't call your sister a nerd. That's not nice to say about your sister," Gwen reminded Peter as she regained her composure.

"Is the whole mattress in this box?" Peter asked with a look of bewilderment on his face.

"I sure hope the whole mattress is in the box," Wilbur answered.

"Peter is the intellectual in the family," Gwen announced after his question.

"He is?" Wilbur asked.

Peter looked down at the floor. He scrunched up one side of his mouth.

"He can look at something and figure it out, then know everything about it. He could probably help you set up his father's waterbed if you wanted him to."

"Did you go to college to learn how to set up waterbeds?" Peter inquired.

"I went to college, but I didn't study waterbeds. I studied a bunch of stuff that I'll never use. One of the things I studied was a guy named Archimedes. He was sort of into waterbeds. He lived over two thousand years ago on the island of Sicily. There's a city there named Syracuse and that's where he lived."

"Syracuse? I thought that was in New York," Peter stated.

"Yeah, but there was one in Sicily long before. King Hieron was Archimedes' friend. He ordered a new crown to be made of gold, but when he received the crown, he wasn't sure it was pure gold. It looked like gold, but he couldn't be certain, so he handed the problem over to his friend, Archimedes."

"Did that make the news?" Peter wondered.

"Sort of. After some thought and a few baths in his tub, Archimedes got an idea."

Peter sat there enraptured by Wilbur's explanation.

"He submerged the crown in water and was able to show King Hieron that even though his crown looked like pure gold, he had been deceived. He found out that pure gold displaced a certain amount of water. This crown didn't. It wasn't pure gold as he was lead to believe. "

"Wow," Peter marveled.

"What Archimedes discovered is called Archimedes' Principle. I studied a lot of crap in college, but that’s one of the most important. It’s like Shakespeare or something. I picked up waterbeds after college. I'm not really qualified to do much else."

Peter was enthralled with Wilbur's story about the King and Archimedes.

"Mary Beth! Get in here and get this laundry up!" the mother of eight yelled to no avail.

"I was reading in the newspaper about nuclear power plants. We talked about it in school too," Peter said, tailgating Wilbur.

"That's nice," Wilbur replied, but he was quickly out the door as he went to retrieve something from the van.

Peter stood there with his younger brother until Wilbur returned. Peter's curiosity was not satisfied though.

"How many waterbeds have you set up in your lifetime? If this waterbed leaks can my parents drown?"

Gwen returned at that moment.

"Don't mind me, I just need someone to talk with," she began. "It's not so bad when they're in school, but when they're home, I could cream them, especially that older one, my son. He's gotten so many traffic tickets for speeding, running stop signs and reckless driving. I don't understand it. I buy him a nice, summer sports suit, and it's beautiful, and you know what he says?"

"I don't know," Wilbur replied.

"He says he doesn't like it, and he's not going to wear it. Can you believe that? I go pick it out, and it's been hanging in his closet for months. It's a crime. I hate to just see it hanging there. I bet, I just bet it would fit you."

"I don't wear them that much," Wilbur said trying to deflect Gwen's offer.

Gwen was already across the light-green, carpeted living room and disappeared down a hallway. She returned with the tan, checked sports coat. It had wide lapels. The material was light weight but coarse like cardboard. Wilbur immediately hated it.

"There's even matching slacks that go with it. If you only wear it once, it'll be more than my son, that ungrateful so and so. I could cream him."

She handed the suit to Wilbur.

"Mom, are you going to ask Dad about what I asked you to ask him?" Peter requested.

He had an apprehensive look on his face as he stood next to Wilbur and his mother.

"Oh, that poor kid. His older brothers and sisters are driving up to Chicago, and he wants to go with them. I don't know what to say. I don't think his brother should be driving up there. I sure wouldn't be on the road with him. I told Peter we'd pay his way there on the bus. This kid reads the newspaper. He's read a story about a bus crashing somewhere, and he says he's afraid to ride on the bus because it's going to crash. So I said, well, we'll send you on an airplane, and he says he's afraid to take an airplane because he's read about them crashing too. I said, we'll send him by train, and he says he doesn't want to go by train because he's read stories and seen pictures of train crashes. He says he wants to go with his older brother who is about to lose his driver's license because he's a terrible driver. I could never forgive myself if I let him go with such an irresponsible driver and he got hurt. Do you know what I mean?"

Peter stared at the floor. Wilbur listened sparingly. He wondered if he had attached the vibrator to the correct side of the plywood. He gloomily glanced over to his new suit in the corner.

"Peter, it sounds like you should stop reading the newspaper," Wilbur offered.

Peter continued to stare at the floor.

"Mom, can I sleep on the waterbed when he finishes?" Peter then asked.

"The 'Waterbed Rule' is: NO CHILDREN ON THE WATERBED!"

"Mom...".

"If I catch you on the waterbed, I'm going to cream you. Oh my God! They think it's a toy! These things don't leak, do they? I can see it now, water all over the place. What do you do if it leaks? Have you ever had one leak? Oh my God!! It'll be just my luck. My husband better like it. Oh my God! How much water goes in it, son?"

"About two hundred twenty-five gallons. There's a patch kit that goes with the mattress. It's like a bicycle patch kit."

Wilbur produced a small patch kit from the mattress box.

"That's a lot of help. I can't ride a bicycle much less patch a tire."

"The directions are on the kit," Wilbur added.

"My husband will read it. You read it too, Peter," she directed.

"Okay, mom."

In a few minutes the bed filled with water. The mother of eight and now nine, including Wilbur, brought in a bologna sandwich and a drink for Wilbur, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Peter.

"Do you think a solar panel could heat this waterbed?" Peter inquired.

"Well, yeah, maybe," Wilbur answered between chews of his bologna sandwich.

Peter knowingly nodded, then he took a bite from his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Gwen returned to the room.

"Is there anything else you want?"

"It's fine, tastes good," Wilbur answered.

"Our second, oldest daughter got that paneling for an apartment she was living in, but she moved back here, and there it is," she said, pointing to a corner of her bedroom. "Do you need any paneling? I don't know what kind it is, she didn't have any other place to put it except there. If she put it outside it would warp, so she gives it to good, old mom and dad. God! I could cream her! I'd love to get rid of it. I think she wants five dollars a sheet for it. You think you might want it? Maybe you know someone who can use it?"

"I'm sorry, uh, I don't have any use for it," Wilbur said, envisioning it next to Margo's orange masterpiece.

"We could use more space in this room. I didn't know the waterbed would take so much space."

"I don't need any paneling," Wilbur re-emphasized.

Soon, the bed was full of water. Wilbur happily loaded his tools. He reluctantly escorted his "new" tan, checkered, leisure suit with lapels as wide as mud flaps to the van. Gwen and Peter followed him outside. Gwen puffed nervously on a cigarette. Her left hand supported her right elbow. Her skinny legs were bent to one side.

"Happy anniversary," Wilbur said before getting into the van.

"I hope my husband likes the waterbed."

"When I grow up," Peter said, "I'm gonna set up waterbeds."

The mother of eight didn't hear his remark as Wilbur started the van.

"You sure you don't want that paneling?" she yelled desperately to Wilbur as he backed out of the driveway.