Marla stood leaning against the grill of her boat-like SUV. She had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, a dazed expression in her eyes, and, with her arms dropped, palms outwards, resembled a martyr exhibiting her stigmata. The other women and I were exchanging words lazily as we prepared to enter the monolithic expanse before us.”And this also,” said Marla suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.”
She was the only woman of us who still “followed a blueprint” and believed in the infallibility of a delivery date. The worst that could be said of her was that she was overly friendly with the hired help. She was a home visionary of the highest order, but she was also an explorer of many styles, and that is where she differed from the rest of us home repair types.
“She never balked at trying her hand at faux finishes, stenciled flowers, wallpaper, or removing the paint from a cabinet to reveal the rare wood that lay beneath its surface. The intrigues of finding the right hardware on some distant shelf were a secret worth finding for Marla. But Marla was not typical (if her propensity to redesign her floor plan was excepted), and to Marla the meaning of finally having a room of her own to go over blueprints, electrical designs, and layout concepts was as essential to Marla’s well-being as drawing a breath is for you or me.
Her remark did not seem surprising. It was just like Marla. No one took the trouble to grunt even; and presently she said very slowly:
“I was thinking of very old times when our grandmothers had nothing but variety stores and the forbidden, exclusively male hardware emporiums to supply them with the essentials of home remodeling. Of course they didn’t have much in the way of choices, and money was scarce. The working men in the hardware stores would condescend to help them with plumbing fixtures and electrical wiring-then feign frustration and irritation with them, the men would tell them to send their husbands down to buy whatever they needed to improve their homes.
“In so many ways nothing has changed. There is still the darkness that surrounds this world of square and linear feet. And the men, it is queer how out of touch they are with the truth. They live in a world of their own, where they see themselves as the only beings capable of home repair. If this were true, then all of our houses would be in rubble around our feet before the next sunset. Some confounded fact we women have been living not so contentedly with ever since the day of creation.
“I don’t want to bother you much with what happened to me personally,” she said, showing in this remark the weakness of many tellers of tales who seem so often unaware of what their audience would best like to hear; “yet to understand the effect of it on me you ought to know how I got in there and found the illusive Mr. Curse.
“I had great plans to build a spare room of my own to the existing structure of my house. I had made sure to get all the plans approved by the various authorities, spending copious hours at long, tedious city council meetings. Yet approval of my plans was imminent, and eventually the day did come when I could begin the journey that would lead me to that dark place where I first found that poor man who held the success for my great plans in the palm of his hands.
“It was the most indirect method of getting what I wanted completed, but it was the culminating point of my experience. It seemed somehow to throw a kind of light on everything about me-and into my thoughts. It was somber enough too-and pitiful-not extraordinary in any way-not very clear either. No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.
“Now when I was a little girl, I had a passion for architectural drawings. I would look for hours at floor plans of houses, landscapes or patios and deck designs. I would lose myself for hours in those plans, dreaming of the day when I would be able to build or add on to my dream house. There I was, snug in my childhood room, drawing my own house plans, scouring over magazines for decorator ideas, viewing plumbing fixtures with an eye for quality as well as utility.
“At that time women were relegated to the choosing of color or furniture. It was unheard of for a woman to discuss floor plans or the dilemma of working around a bearing wall. I would spread out the blueprints before me and say, When I grow up I will build this house. Well, all I have been able to do is add on to an existing structure, and I will probably never build an entire house now-the glamour is off.
“It was upward of a full month before I entered the mouth of that cavernous warehouse. I had all my permits and had met the requirements of the city planning commission, but my work would not begin until I had lined up all of the materials that I would need to build the room.
“Upon first entering the warehouse the monotonous beeping of a forklift stacked with palates of wood flooring made me turn my head. Six wage slaves advanced in a file, toiling up the canyons of the warehouse. They walked erect and slow; wearing orange aprons that showed the name of the company that enslaved them. They passed me within six inches, without a glance, with that complete, deathlike indifference of unhappy employees who eschew the edict of customer service. They were dying slowly-it was very clear.
“I wandered to my first department of call; I needed to order the lumber to begin my building and contract a company that would supply the carpenters. It was here that I first heard of Mr. Curse.
“I spoke to the little Hispanic chap who was manning the desk in the lumber area. I told him what I needed, giving him exact amounts and measurements. I mentioned to him that I was looking for a contractor that I could trust for the entire project. He looked at me with his little eyes that glittered like mica disks-with curiosity-though he tried to keep up his demeanor of studied nonchalance and ambivalence. But he couldn’t restrain himself and soon his story spilled forth.
“He became very animated when he began to talk, asking me leading questions as to the nature of my project. I answered as politely as I could in light of the manner in which he tried to pry information from me. Finally, I asked him directly: Do you know of anyone that can help me acquire a contractor?
“At last he got angry and to conceal a movement of furious annoyance, he yawned, and then he turned to me with spiteful glee, staring me in the eye said: You need to talk with Mr. Curse, but he isn’t here today-he is on a trip up country at a very difficult job site. He should be back at the end of the week, but he’s the best man-only he can bring your job in on time, only he can find the people you need-no one else here can do that the way Curse can.
“I thanked him for the help and took my order form for the lumber with me. As I walked down the canyon leading away from the lumber department, I heard the high-pitched, stifled cackling of his laugh. He was having a good time at my expense, or so I thought.
“My next stop down the steep canyons of stacked hardware in that impenetrable dark emporium was to choose carpeting, windows, electrical devices, and wallpaper. There I came upon a gathering of several men positioned in front of their computer screens mesmerized by the Voodoo that appeared in the monitor before them. For all I knew, they had no idea of how the infernal machinery worked. They might have been told that if they left their posts the gods would be angry with them and cause the computers to spark bad juju fireballs at them.
“So they stared at those screens until I snapped my fingers in front of one chap’s bland, inscrutable face, causing him to shrink back in a momentary lapse of fear. He spoke indecipherable, broken English that had me straining to understand him. He, too, was a foreigner from an exotic land known as Brooklyn. In his halting English he asked me how he could serve me. I took out my list of supplies and laid it before him. ‘I need these things and I need to coordinate their arrival in a timely fashion. I can’t wait around indefinitely. I have to get all my supplies in a certain time frame-with whom do I speak to get this job organized?’
“He looked at the list, paling as he read my choice of carpeting, wallpaper, double-paned windows, and state-of-the-art electrical plugs. He sighed deeply and told me the news that I feared most.
“It ain’t gonna happen, lady. We can’t get all this in the time frame that you have here. These are specialty items that need to be ordered ahead of time if they are going to get anywhere at a specific time. You’re gonna have ta fuhgedaboudit. The only person that could get this job organized is Curse, and he ain’t here. He’s up country…”
I broke into his diatribe. “I know, he’s at a difficult job site.”
“Yeah, that’s right, and he won’t be back for another week.”
“Who, pray tell, is this fellow Curse?”
A sort of reverence came over the chap’s face as he thought about Curse. He turned inward to search for the right words that would convey all that Curse was, and all that he meant to the people who worked for the company. Then, as if struck by complete understanding of all life’s mysteries, he took another deep breath into his apron-clad barrel chest and began to tell me just who Curse was.
“Man, he is one strange dude, but he has a right to be. He spent three tours of duty in Viet Nam with the Seabees doing construction up near the DMZ. If that won’t make you bug nuts, then nothing will. He wasn’t afraid of the gooks. He could run a backhoe to grade a road and shoot gooks with an M16 at the same time. One time he cut off some red gook bastard’s head and placed it on a pole along a path that he was clearing for the 32nd armored division. Yeah, he is one strange cat, but he’s a good contractor and that’s all that matters.”
“His words penetrated my unconscious mind and a shiver ran up my back, as I thought about working with Curse. How was I going to work with this mad man? How was I ever going to get my room built without him? It was clear now what had to be accomplished. I would have to go up country to find Curse and bring him back to my job site if I ever wanted to have a room of my own.”
© Jennifer E. Hewitt
