A Girl like Her, A Man like You

An imitation of Flannery O’Conner. Her style of writing is unpredictable, and sometimes does not make sense. Theme of religion. References to Oedipus.

 

Mrs. Paula Fairchild was sitting in her rocking chair on her sun porch, simply rocking and knitting a yellow sweater for her dog, Peep, when she heard her daughter Iris, arrive home from school.  Iris was twenty-three years old, and had but one eye, the other, her left eye, having been lost by accident, when she was three years of age.  Mrs. Fairchild had been walking to the front walk with Iris on her hip, when she stumbled and dropped the poor baby face-down on a horse-hitch up.  The raven haired child had been unfortunate to lose her left eye for the mishap, though, luckily, Iris’ right eye was spared, and her one-eyedness did not her to hinder her functionality within society.  She got along very well, and was presently a pupil of aviation at the small, local college.  Her favorite instructor was a World War II veteran named Guy Soaring.  Iris often had fantasies of her instructor�"him picking her to be his assistant in the training exersises, him congratulations her form for air maneuvers.  She was glad that she was the only female in her class, because she would have certainly found it unbearable to Guy bent over another girl’s flight plans, helping her read distances, and calculate speeds.  But these were only fantasies and dreams, and Iris realized this; the main reason she enjoyed her schooling was that she loved the feeling of soaring high and flying away like an eagle, and being able to forger all the small, annoying, nuances of life.  At times she felt as though she were caged in like a bird�"she needed something to set her free.  Flying gave Iris a bit of hope of being free from the routines and the setness of life.  Iris had the vision of one day becoming a world-renowned acrobatic pilot.  

Mrs. Fairchild had always felt guilty about the unfortunate accident which Iris had suffered, but she was happy to see her only daughter so well-adjusted to the fate that had met her. One of two things Mrs. Fairchild could wish for Iris, though, was for her face to have some symmetry and evenness. Mrs. Fairchild was obsessed with symmetry and evenness. For how long had she told her daughter to ask Santa for a new eye, or to pray to Jesus to let her wake up in the morning with two eyewash.  When things were not even, it upset Mrs. Fairchild, so that, even when Iris lost her front tooth, she gave her hard candy on which to chew so thst the other front tooth would fall out, as well.  

Mrs. Fairchild even went as far as to wish that her daughter’s sole eye could be moved to the center of her face, just that it could look more evenly spaced.  The other thing she wished for her daughter, was for Iris to find a husband.  Mrs Fairchild had long had dreams of a handsome suitor sweeping Iris off ether feet, and carrying her off to a farm to live happily ever after.  She was sure wished for the same, and was comust also be mentioned thst Mrs Fairchildnfident of its occurring.  

On this breezy spring day, Mrs. Fairchild, as always, was delighted to see her daughter home from school.  She was a doting mother and wife, who always made sure that her family nerves wanted. 

“Oh Iris, dear,” she called out to the kitchen, where Iris was setting down her books.  “How was school for my little Miss Muuffet?”  It must also be mentioned that Mrs Fairchild was as equally fond of nursery rhymes as he was with evenness, and was apt to speak in the language of Mother Goose.  

“Here, dear’ I’ve made you your curds and whey,” she said, pushing at Iris a plate of black-eyed peas, her favorite food.  

Iris sighed, exasperated, not in the mood to let fly a retort.  Her mother’s insistence on reciting and alluding to nursery rhymes annoyed and embarrase3s her.  She usually answered her mother’s nursery-rhymed comments with a special rhyme of her own.  Perhaps, if Iris had felt up yo it this day, she would have remarked, “Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey.  She washed it down with too much cider, stuck her finger in a socket that fried her, and now her poor tuffet is frayed.”

When Iris’ mother spoke in nursery rhymes in front of others it was worse, though.  Iris usually had to leave the room as her mother was uttering her odd lyrics when conversing with the neighbors, the priest, or the doctor.  Iris feared that others feared her mother unbalanced; her mother, who was obsessed with balance! 

Today though, Iris was too exhausted from her day of airplane theory to offer a reposte to her mother’s He carried a storm annoying habit.  She simply sat and ate her black-eyed peas, paying no mind to her mother bustling around the kitchen, humming the refrain from “This Old Man.”

When the doorbell rang, Iris was grateful for the reprieve it offered from her mother’s incessant humming.  Mrs. Fairchild went to the door to find a small hairless man of about thirty. He carried a strongbox in his hand, and bore a too eager smile on his graythe  face.  

“Why, hello, Mr. … Piss-ay,” Mrs Fairchild read off his worn nametag, never one to send away a smile.

“Prounounced “Piss,” ma’am, Ed I Pisse, from a long line of proud Pisse men!” The little man exclaimed a little too exuberantly.  He welcomed himself into her parlor, gazing around at the neat and orderly interior, with his eyes stopping to rest on Mrs Fairchild. He smiled broadly.

“This seems t”be a fine home you keep, ma’am, he said chivarously removing his hat all the while self-servingly eyeing Mrs Fairchild, who was wondering what this eager man desired.  If he were a traveling salesman, she would most likely not need what he was selling, but she would feel badly turning him away.  

“Thank you, Mr Pisse.  How can I help you?” She asked.

“Well, ma’am…may I call you that?”

She nodded, delighted with his manners.  

“Well ma’am, I am an artist, a maker of figurines, a reliougous incoherent to be exact, and I was wond’ring if ya would be interested in takin’ a look at what I have to offer.  No pressure, mined you; jes peruse my work, and maybe something’s catch yer eye.”

It happened to be that Mrs. Fairchild was a religious woman, so she thought no harm in taking a peek at what he made.  Mr. Pisse  opened the strongbox with a key he secured around his neck.  It was a beautifully ornate, gold, key at which Mrs Fairchild glowed liked a child at Christmas.  He put out wonderfully-crafted Madonnas with child, Jesus figures, cherubic angels, and other religious icons that had the details of a surgeon’s hand.  Mrs Fairchild was in raptures at the little figures, and picked up each one and examined it with a childlike radiance emanating to her face.  She held up a statue of the Virgin, and a small porcelain lamb, and joyously began to sing, “Mary had a little lamb…”

Then Iris, who had been disapprovingly watching from the kitchen doorway at her mother’s attraction to anything that was pleasing to the eye stepped forward and said, “Now Mother, really, how many more minutes a day do you need to spend dusting?  You do not need these silly figurines; now put them down.”

Now, Miss, your mother was jes thinkin’ ‘bout makin’ an important purchase which would be an outwardly sign of her tremendous religious faith,” Mr Pisse interrupted.  

“Now, sir, my mother was simply drawn to the prettiness of your icons, and really should be spending my father’s money on them, when she can just as easily show her tremendous faith by going to church,” the raven-haired girl answered.  

“Oh dear, don’t peck at the nice man.  This is Mr Pisse, dear; he was only showing me some of his wonderful work,” Mrs Fairchild explained.  

“Thank you, ma’am, for yer kind judgements.  Boy, I been trav’ling far t’day; may I trouble you for a glass of water?”

“Why, of course.  Please stop into the kitchen with me.”

Iris followed the small man with a distrustful gaze, and could not help but notice that he seemed to make eyes at her mother’s bountiful figure.  

Mr Roger Fairchild was also in the kitchen, in from a long day’s toil of raisin making.  He was the most profitable raisin maker in the county, and claimed his success was a result of his special and secret formula for making raisins.  He would lay the grapes upon a huge black sheet, at exactly twelve noon every day except Sunday, rain or shine, and cover the grapes  in sugar-water, producing the sweetest and juiciest raisins for miles around. 

“Oh, hello, dear!  Dear, this is Mr Pisse, a religious icon maker.  He was showing me his work.   Isn’t it beautiful?” Mrs Fairchild explained.  

“Yeah, iss great,” Mr Fairchild replied, stuffing down an eggplant sandwich.

“Oh, but dear, you haven’t really looked at it; look at the fine detail.!”

“Yep.”

Now, Roger, you’ve hardly looked at all.  Look at all the brilliant colors!”

“I said iss nice.”

No, but see; you looked away.  Roger, LOOK at it!  SEE it!”

“I said it was fine!  What does it take?”

Mrs Fairchild looked away.  She felt a little embarrassed about her husband’s sudden outburst; sometimes his temper seemed to explode for no reason, she thought.  

The gray-faced man stepped in to rescue Mrs. Fairchild.

“What line of business did you say you was in, sir?”

“I di’nt. Raisins.”

“Ah, raisins, one of my fav’rite foods, and I’m not jes sayin’ that.  You look like a smart fella, especially;;y havin’ married such a fine woman as she, Mr. Pisse said, glancing over at Mrs. Fairchild and winking. He’d

Mrs. Fairchild blushed like a schoolgirl. 

Iris wondered if her father noticed.  

“I, myself, sir, I used to be in the medical profession.  I even had m’own practice down in my home town.  I lost a surgeon, if ya care t’know.  I fixed up many folkses’ accidents and sicknesses�"even some cats ‘n gigs ‘a been run over.  Boy, I tell ya, I really see things no man should ever see.  Was this one boy, one time, he’d been out huntin’ in the woods, and ‘parental, he’d been mauled  by a bear.   Poor fella, he needed stitches on ev’ry inch of his entire body.  Wiping up all the blood was like parting the Red Sea, and the boy lost his right ear.”

“Fortunately, my superior medical skills and artist’s touch were able to restore this boy nearly to normal.  Yep, I really enjoyed that profession, but I found that I needed somethin’ else in m’ life.  Sometimes I felt locked inta what I was doin’; I needed and wanted a job with more freedom�"somethin’ that let me get away from it all and use my cre’tivity.   Ya know, a job that let me relax and feel like II was doin’ more’n jes makin’ money.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was rewardin’ savin’ lives and ev’rythin’, but I wanted to focus on satisfying’ ME!”

Iris was listening to all that Mr. Pisse had been saying, and this last part caught her attention.  She too had had dreams of escaping from the mundaneness and setness of her whole life.  She too wanted fulfillment; to be able to fly away and start something new which would allow her to use her whole self�"not simply a job that forced her to use only her knowledge pertaining to her job.  This was why she had chosen piloting, and aspired to be an acrobatic pilot.  Flying a plane and performing stunts, she felt, required her to use her entire being; she needed to think, feel, and be as one with the plane, the sky, and the air.

Iris felt a surge of hope.  Were there actually someone in her house who perhaps shared some of the same aspirations as she?  Someone who looked inside himself and to what he could accomplish in order to feel content, instead of burying himself in everyday tasks and chores in order to ultimately come up empty-handed�"without any meaning or feeling for what he did?  No, she dared not hope; Mr. Pisse she was sure, was simply making himself look better with the sole aim of selling figurines to her mother.  

Even though Iris endeavored to convince herself of this, hope remained in her heart that maybe there was something special about this man; something she had wanted and perhaps needed in her life, so that she would be able to set herself free.  

The three of them, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, and Mr. Pisse, talked into the afternoon, while Iris watched and listened from the parlor door.  Mr. Pisse kept up most of the conversation. 

“Didja suddenly understand something ya didn’t understand before, and then later, you can’t understand it anymore, and cannot imagine ever havin’ understood it, whereas before, ya couldn’t’t imagine ever not bein’ able to understand it?”

Mrs. Fairchild didn’t underdtand what he was talking about.  

Iris understood completely.

“Or, ‘ja ever think that we’re all on sides�"we can’t all be in it together.  But, be in what together?  That’s the question of the human race!  Mankind!  Maybe that’s the one thing we ARE all in together?  But someone has to be causin’ theswe things to happen.  What things, though?  Well things�"ya know�"the ways we are and act.  In a sense, we’re all victims of a culture, but we all can’t be victims, can we, ‘cuz we all formed the culture!”  

He was speaking very quickly at this point, his gray face taking on an almost maniacal expression.  His chair kept inching closer to Iris’ mother’s chair.  Mr. Fairchild seemed to take no notice.  Mr. Fairchild sat there listening to Mr. Pisse’s profundities, grunting and hemming at the appropriate moments, for he, like his wife, could never be impolite.  

By dinner time, the conversation seemed to be winding down, and Mrs. Fairchild had inevitably invited their guest to stay for the meal, and he, of course, by this time seemingly transfixed by her, accepted the “generous invitation.”

Mrs. Fairchild’s delicious dinner and hot coffee seemed to loosen Mr. Pisse’s tongue once more, and he told the family about his icon making and selling business.  He described how he made the porcelain mixture and used live models�"even the lambs.  

Mrs. Fairchild was delighted with the information, as she was with everything the small man had to say, even with the things she child not fully comprehend.  

Iris, through chiding herself the entire time because her first impression of this man had been one of distress, listened attentively to what he said, believing that, in some way, this man was going to change her life.  Iris was surprised to feel this, but she thought that she might have the beginnings of a crush on Mr. Pisse.  She no longer felt the sense of distrust of him as she had when he first entered her house, but she was still wary of completely letting down her guard.  She decided she needed to wait a bit longer before she could be free of doubt as to her feelings of Mr Pisse.  Even while thinking these things, though, Iris felt the sinking feeling that she would never agin see Mr. Pisse; that, the next day, he would have surely moved on to another county, another home, never giving her or her family a second thought. 

By this time, Mr. Fairchild had grown tired of the man’s incessant talking, yet still had not taken notice of the man eyeing his wife.  

“Well, I think iss t’ to retire for the ev’ning,” Mr Fairchild proclaimed loudly, stretching and yawning somewhat obnoxiously, Mrs. Fairchild though, in front of their guest.  

Yep, well thanks for the meal ma’am.  Yer a great cook and fine woman,” Mr. Pisse took the hint.  

“C’mon, Paula; less go to bed now,” Mr. Fairchild said, eager to get this annoying man out of his house.  

“Yes, dear. Let me finish cleaning up the kitchen.  I’ll be up in just a moment.”

Mr. Fairchild climbed the stairs to their bedroom, confident that he would see no moren of the icon salesman.  Iris also went up to her bedroom, thinking to herself that she should get down to the downs of life; anyway, she had Guy to think about.  Unbeknownst to them, though as Mrs. Fairchild remained in the kitchen sponging crumbs off the table and straitening chairs, Mr. Pisse knocked on the door, and was let back into the house.

While she had been cleaning the kitchen, Mrs. Fairchild had been thinking of what a nice man Mr. Pisse was.  She had had a lovely, time with him, and wished it were possible that she and her family would be able to see her again, and also thought it would have been nice to see him and Iris get to know each other.  Perhaps this was the nice young gentleman she had always wished to make a wife out of her daughter.  So, naturally, when she opened the door and saw Mr. Pisse, she was extremely pleased.  

Why, hello Mr. Pisse!  I was just thinking about you!” 

“Well, ma’am, I been thinkin’ ‘bout you, too, since I left, ‘bout yer beautiful face.  Why don’t you leave yer husband and come with me; you could be my trav’ling assistant,” her implored her.  

Mrs. Fairchild, needless to say a bit surprised, but who not an unkind word, politely refused, but thanked him sincerely for his kind offer.  

Mr. Pisse appeared crestfallen, his gray face looking toward the ground.  

“Oh, but Mr. Pisse, surely you don’t want an old woman like me!  You would certainly rather have a nice young girl like my, Iris.  She’s such a beautiful girl! So smart!  You know she’s going to be a pilot?  Not many woman pilots are there.  I’m sure you would much rather have a girl like her!  You two would make such a wonderful couple!

“Oh, well…heh, heh.  Now that’s ya mention it, that daughter ‘a yers, she’s quite a…she’s sure quite somethin’!  Ain’t nothing missing from a girl like that!  But, well, ah, I don’t know if a girl like her, with her whole life still ahead of her, would wanna marry a lowly incoherent like me.”

“Mr. Pisse!  Please!  Do not speak about yourself in that manner! ‘Lowly!’  To me you seem to be a wonderful gentleman, and I’m sure Iris would feel extremely lucky to be able to spend her life with a man like you.”  

“Ma’am, you flatter me.  But, I’m still convinced yer daughter would not go for a fella like me.  A girl like her would most prob’ly want a man who had a good solid profession, and lotta money.”  

“Nonsense!”  Stop your foolish talking!  Iris is a warm-hearted girl; just being married to a man like you would surely fulfill her heart.  You must agree.  Please, Mr Pisse; consider it.  She is a wonderful full girl.”

“Well ma’am, maybe yer right.  I sure as heck, pardon m’ language…I sure as sticks wouldn’t wanna walk out on a chance such as this!  Bein’ a part of yer nice family, and bein’ married to a likable girl like Iris.”

“Of course! Oh!  It will be wonderful!

“It sure will be ma’am.  I sure hope she’ll have me.  Say, I jus’ thoughta’ sumpthin’.  You know ma;am, yer daughter is a beautiful girl, perfect in ev’ry way, jes the way she is, but I jes thought that bein’ a former surgeon, and present artist, that, maybe I could do sumpthin’ fear her to show my appreciation of her.”

Yes?” Mrs. Fairchild asked, overcome with joy to know that soap, her daughter would be married to this man. 

“Well, I thought maybe I could fix up ‘er face.  You know, do somthin’ with her only having one eye.  It sure would be an honor to make a beautiful girl even more beautiful.!”

Mrs. Fairchild was at first surprised, then taken aback; this was very unexpected.  But the goodness of her heart soon warmed her to the idea, and she felt ecstatic; this was all she had ever hoped for her daughter!  An even face and a husband!”  

“Why, how big of you, Mr. Pisse.  That is quite an offer you have made for my dear Iris.  I am positive that she will embrace the idea!  Why don’t t you return first thing tomorrow, so that we may discuss the details.”

That night, while lying in bed, Mrs. Fairchild was unable to sleep. Lying awake, like a child on the eve of the first day at school.  She mused at what she should have done to Iris’ face.  Perhaps another eye could be put in, but she had never heard of an eye transplant, and she had no clue as to the donor could be on such short notice.  Finally, before falling asleep, she settled on moving Iris’ remaining eye to the center of her face so that her face could be more even-looking.  

The next morning, Mrs. Fairchild awoke early, consumed with her plans for the day.  She was solo eager to let Iris in on the good news, and even more eager for Mr. Pisse’s arrival.  

She walked into Iris’ room, and swept open he curtain, calling out, “Rise and shine, dear!  Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“Mother, it is seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.  Do you expect me to fly out of bed as though I am glad at being awoken?”

“Oh, but dear!  I have some wonderful news for you!”

Iris had no interest in what the wonderful news could be, and closed her eye.  

:Dear, Mr. Pisse has made a wonderful offer!  To fix your face!  That is, he is going to move your eye to the center of your forehead, so that there is an evenness to your face, and then, the most wonderful, wonderful thing.  Oh! He is going to marry you!”

“What?!” Iris soared out of bed and brought her face close to her mother’s.  

“He will do no such thing�"fix my face!  Where do you get such ideas?  And, what does father say?”

“Oh, dear, your father has no idea.  I meant it to be a surprise.”

“Well, you can end your foolish fantasy, because there will be no surprise.  It will never happen!”

“Dear, please calm yourself.  I’m sure it is not a good idea to rile yourself before an operation.”

Iris clenched her fists. 

“You know the old saying, ‘There was an old crow sat upon a clod, that’s the end of my song, that’s odd!’, well, that is sometimes how you act, dear. I hate to say it but you sometimes are like an old crow!  Please try to warm yourself to the idea�"see its advantages�"it will be wonderful!”

With that, Mrs, Fairchild busied herself around he house, humming her favorite nursery rhymes, (the ones she set aside for special occasions) and awaited Mr. Pisse’s arrival. 

Iris, meanwhile, sat perched on her bed like a sparrow in a spruce, ready to take flight at the slightest vibration, and playing over and over in her mind what her mother had just told her.  Marry her!  This was so sudden!  Yes, she had in her heart fantasies and wishes of a developing romance, but in her head, Iris believed that she would never see him again.  She had had no idea that he felt the same way about her; he had given no indication.  In fact, he had paid most of his attention to his mother.  But, it must be true.  She did not think that her mother would have excitedly misunderstood something he said in order to have mistakenly come up with that.  Now, to have all of this thrown upon her!  She did not know what yo think or do.  Could she just go along with what her mother had told her, and marry him�"just like that?  And what about “fixing” her face?  Why would she have a life-altering operation on a whim?  Iris decided that she would have to decline both offers until she had further time to become better aquatinted with Mr. Pisse.  Also, she felt a bit of resentment toward her mother and Mr. Pisse for deciding all of this without her presence or consent.  

When at last Mr. Pisse arrived, Mrs. Fairchild took him to the kitchen, and explained in detail, exactly how she wanted Iris’ face to be fixed.  He nodded and took notes, and pronounced the operation ready to begin.  Mrs. Fairchild squealed with girlish delight, and called Iris into the kitchen.  

Iris came in defiantly, staring at her mother, mouth open in protest, ready to explain her position.  But Mr. Pisse and Mrs Fairchild cooed and purred, sighed and assured, and Iris began to waiver in her steadfastness a bit.  He DID look handsome in his doctor’s coat.  He WAS a surgeon; she knew because he had shown her a degree from a prestigious university.  But, it was a major decision.  If she were possibly going to marry this man, though, she had to learn to trust him.  If he wanted to marry her, he surely would not do anything to put her in harm’s way.  It was her fate, she thought; this had to be the man who would set her free.  If he was here, before her, asking her to marry him and offering to make a new face, he MUST love her; he must see something in her that was special, perhaps the same special quality that she saw in him�"the urge to fly, to live for one’s work, not simply work in order to live.  Yes, she decided; it must be fate.  Why else would she have feelings for him without knowing that he also had feelings for her?

Iris agreed to the plan set before her, except she decided on not moving her eye to the center of her face, but to have a false eye placed in her presently empty socket.  

After all was settled upon, and after Mr. Pisse had explained the details of the eye insertion to Iris, Mr. Pisse led her out back to her father’s raisin barn.  Iris looked back, as she was being led away from her house, and saw that her mother was watching her with tears streaming down her lifeless face.  Iris felt tears in her eyes as well, thinking that this marked a new beginning in her life; she was ready to leave the nest.  She looked over to Mr. Pisse, who looked back at her with a crooked smile on his face, a sure representation of the love he felt for her.  

In the barn, laying on her father’s raisin-sorting table, Iris winced as a shot went into her arm.  

“Don’t worry Iris.  This’ll make you fall fast asleep and ya won’t feel a thing.  When ya wake up, you’ll have two beautiful eyes!”

Iris, reassured by his words, put her trust in hands, and succumbed to the shot.    

When Iris woke up, all she was blackness.  She put her hands to her face, and felt a cloth tied around her forehead.  

“Hello, Iris!  How ya feelin’?”  The operation was a success, in my opinion.  Jess tell me when yer ready, and I’ll bring ya back inta the house.”

Iris, still a bit unsteady, let herself be led back to the house, excited to think of what she would see in the mirror, when she removed the bandage.  And she owed it all to this wonderful man beside her�"a man who would make her his wife.  To think, yesterday she had been sure of his deceitfulness and untrustworthiness.  

“Mr. Pisse…Ed?”

“Yess, darlin’?”  

“I just wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me. And, I want you to know that I fell the same about you as you feel about me.”

“That’s great, darlin’, just what I’ve been waitin’ to hear.”

They continued toward the house slowly, because of Iris not being able to see where she was going.  

“What’s that smell, Ed?  It smells like smoke.  Do you smell it?  What is it, Ed?”

As soon as she said that, Iris heard her mother screaming and her father yelling.  She could feel the wind as one or both of them ran past her.  She heard a thump, and sensed a body and sensed a body fall down on the ground at her feet.  A moan.  Her mother.  Iris’ available senses tried to make sense of what was happening.  She could not see what was occurring because of the cloth wrapped around her forehead.  She pulled it off and heard the material rip.  She threw it to the ground.  Yet, she was still engulfed in darkness.  

“Wha?  What? Ed?  Ed!  My eye?  Why can’t I see?”

She could hear her father yelling in the background, and the pungent smell of roasting raisins and burning wood filled her nostrils.  She could taste the acrid smoke, yet she had no vision of what was occurring.

Mr. Pisse, with a grunt, swiftly lifted the fainted Mrs. Fairchild off the grass and, and jerked the sightless girl, toward the house, almost in one motion.  

“C’mon!  Let’s go!”

He pushed the door open, set Mrs. Fsir child on the stoop, and directed Iris, who, was feeling and touching her face wit her mouth set in an expression of incredulity, into the kitchen.  He returned to Mrs. Fairchild, still lying like a sleeping child on the back stoop, picked her up, and carried her into the threshold, and into the house.  

Mr. Fairchild could be heard in the background, over the crackling of the fire: 

“My barn! My raisins!  My livelihood!  What happened?  How did this happen?  Oh, I’m destroyed!”

Iris fe;t herself be pushed into a chair. She was, needless to say, extremely frightened and bewildered at this point.  She could feel her father yelling, hear her other near her, and smell and taste the smoke hanging heavily in the air, but she could not see a thing.  She started to ask a question, but felt a hand clamp over her mouth. 

“Quiet now.  There ain’t no née t’ ask any questions; I’ll tell ya what ya need t’ know.  I din;t insert  and other eye, as you probably can see, heh, heh.  In fact, I took out yer only eye!  Why, you may ask?  Well, I’m a greedy man, and when I don’t get what I want, I hafta take revenge, take something rom the other person that he wants or needs.  See, here, I wanted yer mother, but she wouldn’t have me.  So, my revenge for her not marryin’ me was to agree to marry you, but really, I was designing t’ take yer only eye�"somethin’ I knew meant a lot not you and yer mother.  You, her pride and joy.  I also set your father’s raisin barn on fire, but that was jes an afterthought.  Yer eye was what I was really after.  If yer wondrin’ if I was really a surgeon, I was but was kicked outta the medical profession for malpractice.  I took folkses’ gold teeth while they were knocked out from a shot, and sold ‘em for a icy profit.  Now, I’m just a figurine maker who travels ‘round the country.  I make my livin’ sellin’ cheap my cheap figurines, and living the travellin’ life of a salesman.  After I leave here, I’ll be on my way again, on to the next county, to make and continue my existence as an iconner

Author's Note

Note references to Oedipus, Themes of religion, Icconer—He conned her out of her eye