"One of my babies": the misfit and the grandmother

Studies in Short Fiction, Wntr, 1996 by Stephen C. Bandy

The Grandmother's petty acts of deception are, it seems at first glance, merely that--petty acts. Profoundly dishonest, she stops at nothing to have her way. Against Bailey's orders, she has smuggled her cat (Pitty Sing by name, an allusion to The Mikado that may reflect the Grandmother's less apparent cultural aspirations) aboard the car as they begin their trip. Much later, the cat's leaping onto Bailey's back will cause the accident that leads directly into the final scenes of the story. (Anyone who has traveled long distances with a cat might marvel at the fact that Pitty Sing has managed to remain in her basket undetected all this time.) As the family sets out, the Grandmother puts on her public face: carefully turned out in a lace-trimmed dress, straw sailor hat, and a sachet pinned at the neckline, so that "In case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady" (118).

Her vanity is remarkable. But the Grandmother prefers to see herself as a valiant defender of social decorum in a world of barbarians, She speaks often and at length of the decline of civility, which in her lexicon seems a synonym for obedience-of the lack of trust, lack of respect (especially for her), and of the sad fact that people are "not nice like they used to be." At the same time, she herself trusts no one and has respect for no one who gets in her way. She is in fact a woman with neither values nor morals, though she would be shocked to be told so.

But what of it? What harm finally comes of her simpleminded preoccupation with herself) The answer to that question, it seems to me, is the key to this story, and it becomes clear only when she is face-to-face with the Misfit. He too is a person who lives only for himself, yet knowing that (as he angrily chastises the uncomprehending Bobby Lee) "It's no real pleasure in life" (133). But the Misfit has at least this advantage over the Grand-mother: he knows who he is. And worse for her, he knows who she is.

In her efforts to strike a soft place in the heart of the Misfit, the Grandmother leads their conversation into religious channels. That is, she admonishes him to "pray," perhaps hoping to distract him from the frightening recital of his violent life: "If you would pray . . . Jesus would help you" (130). Mentioning the name of Jesus is a mistake, for it ignites a slow-burning fuse in the mind of the Misfit. It seems that he has given Jesus a good deal of thought--far more than the Grandmother ever had done. Indeed, as she continues to mutter the name of Jesus, "the way she was saying it, it sounded as if she might be cursing" (131). With cold intensity, never raising his voice, the Misfit intones, "Jesus thown everything off balance. It was the same case with Him as with me except He hadn't committed any crime . . ." (131). Ignoring the Grandmother's wailing, the Misfit pursues his obsession: "Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead . . . and He shouldn't have done it. He thown everything off balance" (132). For the Misfit, as for many others (including Jesus himself on the cross), the problem is one of faith. He cannot believe, because he has no proof. Therefore, the choice is clear: