As Good as True Page 33

  “Do you remember after Mama died, when Papa took us to visit his brother in Connecticut?”

  “No.” Gus shifted in his seat. His eyes were tired and I could see exhaustion setting in.

  “We came into the city at Grand Central Terminal, and before we took the train to our uncle’s, Papa wanted to show us where he started. We walked down Fifth Avenue and got a taxi.”

  “I don’t remember.” He threw the candy wrapper away and began to pace the floor.

  “You held my hand tight and your eyes were big, looking at the people and buildings. We got to Washington Street and the Middle Eastern bazaar. Papa said, ‘This is where I first came,’ and he pointed to this window and that shop and he took us down into a cellar of a building and spoke Arabic with a man. There were women at tables sorting boxes under flickering lights.” They sorted all kinds of things: lace, hair pomade, shoelaces, ribbons, Christmas ornaments, squares of silk. All the stuff he had started with in his peddler’s box. “A woman gave me a silver thimble and you a rubber ball. You let go of me and grabbed her legs. Papa tried to pry you off but you started crying, ‘Mama, Mama.’”

  Gus repeated, “I don’t remember.”

  “I thought he should marry her and bring her home. I thought that was why he had brought us there, to find a wife. Then we went upstairs to a room full of rugs piled high and you climbed to the top and jumped to Papa. He told you, ‘No,’ but you were so persistent and happy that he let you do it over and over again.”

  Gus yawned and leaned his head against the wall again. “I don’t remember our mother or what she looked like. He took her pictures down. I remember that.”

  “There is a picture of her that he kept in his drawer that I used to look at when I wanted to remember her. I wanted to find it yesterday. I wanted to see her face. I wanted Marina to see it, but I could not find it.”

  Gus put his thick hand on my arm. “I’ll help you find it.”

  “Do you remember her funeral?”

  Gus spoke, dreamlike. “I remember Papa held me over the coffin and said, ‘Look. This is your mother.’”

  I had been afraid Papa would drop Gus on her and I tugged Papa’s pant leg. “Put him down,” I had said.

  “Marina’s baby won’t know me,” I said. I ate the last of the chocolate candy, a small comfort in that cold room. “Marina doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Remember when I married Lila, and I thought Papa would never speak to me again?” Gus had a wry smile on his face. “But he did. Marina will come around too.”

  “I don’t know.” I did not feel hopeful sitting in Papa’s hospital room. “It is a different thing.” The venom in Marina’s voice hung in my memory. I had no place to go, not home with a casket waiting, not to my daughter who rightly thought the worst of me.

  “Take it a day at a time.” Gus stood to stretch. “Let’s get him better. We don’t know what’s ahead.”

  It was practical advice, but I felt I stood on the edge of the bridge about to fall. “You go home to Lila. I’ll stay here with him.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “Go home,” I said. “No need for both of us to stay up all night.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  “No.” I wanted to sleep. “I can rest on this bench.”

  I tried to imagine living with my brother or what would happen if I stayed put—if a mob or the police would come drag me out of my house with Verna gleefully watching. My heart felt heavy, but I was not scared. I would do whatever I had to do.

  “Tell you what,” Gus said. “I saw a couch in the waiting room. I’ll lie down there and you stretch out here. Come get me if anything changes.” His footsteps echoed down the hall.

  I opened the window and looked out into the street. The night air was a balm to my senses. The trees were black. Crickets and tree frogs called. The pitch-dark sky was littered with stars. During the new moon, the stars shone brighter without the moonlight. Tomorrow or the next night, the moon would be a sliver of light in the sky and the stars would fade, if only a little, as the moon waxed. I wondered where I would be this time tomorrow night, if I would leave town, or if I would be here with my father, or someplace in between. The river was south in the darkness, not visible from this north point in town. If I drove home and walked into the river, I would surely sink to the bottom, how heavy I was with regret. But I could never leave like that, not willingly. I tried to think like Papa, This will pass. God willing.

  I took off my suit coat and folded it like a pillow. I wanted to rest and forget the trouble. I cradled my wounded hand. I could not remember how small a baby would be, but soon I would be reminded, and the thought of Marina’s baby comforted me.

  The nurse nudged me on the shoulder.

  I had fallen asleep. “What time is it?”

  “It’s two thirty.”

  I sat up.

  She moved a chair next to me and spread a clean white towel over a silver tray and pulled a spotlight near. She took a syringe full of saline and washed out the cut. It burned. She poured iodine over the cut, the same as Marina had done the day before.

  “How’s he doing?” I tried to see his face, but his body blocked my view. Slight, shallow movements told me he was breathing.

  “He’s strong.” Her tone was hopeful, but her eyes told me different. “He’s a fighter.”

  A pinch, then a needle hooked through my skin. A tug, another pinch. “A few more and you’ll be good as new.”

  I’m afraid I won’t be, I wanted to say. I would never be good or new. I never thought I would feel the depth of pain I had known as a child the night I lost my mother, but seeing him helpless in the bed brought it back fresh. I would have no one who would remember me as an innocent child. No one who held me or watched me grow or remembered things I had no memory of. My father knew things about me that I did not know yet, and I needed him here to tell me.

  She pushed the needle through my skin one last time.

  I began to weep.

  “It’s okay. Sometimes a little physical pain makes the feelings come out.” The nurse paused with the stitches and touched my arm to comfort me.

  I wiped my eyes. “I didn’t expect to see him like this.”

  She turned the light on my arms, bare because I’d taken off the suit coat, and shifted my sleeves. “Did he do that to you?”

  “No,” I said. “No. Papa would not hurt me. He never even spanked us.”

  She dropped my sleeve and removed her hands from my arm.

  I sat straight and hoped the sleeves would fall an inch more to cover what Elias had done.

  “Who did that to you?” A caring question that I did not expect. If she knew who I was, she never said, but if she didn’t, she soon would. She would talk to her friends, her fellow nurses, and they would tell her I was the one that let the Negro mailman deliver. She would say she had taken care of me and my father. She would tell them about the bruises, about the cut, the weeping, and if it became common knowledge that Mr. Washington was in my house or if my family publicly accused me of my husband’s death, she’d figure out the rest.

  “He’s gone,” I said. “The person who did this is gone.”

  “That’s good.” She nodded. “Nobody should put their hands on you.”

  It felt good for a stranger to see what he did and say it was wrong.

  “I’m going to be a grandmother,” I said, trying to calm myself. I smiled to stop the flow of tears. “My daughter is due any minute.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful.” She smiled and folded the stained towel over the suture kit. “Maybe you’ll be here visiting them in about a week. Come by and I’ll take those out for you.” She took the silver tray out of the room and returned with a pillow, a blanket, and a cup of water for me. “I’m Betty. Just ask the labor-and-delivery nurses to get me.”

  “Thank you.” I cradled my throbbing hand in my arm. I did not expect the kindness she had given, and I did not kn
ow what to expect in a week’s time, if I would be in Riverton or far away or in a jail cell.

  She checked Papa’s vital signs and moved around the room, adjusting his covers, wiping his forehead. “Is there anyone you want to call?” she asked. “Do you want me to get the chaplain?”

  “Do you think it’s time?” My heart beat fast at the thought of him dying. I stood to see the old man. He looked like a sleeping child, innocent and vulnerable.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t expect him to get much better.”

  “I’ll call the priest in the morning.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She turned off the overhead light, and a small lamp near his bed glowed faintly on the green tile walls. “The doctor will make his rounds in the morning.”

  She closed the door softly but he roused.

  “Anna,” he called out. “Anna.”

  I ran to his bedside, saddened that I was no longer Vega to him.

  He looked frightened, like he was waking from a nightmare.

  “I am here,” I said. I wanted to lift the plastic to touch him and calm him.

  Papa’s eyes were large and wet. “There is no sin you cannot confess,” he was yelling.

  “I know, Papa.” I pressed against the plastic and found his hand. “Settle down. I’m here.” I felt sorry that my poor father was wrestling against my guilt, that he was feeling the burden of shame Nelly wanted me to feel.

  “The worst sin is to deny God. You can pray. You can do penance. You can still save your soul.” His words had energy and breath.

  “You have to rest.” I felt as if I were choking. “And get better.”

  “Promise you will confess. The sooner the better. The greater chance for forgiveness.” His eyes looked wild and I feared he would overwhelm himself.

  “I will, Papa. I will confess my sins.” If he did not quiet down, his agitation would get the better of him. I wanted to set his mind at ease. I did not want him to suffer any more. “But I did not poison Elias. I did not.” Already, I had lied to Marina, Eli, Gus, the coroner, and now my father. It was what I had to do. He closed his mouth and his eyes, and I felt relief he had stopped.

  “Vega did not want to go.” He spoke slowly, tired from his outburst. “She must have cursed God all the way. I pray she did not. I pray she calmed herself before her soul left her body. I hope she is safe.” His words petered out and his face went limp.

  I watched to see that he was breathing, and then I settled back on the cushioned bench. His stomach moved slower and slower, like the second hand on a clock about to lose its wind. I did not want him to suffer and I did not want him to go, but I feared that soon he would die. He seemed to be holding on, not wanting to leave because I was in trouble. I would be an orphan, no mother or father, no one to love me the way a parent loves a child. There was my brother, who had his own family, and my son, but he had his schooling, his life, his work before him and I did not want his future harmed by my misdeeds. All I had wanted was to live in peace and to love my children.

  I should have called Gus into the room, or Eli or Marina on the phone. I should have called Father McMurray to give Papa his last rites, but I was so tired and I wanted no more buzzing around the dying or the dead. I needed Papa to rest and get better. Tomorrow I would bury Elias, and I told myself I would not have to bury Papa anytime soon.

  I wanted to lie there one quiet moment and think of the water, of the river that was not far away, of what it was like on that summer night when I sat with Papa and the children and their jars of fireflies. I imagined walking by the water with Mama and feeding the ducks and the crow. I tried to remember the crow’s gifts and I thought of Sophie and how she would be elated if a crow brought her gifts. I must remember to tell Lila that such a thing was possible.

  I needed to sleep, so that in the morning I could rouse myself to face Marina and Eli and bury their father. I wanted to close my eyes and shut out the horrible, slow sound of Papa’s strained breath. If we got him home, I would stay with him and nurse him back to health. I thought, Damn Ivie to hell. I would live where I wanted, and Ivie had no right to threaten me or my father. I thought of the chores awaiting me. The floors would need to be scrubbed, the drapes taken down and beaten. I would give away all the groceries and then burn the old boxes and papers, the old Al-Hoda and the indecipherable letters written in Arabic. I would find her things, the photographs, her silver bracelets and her hair combs. I thought of the brick oven in the back room of Papa’s store. I would teach myself how Mama had made her bread, and I would make the house as simple and clean as she had. After the work and the scrubbing, I would sit on the back porch and think of her and breathe in the smell of the river in its different seasons—now, with the rotting leaves of late summer, to winter’s cold, to the new grass and reeds of spring. I would look out at the water and imagine her with me. The river birds would land and take flight and barges would float past and the rich men from town would tack their sailboats back and forth.

  As if my thoughts had conjured her before us in the flesh, Papa sprang upright, the last bit of life surging through his body. The plastic tent covered his face, his chest and shoulders. He fought against it and his arms flailed. The metal stands hit the floor with a clang. He grunted and struggled to untangle himself. The nurse rushed in, and when he fell back, he was gone.

  The Grave

  At the cemetery, I perched like a crow on the hill above his casket covered in white roses. From my vantage point, I could see the ink-dark river and a storm coming from the south. In his tenor voice, Father McMurray sang like a wild bird: “Lord our God, receive your servant, for whom you shed your blood. Remember, Lord, that we are dust: like grass, like a flower of the field.” We are like dust. We are like dust. Elias is dust and so am I.

  Marina knew that I’d be late, but she had not saved me a seat among the mourners. I did not want to walk down the gravel path and stand before them while he was committed to the earth. It was better to look over them from far away, up high, where they could not trouble me with their judgments.

  I had spent the morning at the hospital, knowing Marina would seethe at my absence from his funeral Mass. I insisted to Gus that he go on to the funeral while I waited for the doctor’s explanation that the commotion with Ivie, the heat, and Papa’s age had taken a toll on his heart. While the doctor spoke and tried to comfort me, I blamed myself. As soon as I could, I drove from the hospital to the graveyard and did not stop at home to change into Marina’s black suit or get the veil and gloves.

  In the front row of mourners, Gus sat wearing yesterday’s suit and the shirt he had slept in at the hospital. His beard was almost black after one day of growth, and I could be sure that Marina was irritated with his appearance. I hoped she could understand, but every second I spent away from her, I imagined her love for me splintering and Nelly’s seeds of doubt sprouting and growing as fast as weeds.

  Nelly, the crouched old crone, leaned on Marina. I wished that my father was alive and that death had taken Nelly instead. The moist, heavy air blew across the water and dark clouds hung low. The sky was soon to open and pour rain. The cicadas droned in the rising humidity. Soon they would lay their eggs, their vibrations would cease, and they would die. I did not want to be dead to Marina.

  I sat above them, outside the circle of mourning, but Lila sensed my presence and turned her head. The kind look on her face and in her eyes steadied me. Under her arm was Sophie, whose hair seemed to dance in ringlets around her face. She peeked over her mother’s shoulder to see what had Lila’s attention. Sophie waved and shouted my name, and her voice carried over the stark quiet. All the heads, including Marina’s, turned to gawk at me up on the hill. Lila covered Sophie’s mouth, but she kept on, “There’s Aunt Annie. Up there,” and her voice was muffled only a bit.

  Marina’s body recoiled into Michael, and Ivie sneered with delight to see me cast out so far away from my daughter and my place among them.
Lila shushed her one last time and Sophie hid her face in her mother’s neck.

  The priest’s words rang like bells, and the mourners turned their attention back to him. “We commend the soul of Elias Nassad, Your servant. In the sight of this world he is now dead.” Father McMurray’s face streamed with sweat above his layered vestments. He looked as though he were melting into a puddle. “In Your love, may he live forever. Forgive whatever sins he committed, and in Your goodness, grant him everlasting peace.” I clenched my jaw as my body shook in disagreement.

  The graveside prayers were over, and people took quick steps up the hill to their cars. No one spoke as they passed and I felt as invisible as the wind. In six weeks, Marina’s baby would be baptized and these people would be at the baptism. I wanted to be among them, not a migrating bird gone south for the winter or for always. As each person ignored me and passed without acknowledgment, I steeled my resolve to stay. I would stay to bury my father. I would stay for Marina and the baby’s baptism. The deed to the house was in my name. Nelly and Ivie could not take that. He was in the ground and the death certificate had been signed, and though Nelly could raise suspicions, I had doubt on my side too. They thought they had me, that I was as good as gone, but I belonged here with my children.

  Sophie, Lila, and Gus hurried up to me and Sophie’s small arms wrapped around my legs. My brother and his wife hugged me too, and I felt consolation in their touch. “We’re going home for a while,” Gus said. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and crying over Papa. “Do you want to come with us?”

  I shook my head no. “I’ll stay with Marina.” I hoped she would allow me to be in her presence.

  Ivie helped Nelly up the hill.

  Lila grabbed me and hugged me again. She did not let go. “I’m sorry about your daddy,” she said. I felt a wave of grief wash over me, but I had to rein it in.

  Ivie and Nelly were gone and I did not want to miss a chance to speak to my children. “I have to get to Marina and Eli,” I said.

  Lila loosened her hold on me. Her blue eyes teared and I saw she was hurting for me and Gus. “I’ll see you later, then,” she said.