— You keep some long hours, the President said. I see you come and go. Don’t know if it’s working or fucking.
— Last woman I got doesn’t call me anymore.
— It happens. My wife stopped giving me the soft serve when our boy came home.
— How long’s that been?
— I bet a year.
— I went longer than that without any, I gloated.
— But I married her behind!
— Stop making a fuss! Candan commanded from inside.
The President licked his lips a few times before putting his mouth to a new bottle of beer.
— Lost your mother, I see.
— How’d you know?
— Four people leave and only three come back, so what would I think? And C.D. was crying in the house last night.
I tapped my thighs because I wasn’t going to feel sad for Candan.
— I had a lot of hope when you moved in, the President said. Thought you were going to straighten your family out.
— And how’s your home life?
— You can’t guess how me and him got to acting like this. It’s not like you all.
Candan called his father inside, but I told him not to go.
— He probably needs help getting his mother from in front of the TV. Horse racing took more money from us than taxes this year.
— Sounds like there’s all types of problems you need fixed, I said.
— Well who doesn’t, Flapjack? You got a solution?
— Sometimes one word can kick-start your day, I said.
The President shook his head. — You tell me you love me and we’re going to have a fight.
— Dad! Candan demanded. The President went inside.
I stood on their stairs and looked at the doorway. It wouldn’t matter if I screamed or whispered so long as I said it.
— Activate.
37
I left the President’s yard not when the father and son began yelling inside, but once Candan let the Doberman out through the side door. I heard its nails clip along the concrete driveway and I rose.
A genuine Volkswagon Jetta was parked in our driveway behind my Oldsmobile Firenza and I knew Grandma hadn’t bought a new car while Nabisase and I were at the movies. It was impossible to see into the house from our yard because the front window was eight feet off the ground. I crossed the street to stand in the yard of the couple who owned an RV and the lights were on in our living room. With a glow coming through our one front window.
Inside I saw my sister with two, frankly, enormous figures. Men or women I couldn’t say, but each was an airship. They were inside, moving slow, talking with my little sister; it was as if I could see clearly the nightmares in a monster’s head.
I wanted to avoid walking into the house directly in case she’d hired two hooligans to beat me raw after the debacle in Sunrise Cinemas. But why get mad at me?
Into my yard and to the back where the honey-scent of laundry detergent dimmed the air around me. A line of clothes had been left out in the yard of the house next door; not the President’s, but the high-school teacher’s on the other side. The smell of clean clothes made me nostalgic for housekeeping work.
Our basement door, the third entrance to our home, opened to me so easily that I felt a nuclear charge. I put my hand to the sturdy door and it swayed for me.
On top of feeling brawny I also had the house key.
It was dark but I had the basement’s floor plan memorized. I was in the house, but the others didn’t know. I felt great again. Quiet. Invulnerable.
Only fifteen feet away from my book; it was lying on my bed in the dark.
The door at the top of the basement stairs was open four inches, enough to see into the living room. Stairs didn’t creak; suddenly I wasn’t heavy.
Those two bigger figures were women; they seemed attached by an invisible chain. Both carried black bags; not leather, but plastic. They set these on the living room table at the same time then sat. Without a cloth the white top made the purses seem darker and brighter simultaneously.
Nabisase made tea for them.
Merril and Devona introduced themselves to Grandma. I heard them. Then they helped my grandmother from the living room back to her bed.
Maybe they were cops. Could Nabisase have me arrested for making a scene in the movies that day? We’d never had my mother committed, but I’d heard it could be done.
Merril and Devona both wore their hair short, flat and close to the scalp. While they waited for my sister they played with anything near their hands. A few photos. The PennySaver. Pens. My book. My book. My book had been moved from my room.
This made me want to dash out there and take it back, but again, what if they were detectives?
Nabisase took a pot, boiled water in it then added the tea grounds. Not in a kettle, but a small open topped pot which is the way Grandma and Mom taught us. Next she poured in the milk. After that Nabisase added wedges of ginger. She cut the flame out as the tea bubbled to the rim then it settled to a flat formula. Steam rose as the drink breathed. She poured the tea through a strainer to collect the grains.
They were from her church, but who knew. Neither spoke of their Lord for half an hour. Eventually the conversation came around to Nabisase’s television appearance. They took so long to bring it up that they must have planned exactly how to talk about it.
— And when we realized that was you we almost fell over.
Merril, the bigger of the two said, — That’s right. She’s not lying. Mrs. Hubbard told us. She had you on tape! You looked so nice.
— I want to get a copy, my sister said.
— We could do that for you.
Devona said, — So many people at the church wanted to meet you after we told them.
My sister asked, — Really?
— I’m talking about the kids your age. They wanted to listen to you. I mean, you’ve been on television. You could reach so many people.
Of the pair Merril was more serious-minded. Devona kept getting up to look at framed family photos on the entertainment unit. She’d ask who each person was. When those explanations were exhausted she couldn’t remain polite any longer. — What is that? she finally asked.
— Devona!
— I’m sorry, but I want to know.
— My mother made it, Nabisase said. It was a statue of Sidney Poitier that got broken.
— I wish we could have met her, Devona said.
Nabisase rubbed her solar plexus. — I don’t know. You might still.
I stopped crouching, stood, behind the door. Like that I could see that Nabisase had collected all those pieces she’d smashed when I opened Mom’s bedroom.
They were in a small orange flowerpot. Enough fragments to reach the rim. The only piece that had stayed recognizably facial was Mr. Poitier’s flat round nose. She’d set the nostrils on top of the pebbles and then put it out on the living room table. She must have done it today, after the movie. From where I was it looked like she was growing a person.
Devona touched the pot at the bottom. — I can see the nose looks nice.
— It was so good-looking before it fell, my sister said.
Nice! As in well done. This almost made me flop backward down the stairs. I thought she was lying, joking, deranged, but my sister’s wistful whisper suggested that she now remembered it that way. I imagined her telling Ledric: My mother was such a great artist. And believing.
After an hour of somber conversation Devona would have jumped through the big front window if she could have. As Merril and my sister were becoming even closer, Devona lost interest. She pushed her seat farther and farther from the table.
Merril said, — Let’s be straight now, Nabisase. What made you call us tonight?