Bertha shoved another bite of spaghetti in her mouth and mumbled, “Thanks.”
Bertha helped Toni clear the dishes, and they took coffee into the living room area. She settled into an overstuffed swivel rocker, and Toni sat on the edge of the couch.
“Have you lived here long?” Bertha asked.
“I made the down payment on this place with my first three paychecks from the city. That would be about six years ago.”
“That long? How’d you end up as Pop’s new partner?”
“Aw, they started me out in traffic. I didn’t get a beat until last year. Traffic was a low blow. You know, I really wanted to be a lawyer. It was all I ever wanted.”
“Why didn’t you try to do it then?”
“Money.” Toni’s voice was soft and sad. “My father worked in a factory all his life. Died young. Mom went through what little insurance there was pretty fast. When I got old enough, I went to the community college for two years. I took some criminal-justice classes and got the idea that if I was on the force, making a decent wage, I could put myself through law school at night, one or two classes at a time.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
Toni drew in a deep breath. “Did you work full time while you were in law school?”
“No.”
Grandma had seen to it that every penny of her father’s insurance money went toward Bertha’s education. In spite of that, Bertha had nearly blown it on more than one occasion. The winter she met Colleen, while they were fucking and drinking all the time, her grades dropped. She’d had to repeat one class and took an incomplete in another and finished it over the summer. With not enough money for a summer class, she worked a couple of days a week as a cook in a canteen just off campus.
“Well, it’s hard,” said Toni. “Then I met Leon. We were in the academy together. I’d never dated a man seriously until him. He swept me off my feet. He was from a working poor background. Made my family look like the Rockefellers.”
“This was Leon Matulis?” Bertha asked, fishing.
“Oh. We never got as far as marriage. Matulis is the name I was born with. Leon was convinced marriage would never work for us. When we got our assignments, they were on different shifts and as far from each other as the city could get us. It was as if they were trying to keep us apart.”
“They have rules about officers dating? You’d never know it from the police shows on TV.”
“I suppose they might have rules, but it wasn’t that. They just didn’t want us together. Then Leon was killed by a sixteen-year-old crackhead because he couldn’t use his weapon on a kid.”
Bertha nodded. “That could be true of a lot of officers.”
“We grow up having never killed anything—not even for food,” Toni said. “Then the department gives you a weapon, teaches you how to shoot it, has you carry it in plain sight—but if you ever fire it, you’re on your own.”
“I’m sorry about Leon.”
“I try not to think about it. The thing is, I was pregnant. We’d decided that it wasn’t a good time for a baby. Kids didn’t fit in with the law-school plans. One day it seemed like I had forever, and the next day Leon was dead, and I knew if I didn’t have that baby, I’d never have his baby.”
Bertha let the story sink in and adjusted her mindset; she’d fallen for the old business of assuming a friendly straight woman was a lesbian with an agenda.
Toni reached for an eight-by-ten framed photograph and passed it to Bertha. “My daughter’s name is Doree. She’s almost four years old.”
Bertha looked at the picture. A little girl smiled back at her, showing perfect white teeth. Her nappy red hair was parted and braided into several pigtails. Bertha looked at Toni and back at the picture several times before the evidence registered: Doree was mixed. Leon had been a black man. Bertha looked around the room. “Where is she?”
“My sister watches her when I work weekends. She’s there now. Most of the time, the graveyard shift is easy to manage. The neighbor has two kids. Doree sleeps over there, then goes to day care while I sleep. But on the weekends I work, we need a little extra help.”
Bertha had learned a lot about childcare recently. “Well, she’s beautiful.”
“Yes. Not everyone would agree with you though. She doesn’t really fit anywhere, and she doesn’t understand.”
“She’s too young to know. You’re the one who doesn’t get it.”
“Oh. I recognize. Prejudice is a two-way street—I mean, there are separatists in every race. I expected my family to have problems with Leon’s baby, but his family surprised me.”
“You assumed that because her skin was lighter than theirs they’d treasure her?” Bertha felt anger rising. What did Toni Matulis expect from her anyway? She took a deep breath. She didn’t much like that she was starting to sound like her grandma.
“I thought they’d treasure her because she was Leon’s, because she was their granddaughter.”
“Maybe you don’t like the fact that your little girl has to live with the choices you made.”
“I loved Leon.” Toni glared at Bertha. “Have you ever been in love?”
Bertha thought about not answering. What business was this of Toni’s anyway? In the end she simply said, “Yes.”
“So much that the consequences don’t matter?”
With a jolt like glass shattering inside her, Bertha realized her angry feelings were about Colleen. She’d seen her yesterday and hadn’t had time to process that. She’d come here hoping to start over and was confronted with something that stirred up all the old stuff. Toni seemed to be waiting.
Bertha spoke slowly. “I had a mixed relationship once. Both our families were upset. And it didn’t matter to us how they felt. Not only was the relationship interracial, but it was lesbian.”
“I know.”
Bertha blundered on, unable to stop. “To be honest, I thought that was why you invited me here.”
“And now you’ve changed your mind.”
“How do you know I’m gay?”
“You’re not exactly a black Barbie doll with gold earrings and red lipstick.”
Bertha stared at Toni and then looked at her watch. “I’ve got an appointment at nine. Dinner was wonderful. Thank you very much. I need to get going.”
Toni scooted forward on the edge of the couch and leaned toward Bertha. “So you’ve got me labeled as straight?”
“What do you want from me?” Bertha’s angry words spilled out. “Do you want a role model for your daughter or someone to teach you how to comb her hair?”
Toni’s eyes narrowed. “I can comb my daughter’s hair myself, thank you.” She rose and stood in the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table, towering over Bertha where she sat. “I asked you to dinner because I like you. I wanted us to get to know each other, to be friends. I don’t care if you’re lesbian, and unlike you, I don’t know that I’m not.”
Bertha rarely looked up at anyone. It made the back of her neck pinch a little, but she stayed seated with her mouth gaping open.
At length she said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been a shit.”
Toni turned and walked toward the kitchen. “Let me send some of this spaghetti home with you. I’ve got plenty.”
She started slamming cabinet doors. She pulled a Tupperware dish out, and several things fell on the cluttered counter.
Bertha crossed the room and stood behind her. “Please don’t go to any trouble for me.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble.”
Bertha could see Toni’s hands shake as she spooned out glumps of long spaghetti. Tomato sauce splattered on the stove.
“Look, I really am sorry. I don’t know why I said those things.”
“Forget it.”
Toni pounded the plastic lid in place, then whirled around and pushed the container at Bertha. Angry tears glazed her eyes.
Bertha sighed and started gathering her things. When she got to the door, she turned and found Toni
a step behind her.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said again. “It was great.”
Toni hesitated a second then reached up, threw both arms around Bertha’s neck, and kissed her firmly on the lips. Bertha reciprocated the best she could with her arms full of leftovers but suddenly found herself pushed out the door. She watched stunned as Toni slammed it shut.
Bertha walked to the Jeep in a dazed silence. When she put her grocery bag and the container of warm spaghetti in the passenger seat, she noticed that red sauce had been squeezed against her white linen jacket.
Chapter Fourteen
The witch’s house smelled like pot roast. The beef and onion smell made Bertha, who was full of spaghetti, slightly nauseated.
Madame Soccoro led Bertha through the dining room. In the center of the table, next to a half-full pitcher of ice water and a covered butter dish, stood Jerome’s blue-blocked structure. A few dishes and coffee cups had yet to be cleared from dinner. She showed Bertha to the room where the card table stood waiting.
“I’ll be five minutes,” Madame Soccoro said.
Bertha settled back on the sofa and closed her eyes. She could hear Madame Soccoro working in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. Then she heard the machine whoosh to life.
“I’m sorry.” Madame Soccoro appeared next to her. “If I didn’t put those dishes in right away, I would have trouble concentrating.”
“Forget it. I needed a minute to unwind anyway.”
“Would you like to cut the cards again, or should we just talk?”
Surprised that she had a choice, Bertha motioned to the chair to her left. “Please, let’s talk.”
Madame Soccoro was dressed in a long red-and-black print skirt and a black sleeveless blouse. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with a red scarf. She sat in the overstuffed rocker, drew her feet up beneath her, and rocked slowly. “I have been thinking about your questions.”
“There’s more,” said Bertha.
“More questions? What more?”
“Not questions. I met Sally Morescki today.”
“So, you found her?”
“Not exactly.” Bertha sighed. “The woman named Sally Morescki, the widow of the man found in my office, isn’t the woman who came to me Friday afternoon.”
“I see.” Madame Soccoro bit her lower lip, thoughtfully.
“Sometimes I feel like I imagined the whole thing. It was late in the afternoon, and I’m not sure if anyone saw her but me.”
“She made sure that no one saw her,” Madame Soccoro said. “I’ve been thinking about this. She waited for others to leave, I believe. You may have walked past her on your way in.”
Bertha tried to take herself back to Friday afternoon. Nothing stuck out in her mind, but she had been focused on her panty hose and wrapping up the day’s business to get out of there. She didn’t remember passing anyone in the lobby. She couldn’t even remember going through the lobby—though, of course, she had.
Bertha watched Madame Soccoro rock the chair more vigorously and waited. They were both quiet for a minute.
At length Bertha asked, “Who is the woman?”
“I don’t know,” Madame Soccoro said. “But I do know that everything points back to you. Every tributary flows from the same deep river.”
“River?”
Madame Soccoro smiled. “An analogy. Sorry. I like the word tributary.”
“You like the word?” Bertha was convinced the woman was nuts, though every time she’d mentioned Madame Soccoro’s name these past few days, Bertha was told she was the best. But what was that—to be the best psychic? How good would she have to be? Still, Bertha needed to believe someone.
“Your life has many secrets,” Madame Soccoro said in a deep tone. “I know the answers lie in your secrets.”
Beside the fact that she was a lesbian, Bertha could think of no secrets. Actually, she didn’t try to hide that very often.
“What do you mean? What secrets?”
“There are many secrets. I think this is the time for you to learn about them.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“You are caught in a web,” said Madame Soccoro. “That is what it looks like to me. Secrets all connected, each strand hooks onto another.”
“Is this another analogy?”
“Less so than you think. The truth is at the center of the web, guarded by a small, dark figure. Last night you turned the card of the hanged man. This is your time on the windy tree.”
Bertha stared at Madame Soccoro dumbly. Rivers. Webs. Now windy trees. She could be at home in bed rather than listening to this mumbo jumbo.
Madame Soccoro said, “There was a fire.”
Bertha saw a cool light reflecting in the woman’s eyes. The room felt cool. Bertha could hear the dishwasher refilling in the next room. She nodded. “A building next door to my grandma’s house burned last night.”
“What did you learn?”
Bertha considered the question. “I learned that the property was being purchased by the Morescki family. All tributaries lead back to the Morescki river, if you ask me.”
Madame Soccoro smiled and rocked. “I am sure they lead to you.”
“My grandma, she was the person in danger? Last night you did say it was an old person.”
The corners of Madame Soccoro’s lips curved downward. “Perhaps, but I had the sense it was a man. Perhaps it was your grandmother.”
Bertha was frustrated. “Don’t you ever get a name or a clear thought?”
“Rarely. Everything I see is clouded with my own interpretation. Sometimes what I see is right and the interpretation is wrong. The cards help me a great deal. They have their own set of rules.”
“The cards. Like the Hanged Man.”
“It is not a death card.” Madame Soccoro cautioned her again.
“Yes, I know. He hangs by his foot. Maybe he’s the man in danger.”
Slowly, Madame Soccoro said, “Odin hung for nine nights on the windy tree that grows near the gate between earth and the other world. He looked into the darkness and learned the secrets of magic and fate.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I believe in all that stuff.”
“It doesn’t make sense to you, but it will. You must learn the secrets.”
Bertha felt angry and a little frightened. “I didn’t come here for a riddle. I want the answers, not more questions.”
“The answers are in the secrets. Look inward, Bertha.”
Bertha leaned forward and placed her hand on the arm of Madame Soccoro’s chair. The woman stopped rocking and raised her catlike eyes. Bertha shivered as if she’d come on them glowing in the dark and tried to keep her voice even.
“Can you tell me anything that you know for sure?”
Madame Soccoro smiled. “Yes. I know you have a new love interest.”
Bertha saw now that the witch’s eyes had changed. They were the green sea shimmering in the sun.
“Right. My whole life is turned upside down, and I meet the perfect woman.”
“Oh, she is not perfect. But she thinks that you are. You must be careful of the past here. It could interfere.”
“The old secrets?”
“No. The more recent past.” Madame Soccoro gently rocked the chair again, watching her.
Bertha realized that they were talking with same-sexed pronouns and tried to remember if she had told the witch about her sexual preference. Maybe it was obvious. Bertha figured that most people didn’t think about it much one way or the other unless they felt threatened. In her experience people assumed that she was whatever they were. She wondered if Madame Soccoro was a lesbian. She remembered her mentioning a daughter, and then she thought about Toni Matulis and the eight‑by‑ten photo of her little girl. Bertha realized that Madame Soccoro was saying something.
“What?” she asked.
“I said, northeast. The things that are in the shadows are more important now than the t
hings I can see clearly. Beware of the northeast.”
“Northeast?”
“Yes.” Madame Soccoro stood and crossed the room, still talking. “I see a large man with a snake tattoo. You will not know if he is a friend or an enemy.”
Bertha wished she’d brought a note pad. If she wrote down all the words, she might be able to string them together or sort them out later. Did Morescki have a tattoo? Maybe the old man did.
Madame Soccoro returned to the rocking chair next to Bertha and handed her a small spiral pad and a red pencil.
“Make notes,” she said. “Maybe they will make sense later.”
“Thanks.” Bertha took the tablet, opened it, and wrote while Madame Soccoro waited. Finally she looked up. “Do you think I’ll find the mysterious woman?”
Madame Soccoro nodded. “Sooner than you think. You know, she may be looking for you. But don’t trust her again, Bertha.”
“I never did trust her.”
“You let her get you involved in this, and you didn’t trust her?”
“It’s a sordid story about heat and panty hose. I was thinking more about my physical comfort and my ability, or inability, to pay the rent than my own safety.”
“Try not to get distracted again.“
Madame Soccoro looked at her watch, and Bertha took the hint. “How much do I owe you?”
“It is fifty dollars for one half hour.”
Bertha looked at her startled, then pulled her checkbook from her jeans pocket and started writing. Fifty dollars here and forty at the grocery store. She’d have to transfer money from her business account to cover both checks. With a sinking feeling she realized she was paying Madame Soccoro with the money from the woman who’d claimed to be Sally Morescki. By spending the money she was digging herself in deeper, but there seemed to be very little she could do about it. For a second she considered asking the witch if she took Master Card; then she hastily finished writing the check. As she passed it to Madame Soccoro, she realized that if she couldn’t get in her office in the morning, she’d be looking at another day without any income.
On her way home Bertha drove several blocks out of her way to pass the Lambert Building. The night was warm and windy. Heat blew in the Jeep’s opened window like a forced-air furnace. It was Sunday night and she was surprised to find a working girl in a mini‑skirt and halter on the corner. Didn’t those girls ever get a night off? There wasn’t much traffic, and the shapely African-American woman with red hair watched Bertha’s Jeep slow in front of the building. The canvas awning flapped noisily in the wind. Lilith’s Book Store was dark. Bertha could see the building’s lobby lit dimly. The mailboxes were along the wall on the right. She could only see their front corner from her Jeep and was tempted to go back into the building and snoop around. As she slowed to a stop, she noticed the working girl start toward her. She put the Jeep in gear and pulled away from the curb, checking the time. It was almost ten thirty. Security wouldn’t be here for an hour and a half.
Nine Nights on the Windy Tree Page 12
