The Family of Max Desir

by Robert Ferro

  Right after Christmas, John took her out to have the tapestry framed; subsequently it came back edged in dramatic black lacquer with a thin stripe of gold—a cross between a decree and a funeral announcement, but smart. Max set up the ladder in the den and took down all the prints, plaques, needlepoint, photographs, silhouettes and inspirational sayings from the main wall—the whole pictorial archive of the family, now summed up in this new piece, the largest and therefore the center of a new arrangement. John suggested the tapestry be raised a few inches and Marie put her hand to her mouth, not in alarm but conversationally, at the risk Max took in standing at the top of the ladder.

  Later when he and Nick left, Marie was quiet and John asked if there was something wrong. She said no and waved away the whole idea, which he interpreted to mean, yes, there was something, but she preferred to withhold it.

  Is it the tapestry? he asked, pointing up at the tree. She looked at him, then up at the wall. She lifted her chin in the old way, meaning, What about it?

  Well, the lettering, John said, as if she had actually spoken.

  She squinted in the direction of the tapestry, meaning it was too far away for her to see distinctly.

  You know that Nick’s name is on there with Max’s, John said, going over to it. Do you know that? He took the tapestry off the wall and brought it over to her.

  She looked at it, leaned toward it and peered at the branches. Max Desir and Nick Flynn, she pointed silently to the syllables. She nodded and sat back in her chair.

  After a moment John said, Do you think his name should be on there?

  Perhaps he had waited too long to ask. Marie looked at him again and frowned. What was he talking about?

  The name, John said, something like exasperation in his voice. Nick Flynn’s name is on the tree…. It’s a family tree, Marie.

  His impatience made her cross. Again she waved him away, and John leaned the tapestry against the wall.

  Marie’s younger brother Frank and his second wife Helen walked in the back door. They came Saturdays from Long Island, right after their visit to Dan in the nursing home. Marie had not been to see Dan since before Thanksgiving and whenever Frank arrived she looked at him inquisitively until he said, He’s the same, Sis, and then she looked away.

  They all watched television. Frank was the first one outside the family to see the tapestry. He said it was beautiful, then he saw Nick’s name, read it out loud and said, Why is Nick Flynn’s name on here with Max?

  In the kitchen John pretended not to hear. How about another drink, Frank? he said, and Frank said, No, we better get started.

  Later when Robin came in and noticed the tapestry leaning against the wall, John said, Max put it up today. I took it down.

  You took it down … why? Robin later repeated this all to Max.

  John threw up his hand, immediately angry. I don’t want everybody asking me who Nick Flynn is, he said. It’s my house. It’s my wall. I don’t want My son is a homosexual written on it.

  Oh Dad, come on, Robin said. Who’s going to see it?

  Well, your uncle Frank was just here and asked me why Nick’s name was on there with Max’s, dammit. I don’t want them looking at that tree and asking me who the hell’s Nick Flynn. I want his name off that tree or it won’t go up on the wall.

  Now wait a minute, Robin said. It’s not something you can do just like that. They’re …

  They’re not married, he interrupted her.

  Do you expect them to be married? she asked. They’ve been together fifteen years.

  Well, what do I say when people ask? he said. You tell me.

  If you have to say something, say Nick is like a son to us….

  So why would he be on the branch with Max? he said. Like a son to us or a wife to Max?

  Why are you making such a big deal out of this? She went back a little. Hardly anyone comes in here and it doesn’t matter what you say.

  I have a board meeting of the Cadets here tomorrow. There will be eleven men here. I don’t want every Tom, Dick and Harry asking me about my son and this man.

  Later that afternoon John asked Andrea, through the reluctant Robin, to erase Nick’s name from the branch, to which Andrea replied that her grandfather could do what he liked with the tapestry, she didn’t care, but she wasn’t going to erase anything. Then Sunday morning John moved a seascape from another room to the empty space on the den wall and told Robin to put the tapestry away. As she was going out the door she said that removing this symbol of his relationship with two people was the same as removing the people themselves. Did he understand that? She said that the seascape he was hanging in place of the tapestry represented the gulf he was putting between himself and Max and Nick, and that in this case it was filled with purple water.

  When Max returned with Nick for dinner that evening, the first thing he did was peek into the den at the new arrangement. He saw the seascape. Where’s the tree? he asked.

  There’s a problem about that, John said. I was going to talk to you about it after dinner, with Nick. But all right, he said, turning and walking into the den, why don’t you tell Nick to come in? And Max, immediately wary, said, You tell me about it first and I’ll tell Nick. He followed his father into the big room.

  I took the tree down, John said, and put his hands in his pockets.

  Why did you do that? he asked.

  I did it because I didn’t want Nick’s name on the tree with yours.

  You took it down, Max repeated—as if for an official record that now silently and suddenly fell into session around them—you took it down because you don’t want Nick’s name on the tree with mine.

  That’s right, his father said. It embarrasses me. I don’t know why I have to have it written on my wall that my son is a homo sexual.

  I’m very surprised, Max said evenly. I thought we had covered this.

  Well, we have. But you see—his father was suddenly aggressive—it’s when people come in here. He peered across the room as if squinting at the tapestry. Who’s Nick Flynn? he said. Is he part of my blood? What am I supposed to say? Why do I have to say it?

  Look, Max said. I don’t care what you say. But have you thought about our reaction? Did you think about what Nick would think? Don’t you care about the way we feel?

  Yes, I do, John replied. That’s not the point…

  What is the point? That you won’t be embarrassed in front of your friends? Is bella figura the point?

  What am I supposed to do? John demanded. You can be anything you want, and so can Nick. But not on my wall.

  Why do you say it like that?

  Why do I have to advertise it?

  It sat here for a month, Max said. Why, with everything that’s happening in this house—

  Let’s keep our voices down, his father said. We don’t want your mother to hear this.

  And what did she say about it? Max asked.

  Nothing … I don’t think she understands.

  What the hell do you know? Max said, and they looked at each other across two yards of carpet.

  Max, I’m sorry. You’re my son and I love you, no matter what.

  I’d rather have a little common sense and decency. What do you mean by that? John said.

  If you loved anybody you’d realize what you’re doing.

  You and Nick—his father began.

  Me and Nick are part of this family, Max cut in. Whether you see it that way or not. He just spent the summer taking care of Mom just like everyone else…. He was family then and he’s family now.

  Whoever heard of two men being on a family tree together?

  What a hypocrite you are, Max said.

  I don’t want his name with yours on that tree, John repeated.

  But it is on the tree. That’s the way it is.

  Well, I don’t have to like it, or advertise it, John said.

  No, you don’t. It’s your house. Do what you want. He turned to leave. His father called him back. A crowd of demons knocked a
t the door, rang the bell, flicked the window shades, tipped over furniture.

  I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Max said. I think it stinks. I don’t think you know what you’re doing.

  Yes, I do, John started to say, but Max left the room.

  Throughout dinner he thought of things he would like to say to his father but couldn’t, not in front of Marie, or Nick, who certainly knew Max was angry about something, but didn’t know what it was. John cut Marie’s food into tiny pieces. It was clear that Penny, who had arrived just before dinner, knew what had happened. She nervously presided over the meal as if hired for the occasion.

  Max told Nick as they were driving back to Manhattan. Nick was surprised, then incredulous and quiet for most of the ride. By the time they reached the bridge he was angry and when they got through the apartment door Nick started to cry. It seemed to mean that no one in the family cared enough to defend him.

  What about the others? he said. How could they let him do it? He takes my name down like I don’t exist. I can’t believe it.

  It was surprising even to Max that it mattered so deeply. He called Jack and then Robin to ask what they knew, which was only that each of them had pleaded with John to put the tapestry back on the wall. Robin said she had been very specific, explaining what it meant and what the results were likely to be. Jack had even predicted to his father that he might lose Max, and certainly Nick.

  It’s very simple, Max said. Either he puts the tapestry back on the wall and apologizes to Nick, or after Mom is gone I’ll never see any of you again.

  Us? But why penalize us as well? his brother said. We tried to stop him, Max. We tried everything.

  You should have stopped him. You should have held him down. You should have stuffed his mouth with rags.

  I don’t think he knew how strongly you would react, his brother began. In their conversations Jack tended to speak in long sentences and Max tended to interrupt him.

  I thought you said you told him that, Max said. Maybe you mean that you didn’t know how I would react.

  It’s a horrible thing, Jack said.

  What would you do, Max said, if Dad took Mary Kay’s name off the tree? What would you do?

  It’s not the same thing.

  Don’t give me that shit. It’s exactly the same. If you can’t see that you’re no better than he is.

  How can you say that, Max? Your homosexuality means nothing to me one way or the other.

  This happened, Max said, because you and Robin and Penny didn’t face him together and say it was wrong.

  But we did!

  Penny didn’t say a word, not to him or to me. Not a fucking word. She’s too busy being a daughter to be a sister.

  You can’t blame Penny for this, Jack said.

  Why not? I blame everyone. What the hell is this?

  Am I less than you? Are you better than me? Do you think Nick and I can be erased?

  No, of course not.

  Either you talk to him now, Max said, or I’ll never see you or your wife or your kids or any of you again.

  But Max …

  If Nick and I mean anything to you, you’ll say it. You all will. You’ll threaten him and convince him he’s wrong.

  But we tried, Jack said.

  Oh fuck, Max said, and hung up.

  HE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGH LESS EXCITABLE conversation with Robin.

  Can you tell me, he asked, why he had it framed and then helped me hang it?

  It was Uncle Frank, she said. He came in and saw it. I think he and the Lady Helen were the only ones to see it. When Frank asked about Nick, Dad suddenly realized everyone would ask. And he’s having this meeting there tomorrow with all his Naval Cadet friends. Of course he thought that every time someone asked about it he would have to deliver a homily on homosexuality.

  If the rest of the family doesn’t back us up, we’re leaving, he said.

  Oh, I don’t blame you, she said. But I’m not so sure there’ll be much to leave after Mom dies.

  He didn’t go out to Hillcrest for a week, and Nick stopped going altogether. It seemed clear from the drooped and anxious look Marie gave him as he came through the door that she understood what had happened. She held on to him for an extra moment, patted his shoulder, held his hand. Lately any opinion or expression of hers however was subject to exaggeration, and perhaps she meant only to register the idea that she hadn’t seen him in days.

  Other than to say yes or no, she could no longer speak, except on certain days or even at certain moments when, spurred on by some issue or event to make an effort, she was able to string together two garbled words. An extra dosage or hypodermic shot of Decadron, which Doctor Feeney orchestrated to forestall immunity, did not bring back speech so much as a thwarted impulse to speak. Each decline was followed by a booster shot, with decreasing effect, followed by a shorter improvement and further disintegration. The seizures seemed to measure the tumor’s growth, or seemed even to be the growth. They struck apparently at random, sometimes two at a time, or two that came twelve hours apart with, then, nothing for a week. The left hand, which had become dexterous enough to sign a will and power of attorney for Jack, attended these devastations in a helpful, yet detached and unaffected way—a single column left standing as the temple fell. When a seizure struck, the left hand reached immediately for a napkin or handkerchief, always nearby, and held it to her face; it pressed the twitching eyelid closed and shielded her somehow from everyone’s horrified looks. If the attacks were longer, their effect, both during and afterward, was different. She didn’t twitch so violently, facial spasms were decreased and she seemed almost on the verge of control, as had been predicted. Afterward, she was less tired. But during a series that struck over the course of consecutive afternoons, Max was able to see that so much had already been taken by the tumor that further disintegration scarcely showed on the outside.

  Instead of coming for dinner, he came now for lunch, when Greta could assure him that John was at the office. Afterward he sat with Marie in the den watching television. She half listened, half dozed on his shoulder. The program was a word game. Two celebrities vied with each other for the pleasure of making two ordinary people famous for fifteen minutes, using words as wands.

  In quotes at the bottom of the screen, the word Needlepoint appeared. Marie looked up.

  I’ll pass, the first of the celebrities said.

  The other celebrity looked into the vast and vacant stare of her partner and said, Crewel, pronounced crew-el.

  Mean, the partner said too quickly and was punished with a rude noise offstage.

  Marie pointed to the screen.

  Embroidery, the first celebrity said carefully.

  Needlepoint, the other contestant replied, and Marie looked up at Max and smiled. A few moments later she was asleep on his shoulder.

  UNTIL THEN, WHENEVER ONE OF THEM SUGGESTED they hire a nurse, John said he didn’t want to frighten Marie with a stranger. A nurse was worse than strange and they did what was necessary to organize the situation as it stood. They had all rearranged themselves after returning from the beach house. Greta and the girls saw to the details of feeding, bathing and medication. John and Penny kept a series of charts that John had devised to keep track of everything—the Decadron, Valium, laxative, potassium pills. They planned to have her remain at home and this was made clear somehow. Gradually Marie’s room was converted to hospital standards. A special bed replaced a skirted taffeta chaise in the corner. When she developed a bruise that turned into a bedsore a sophisticated air mattress and motor were added that caused the mattress to ripple every minute or so from one side to the other. It was Marie’s own inertia that required John finally to hire someone. One morning during her bath, he nearly dropped her. Penny called an agency Doctor Feeney told them about and a tall black woman, named Mrs Washington, arrived the next morning at eight. She called Marie honey and after Marie had opened her eyes as wide as she could and stared for identification, she smiled, lay back,
and let Mrs Washington attend. After a few days, however, Mrs Washington doubted she was strong enough for all the lifting and turning that would be required. A woman from Vienna, whom Max recognized from several old movies as the nurse, was too old and half the size of Mrs Washington; she lasted two days. A third woman was younger but Marie didn’t like her and Penny had words with the agency. Someone strong and competent, she said, and the agency announced they would now send over their best nurse.

  The next afternoon Max came in and found a black baby girl in a crib in the den, looking through the glass doors at the trees. Max rolled her over on her back, she looked up at him and smiled, showing two tiny teeth in front, the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. A sachet of camphor hung from a string around her neck and when you put your face close to hers it cleared the head. The combination of the camphor and the baby’s beauty was devastating and she seemed already used to evoking a response in everyone. Penny said that when they put her in Marie’s lap, Marie had laughed. Her name was Aisha. Her mother, Madelaine, was obviously the source of beauty. From the two faces it seemed possible to reconstruct the features of the father, who must also have been very handsome. This person had apparently run off.

  After Marie fell asleep Greta made tea and coffee, which she had not done for the earlier auditions, and she, Penny, Robin and Max listened as Madelaine gave a short and positive account of herself. There was cake. Madelaine dandled Aisha in her lap. She said she had been forced to bring her because the babysitting arrangements had fallen through at the last minute and she had not wanted to miss the work. She said new arrangements would be made tomorrow. But everyone was so enchanted and in a way relieved by the baby’s presence and her effect on Marie that Madelaine brought her every day after that. Aisha looked at each of them across the coffee table and smiled sweetly, like an idol.