by Anne Tyler
Make your nice tart lemonade with the little bits of peel, Dave said in his most coaxing voice, and get a sheet cake from the bakery ...
But Bitsy wasn't listening. She said, My vegetable lasagna, do you think? Or my Pakistani dish? No, wait; nothing with rice. Talk about a big pot! Remember the time I served habichuelas negras? The first Yazdan to spoon out some rice took almost the whole platterful!
Dave laughed. He enjoyed the Yazdans. On the surface they seemed all primary colors, so innocent and impressionable, but he'd had glimpses of more complicated interiors from time to time. Mr. Hakimi, for instance. Now, there were some darker hues, for sure. Will the Hakimis be coming? he asked Bitsy hopefully.
Yes, and one of Ziba's brothers but I can't remember which. She's always got so many relatives staying there; wouldn't you think they'd be missed at work? While our own family, on the other hand ... I'm very distressed about Mac and Laura. They knew it would be Arrival Day; they could have taken Linwood on his college visits any other time this summer or this whole year, for that matter. But oh, no. Oh, no. And then Brad's parents; well, typical, I guess. Them and their never-ending cruises: it's as if they didn't care! I wonder if they'd act differently if Jin-Ho were their biological grandchild.
If Jin-Ho were their biological grandchild this whole damn-fool Arrival Party would not have been cooked up, Dave thought. But what he said was, Ah, now. They're just scared they won't have enough to do with their time; that's why they overschedule.
Good Lord, he sounded like Connie. Maybe Bitsy thought so too, because instead of arguing she changed the subject. She said, Do you remember Guys and Dolls?
What? Guys and Dolls?
Do you remember a song they sang called 'I'll Know When My Love Comes Along'?
Oh. The song.
I've always felt 'She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain' lacks dignity, somehow, Bitsy said.
If Dave stretched the telephone cord to its very farthest limit, he found he could just reach the remote control for the television set. He switched on the evening news and then hit the mute button so that Bitsy wouldn't suspect.
Arrival Day dawned heavy and humid, with enough clouds building in the west to give hope for a cooling thunderstorm. None arrived, though, and by evening Dave was dreading the thought of putting on decent clothes and venturing forth in the heat. At home he'd taken to going about in just his swim trunks. He lumbered upstairs to his closet, where he stood idly ruffling the gray hairs on his chest as he contemplated his choices. Eventually he settled on a seersucker shirt and khakis. He should shower again, but he wasn't up to it. He went off to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face instead.
One thing he had learned about Bitsy's parties was that it didn't pay to be early. She grew very managerial just before her guests arrived. He would have been put to work folding napkins or rearranging chairs or something equally unnecessary. So he took his time leaving the house, and when he reached the Donaldsons' place he found several cars already parked at the curb. The girls were out on the sidewalk Susan industriously pedaling Jin-Ho's tricycle while Jin-Ho stood watching. (Somehow it was always Susan who got first dibs, Dave had noticed. She might be smaller and frailer, but she was laughably determined.)
Hey, there, he told them. You two ready for your party?
Jin-Ho said, Grandpa! and came over to give him a hug. Susan gazed up at him with her usual dubious expression. He cupped her head with one hand as he passed her. She wore her hair in two thin braids, nothing like Jin-Ho's thick, bowl-shaped bob, and there was something poignant about the perfect roundness of her little skull inside his palm.
We're waiting for Polly and them, Jin-Ho told him. Polly was the oldest of Abe's three daughters thirteen, now; just the right age to fascinate small girls. Mama said we could, if we didn't go near the street. Mama doesn't know about the hummet.
Hummet? Dave asked.
Susan's not wearing the trike hummet.
Ah, Dave said. Yes, he could see the helmet now on the top porch step a sleek black beetle-shaped object with racing stripes on the sides. Well, I imagine life as we know it will go on, he said.
Huh?
He waved at her and continued toward the house. As he reached the porch, the screen door opened and Bitsy said, Finally! She came out to kiss his cheek. She was wearing a sundress made from one of her more attractive pieces of weaving purple bands threaded with blue although it billowed out from the bodice in a way that he found unfortunate. He liked for women's waists to be evident. (Connie used to claim that this preference revealed a masculine fear of pregnancy.) Everyone's here now but Abe, Bitsy told him. All the Iranians . . . and then she leaned closer to whisper in his ear. They've brought an extra.
Pardon?
The Yazdans have brought an extra guest.
Oh.
They didn't ask me first.
Well, I guess maybe in their culture ...
Then he all but bumped into Ziba, who was standing just inside the door. Hello, Ziba, he said, and he accepted her kiss too. As usual, she was packed into a tight T-shirt and tighter jeans, and her heels were so high that she teetered slightly as she stepped away from him. Happy Arrival Day, she told him. She gestured toward a cavernously thin teenaged boy who stood next to her with his hands clamped in his armpits. This is Siroos's son, Kurosh, she said.
Dave had no idea who Siroos might be, but he said, Well, hello. Happy Arrival Day to you, and the boy unclamped one hand to shake his.
Thank you, sir, he said with no accent. And many happy returns, which didn't quite suit the occasion if you thought about it long enough.
Brad ambled up, sweating and grinning. More or less the same weather as the first Arrival Day, right? he said. He led Dave into the living room, where Mr. and Mrs. Hakimi sat next to one of Ziba's brothers (the oldest one, who could almost have been her father with that bald head and leathery face) and his motherly-looking wife. The four of them formed a decorous row down the length of the couch, the men in suits and the women in good black dresses, and it was probably their general stiffness that made Brad so eager to add Dave to the mix. You remember Bitsy's dad, he told them. All the Hakimis smiled brightly and made a motion as if to stand, even the women, but then kept their seats a gesture Dave had grown to expect from earlier occasions.
Sami, who seemed to be in charge of the drinks, was over by the deep windowsill that was serving as a bar. Hey there, Dave! he called. Can I offer you a Scotch? I was just fixing one for Ali.
Well ... why not? Dave said. He was glad to be reminded of the brother's name, although he still couldn't think of the wife's.
You have seen the pictures? Mr. Hakimi asked in his booming voice. Take a look at the pictures! Very nice!
The pictures lined the mantel and the top of the built-in bookcase beside it photos from Arrival Parties One and Two, most of them unframed and curling in the middle. Dave turned his face toward them in a perfunctory way, but Mr. Hakimi said, See the one on the right! You are standing with Jin-Ho! so that Dave had to walk over there and pull his glasses from his shirt pocket to demonstrate his interest. The photo on the far right showed him lifting Jin-Ho by the waist to light a candle with one of those propane wands meant for lighting stoves. It might have been just the effort of lifting her that caused his face to seem so ropy and strained, but all he could think was, I look like hell! I look ruined! All his adult life he had been a few pounds overweight, large-framed and loose and shambling, but in the photo he had a haggard appearance and the tendons showed in his neck. Connie had been dead just five months when that picture was taken. He saw now that unbeknownst to himself he must have progressed somewhat from those days, because he felt so thankful not to be back there. And he was almost certain he had regained the lost weight.
See the grandfather-granddaughter! Mr. Hakimi was saying.
A toast to the grandfather-granddaughter! Your good health, sir! And Sami pressed an icy tumbler into Dave's hand.
That Bitsy was bothering with
cocktails suggested she was going ahead with her plan to serve a full meal. He supposed she'd had little choice, once she had scheduled the party for a weekday evening. So he resigned himself to a late night, and to seeing very little of Bitsy since she would be occupied with the food. He settled in a rocking chair and listened with what he hoped was an attentive expression as Sami and Brad discussed the Orioles. He didn't follow the Orioles anymore. Once you lost touch with a baseball team its gossipy human-interest stories, its miniature dramas of heartbreaking personal slumps and miraculous comebacks it was hard to work up much enthusiasm. And the Hakimis felt even less connected, if you judged by their glazed smiles. Only when Maryam emerged from the kitchen, where she must have been helping out, did they come to life. She was carrying a tray of something, and when she bent over the row of guests on the couch they leaned forward eagerly and there was a murmur of foreign phrases, a quick back-and-forth and a patter of soft laughter that made Dave realize how much went on inside these people's heads that he would never have guessed from their stunted, primitive English.
Wouldn't it feel like a permanent bereavement, to give up your native language?
Maryam wore a deeply V-necked top that revealed her polished collarbones. When she approached him with her tray, she said, It's good to see you, Dave. Would you care for a canapT?
Thank you, he said, taking one. It seemed to be some sort of fish paste.
Are you pleased you might have a new grandchild?
A new ... ? Oh. Yes, right, he said. Very pleased, because he supposed that was what was expected of him.
I wonder if this means that now there'll be two Arrival Parties, she said.
God forbid! he said before he thought. Maryam laughed.
By the time Abe and Jeannine had shown up with their daughters, everyone had eaten far too many hors d'oeuvres. The sight of the huge banquet waiting when they moved to the dining room made several people groan. Bitsy, what have you done? Jeannine asked. There were platters of cold chicken, cold salmon, and shrimp, along with half a dozen vegetable dishes and almost as many salads. If this was a competition, Dave dreaded to think what the next year would bring.
The cake at the end of the meal was the usual Stars-and-Stripes sheet cake, and the song was the usual song in spite of all Bitsy's efforts. I'll know, she began hopefully in a high, sweet voice, but Abe's three boisterous daughters drowned her out. They'll be coming round the mountain when they come, Bridget led off, and Brad flung open the kitchen door to reveal Jin-Ho and Susan, who stood looking nonplussed as always instead of marching forth as they'd been instructed. Toot! Toot! Abe's daughters shrieked. Clearly they enjoyed the sound effects even more than the song itself. Scratch! Scratch! Whoa, back! Hi, babe! First Abe and Jeannine joined in and then Sami, then Ziba, and finally Dave, although he hated to seem disloyal. Even the Hakimis mumbled along as best they could, chuckling bashfully each time they came to the toots and sending each other shy peeks.
After cake it was time for the video. The Arrival of Jin-Ho and Susan, it began a whole new title, in italics now rather than copperplate. People paid varying degrees of attention. The Hakimis, for instance, sat erect and kept their eyes fixed respectfully on the screen throughout. At the other extreme, Jin-Ho busied herself with a Tickle Me Elmo doll. Dave, who was standing at the back of the room, watched more closely than he let on because he knew he'd be seeing Connie. He didn't want the others to notice how much this mattered to him. They would worry; they would try to distract him. They would say he was being morbid.
Yes, there she was, smiling beautifully and clasping her hands in front of her chest as if she were praying. GRANDMA, her lapel button read. It was true that she wore a baseball cap already she was ill but how full and rosy her face seemed! How sturdily she stood, next to him but not leaning on him! He kept forgetting that this was how she used to look. When he pictured her nowadays, she had the papery white skin and jutting bones of a dying woman.
Then she was gone. Oh, damn. He wondered, as he had the year before, if he could somehow spirit this tape away and take it home to watch in solitude. He would play just the frames with Connie in them over and over and over. He would dwell on the dear slope of flesh beneath her jaw and the cozily embedded look of the wedding ring on her finger.
The infant Jin-Ho arrived in her courier's arms and was surrounded and engulfed. Various Dickinsons and Donaldsons behaved like total fools. Then Susan flashed by now you see her, now you don't but Dave barely noticed that part. He knew there wouldn't be any more shots of Connie.
It was difficult to watch Connie, no? Maryam asked.
She stood nearby, on his left. The foreign intonation of her no? struck him as irritating. He felt so far removed from this random assemblage; he resented being dragged back to it. He kept his eyes fixed stubbornly on the TV screen (the credits rolling by in the original, copperplate font) as he said, Not difficult at all. I liked seeing her so healthy.
Ah, Maryam said. Yes, I can understand that. Then she said, I used to think that if someone had come to me out of the blue and told me, 'Your husband just died,' when he was in perfect health, I would have found it easier. It was watching him go down, down, down that made it so hard.
He looked over at her. He was often startled by Maryam's smallness someone so elegant should be statuesque, it seemed to him and now he had to lower his gaze a few inches to take in her profile, her eyes trained on the other guests and her fingers curved delicately around the handle of a teacup.
I thought, If only I could mourn the man I first knew! she said. But instead there were the more recent versions, the sick one and then the sicker one and then the one who was so cross and hated me for disturbing him with pills and food and fluids, and finally the faraway, sleepy one who in fact was not there at all. I thought, I wish I had been aware of the day he really died the day his real self died. That was the day when I should have grieved most deeply.
I'd forgotten his was cancer too, Dave said.
She was silent. She watched the others streaming out, the children heading toward the backyard and the grownups to the living room.
Connie in her final version was ... very demanding, Dave said. He had started to say something else but changed his mind. Then he went ahead and said it after all. In a way, she was almost mean, he said.
Maryam nodded without surprise and took a sip of tea.
I guess it was inevitable, he told her. People when they're sick begin to feel something is owed them. They get sort of imperious. In real life, Connie wasn't like that in the least. I knew that! I should have made allowances, but I didn't. I snapped at her, sometimes. I often lost my patience.
Well, of course, Maryam said, and she set her cup back in her saucer without a sound. It was fear, she told him.
Fear?
I remember when I was a child, if my mother showed any sign of weakness took to bed with a headache, even I always got so angry with her! I was frightened, was the reason.
He thought that over. He supposed she had a point. Certainly Connie's decline had scared him out of his wits. But somehow he felt unsatisfied with this conversation, as if there were something more that needed to be set straight. He shifted to one side to let Siroos's son edge past him, and then he said, It isn't only her last days that I regret.
Maryam raised her eyebrows slightly.
It's her whole life. Our whole life together. Every thoughtless word I ever said, every instance of neglect. Do you ever do that? Think back on those things? I've always been such a concentrator; I mean, driven to concentrate on some project and let everything else go to hell. I remember one time I was wiring our house for a sound system I'd concocted. I wouldn't stop for lunch, wouldn't go with Connie to this movie she wanted to see ... Now I'm sick about it. I think, What I wouldn't give for lunch with her now, or to be sitting with her at a movie!
You folks coming? Brad asked. Seconds on cake in the dining room.
Thanks, Dave told him, but Maryam didn't respond. She took ano
ther sip of tea and then looked down into her cup. Ah, well, she said. If we had been different, would they have loved us?
Pardon?
If you were not a man of many interests, enthusiastic about your projects if you had no interests except for Connie and followed her every footstep would she have chosen to marry you?
But she didn't seem to expect an answer, because while he was still considering her words she said, Jeannine! Hasn't Polly grown up this summer!
Yes, alas, she's a teenager now, Jeannine said. Heaven help us all.
Maryam laughed lightly and turned to accompany her out of the room, and Dave trailed after them. He did think he might want more cake. All at once he felt positively hungry.
September brought its smell of dry leaves that could so easily be mistaken for the smell of freshly sharpened pencils, and the neighborhood children returned to school with their giant book bags and the college students drove away in their overstuffed cars and the fact of Dave's retirement hit him in the face all over again. Never mind those fond goodbyes last June. Forget the yearbook dedication (To our beloved Mr. Dickinson, who made physics come alive for three generations of Woodbury girls) and the plethora of farewell parties yielding their gifts of clocks, mostly, which seemed ironic when you considered that he no longer had much need to know what time it was. This was the moment of truth: autumn, when the rest of the world was beginning anew but Dave himself was just going along, going along the same as in the summer. He had thought he couldn't wait to be done with it all. They had worn him out, those Woodbury girls! But now he found himself missing their shallow, breathy voices that ended every statement with a question mark, and their cataclysmic emotional crises that erupted almost hourly, and even their mysterious fits of giggles although he had often suspected that he was the one they were laughing at. They would already have forgotten him. He didn't kid himself. They were already going gaga over his successor, a debonair young man fresh out of Princeton. It was like walking down a red carpet and then turning to find the attendants rolling it up behind you. He was gone. It shook his whole view of himself to discover how much he minded.
