He shook his head and knelt beside Bobby, studying the bruises and cuts on his face, noticing the tremors in his body, some slight, almost imperceptible yet significant to Moishe, telling him there were many unseen bruises, but probably no broken bones…allowing all his senses to filter and assimilate the information before reaching out and gently touching Bobbys shoulders and holding them for a moment, then shaking Bobby slightly until he started moving his head.
Moishe continued studying Bobby, aware of how he was moving his head, the expression on his face, the evidence of pain even though Bobby was still not conscious, the only sound that of Bobbys shoulders rubbing against the flaking wall.
Bobbys movements started slowing so Moishe shook him gently, again, by the shoulders, this time a little longer, feeling Bobby resist him, knowing Bobby wanted to shake loose of Moishes hands, but was unable to do so. When Bobby started mumbling Moishe stopped shaking him and leaned back slightly and as soon as Bobby started moving or mumbling less he shook him again until he noticed Bobbys eyelids start to flutter then started talking to him, from time to time poking him gently on the leg when he seemed to be going back into unconsciousness, Bobby jerking his leg away, the movement lacking resolve and energy, scrutinizing him even more closely now that he was on the border of consciousness, continually in touch with his own inner response to Bobbys movements and what they said to him. He nudged his leg again and Bobby started to frown but stopped instantly as the pain registered….
You should wake up already—his German accent strong yet his words clear. Bobby stirred, his movements and expression reflecting his battle with the increasing awareness of pain as the numbing effects of the whiskey and sleep were rapidly disappearing. Moishe continued watching and was silent for a moment, then told Bobby he should talk to him. Can you talk???? Say something. I need for you to talk.
Moishe continued to watch Bobby struggle against the pain and consciousness, his body and face reflecting the pain more and more. Youre hearing me???? Whats your name? Tell me already your name.
Bobby started groaning and shifted his weight slightly, Huh???? Wha???? Ohhhh…Mutha fu….
Tell me already your name.
Name???? Wha the….Bobbys eyes started fluttering open and he tried peering at Moishe, but pain closed them almost instantly, but he continued forcing them open, Moishe watching intently, letting his head hang forward for a moment then forcing it up, his eyes open in two swollen slits…Who….What you want???? Bobby struggling to keep his balance and his eyes open, trying desperately to remember where he was, remembering the beating, aware of the pain and vaguely seeing this weird face of some old honky in front of him, but there was nothing else, just an increasing awareness of pain, everywhere pain, and it got worse with every breath.
You know your name?
Huh????—squinting, shaking his head, Wha the, course I got a name yo—the effort of speaking sending shocks of pain thru his body and igniting his face—Ooohhhh
Moishe reached out and steadied Bobby, Youre relaxing, no talking for while—continuing to steady Bobby and watching him deal with his pain, more and more certain Bobby did not have a concussion. Bobby suddenly looked at him, Yeah….I remember….This be a bandoned building, Ohhh—he stopped talking and closed his eyes for a moment, Moishe feeling the tremors going thru Bobbys body, Youre hurting bad. Bobby took a slightly deeper breath and raised his head for a moment, then lowered it again, I be alright—his voice weak, thick.
Can you move…walk maybe?
Bobby wanted to say, How the fuck you think I got here yo crazy old man, but was able only to nod very gently for just a few inches.
You should go to the hospital.
Bobby shook his head and spoke through his pain, No—starting to push himself up, Moishe gently restraining him, Rest. Moishe watched the pain subside slightly, Theres somebody should know youre here? No…no—straining thru pain—no…raising his head again but this time keeping it up and looking Moishe in the face, Moishe easily understanding the pleading, ‘please’, in Bobbys look, Moishe continuing to look into Bobbys eyes then nodded his head and Bobby allowed his head to lower, his eyes to close. Moishe continued to support Bobby, thinking he could treat Bobby, feeling Bobby was safe and trusting his feelings. He continued kneeling beside Bobby until he raised his head slightly and looked at Moishe, then stood up, So…looking down at Bobby for a moment who had to be content with seeing only Moishes feet…wait. Moishe almost laughing out loud when thinking Bobby had a choice.
Bobby could hear Moishes footsteps slowly disappearing somewhere in the midst of the building, leaning slightly to the right as he strained to hear the inaudible sound of Moishes walking, suddenly more alert than he had been, wondering who this ol fool was, but more frightened he would not come back. Bobby was more and more overwhelmed with pain and knew there was no fucking way he could move, that he was stuck here no matter what happened, even if them mutha fuckin rats come an start chewin up his ass there be no way he be movin so he continued to lean to his right and strain to hear somethin, anythin, that mean the old man be comin back but he be hearin nothin cept maybe there was some rat scratchin back there somewhere but he be movin enough to keep them yella fuckers from eatin his ass, he aint about to lay still an let them nasty fuckers eat his ass O krist, where that ol man be, must be nough time fo him to go downtown an back by now, damn that ol fool, but I be gettin them mutha fuckin spics, I be killin they asses when I get—what the fuck that? leaning and straining more, the sound confusing yet somehow familiar as it echoed through the deserted cellar, becoming increasingly familiar, reminding him of something and as it became louder and closer he realized it was wheels of some kind and he started to frown but the pain quickly stopped that so he just kept his head raised and peered into the darkness until he saw the old man, pulling a large, red wagon behind him.
Moishe stopped in front of Bobby and smiled, So….Bobby obviously puzzled and staring at the wagon for a moment, then slowly raised his head as far as possible to try and see the old mans face, but couldnt see above his chin. Moishe smiled, So…youre sitting, Im pulling—Moishe shrugging and kneeling and pushing the wagon against Bobby and holding it with a knee as he helped Bobby move and get in the wagon, the wagon tipping and starting to move as Bobby sat on the edge and almost fell down, Moishe holding the wagon and Bobby and suddenly Moishe started laughing as an old silent comedy flashed through his mind where a wagon kept tipping and rolling and Chaplin or Keaton, or someone slapsticked around with the wagon for 10 minutes and Bobby asked him what the fuck he be laughin at as he stretched across the wagon, the wagon tipping and Bobby slowly sliding down on the cement floor and Moishe shook his head and blinked away the tears of his laughter and put his foot against the wheel and helped Bobby roll over and eventually sit in the wagon. Moishe looked at him, fighting laughter, smiling, then lifted Bobbys legs and placed them in the wagon and Bobby sat there seeing himself sitting in a wagon like a kid, feeling like a fool, but hurting too bad to say anything. Moishe continued looking at Bobby for a moment, smiling, then picked up the handle, So…we go for a ride, ya? Bobby managed to raise his head, a faint smile in his eyes, Yo bes be drivin careful or I bus yo ass—and Moishe smiled and Bobby heard a giggle go through his head and maybe even it made a sound.
When the doctor finished examining Maria, medicating her burns and replacing the bandages, he wrote several prescriptions, then took the 2 women to the hall to explain to them what would be done for Maria and the prognosis.
The grandmother clutched her daughters arm, watching her as she listened to the doctor. He told them that the burns were very serious, but he felt certain Marias eyes were alright, and when he said this both women blessed themselves and thanked the Blessed Virgin and Jesus, a few tears rolling down the cheeks of the old woman and the mother nodded, Si, si, muchos gracias; then the doctor hurriedly explained that he could not tell them exactly what would happen, at this time, that they would have to wait until her face was heale
d sufficiently before they could determine what additional treatment would be needed, trying not to show his impatience as Marias mother struggled to understand his words and what they meant, then translating for the grandmother, but he could not keep from looking at his watch from time to time, trying to remember to smile at the women who looked puzzled and frightened as they stared at him, then each other, and he tried to explain skin grafts but the more he did the more panicked the women looked, the more they clung to each other, expressions of terror passing through their eyes, sobs choking them, trying to reassure them with his smile and by patting their arms, wishing he did have the magic wand they wanted him to have that would instantly make everything better and thinking of the dozens of patients he still had to see that afternoon, almost all with families who were worried and concerned and wanted to know what was wrong and be reassured that everything would be alright, and as he started to leave the women thanked him and blessed him over and over, May all your children be strong and healthy—and he continued to back away, Thank you, thank you—nodding, walking backward down the hall until he could get free of their gratitude then turned and walked rapidly to the next patient.
Maria was sleeping, the bandages new, clean, antiseptic and promising relief and healing, hiding the visible evidence of Marias condition, the women mercifully having no idea how tortured and savagely burned her face was, not wanting to think of that but only that their little girl would live. Dazed and numb with panic and terror, they held each others hand, each in their own way praying to Jesus and the Blessed Virgin for release from pain for their child, and for her lifelong beauty to bless always the house in which she lives and suddenly the grandmothers head fell forward as tears wet her old skin and the daughter held her hand in both of hers, watching the tears fall from her cheeks to the linen on the bed…and in time she raised her head and looked at her daughter who dabbed at the tears with a tissue, and when she finished the old woman nodded, Thank you…but how can this be? Did I come to this strange land of ice and chills, and a strange language, so this little one can suffer? Did God put me here to the for her? Do I not know that to have children is pain, but is this the true pain of a mother, one who has given birth to 2 generations of children? If this is so why did I not then have this pain in the land of my birth…the land of your birth…and hers, our sweet little baby? Why am I here in such a madness of the world where people speak only to curse? O Mother of God what is it that I have done to bring such wrath upon this child???? What has…O God…God…God….
and the old woman bent her shaking head, her tears falling on her daughters hands as they held hers, then raised them to her lips and kissed them, You have done no wrong mother, as Maria has done no wrong. Then who??? Who??? Why is Gods wrath upon my head and our babys face??? O dear sweet God, why????
I do not know. I know my little one is innocent and I know you did no wrong. What can we do but pray?
Pray? How can I pray…here? Do I pray in a strange language, one unknown to me? Do I pray to the God of this city??? this hospital where they wrap bandages around a little face and stick needles into arms? Is this where I pray? Can this God of cars and trucks and gangs hear the rattle of my beads? Can she????
they looked at the bandaged head of Maria for a silent moment….
Yes…her heart hears our voices…and the beads. God will protect her…as always. If she is not safe in the arms of God where can she be???? Where can we be????
I do not know. I do not know the answer to that…or anything else. I pray because I pray….What else can I do…even here????
Bobbys mother was climbing the stairs, with a large bag of groceries and her youngest son and daughter trailing behind her, as two of her neighbors started telling her about what happened to Bobby, and from time to time she would stop and adjust the bag of groceries and tell her daughter struggling up the steps along side her, Stop yankin on me, you want me to be fallin down the stairs—an what this about the poeleece, they be messin wit my boy? Uh uh, I hear he be gone when they be comin aroun—O chile, be lettin me go….She stopped for a moment and sighed, I caint be dealin with all this jus now—shaking her head and catching her breath—damn, these kids like to be killin me with theys draggin on me all the time, damn chile, let go a me—shaking her head and lookin down at the steps for a moment—I bes be gettin up these Gauddamn stairs—forcing herself to move, the young children and the women following. They say the girl got hurt bad, you know her? Her? Bobbys gurl frien? How I be knowin his gurl frien? Damn.
They
reached her floor and she stood, catching her breath, in front of the door for a moment before opening it, the young children running in. She plunked the groceries on the kitchen table and fell into a chair. Ah swear, them stairs be doin me in someday. So what you be tellin me? Bobby got his self beat up? He be goin out with a spic girl—an them mutha fuckas whipim—seem like they dont like he be goin out wit her. Whach yo mean? His gurl frien be a spic? Ah hear she be real light skinned, you know. Hear they throw lye in her face so—They do that? Thas right. Be a whole bunchofem so—Thas right, Bobby never had no chance to—They sure enuff throw lye in her face? Thas what they say. Who all is, they? Helen be right there when it happen an she an Tom from cross the street, an who else?—Tina an—Yeah, thas right, Tina….
Bobbys mother was nodding, hearing their voices more than the words, seeming to sit deeper and deeper in her chair as if she were somehow sinking into it and through it and disappearing into the floor….
amblance come an take away the girl—Say she burned real bad an maybe bline—She be bline?!!!! Say could be. She be screamin somethin awful—Bobby get any lye? he not bline? Uh uh, no way he—But a buncha them gang up onim an—Hear tell they had chains an baseball bats—Bobbys mothers head jerked back and she stared at the women for a moment, the information forcing itself through her resistance, What they be doin to my boy? soun like they killinim. Not likely. Say he be getting up an movin by the time the poeleece come an—Say he be leavin a trail a blood, he be bleedin somethin—Now what you be sayin that for? aint—Cause it be true. Yo can see for your ownself you be goin—Damn yo big mouth (Bobbys mother stared at them, blinking her eyes, shaking her head, slapping at the young hand yanking on her dress) Dont chyall be listen to her, she don know what she be talkin about no—Whach yo mean, I seed it with my own eyes bitch so you be—Who yo callin bitch, bitch, aint she be havin nough trouble without you be talkin about no trail o blood like it be some chicken bleedin all—Well they whoop his ass bad an he be bleedin—Sure he be (Bobbys mother continued to automatically slap at the hands tugging on her, not hearing the childs voice, hearing only the 2 women, but their voices were becoming fuzzy, hazy, and she was con fused and started rocking back and forth, hearing a hum in her head, the sound becoming more and more gentle as she slipped inside herself to that place of refuge for a moment, a much needed moment, but very soon the hum became a whine and the womens voices intruded themselves upon her and she grabbed the hand tugging and allowed the child to crawl up on her lap)….Yo see someday that big mouth o yours be gettin you—You think he be daid?
The two women stopped talking and turned their heads simultaneously and looked at her, What that? You think he be daid…you think my Bobby be daid?
The
women looked at each other for a moment, frowning…Uh uh, he be—No way that boy be dead. Dont you worry none, he be fine. Yeah, he be comin home soon enough….
The women stared at her as she nodded her head, seeming to be looking at someplace in between them and above them, time suddenly heavy between words, the women suddenly aware of their own breathing, the child wiggling on her lap.
But he bad hurt???? The women continued staring at her as they eyed each other…then nodded their heads, Seems so.
The child on her lap stopped wiggling and stared up at her mother who was holding her gently with both hands, yet seemingly unaware of her presence….
How I be knowin he alright? Might be I should b
e axin the poeleece.
You doan want to be doin nothin like that.
Why? Mah boy in trouble cept bein hurt?
Uh uh, he not be doin nothin, least ways we know—looking at each other and nodding their heads, But you dont want nothin to do with the poeleece—Yeah, no way. You know how they be doin peoples like us????—she nodded her head, continuing to stare at the place between and above them—They not be doin shit for us. Mos likely they be tellin the welfare he not home and they be deductin that from yoall check, you know how they always be doin everythin they can to take our money….
She blinked her eyes and looked at them, How I be knowin he alright?
He be lettin you know. Thas right, his friens know soon nough. Caint be doin him no good goin to the poeleece. Thas right, that be big trouble for everyone….
She nodded her head, almost absently, then her shoulders suddenly sagged and she pulled the child close to her, I surely got enough troubles now.
Now aint that the truth….
No need you invitin more.
Moishe was very careful as he pulled the wagon, occasionally looking at Bobby, scrupulously avoiding, or kicking away, pieces of debris so Bobby would not be bumped out of the wagon, stopping before turning a corner, then very slowly turning the wagon and continuing on their journey through the darkness of the cellar, Bobby completely lost, not even knowing if he was still in the Bronx or if they had somehow crossed the river to whatever was on the other side, unable to see more than a few feet yet the old man never hesitated, always knowing exactly where to go, where to turn, like he could see in the dark like a cat, or a rat, or something. A couple of times the old man stopped and asked Bobby, How youre feeling, youre alright? Bobby barely nodding his head and the old man looking at him for a moment, nodding back. So…and continued pulling Bobby through the darkness, Bobby mostly aware of pain, but from time to time a fear would jolt him as he was suddenly assaulted with the simple truth he had no idea what might be hiding in the darkness just a few feet from him, an what kindda nut this ol man be…might be he some muthafuckin faggot what likes to chop up young boys, they be a whole shitload a them muthafuckas aroun…and Bobby would look into the darkness and think of trying to move his body, to get out of the wagon and outrun the ol fool and then the pain would grab his attention, but eventually the pain would step aside so the fear could take over again and it bounced back and forth like that until the final turn and Bobby could see a light in the distance and then, seemingly at once, they were in Moishes apartment and he stopped for a moment and gestured around him, So…this is where I live. What you think? smiling at Bobby.
The Willow Tree: A Novel Page 3
