Fire & Water

by Betsy Graziani Fasbinder

  Tully’s rubbery face twisted into a grimace. “Was that yellow stuff with black speckles in it the polenta?” Snickers rose from around the table.

  Jake stroked my forearm with his fingers. “As a chef, my darling, you make a wonderful surgeon.”

  “I’d like it on record that I’ve never once represented myself as a chef.”

  “Never you mind, Katherine,” Dr. Schwartz said, bringing his napkin to the corner of his mouth with jerky movements. “Your skills are utilized in the OR.”

  Tully stirred the black and yellow mess on his plate. “Just so she don’t cook in there.” It felt fun to be part of this big family of teasing, even if I was the butt of the joke.

  “And they wouldn’t want me doing surgery on their kids,” Jake said in my defense. “While I marinated lamb, she saved a baby’s life. What’s a little burnt polenta?”

  “You get my present after dishes,” Ryan said to Alice, barely able to contain herself.

  The doorbell interrupted the conversation.

  Jake pushed his chair from the table. “Excuse the interruption. Burt was due to call with the good news. I bet he came with champagne.” Jake looked at me and pressed his palm against his chest. “This is it.”

  As Jake left to answer the door, I explained the awaited call. Burt and Jake had worked relentlessly to get all of the permits for the Golden Gate Bridge installation. I now understood that all of Jake’s major installations seemed absurd at first. But it was exactly his imagining of the unimaginable that made him the artist that he was.

  Jake and Burt had climbed up every state and federal ladder, wooing officials, securing insurance, obtaining clearances. Burt already had publishers salivating over the future photographs of the installation. They’d secured grant money from individuals, corporations, and foundations—more than enough to fund the project and pay them all handsomely; but that had been the easy part.

  “They’re down to one last hurdle,” I explained. “All they need is the final approval from the state legislation. The approval has to go through the city, the military, the police and the CHP, the mayor, and the governor.”

  Dr. Schwartz stirred his coffee. “Won’t it be magnificent to have one of Jake’s installations right here in our back yard? And one of such significance.”

  “I’d have quit after the first twenty-five no’s,” Alice said. “I guess that’s why I pull beers for a living, huh? Nobody says no to that.”

  Alice and I began to clear the dishes until Jake’s shouting brought us to a halt. “Goddammit! That’s BULLSHIT!”

  Burt’s soft murmurs hummed under Jake’s shouts.

  We all stood up from the table at once and gathered in the foyer. The stream of profanity unfurled around us.

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” Jake shouted as he burst out from his studio. Burt followed. Jake paced and waved his arms. “They’re fucking idiots, Burt! We’ll sue their asses off! Get a court order! This is not fucking happening!”

  I felt my face redden at Jake’s tantrum and profanity in front of Ryan and my family.

  “They’ll let you do the water image,” Burt soothed, “but no fire. They want no risk to the bridge.”

  “But without the fire, it’s just some pretty picture. It’s fire and water together. Don’t they see that?”

  “No fire, Jake-O. Final word.”

  Jake picked up an intricately carved alabaster vase, given to him by an Egyptian ambassador, and flung it to the floor without hesitation. We all jumped with the impact of the crash.

  “Daddy!” Ryan cried. My dad scooped Ryan into his arms and she covered her ears.

  “Jake,” I whispered, stepping toward him. “Settle down. You’re scaring Ryan.”

  “No fucking WAY!” he shouted, ignoring me. He kicked at the pile of splintered alabaster, sending it rattling across the tile.

  “Jake, stop it! You’re acting like a child!”

  Burt held out his hand, traffic-cop style, and stopped me in my tracks. The look on his face told me it wasn’t safe to step closer.

  “Idiots. Small-minded idiots,” Jake fumed. He paced like a cougar in a cage. “We’ve worked too fucking hard. This installation will happen. It’s what I was born to do.”

  Burt shook his head. “I’m afraid not, mate. They didn’t just say no, they passed a bloody ordinance against us. There’ll be staggering fines for any crew or engineer or crane operator that helps us. Nobody is going to risk his own nuggets for our project. We can’t exactly sneak onto the bridge with a three-ton web of glass, now can we, mate? It’s over.”

  “We’ve been told no before,” Jake yelled. “We’ve always been able to convince them.”

  “Not this time, mate. This time no is no.”

  “Did that fucking milquetoast governor see what I did at the Great Wall? They let me work in mainland China! In front of the pyramids? The Kamakura? Does he think his little bridge is more important than all of those?” Jake shouted. “No, goddamn it! This is NOT the end.”

  Burt’s head bowed and his eyes closed.

  Alice managed a feeble smile. Her voice was tender as she spoke. “Maybe you could do your art on another bridge. I know it will be beautiful wherever it is.”

  Like an explosion, Jake lunged toward Alice. “Beautiful?” Jake shouted. “You think I was just trying to make something beautiful?”

  “I—”

  “Oh, let’s go make a pretty sculpture, Burt,” Jake mocked, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Maybe we can hang twinkle lights from Half Dome. Or maybe I can cut giant gingham bows to decorate Alcatraz. Better yet, we can hot-glue rhinestones to Coit Tower. It’ll look like a giant spangled dildo. Wouldn’t that be pretty?”

  I wanted to shake him, to say or do something that would snap him back into the sweet man that made shish kebab and gathered dahlia petals to soothe his daughter. “Jake, stop it!” I shouted. Alice’s mouth was agape with shock and confusion. He’d never before spoken an unkind word to her.

  “Enough!” Dad handed Ryan over to Alice and stepped toward Jake with his chest out. His nostrils flared. “That’ll do now, son. I know you’re upset, but I’ll not have you talking to Alice that way and scaring the child. There’s no cause here to take out your frustrations on those that love you.”

  In the brief silence that followed, I could hear Ryan whimpering in Alice’s arms. I scanned the bewildered faces in the foyer. Tully studied his shoes, shaking his head. Dr. Schwartz hunched over his cane and gazed unblinkingly at Jake. Fury and shame braided themselves together and wound around my throat, threatening to cut off my air.

  Burt extended his palm toward Jake and walked with the pensive steps of a lion tamer. “Let’s step into the studio, mate. No need to upset the child.”

  Jake’s lip curled in snide disgust. “It’s Ryan who should be the most upset. She’s the one growing up in a world void of vision.”

  I wanted to snatch Ryan into my arms and run. Ryan huddled in Alice’s arms, sucking her thumb. Jake stepped toward us and put his face close to Ryan’s. “This is a nightmare and a travesty, Ryan. We can circle this day on the calendar. It’s the day that art officially died.”

  Ryan lifted her head and removed her thumb from her mouth. “But, Daddy, nothing dies, it just changes. You said.” Ryan, her eyes wide and her face guileless, looked at her father wearing nothing but radiant adoration. Jake hung his head.

  The tastes of rosemary, garlic, and red wine that had been so pleasant only moments before now soured in my mouth. Jake’s shoulders began to spasm, and I thought at first that he was crying. Just as I began to step toward him, a bitter cackle escaped his throat. When he raised his head he wore an expression on his face that made the flesh on my arms crawl.

  His voice was singsongy baby talk, a tone we never used with Ryan, even when she’d been a baby. “Well, Ryan. Now you’ll know what dead really is. The state of California has officially killed art.” His words and tone of voice were absurd. He was performing some perv
erse kind of theater. I wanted the curtain to come down, the show to be over. Jake turned and pounded into his studio, his grand stage exit.

  Burt nodded to the group. “Perhaps it’s best if we give Jake some time alone.”

  I stroked the soft skin on the side of Ryan’s neck. “Daddy’s just upset, Noodle. He’ll feel better later.” Ryan tucked her thumb into her mouth and nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Dad and Alice. “I’m so embarrassed. It was supposed to be such a lovely birthday for you, Alice.”

  Dad pulled me to him and kissed my cheek. “It was a huge disappointment for Jake. We all know that. It’ll blow over.”

  Alice nodded. “Things will look better in the morning. Burt’s right. Maybe it’s better if we all go on home. How about if Ryan spends the night with me at my apartment?”

  I nodded, relieved at the thought of having Ryan and everyone else out of the fray.

  “Maybe you too, Kitten,” Dad said. “Why don’t you come too? Burt will mind Jake, here. It’ll give him a chance to cool off.”

  I shook my head though I craved wearing soft pajamas and having Alice make me cocoa with marshmallows. “No, Daddy. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll stay here, Mr. Murphy,” Burt reassured. “Jake and I have weathered a few storms together. I know how to sail into the wind.”

  As the group organized a plan, Jake reemerged from his studio carrying a heavy, round, stone vase filled with twisted willow branches, each wrapped in flower petals. Jake was energized, his stride confident, his face full of light and humor.

  A peace offering, I thought. He’d come to his senses.

  Ryan slid down from Alice’s arms and moved toward Jake. “Here’s the present I made for you, Nana. It’s from flowers in our garden and—”

  Jake held the vase toward Ryan and then looked at Alice, cocking his head to one side. One eyebrow raised, his face twisted and oddly asymmetrical. “This is beautiful, Alice, isn’t it?”

  “Why, y-y-yes. It is. Ryan, that’s a wonderful—”

  “Lovely, sweetheart,” Dad said.

  Then a shadow of sadistic glee crossed Jake’s face. He stepped back and dropped his arms, the stone vase hanging like a pendulum. Like an Olympic discus thrower, he began to spin his body, his outstretched hands clasping the heavy vase.

  “Jake, NO!” Burt shouted, trying to get close, but he was forced back by the treacherous centrifuge that Jake had become. “Look out!”

  With wild fury, Jake released the stone, flinging it toward the atrium. It soared through the air like a canon ball. Burt shielded my huddling family with his massive body. The crash exploded. Metal framing that had held the atrium glass hung snarled into menacing silver claws.

  Ryan’s scream was like one in a horror movie. Everyone gasped, and I pulled Ryan toward me and covered her body with mine. We all froze in shocked silence—everyone but Jake.

  Enlivened by the clamor, Jake scampered into the doorway of the atrium, picking up the petal-covered twigs that lay scattered there. “See, it seems art lives on after carnage, Ryan. But it doesn’t.” He first ran his fingers over the branches, stripping them of their colored petals, then he crumbled the brittle twigs and sprinkled them onto the pile of glass.

  Ryan melted to my feet, her body convulsing with sobs.

  I bent down, stroking her back with my palm. “Jake, stop!”

  “I’ve just come to my senses about what the world really values. And there you have it.” He spread his arms wide, displaying the whole picture of what he’d created. “Here is my last masterpiece. Burt, get your camera. We’re calling it ‘Scene of the Crime in California, Governor Pete Wilson Murders Art.’” Jake leaned over, taking an exaggerated bow.

  I tried to urge Jake to stop. “This is ridiculous. We can talk about this calmly.”

  “Ridiculous!” he screamed. “How can I listen to you, of all people, talk about what is ridiculous. You’ve spent the last thirty-three years not knowing that that woman is your mother. I saw it the first time I laid eyes on her.” He pointed at Alice. He looked over at Ryan, his eyes fiery, his lips thinned to a straight line. “Get a good look at your grandmother, Ryan. You’ll look just like her in about fifty years. Minus the hairspray and bad eyeliner, I hope.”

  “Jake! Shut up!” I screamed.

  “Come on. Look at her bone structure. Look at your hands. How can I listen to a word you ever say when you volunteer to be so oblivious to what’s right in front of you?”

  I turned around, looking at the stunned faces of my family. Burt wore a mask of horror and sorrow. Ryan huddled at my feet. Tully and Dr. Schwartz looked down at the floor. Alice, with blackened tears streaming down her cheeks, looked directly at me. Like Ryan’s flower petals all fallen from their stalk, the pieces of me had fluttered to the ground.

  I stood between two oncoming storms, not knowing which one would slam into me first. A lifetime passed before Jake stepped through the archway to the dining room table, grabbed an open bottle of the wine from the table, and lifted it to his lips. He tilted his head back and chugged the bottle.

  He bowed again as he passed us, then sauntered up the stairs waving the bottle above his head. Without looking back at those left standing in the wreckage, he raised the bottle again in a grand salute. We all watched as he ascended the stairs with a swagger. With a musical sound in his voice, he pronounced, “It’s been a perfectly lovely funeral. So glad we have good wine to mark the occasion.” Then he disappeared into our bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

  Jake left us all in his wake at the bottom of the stairs, casualties of his cruelty. I whipped my head around and looked at the four I’d always called my family.

  I picked Ryan up from the floor and she tucked her head into my neck. Dr. Schwartz shook his head in disbelief. Tully wiped tears with the shoulder of his shirt.

  It was my dad who broke the miserable silence. “Let’s sit down and talk,” he murmured.

  My gaze bounced between Dad’s eyes and Alice’s. An avalanche of questions poured through my mind, but when I looked at Alice only one thought would fully form. “It’s true?” My gut was broiling, and I feared I’d throw up. I stared at Alice. Her face had lost all color but for the black smears under her eyes. She looked back and forth in panic between my dad and me.

  When I finally looked over at the time-carved face of Dr. Schwartz, it told me all that I needed to know. What Jake said was true. The old man’s eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, looked straight into mine. “Katherine, none of this was meant to hurt you.”

  I could only whisper for fear that I would scream. Only one word could fully form. “Again? We’re here again with another set of lies? Why?” I asked, looking at them all.

  “Katie,” Tully said, reaching out to touch me. “Everybody here loves you.”

  As I picked Ryan up, I felt an odd, ironic laugh erupting from my chest. My husband—who loved me—had just had just exploded, traumatizing everyone, including his daughter. My family—who loved me—had just been revealed in another web of lifelong lies. But it was Ryan’s warm, trembling body in my arms that turned my laughter into a sob. “Isn’t this a pathetic bit of déjà vu?” I hissed.

  Burt stepped toward me and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ll take care of Jake. Why don’t you just take Ryan and go with your family. You all have a lot to talk about.” His amber eyes were steady and calm.

  “Please, Katie. We can fix this,” Tully pleaded. His twitched as he spoke.

  I shook my head and held Ryan close.

  My dad pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and swiped it across his nose.

  “Just like Tully said, Kitten. Everybody loves you. We’ll all sit down tomorrow and—”

  With a snap, I turned my head toward him. Though I spoke softly so that I’d not frighten Ryan any further, my whispered words were broken glass. “Not tomorrow.” I felt my face turn to stone as I turned it toward Alice and my dad. “Right now I just need to t
ake care of my daughter. She’s had enough drama for one night. She needs to be in her own bed. Burt will take care of Jake.”

  My dad nodded. “Of course, Kitten. And when you’re ready, we’re all right where we’ve always been.”

  Ryan trembled in my arms as I carried her up the stairs. I laid her into her bed and wrapped my body around hers and listened to the low rumble of voices in the hallway; first my father’s, then Burt’s, then my dad’s again. Whatever was exchanged, I soon heard the coughing engine of Tully’s truck pulling away from the house, and finally the rich resonance of Burt’s voice—soothing, pleading—coming from the master bedroom, and Jake’s screamed replies. I closed Ryan’s bedroom door and pressed the play button of the tape player by her bed. Jerry Garcia’s sweet, gravelly voice with David Grisman’s tender harmony singing “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” muted the sound from outside the room.

  As the music played, Ryan’s sobs turned into whimpers, then fitful sleep. Burying my face in Ryan’s thick curls, my thoughts were huge metal doors slamming closed, one after another. Was anyone who I thought they were? No. Another door clanged shut. I was alone. I could trust no one.

  Like a Stone

  In the days after Jake’s explosion, he became a hollow shell—lethargic and impossible to rouse. Burt slept in our guest room and we took turns staying with Jake.

  I tried to keep Ryan’s life as normal as possible given the absurd events of our family. She went to kindergarten and afterschool care. On weekends, Burt took her on outings to Golden Gate Park or the zoo. Somehow Burt could buoy his energy to be playful with Ryan in a way that grief and worry did not allow me to do.

  I was a seabird caught in a viscous oil spill, my wings too coated with sludge to let me fly. I was full of questions: Had my dad had an affair with Alice? Did my mother know? Why did they keep it from me for so long? What should I do about Jake?

  Burt took on the job of contacting Dr. Gupta—a task my pride prevented me from doing. I’d ignored his medical advice, minimized his diagnosis, and disregarded his recommendations. I feared he saw me as just another wife in denial, or worse, an arrogant physician who thought myself above his advice. Perhaps I was both. Jake refused to see Dr. Gupta, of course. And because he had not threatened any violence and had not articulated any immediate intent to do harm to himself, Dr. Gupta’s hands were tied. Throwing a vase at a wall, shocking though it was, did not constitute a threat, and Jake ate and drank just enough that he wasn’t considered a passive danger to himself. He was too sick to function, but not sick enough to hospitalize against his will.