Dear sweet Patrick. I might've known.
"So you're elected. Go home, put on something nice to wear, maybe even a little makeup for the cameras." He looked me straight in the eyes. "And make sure you're fit and ready for the conference at one P.M."
Message received and understood. "Will do, Chief."
He started to leave, then noticed Darcy hovering on the fringes. "Aren't you supposed to be at home?"
Darcy stared at the floor. "I-I have to be here in case…in case there is a math emergency."
"A math emergency?"
He didn't look up. "I am-I am-I-" He swallowed. "Susan made me her official math consultant."
O'Bannon said what I was thinking. "She did?"
He shook his head in a sideways direction. "I have been reviewing all of the evidence, looking for clues that we might have missed. Math clues."
O'Bannon scowled, gave me a glance, then lurched away. "Hope she pays you better than I'm paying her."
I was just about to inquire about the nature of our nascent consulting relationship when I heard Amanda David calling me across the office. "Susan! Telephone!"
I raced to the phone. "Please hold for Dr. de Alameida." As luck would have it, I got to talk to the doctor after only a two-hour wait. And I didn't even have to show her my health insurance card. "Dr. de Alameida here."
I explained who I was and why I was calling. She had read about Esther in the morning paper, but assumed it must be someone else with the same name. "The woman I treated was quiet, thoughtful, introverted. Very maternal."
"So you're her OB-GYN?"
There was a pause. I never like pauses. "No, I'm an oncologist."
"A-" My turn to pause. "You weren't seeing her about her pregnancy?"
"No. I knew she was pregnant, of course, but that wasn't why I was seeing her. I'm a cancer specialist."
I tried not to let my eyes balloon. "Cancer? Esther Goldstein has cancer?"
"Of the throat, yes. Horrible thing, especially in a woman so young. Apparently she smoked in her younger days. Pity."
"And-what exactly is her condition?"
"Well…it's only a matter of time."
"You're telling me she's terminal?"
"I'm afraid so. The cancer is quite inoperable. And chemotherapy is out of the question, given that she's carrying a child. Not that it would be likely to succeed in any case."
I pressed my hands against the desktop, trying to get a grip on what I was hearing. "You're telling me that my sadistic killer is not only pregnant-but dying?"
"When last I saw her, there was a real question about whether she would be able to carry the child to term. I wanted to hospitalize her, but she refused. Said she had too much to do."
And so she did. Small wonder she didn't fear the death penalty. She knew the grim reaper would take her long before the criminal justice system.
"Doctor, do you know who the father of her child is?"
"I'm afraid not. She was quite silent on that question, and of course, it was really none of my business."
"Do you know anything about her friends, family? Places she might go?"
"No, sorry. I know this, though-she had been trying to become pregnant for a long time. Had visited fertility specialists-in fact, she was referred to me by one of them. A Dr. Landon Lorenz." A moment of silence, then a clicking of the tongue. "Rather ironic, really. And sad. All that time and money spent trying to become pregnant, and when she finally succeeds, she develops a fatal illness. Tragic, isn't it?"
Yes, tragic, I thought, as I hung up the phone. And just the thing that might push an already dangerously unstable personality over the brink.
I had some thinking to do.
38
"Come on, Esther, I know you can learn this. you just need to apply yourself."
"Yes, Father."
"Now again, from the beginning."
"Thus said God: When I have gathered-"
"Thus said God the Lord."
"Thus said God the Lord: When I have gathered the house of Israel from the people among whom-"
"Peoples. Peoples!"
"From the peoples among whom they are scattered, and when-"
"No, no, no!" Esther's father threw his hands down in exasperation. "Esther, you're just not trying."
"It's hard, Father."
"It isn't hard. It's two little Bible verses. Your sister, Anna, can say it in Hebrew."
"It's her bat mitzvah."
"It's our bat mitzvah, Esther, the whole family's, hers and yours and mine. And I'll thank you not to give me any more of your negative attitude." He paused, sighing heavily, peering down at her with a stern expression. "Obviously, you will not be chosen tonight."
"I don't see why I have to know this at all. Anna is the one who has to say it at the party."
"So that you can help her, Esther." He was a lean, almost emaciated man, with a thin smile that sometimes seemed not to be a smile at all. "The bat mitzvah is an important day-far more than just a birthday. According to the Zohar, the joy the celebrant receives on this day should be as great as the day of her wedding. You want Anna to experience that joy, don't you?"
Esther didn't answer immediately.
"Esther," her father intoned, his brow creased. "Why are you here? Why were you born?"
"I am my sister's handmaiden."
"That's correct. And when your sister needs help…you must be ready to provide it. Do you understand that?"
She bowed her head. "Yes, Father."
"Everyone we know will be at the party. You want her to do well, don't you?"
"Will I get a present?"
The blow came so swiftly she was reeling before she knew what had hit her. She tumbled onto the floor, the red imprint of his hand still visible on her chubby eight-year-old cheek.
"That's the kind of selfish thinking that God doesn't like, Esther." He turned his back on her, then added, "We'll try this again in an hour. At that time you will know it perfectly. Or…there will be a punishment." He stretched his arm out to his other daughter, the taller, thinner, almost-twelve-year-old brunette. "Come along, Anna. I think you've earned some ice cream." SHE STRUCK A MATCH, lit the candle at her bedside, then stared at the reflection in the window and the way it seemed to illuminate the stars, to light a pathway from herself to whoever was out there, whoever might be listening. She loved fire, loved to watch it flicker and dance, a modern dancer atop a candlewick. She could stare at it for hours.
Tefilah: "Heavenly Father, I'm sorry that I don't pray enough, and I'm sorry that I can't pray to you in Hebrew because I know you like it better that way, but I hope that you'll listen to me anyway. I don't have the Kavanah and I haven't done the Berakhot one hundred times a day. I haven't even done it once and I'm not really sure how but my earthly father keeps talking about it so I know you like that. Even though I haven't done everything I should, could you please help me? I'm scared. I'm scared every day. I don't know what happened to my mother and my father doesn't like me. He almost never chooses me. He likes Anna much more and I think he only had me for her. Maybe it's because I still wet the bed, I don't know. Sometimes he gets so angry he can barely stand up and he shakes all over and I'm afraid he's going to seriously hurt me. I wish I had a mother but I don't so maybe you could bring me a mother. That would be the best thing in the whole world if I could just have a good mother. Everyone should have a good mother, isn't that what you said in the Torah? Even Cain had a good mother." "Daddy! Daddy! Noah is dead!"
Esther raced downstairs as soon as she heard her sister screaming. Her father emerged from his study, wobbly. He knelt beside his oldest daughter and took her by the shoulders. "Calm down, darling. Tell your father what happened."
"Noah is dead. Barry Feldman killed him. He twisted Noah's neck till it broke!"
Esther's father's face seemed to awaken. "Barry? That little boy across the street? What is he, ten?"
"Eleven." Her narrow eyes turned slightly. "He goes to school with Esther."<
br />
"An eleven-year-old boy killed your cat? That's just-" He shook his head. "Are you sure about this, honey? Are you sure you saw him do it?"
"I didn't have to see him do it." She threw her hands back dramatically, flipping back her fake curls. "He told me he did it."
"But why?"
Esther watched as her sister slowly approached. "Because Esther made him."
"Oh, honey, don't be ridiculous."
"She did. Barry told me."
Esther took a step back. "You're being silly, Anna. How could I make him do anything?"
"He said you let him-do stuff to you. Let him touch you. Like-like daddy does."
Her father straightened. He braced himself against the landing. "What did you tell him about us, Anna? I've told you-"
"I didn't tell him anything. He said-"
"Esther, what have you been telling this boy?"
"Nothing, Father," she said quietly, staring at the floor.
"What have you been doing with this boy?"
"Nothing. But-didn't you say there was nothing wrong with it?"
"I-that's when-I mean, when I-Listen to me, Esther. This is a horrible thing, losing a pet. Do you understand that?"
"I've never had a pet."
"That doesn't matter. It's a horrible thing. You came into this world to give life, not to take it away. Did you put this boy up to this?"
She spread her hands and smiled beatifically. "How could I?"
Her father stared at her for a long moment, then returned his attention to Anna. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, dear. We'll get you a new kitty. And I'm going to have a talk with the parents of that Feldman boy." He drew in his breath. "But you shouldn't blame poor Esther. She would never do anything to harm you. She's here to save you."
Her father pulled Anna close and held her tight for a long time. But over his shoulder, one sister peered intently at the other.
She was thirteen years old when her father woke her in the middle of the night. At first, she was elated. Did this mean that tonight she had been chosen? It had been so long since she had felt his warmth, his love. He almost always chose her sister. But tonight, there he was, in the blackness, hovering over her bed. In only a few short moments, though, she realized that he had not come for her. He had come for her kidney.
"It's time, Esther. We knew this day would come. We've talked about it. It's why you were brought into this world. Your sister needs you. Get dressed. Quickly. Anna is already at the hospital."
She fumbled in the darkness, trying to find her clothes, wondering why they couldn't turn on the light, wondering if it would hurt very much. She was scared. But she should not be scared, she told herself. She should feel lucky. After all, Cain slew Abel; all her big sister wanted was her kidney. They would be compatible so it would be all right. She wanted to help Anna because maybe if she helped Anna then her father would like her better. Maybe then her mother would come back from the fairy kingdom and they would be reunited. There was a buzzing in her head and she wished it would go away because it was making her nervous and unhappy and scared. She remembered what her teacher had taught her-when she was feeling scared, she should try counting to herself, counting sheep to relax herself, just running through numbers until she wasn't scared anymore, and she could do that because you never ran out of numbers. But just counting was so boring. She would count in multiples of three, she thought, as she slid out of her pajamas, her father watching, urging her to hurry. 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, she thought, as she slid into her best dress. Or perhaps she would see how high she could count in prime numbers. That would be more challenging. 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19… She had never seen her father like this before. She had seen him mean, violent, bitter, but never like this. Now he was silent, heavy; it was almost as if she didn't exist. When they walked through the front door, just the two of them, he didn't say a word. She wished he would hit her or kick her or something. Instead, he stumbled into the living room and pulled out that bottle, the one that smelled like the wine at the temple that she hated so much, and he collapsed in his recliner and he began to drink. She didn't know what to do. She was hungry and sad and tired and she didn't know what to do.
Esther decided to go upstairs and try to sleep. Or maybe she wouldn't sleep. Maybe she couldn't sleep. Maybe she would just wait for him. Surely now, now that it was just the two of them, she would be the chosen one.
When he arrived, he was staggering, smelly, he talked weird and he wandered about as if he couldn't tell where she was. It wasn't that dark.
"Whererya," he slurred, weaving around the end of the bed. "Where?"
"Are we going to play the kissing game?" Esther asked, her eyes bright and hopeful. "Am I going to be the mother? I'll be a good mother for you, Father. I promise I will."
Apparently her voice helped him locate her face. He swerved, zeroed in, and his hand barreled down on the target. Her head slammed against the headboard.
"Ya kilter," he said. He tore off his shirt, then knotted it like a noose between his hands. "Jus' like your mother. She dint likea screamin'. Yer gonna liket."
Esther panicked. After all the nights she spent wishing that he would come, here he was, at long last-and it was horrifying. It had been different when Anna was alive. Then it was like a competition between them. Now she didn't want him, didn't want to be chosen. He was scaring her. She tried to scramble out of the bed, but he grabbed her by the leg. She fell face-first down onto the covers.
"Jus' lie still," he said, as he crawled up onto the bed. "Ya killt my Anna. Pay fer killin' my Anna."
From where she lay, Esther could just barely reach the drawer of the end table. While he climbed on top of her, she managed to open the drawer, get out her matches, light one. She threw it at his face. He screamed, then reared up. That was all the opening she needed to scramble out from under him. The flame fell onto the bedspread and began to burn. He beat at it, barely able to hit the spot, snuffing it out. That gave her the time she needed to get downstairs and out the door.
She ran across the street till she reached the Feldmans' house and rang the bell. They would be surprised to find her standing on the doorstep in her nightgown at this hour of the night. But they would take her in. They hated her father, had always distrusted him, and she knew it. They would take care of her, at least for a little while. It would be all right.
She would be living with Barry Feldman. And she could get Barry to do anything she wanted. HER FATHER LEFT the next morning. He emptied out the bank account, stopped making the mortgage payments, and disappeared. The authorities had no choice but to believe everything Esther told them, horrible though it was. She stayed with the Feldmans for six months, and that was good. They took care of her, gave her the things she needed, encouraged her interest in mathematics. Mr. Feldman introduced her to the Kabbalah, a Hebrew text her father had never mentioned. He said it was very old and very difficult but that she might like it because it had so much math in it.
He was right. She loved it. She loved the way every letter had a number, so every word had a meaning beyond the one you could find in the dictionary. She found and understood the numerical correspondences in the Sefirot, could calculate the sacred numbers in the Torah and the apocalyptic number from the Revelation of St. John. Some of it was too difficult for her, but even when she didn't understand it entirely, she loved the sound of the words, their meanings. We must realize that this life is a prison. Yes, she could understand that. But what she liked was that this was not the end point of the philosophy, but the start. Life might be a prison, but we all had a chance to open a crack in the cell door. We are all destined to become like God, but the darkness tricks us into believing otherwise, believing that we are trapped and there is nothing we can do to help ourselves. She liked that part a lot.
Eventually Esther was placed in a foster home. She was fourteen. The man of the house was abusive, but she tolerated it, because she thought she had no choice. And then one night, when she was tired and far
too sleepy to resist, he raped her. Even then she kept quiet, did nothing. After the third time, she fled.
She lived on the streets for a long time, until at last she was picked up by the police. When she refused to return to her foster home, they delivered her to the human services department. They didn't believe her, but they eventually agreed to relocate her to a new home. This one was even worse. The mother came into her room the very first night, touching her in ways she knew she should not be touched. She left the next day, even though it was the dead of winter. She lived on the streets-giving blow jobs for small change, drinking cheap wine, eating table scraps, smoking other people's cigarettes. Sleeping in the park, in the snow. One night, she got frostbite. Esther found a free clinic that would treat her, eventually, but she still lost the small toe on her left foot. She had nothing to support her, nothing she could depend upon. Except math. Late at night, she would count, work imaginary equations in her head. No matter how bad things got, no matter how cold or sore or disgusted she was, the numbers were always the same. They were always there for her.
She lived like this for more than a year.
"Young Lady," the judge intoned, sitting high in the oaken security of his bench, "I have reviewed your record and I must say-I am revolted. Have you no sense of decency? Have you no sense of morality? Do you not know that God is watching everything you do?"
Esther peered up at him through cold, slitted eyes. He was just like all the others, the dozens of judges she had been dragged before. He cared nothing for her. Eventually, he would put her in a juvenile facility or send her off to another home where she would be raped or beaten or abused and he would consider it a job well done. This judge might go through twenty, thirty children a day, treating them with the same contempt, the same cruel indifference. In many ways, he was the worst parent of them all.
"If God is watching me, why doesn't He do something to help?"
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