The Secret of Clouds

by Alyson Richman

  But the trip would not have the happy ending I imagined. In my version, the one that I had written in my mind, Daniel and I returned home, where he carried me over the threshold of the cottage and threw me on the couch, making mad and feverish love to me, our relationship sealed by the fact that we had just enjoyed ten days of harmonious bliss. But instead, when we arrived, there was a message on my answering machine from Katya. Her voice sounded shaky and worn out, as if she had just been crying for hours.

  “Yuri’s had a bad week. We’re in the hospital now. He’s asking to see you, Ms. Topper. Something about the Yankees and the Mets.” She left her phone number at the hospital and urged me to call as soon as I could.

  * * *

  • • •

  I arrived at Stony Brook Hospital the next day and was told by a woman at the main desk, who peered up from her computer screen, that Yuri was in the ICU. She pointed toward the long white corridor behind her and instructed me to take the elevator to the fourth floor.

  Past the rows of open doors with only partial views of hospital beds, I discovered Sasha waiting in the corridor outside Yuri’s room. He was nearly unrecognizable. Bleary-eyed and unshaven, his face was shadowed by grief and fatigue.

  “Last week, he started complaining of a racing heart and had difficulty catching his breath. We took him to see Dr. Rosenblum, who had his concerns and told us to keep careful watch if things got any worse. Then all these stomach problems started appearing.” Sasha took a deep breath. “He had stomach cramps, which he never complained of before, diarrhea . . . The doctor told us today that there’s massive dilation on the right side of his heart.” Sasha looked as though he was going to be sick.

  “Katya’s a mess. She’s in there now with Yuri.” His head moved in the direction of the door to Yuri’s room. “He’s been watching baseball all day, all night. The only thing that seems to distract him is that he thinks the Mets and Yankees might just make it a Subway Series.”

  I forced myself to smile. I had been thinking the same thing on our trip back from Savannah. Both of the New York teams appeared to have an excellent chance of making the playoffs.

  “Isn’t there something they can do?” I was desperate to hear how Yuri’s doctors were planning to help him.

  “Tricuspid valve repair—the surgery Yuri needs—brings with it a tremendous amount of risk,” Sasha said, fighting back tears. “I’ve always been a man who was confident in science. But now I don’t know where to put my faith.”

  Any words I had evaporated on my tongue. I had always prided myself in having an answer to almost every situation. But I found myself mute. All I could offer was a hand on his arm, a pathetic attempt to give some comfort.

  “Go in and see him,” Sasha said softly. “He’s been asking for you since he got here. My wife can’t talk to him about sports, and I’ve been focused on what the doctors are saying. Not on how well the Yankees or Mets are doing.”

  “Yes, of course.” I walked over to the door to peer inside his room. Yuri wasn’t visible from the door’s small glass window. All I could make out was Katya bent over his hospital bed, her hair piled into a messy bun, one arm resting on Yuri’s blanket.

  When I entered Yuri’s hospital room, I was instantly overcome with emotion. The happy and vibrant student from the Franklin moving-up ceremony months before had transformed into a very sick-looking boy, and my painful childhood memories of Ellie came flooding back to me. His face was gaunt and had a faint yellowish hue. An IV was taped onto his forearm, the long cord draped over his bed. The rest of his body was enveloped in a mound of white sheeting and covers.

  “Ms. Topper!” Yuri’s voice emerged from the din of hospital machinery. The sound was scratchy and urgent.

  As shocked as I was to see Yuri looking so weak, I steeled my nerves, refusing to let him see how concerned I was.

  “I’ve missed you, champ,” I said as I came closer to him. My eyes caught a glimmer of something I wasn’t expecting within the cocoon of Yuri’s sheets and blanket. Peeking out from Yuri’s bedding, I saw the glint of a golden-figured baseball player.

  “What you got there, Yuri?”

  He gently adjusted the sea of wires and cables that emerged from his hospital gown and pulled back the side of his covers to reveal a gleaming gilt trophy with a blue marble base.

  “Finn’s team won the Little League championship that night after graduation. He gave me his trophy.”

  Katya turned to me; her eyes flashed.

  “He’s slept with it every night since he got it.” Her voice broke off. “Finn told him it would bring him good luck.”

  62

  THERE are certain places one always associates with children. Playgrounds and classrooms, or suburban cul-de-sacs filled with bicycles and street hockey nets. Stretches of shell-strewn beaches with plastic pails and shovels abandoned for chilly waves, and hot baking asphalt parking lots where chubby little hands grasp folded dollar bills hopeful for a Popsicle from the ice cream truck.

  But there are other places that our minds never connect with children. Because they are simply incongruous with youth. There isn’t a single soul who wants to associate the sterile white of a hospital with children. A childhood should instead be saturated with color: as golden as the sun and as vibrant as a rainbow. I wanted to weep when I saw Yuri’s face drained of its typical pink color, his blue eyes so sunken. For as much as Yuri struggled to appear happy and excited to see me, I couldn’t escape where he now was. The sight of him in a hospital bed with long cables draped over his torso, the electronic drone of beeping monitors in the background, was far crueler than I could have imagined.

  Katya looked at least ten years older than the last time I had seen her. Her large eyes were rimmed in dark shadows, and wisps of hair had come out of her bun. She was dressed in a simple linen sundress, and her body appeared shrunken. Yuri’s hospitalization had clearly consumed her.

  Yuri, however, tried to be in good spirits despite his weakened state, and the contrast in his and Katya’s expressions made me wonder if he even knew how grave his condition was.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Ms. Topper,” he piped up. “My mom is getting sick of watching so much baseball with me.”

  Katya let out a weak laugh. “Yes, it’s true. I don’t understand this sport at all.”

  On the television, in the far corner of the wall, a midafternoon game was on the screen, though the sound was muted.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been reduced to watching a Royals game?”

  Yuri shrugged listlessly. “I know, but it helps pass the time.” His voice sounded different to me, as if there was a gurgle caught in his chest. From underneath his white hospital blanket, I saw his chest rise and fall, his face twitching slightly.

  “Well, how about we forget about the Royals and talk about my amazing team . . . They’re enjoying quite a streak, aren’t they?”

  “Are you kidding, Ms. Topper?” He started to laugh. “We still have Mariano Rivera and Andy Pettitte. They’re unbeatable. Keep dreaming.”

  I playfully waved my finger at him. “Never underestimate the underdog. I’ve always told you that.”

  “It looks like I’m the underdog again,” he said, lifting his arm with the IV. “So maybe I should switch teams.” He was having fun with me. “Nah, I could never do that!”

  I enjoyed engaging with Yuri about a sport he took so much pleasure in. “I brought you a little something.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a paperback copy of The Glory of Their Times: The Story of the Early Days of Baseball Told by the Men Who Played It.

  “I think you’re going to love it. It’s written from the perspective of twenty-five major leaguers.”

  “Cool. Maybe we can discuss it with Finn here at the hospital?” Yuri tried to force a note of optimism in his voice. “You don’t want my mind to go to mush, do you?”

 
“I don’t think that could ever happen, Yuri. You’ve got such an impressive brain in there.”

  An enormous grin appeared on his face, and I felt my heart twinge.

  “I’m serious, Yuri. There are a lot of things you could teach me, you’re so smart.”

  “It just stinks that my heart hasn’t caught up to my brain,” he said as he tried to stifle a cough. “I hate that I always feel so tired.”

  I found his hand and squeezed it. Even though he was twelve, his hand still felt small in my own. “Are you tired now? Should I leave?”

  “No, please don’t. I like having you here. “

  “I like being here, too, champ.” I worried he could hear my voice cracking.

  “I’m just going to close my eyes for two seconds.”

  Yuri shut his eyes, his fingers still clasped in mine, softening in sleep. Katya had left to get me a cup of coffee. When she returned, she told me I could leave.

  “I’ll stay,” she said softly. “I know he was so happy you came to see him today.”

  “No, I want to stay,” I insisted.

  I wanted him to know that I hadn’t left him. When he woke up, I wanted him to see I was still there waiting, ready and able if he wanted to talk baseball.

  63

  YURI’S operation was planned for the following Monday. Hoping to distract Yuri and his family from the dread of his tricuspid valve surgery, Daniel offered to come and play a little violin for him.

  Yuri was certainly no classical music aficionado, but the chance to hear the school music teacher play live in his hospital room was enticing enough for Yuri to agree to Daniel’s offer. Knowing that he was going to play on a violin that my father had actually made was an added bonus.

  The two of them had met only in passing, at the moving-up ceremony, and Yuri had no idea that we were dating. Truthfully, I hoped no one at the school did, other than Suzie. Daniel and I had agreed to keep our relationship under wraps for as long as we could. School gossip was the scourge of any budding teacher romance, and we wanted to avoid it at all costs, impossible as that seemed. There wasn’t a teacher alive who didn’t enjoy speculating about a school love affair.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE morning Daniel and I were to go to the hospital, he arrived at my front door and tenderly handed me a brown paper bag with two jelly donuts and a carrier holding two cups of coffee. The rosebushes were in full bloom in my garden, and under the canopy of trees, we drank our coffee, our backs against the tall throne of Adirondack chairs, and licked our fingers clean after eating our donuts.

  “I love it here,” he said. “You’re so lucky to have all these birds.”

  Daniel always heard music everywhere he went.

  “I know I am.” I smiled. “I feel like I’m in my own time capsule whenever I come home.” The cottage had no air-conditioning, but I had gotten used to sleeping with the windows open and waking to the sound of sparrows.

  Daniel finished his last sip of coffee and placed his cup on the grass. “I know this must sound a little crazy, but I’m nervous about seeing Yuri today.”

  “Why on earth would you be nervous?” I made a face. “He’s the one having surgery tomorrow.”

  Daniel lowered his voice. “I know, Maggie. And I know how much he means to you.”

  “That’s why I was so happy you asked if you could come with me today.” I watched his face soften, and I wanted to caress his cheek.

  “It’s just that I was up all night, wondering what I should play for him.”

  I put my empty coffee cup on the arm of the wooden chair and went over and sat on his lap. I took my fingers and ran them through his thick curly hair. His forehead gleamed a soft honey color, his skin tan from spending so much time outdoors over the past few months.

  “Why don’t you wait till you get there to choose? Maybe you’ll be inspired,” I whispered as I leaned over and kissed him.

  * * *

  • • •

  THAT afternoon we spent several hours in the waiting room before we were finally able to see Yuri. Katya and Sasha took turns coming out to see us, apologizing that we couldn’t yet go in.

  “So many tests before tomorrow,” she said, wringing her hands.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have come. It’s all so hectic for you now.”

  “No, no,” she insisted. “Finn’s mother brought him by yesterday and it did wonders for Yuri’s spirit. He’ll be just as happy to see you.” She squeezed my arm. “It will help distract him, you know that.”

  Katya looked over at Daniel. His black violin case was resting against his shins. “And your idea to play him some music . . . it’s the perfect thing to do.”

  Daniel smiled. “I hope next year he can take orchestra with me. We’ll make sure he gets a great violin.”

  “My dad would probably leap at the chance to make him one,” I said enthusiastically.

  “Oh, he’d like that,” Katya said. “Or at least I would . . .” Her voice faded off. “I always loved classical music. The Americans, they don’t listen to it enough. It’s a balm for the soul.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AT four p.m., Daniel and I finally were allowed to see Yuri. Finn’s trophy was no longer tucked inside his bedsheets, but instead now rested on the faux wood side table along with an orange pitcher of water and plastic cups. A dog-eared copy of The Glory of Their Times, the book I had given him, was there, too. I was happy to see that Yuri had found some time to read it.

  Yuri looked dramatically worse. The light blue circles that had rimmed his eyes during the school year were now so black, he looked like a raccoon. And his face looked puffy and swollen.

  “Hey, Ms. Topper.” His voice was barely audible. “Thanks for coming. Hope it’s not too much of a drag to keep visiting the hospital.”

  I went over and sat by his bed. White surgical tape was stretched between his fingers, and a long plastic tube snaked between us as I held his hand.

  “Are you kidding, champ? I’d drive a thousand miles to see you. And guess what? Today I’ve even brought along my own maestro. He’s going to play you some tunes.”

  Yuri peered up at Daniel and tried to force a smile.

  “Hey, buddy, is there anything in particular you’d like to hear?” Daniel lifted the black violin case in Yuri’s direction.

  Yuri thought for a moment. “Can you play something my mom might like? Maybe something from a ballet . . . preferably Russian, of course.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Daniel said as he unhinged the case on one of the hospital chairs. “Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet might do the trick.” He pulled out my father’s violin, the amber hue sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Daniel tucked it underneath his chin and raised his bow. “It’s called the ‘Love Theme.’” He winked at me.

  The horsehair slid over the strings, and the sound of the first notes filled the air. Daniel’s eyes shut as the music lifted through the room.

  I looked over to Yuri, who had also closed his eyes, his face softening as he listened to the music. For a brief moment, Katya, too, seemed transported to someplace other than the hospital room.

  Love filled my heart at that moment, as pure as the music that emerged from Daniel’s violin.

  64

  YURI made it through the four-hour surgery and spent the next week recuperating in the hospital before finally being allowed to go home. During those last few days in August, I would often visit the Krasnys. Sometimes Daniel would accompany me and other times I would go myself, but Yuri and I always had our own stadium seats right next to the TV. He would have to recline on his back for several weeks more so the wound in his chest could properly heal. Sasha and Katya had placed a bed in the living room, meaning his comfy chair was now relegated to the far corner of the room. Finn must have let the other kids know abo
ut Yuri’s surgery, because several cards from them were propped up on the side table next to his bed, along with a collection of orange plastic medicine containers and boxes of surgical gauze and tape.

  Katya moved silently through the house as the Yankees game roared from the television. Sasha now also never missed any of the night games, but for the afternoon ones, it was just Yuri and me. As weakened as he was by the operation, baseball seemed to at least partially restore him.

  “The Mets are playing like they’re a shoo-in for the World Series.”

  “Not so fast, Ms. Topper,” Yuri said between taking sips of lemonade through a bendy straw. “There’s still over six weeks left until then.”

  “I’m in a betting mood,” I teased.

  By September, as school started up again, my adrenaline was high and I was excited for a new year of teaching. On top of that, the Mets were challenging for first place in their division, and the Yankees had a strong lead in the American League East. Many of the sixth-grade boys in my English language arts class that year had decorated their writer’s notebooks with the insignia of whichever team they were rooting for. But many other students had no idea what was going on in the world of baseball. Just like last year, some of the girls maintained a slightly cringe-worthy obsession with Britney Spears and continued to challenge the boundaries of appropriate school dress by wearing skirts that barely covered their bottoms, paired with knee-high socks and loafers. Some of the students in math club couldn’t believe there hadn’t been any fallout from Y2K and began talking about all the bad things that could still happen with their computers by the end of the year, claiming it didn’t have to happen only on New Year’s Eve.