Just Call Me Superhero

by Alina Bronsky

  I kept looking back and forth between the two of them.

  “Take her to bed,” said Claudia blankly.

  I stood up obediently and offered Tamara my arm. I had expected her to protest, but she let me help her up and, sniffling like an old woman, went up the stairs by my side. I accompanied her to the door of the bedroom and stood there indecisively. Tamara put her arm around my neck and kissed my nose. I tried to return the kiss and my lips slipped across her salty cheek, then she let go and disappeared behind the door.

  I stood there for a while and listened to the noises that she made, the rushing water in the shower, the shuffling steps across the room; only after I heard the mattress squeak beneath her did I go back downstairs to Claudia.

  She was sitting in the same position that I’d left her in, and was rolling a cigarette in her fingers. I grabbed a pack of matches from the kitchen and struck one. She took a deep drag on the cigarette, then coughed and put it out in one of the coffee cups. It sizzled. Claudia’s face was reddened and there were tears in her eyes, but maybe it was from coughing.

  I put my hands on her shoulders and was alarmed at how small and fragile she felt. From above I looked at the top of her head, the gray hair that was coming in beneath the honey blonde.

  “Mama,” I said. “Please go to bed.”

  She shook her head and pointed at the chair next to her. I let myself drop onto the chair. She took my hand, her fingers were cold and shaking.

  “Did you at least sleep in the car?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Everyone was very nice,” she said. “The funeral director called the police from the road to let them know we would be there soon and they had everything prepared. I just had to go in for a second and say, yes that’s him. I recognized him immediately. He looked like he was sleeping. He had a scrape on his forehead and was very cold.”

  I squeezed her hand.

  “I’m happy that I saw him,” she said. “I’m happy that he’s here now. I’m happy that he looks good. I feel better as a result.”

  I nodded as if I believed her.

  “You have to tell Tammy,” said Claudia. “She’s the widow, she has a right to know what it was like. But I just can’t talk about it with her.” I squeezed her hand again, which was supposed to signal my consent. “I know that it’s hard for you, but I beg you.”

  I shook my head to make clear that it wasn’t hard for me. I couldn’t get out any words. And I was also incredibly tired, and outside it was getting light again.

  Then Claudia laid her head on her crossed arms and began to sob.

  I was dreaming of Marlon when someone shook me. I opened my eyes and saw Claudia, not the Claudia from yesterday but the one I was used to. She’d gone outside the natural contours of her lips with her lipstick again.

  “Get up, it’s already ten,” she said. I swallowed the remark I wanted to make about having spent the whole night awake. Something told me that Claudia wouldn’t be moved by it.

  “Tammy and Ferdi are awake already, too.”

  “And?”

  “Your father is dead.”

  I didn’t say that he still would be two hours from now. Since I’d felt her shoulders yesterday and seen the gray roots of her hair, I’d had no desire to play the smartass anymore. I was more likely to offer her a comfy chair and a warm blanket for her legs.

  “Where is Dirk, by the way?” I asked.

  “Dirk has to work. He’s coming to the funeral,” she said in an even tone.

  “Great,” I said.

  “I think so, too,” she said.

  When I went downstairs they were all sitting at the breakfast table. Tammy was wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt and had her still-wet hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked somehow recharged. Claudia reported that Tammy had gotten up very early and gone shopping for breakfast, bread and butter, cheese and milk, honey and jam, and most important of all, a copy of the local paper. She listed every detail as if Tammy was a crippled kid who had ridden the bus alone for the first time.

  “Very well done, Tammy,” I said.

  “What the hell is this?” She slammed the open newspaper down in front of me.

  I slowly took a sip of coffee then looked at the paper.

  “That’s the death notice that you asked me to take care of.”

  Claudia stretched out her neck interestedly.

  “What kind of sick picture is this?” hissed Tammy.

  “I made it,” said Ferdi.

  “I can’t blame the child for drawing stick figures, but you are not six years old, Marek, you must have at least an ounce of sense under those slick curls.”

  I feigned confusion and pulled at my hair. I’d never had curls, my hair just got a little wavy when it was long. It had grown back a bit since Johanna had cut it with the kitchen shears.

  “Those candles, crosses, and roses are awful,” I said. “If you had an ounce of taste you would have realized that immediately.”

  “If you had an ounce of sense you wouldn’t have run a stick-figure portrait of your father in his death notice,” screamed Tammy at a volume that assaulted my eardrums and my entire nervous system. I needed to hide in a soundproof underground bunker.

  “And why is it all white against a black background? Is that a screw-up? A printing error? Or maybe you should have taken your sunglasses off for once so you could have seen the difference?”

  “Everybody has black on white,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “I wanted something different. The other way around. It’s a death notice, what’s so bad about a black background?”

  “How am I supposed to leave the house and look people in the eye after a death notice like this? How is Ferdi supposed to go to kindergarten when all the parents of his friends have seen this? And with my name at the bottom?”

  “I couldn’t exactly leave you off—you happen to be the widow. All of our names are there.”

  “You’ll be gone in a few days and will never come back. I have to survive in this hole, you’ve ruined my reputation!” The first few words Tammy had said calmly but by the end she was screaming again.

  “If you’re so worried about your reputation maybe for once you should wear a top that covers your tits,” I shouted back. Claudia had been sitting there motionless, listening, but now she winced and I realized I’d gone too far.

  “Forgive me, Tammy, that really has nothing to do with this,” I said quickly. “Your clothes and your figure are really incredibly nice, and you really did a great job shopping for breakfast.”

  “Just shut up, Marek,” said Claudia.

  She reached out and plucked the paper off the table. She spread it out in front of her and studied it for several minutes.

  “I got the details of the funeral from Tammy, in case there’s a mistake,” I said hurriedly.

  “There’s no mistake with that part, you coward,” said Tammy disdainfully.

  “I think it’s okay,” said Claudia finally. “It is indeed . . . somewhat unconventional. But I can imagine that he would have liked it. And most of all because of your beautiful picture, Ferdi.”

  Ferdi smiled at her shyly over the rim of his bowl of cream of wheat.

  The next thing Tammy said at the breakfast table was that she too wanted to see my father.

  “Really?” I asked with my mouth full. “Why?”

  “To say goodbye, you idiot.”

  “That’s normal in her culture. Saying goodbye at an open coffin,” said Claudia to me quietly, though of course Tammy heard her as well.

  “How else would you do it?” she asked. “Ferdi needs to see him, too.”

  I thought I had misheard her. Claudia looked just as confused. Ferdi was sweetening his cream of wheat with several spoonfuls of Nutella and mixing it all up thoroughly. Then he scoo
ped the brown goop into his mouth, the edges of which still seemed to be smeared from yesterday.

  “Are you sure?” asked Claudia weakly.

  “He’ll never see him again.” Tammy turned to her son. “Ferdi, hochesh uvidet papu?”

  Ferdi nodded without looking up.

  “What was that?” I asked skeptically.

  “We just settled it,” said Tammy. Ever since we’d slept together I seemed to be nothing but irritating to her. Maybe I had acted particularly idiotic.

  “Don’t you think it might be traumatic for a child?”

  “What?” asked Tammy.

  “I can’t fight anymore,” sighed Claudia. “Otherwise I’m not going to get through all of this.”

  I looked at her. Then we agreed very quickly that I should accompany Tammy and Ferdi to the funeral home. That is, Claudia asked me pleadingly whether I would do it and I said yes. She mumbled that somebody had to be there for the child, and Tammy could hardly be asked to handle it given the situation. I looked at Claudia and knew that I couldn’t ask her to handle it for me. Those days were over.

  “You don’t have to come if you’re afraid,” said Tammy scornfully as she stood in front of the mirror in the hall and put on her eyeliner.

  I didn’t feel like fighting with her anymore, I even held back from saying that he could no longer see her makeup. I just said, “He’s my father too,” and wondered silently why Ferdi’s pants pockets were bulging out. Ferdi stood there concentrating, his eyes not looking at anything in particular, and waited while Tammy undid her ponytail and then put it back up exactly the same way.

  On the street she linked arms with me and took Ferdi’s hand with her other arm. I still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that you could go everywhere on foot here, buy bananas, go to the newspaper office, the funeral home, everything was just around the corner. I looked at Tammy’s profile. We had to keep stopping so Tammy could accept condolences from other residents as we passed. Some chased her down the street in order to hug her and say a few words about my father. Tammy looked fragile but dignified. Ferdi switched to holding my hand so Tammy had hers free to shake other people’s hands. After she’d thanked each person she introduced me extremely solemnly, and then I shook hands and mumbled thanks and then considerately turned away as their gazes dropped so fast you’d think they had dropped a fifty euro note on the sidewalk and they yanked their hand out of mine.

  I certainly didn’t object to the fact that we were stopped so frequently. I was definitely in no hurry. But at some point we arrived anyway. I immediately remembered the place, which was housed in an old timbered house. I often stopped in front of it as a child and looked at the changing seasonal window displays. The prettiest display was always before Christmas, when the urns would be sitting on cotton balls and have fake snow on them, blue crystal stars glittered on the pine branches, and everything looked so festive that at five years old I had asked Claudia if we couldn’t set up a similarly beautiful display in my room.

  But now it was October, and the window display was some kind of harvest theme, with chestnuts, apples, corncobs, and fluttering red and yellow maple leaves hanging from nearly invisible strings. I wondered how they would decorate for Halloween.

  Tammy’s hand trembled in the crook of my arm and I let go of Ferdi for a second and covered her fingers with my other hand. Her thick gold wedding ring had been warmed by the sun. She stood still, so did I. Minutes passed.

  She pulled her hand away and entered the door ahead of us.

  Behind the timbered façade was a square paved yard where several cars were parked, including a hearse. Two child-sized angels stood watch over the entrance to a low-rise building behind. The funeral director was waiting there.

  “Everything is ready,” he said and held Tammy’s hand for quite a long time.

  She nodded and looked at the door that he stepped aside to allow her to approach. I stared at her. Then I squeezed Ferdi’s hand so hard that he said, “Ouch!”

  “Will you all go in together?” asked the funeral director.

  No, I wanted to scream. I don’t want to go in at all, and as far as I’m concerned I don’t think Ferdi should either. I don’t want to be even partially responsible for another source of lifelong pain for the boy. I didn’t put any stock in East European social conventions about kissing corpses. Please get me out of here.

  But Tammy looked up at me with her eyes wide open.

  “I’ll go first,” I said.

  “Together,” she sighed.

  The funeral director held the door for us. Ferdi squealed again from the squeeze of my hand. The scent of melted wax hit us. I realized that I’d been holding my breath.

  Now we were inside. The funeral director closed the door. I turned around for a second, he was waiting at the exit with his hands folded and his eyes down.

  I looked forward again and would like to have screamed.

  Against the far wall was an open coffin. A man was sleeping there. Obviously I knew this man was my father and that he wasn’t sleeping. I tried to move toward him but my legs wouldn’t respond.

  There was a click behind me and the sound of an organ filled the room. My father was lying in a coffin, he was dead, deader than dead, he would never be able to get up again. And yet he was just as I remembered him. Like a perfect replica, a wax figure. In all the years I hadn’t succeeded in forgetting him.

  But I had forgotten Ferdi. He was no longer holding my hand. I turned around. He was standing next to the funeral director, watching me. Tammy was collapsed in the corner.

  “Come, Ferdi,” I said. “We’ll go back out.”

  He was at my side in a flash. I took his fingers, which were warm and sweaty and slipped trustingly into my hand. Together with him I could keep my feet under me. He pulled me forward adamantly, and I couldn’t do anything but follow him. He stood on his tiptoes and looked into the coffin. Then he let go of my hand to touch the lace blanket with which our father was covered to his waist. The blanket shifted.

  “Ferdi,” I whispered, shocked.

  “What is that?” He pointed with his little pointer finger at the scrape that our father had on his forehead. His finger hung in the air above the face, then it sunk and touched the skin for a moment.

  “Cold,” said Ferdi.

  “He hurt himself, but he can’t feel it anymore,” I mumbled. The longer I stood there, the more at ease I became. I no longer wanted to scream and run away. I looked down at the body of my father. He had on a suit, a white shirt, a white tie, that’s the way he always went to court and he put his robe on over that outfit. The tie was crooked. Without realizing what I was doing I reached out my hand and straightened it.

  Ferdi walked around the coffin. His fingers ran across our father’s face again. Then without warning he stuck his finger into our father’s ear.

  “Careful,” I whispered, but he ignored me. He walked a few more times around the coffin. His hands ran along the edge.

  “It’s just a box, Ferdi.” I had the stupid feeling I needed to say something. Not for him, more for me to know that I could still speak. My voice, dulled by the organ music, sounded strange to me. He nodded; he could see it all himself. Then he stuck his hands in his pants pockets and pulled out several matchbox cars and a couple of already squishy chocolate bars. He parked the cars along his father’s tie; one fell, Ferdi rummaged around in the coffin to find it and pulled it out again.

  “Ferdi, perestan!” Tammy had gotten herself together and was now standing next to us. I took a step to the side to let her in at the head of the coffin. She was trembling so badly that the floor beneath us seemed to shake. Everything trembled with her. I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to stop her from shaking so much. She reached out a hand and touched the stubble on the dead face. She drew her hand right back, surprised by the coldness. Then she shook off my arm and thr
ew herself onto my father’s chest.

  She sobbed so loudly that I was afraid something might break inside her. I turned for a second toward the funeral director. He had left the room. I didn’t hear the awful music anymore, either. My young stepmother kissed the face of my dead father, and two feelings welled up in me that I did not know well. One was awe, and it filled me so thoroughly that I thought I might burst. The other was envy.

  Tammy grew quiet and lay there with her head on the pillow, her cheek against his. Then she got up, wiped the tears from her face, and began to straighten up the blanket.

  “Does he have shoes on?” Ferdi showed the persistence of a young scientist in trying to figure out a way to get a peek under the foot-end of the blanket.

  “Perestan,” said Tamara. Suddenly it occurred to me that my father might be covered that way because the funeral director hadn’t clothed him below the waist, and I pulled Ferdi away from his feet.

  “Why does he have his hands like that?” Ferdi fidgeted with his folded hands.

  “He can sleep better that way.” Tammy’s voice wafted tenderly through the room.

  “I don’t think so.” Ferdi tried to unfold the hands. And instead of barking at him Tammy suddenly started to help him.

  “Come on, help us,” she said over her shoulder to me.

  “No,” I said with the same resolve in my voice that I felt inside myself. I was afraid they would break something. I had no idea why I ended up helping them after all. It was futile, though: the hands were permanently wedged together, hard and cold, and suddenly I shouted. It felt like a finger had moved.

  “What are you screaming for?” Tammy began to pull on the forearm, concentrating. Ferdi helped from the other side.

  “I think he moved.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. It echoed through the room.

  “Ferdi, I don’t think we’re going to manage it,” she said. “We’ll leave him this way. It’s fine this way.”

  Ferdi hung his arms dejectedly.