Lullaby for the Rain Girl

by Christopher Conlon

  “No, I can’t. Tell me what he said.”

  She scowled. “He said, ‘I want to fuck you in your little ass.’ That’s the direct quote. That’s what Mindy told me. Nobody else was home, which was my mistake. I should have known better.”

  “Sis, I’m sorry. Sorry it happened. What did Mindy do?”

  “She locked herself in the bathroom until we came home. Luckily that was only a few minutes.”

  “Shit. God damn it.”

  “We’d already looked into places for him. We took him to one before, just to look around, but he got—angry. But the doctors were on top of it. He’d had his check-up just a few weeks ago. I talked to the doctor then, and he said we should consider putting him—somewhere else. Someplace besides our home. So we were—ready. As ready as you can be for this kind of thing, I guess.”

  She took the turn onto Route 50 and we drove in silence for a few minutes. My brain was filled with images of Dad, Dad as he was then, as he was now: and my unfortunate niece, Mindy, having to hear that bile vomiting up from his increasingly unhinged mind.

  But Dad and Alice and Mindy fought for space in my brain with Rae. I’d left her alone, hadn’t told her ahead of time, hadn’t asked. I didn’t have time. She was still sleeping in my bed when I got up, showered, dressed: she looked pale, thin, weak. I knew if I woke her there would be another scene, so I didn’t. I feared she might panic before she happened to find any note I might leave on the kitchen table or taped to the door, so instead I gently pinned a message to her shirtsleeve. She would just have to get by on her own for a few hours. There was no alternative. I couldn’t possibly have brought her along—Hi, Sis, this is a daughter of mine you’ve never heard of. Rae, meet your Aunt Alice! No. I would have to introduce them eventually, I knew that, but this wasn’t the time or place. And Rae just wasn’t ready to deal with other people yet—people who took up any significant portion of my emotional life. That was it, I realized. She could wander around the school, talk to the janitor or the person behind the counter at Dugan’s, my doctor and nurses, because none of them had any significant hold on my emotions. They weren’t competition. Sherry was. Alice was. Dad would be. At least as my daughter saw things.

  Alice pulled into the parking lot of a very modern-efficient sort of building, all tan paint and pleasant green lawn. We went through the automatic doors and I stood slightly behind my sister as she checked in at the front desk. The woman there, in a crisp nurse’s uniform, smiled pleasantly at the both of us. She handed us temporary I.D. tags and said, “You can go right up.”

  “He’s on the fourth floor,” Alice said, pinning her tag to her sweater. I pinned my own onto my shirt as we stepped into an elevator and Alice pushed the button. We rode in silence. I found myself wanting to apologize to her, to say, I’m sorry I haven’t done more, but if I said that I knew I would have to get into my heart attack, my daughter...My life had undergone such enormous changes in the past couple of weeks that I didn’t even know how to begin telling her. And this wasn’t the time or place. At some point I’d sit her down when she was calmer, try to catch her up on what had been happening to me. For now, I could feel her impatience, her disapproval of her vanishing brother. Why not? In her place I’d be angry, too. The burden had descended entirely on her. But Sis, I just had a heart attack...

  No. Another time.

  The elevator doors slid silently open. We walked into a sunny sitting room populated entirely by very old people sitting or mulling slowly about. One was being pushed by somebody in street clothes—a relative, no doubt. There was a nurse’s station to the far right, with several competent-looking men and women in white uniforms. A TV was on in the other corner: The Price is Right, exactly what I’d found myself watching in the hospital the week before. (Good Lord. It felt like months. Years.) A couple of the elderly residents actually seemed to be watching the program, but most of the others were just staring glassily at the screen.

  “I don’t see him out here,” Alice said. “Do you?”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  “He must be in his room. C’mon.”

  We walked up the corridor until we reached 407. The door was open. Alice peered in.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  I heard no response.

  “Dad, I brought somebody with me today. To visit you. Ben’s here.” She took my hand, pulled me into the little room. It was very clean and well-maintained, but there was virtually nothing in it. A bed with safety rails on the side. A little desk with a straight-backed chair. The room was dark; only the fluorescent light from the hall provided some indirect illumination.

  “Want me to turn the light on, Dad?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. She left it dark.

  I looked. He was sitting at the back of the little room in a chair that looked identical to the one at the desk. He didn’t appear to be doing anything. He just sat there. His clothes looked familiar—blue work shirt, jeans, tennis shoes.

  “I brought you some things, Dad,” Alice said, obviously determined to be happy, or at least sound like it. She reached into her bag and brought out several small framed photos. “Look,” she said, stepping close to him, “some pictures. See? There’s me, and the kids, and...”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at them. Finally she stopped, turned and arranged the photos on the desk.

  “I’ll put them here,” she said cheerily, “so you can see them whenever you want to.”

  “How are you doing, Dad?” I ventured.

  He didn’t respond. I moved close to him. His skin sagged on him, as if there were more skin than his old and frail body could fill. There seemed to be little left of him at all.

  “Dad’s doing fine,” Alice said from behind me. “He’s doing great.”

  “That true, Dad? Do you—do you like it here?” I realized I was practically shouting, though as far as I knew Dad didn’t have any hearing problems. I toned myself down. “How are things, Dad?”

  His face was fierce, scowling, his eyes angry, his wild white eyebrows every which way. His lips were tightly together.

  “Dad’s been here for a couple of days now,” Alice said brightly. “I think he’s really settling in.”

  “Sure hope so,” I said. “Hey, it looks like a nice place. Your every need catered to. Not so bad, huh? A pretty good deal.”

  “Sure it is,” Alice said. She met my eyes. “Ben, do you want me to leave you alone with Dad for a while?” I’ve known Alice all my life; I can read her eyes. They were saying, Please?

  “Sure, Sis. Sure. I’ll talk to Dad for a while.”

  “I can wait out here. Unless you want to come out, Dad? Do you want to come out and watch some TV?”

  No response. Finally I mouthed Go ahead to her and nodded toward the door. She stepped out.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said. “What’s happening?”

  Silence. I listened to a nurse’s soft footfalls in the corridor, the hum of the air conditioning, the distant sound of the game show on TV in the other room.

  “They treating you well here, Dad?”

  Silence.

  “I’ve—I’ve had a busy week or two since I’ve seen you. Been—been doing lots of things.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was there or not. His eyes certainly didn’t have the uncomprehending look of some of the elderly people’s in the TV room, but at the same time he seemed little different from a mummy. I didn’t know if he was hearing me at all. Obviously he’d gotten out of bed that morning, dressed himself—possibly with some help. He wasn’t bedridden. He’d been talking up to two days ago, if only about my niece and the things he wanted to do to her. Had he fallen into a permanent silence? Or was he simply being angry and stubborn?

  “I—yeah, it’s been a busy few days, Dad. I—I finished with school. On Winter Break now. Tough semester. I’m glad to have the time off. It’s surprising, how tiring teaching can be. It’s—you’d think, well, all you have to do is go into a classroom and talk to some kids, maybe gra
de some quizzes, what’s so hard about that?” That was, in fact, exactly what Dad had always said about my job, and about the entire teaching profession. “But it’s—it’s a lot harder than that, it’s...” I searched his face for any reaction. There was none. “It’s...it’s harder because...because...You know, Dad, I had a...a heart attack last week. Did you know that? No, you couldn’t have. Yeah, I spent five days at GW Hospital. A nice doctor there, Dr. Nguyen. I think she’s Vietnamese. I mean, her parents were. Anyway, it...they said it was a mild one, but boy, let me tell you, there’s no such thing as a mild heart attack. It...” I stopped, startled that I was telling him this. But I could think of nothing else to say to this quasi-comatose old man. “It—they have me on an exercise regimen now. I run in place in the mornings. And then I do a lot of walking. Medications, too. Did you know they give people nitroglycerine for heart attacks? I swear, I think I’m going to explode every time I take one of those...” My voice faltered. There was still no response from him. “Dad, maybe if we—it’s always been hard to talk, I...maybe we should talk, you know, just—talk, talk about...things...”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What?”

  “Bullshit. Goddamn bullshit.”

  He wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t know if he was aware of me. But he was speaking.

  “What’s bullshit, Dad?”

  “Bullshit. Goddamn bullshit.” He was speaking quietly but very, very intensely.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Sons a’ bitches. Fuck. Bullshit.”

  “Can I help you with something, Dad?”

  “Shit.”

  I watched him.

  “Goddamn fuckers. Goddamn motherfuckers.”

  “Dad...can you hear me?”

  “Goddamn fuckers.”

  “Dad? It’s Ben. I’m here, Dad. Can you hear me?”

  “Fuck. Fuckin’ bullshit.”

  “Dad? Look at me.”

  And, suddenly, he did. He came back from whatever faraway place he’d been in and looked straight at me.

  “Dad. It’s Ben. How are you doing?”

  He studied me silently for a long time, his eyes narrowed.

  “Shithead,” he said finally, very quietly.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s right. It’s—it’s Shithead.”

  “Fucking shit-for-brains. Fuckin’ shithead.”

  “That’s...right.”

  “Fuckin’ shit-for-brains fuckhead. Good for nothin’. Probably a homo. Probably a fuckin’ homo.”

  “No, I’m not a homo, Dad.”

  “Probably a fuckin’ fag.”

  “No, Dad.”

  “Calls himself a son of mine. Good-for-nothin’ piece a’ shit.”

  “Dad...I...”

  “Think I don’t know?” he said, not looking at me. I couldn’t tell if he was really addressing me. “Think I don’t know? I know. I know.”

  “I’m—sure you do, Dad.”

  “Dad. Eat shit.”

  “Dad, I...I think I’ll go now, okay?” I stood. “It was nice to see you.” My throat was tight, my eyes hot.

  He looked up suddenly. “Bullshit,” he said. Then he shouted it. “Bullshit!”

  “Dad—I’ll see you—” I moved to step away, but he sprang up unbelievably quickly and grabbed my arm.

  “Bullshit fuck. Put me in this fuckin’ place. Hopin’ I’ll die. You’re hopin’ I’ll fuckin’ die.”

  “I’m not hoping that...”

  “Bullshit!” He pulled violently at my arm, pushed his face into mine. “Put the old man away! Tell the old man to fuck off! Tell him to die! Fuck! I know you! Shithead! Fuckin’ Shithead!”

  I was hardly aware that two nurses had rushed in to restrain him. I stepped away slowly, the world tilting strangely under me. I stumbled backwards, fell against Alice.

  “What happened, Ben? Oh my God...”

  “Fuckin’ bullshit! Fuckin’ bullshit liars want me dead! Gonna murder me in my fuckin’ bed! Gonna get a buncha buck niggers to murder me in my fuckin’ bed! Fuck ’em! Fuck all of ’em!”

  One of the nurses looked back with a surprisingly calm and pleasant expression on her face. “Could you step out, please? Don’t worry. We’ll take care of your father.”

  I stood frozen to the spot, watching them overpower this deranged husk, this screaming idiot, my father. Alice tugged at me. “Come on, Ben. Come on.”

  We stepped out and closed the door. I could still hear his ravings. I rushed from the door, from the TV room, ran gasping to the elevator and stood there pressing the button again and again and again. Alice stood there with her arms folded beneath her breasts, tears trickling down her cheeks. But I hardly noticed her. I felt that if I didn’t get downstairs, outside into the open air, I would suffocate, my heart would seize up and I’d die right here, right here by the elevators in the old folks’ home. My demented, delirious father would outlive me, outlive everyone, forever. He would never, ever die. Not him. Not my dad.

  # # #

  In the parking lot I stood next to Alice’s car, shivering and desperately wanting a cigarette.

  “My God, Ben,” she said. “What did you say to him?”

  “Me? I didn’t say anything. I just asked him how he was. I told him how my job was going. He just started in. He doesn’t even know where he is anymore, but he remembers that I’m a shithead.”

  “Ben...He doesn’t mean it...He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  “Alice, he does. Come on. You know that. He’s called me that since I was a kid. He believes it. Don’t say he doesn’t. Don’t defend him.”

  Her eyes dropped. “Okay.”

  I’d been ready to argue with her, but her sad acquiescence deflated me. “He’ll forget his own name before he forgets that I’m Shithead,” I said quietly.

  She touched my face gently with her palm. “You’re not a shithead to me, Ben.”

  “I know that.”

  We stood there in the cold parking lot, each in our own misery.

  “Do you want to go back to the house?” she asked finally. “I’m sure the kids would like to see you. We can rustle something up for lunch.”

  “I guess not,” I said, Rae crossing my mind. “Maybe if you can just drop me at the Metro.”

  “I’m sorry this went so badly.”

  “So am I.”

  “But at least you know where he is now.”

  “Yeah.”

  We rode in silence back up Route 50 and onto Arlington Boulevard again. Eventually we pulled up to the station.

  “Well...thanks, Sis.” I started to open the car door.

  “Ben, are you sure you don’t want to come back to the house?” She looked seriously at me. “Come on. This has been rough. I don’t like picturing you going back to that apartment just to be by yourself.”

  “I’m okay, Alice.”

  “You don’t seem okay. You haven’t seemed okay for a long time.”

  I looked at her. “What does that mean?”

  She glanced away. “Never mind.”

  “No, what?”

  She sighed. “Ben...I don’t know where it went wrong between us. I don’t know why you shut me out like you do. I don’t get it. I’ve tried to be a good sister to you. A good big sister.”

  “You are.”

  “Well, then...” She looked sharply at me again. “Then what’s wrong?”

  I thought about it. What was wrong? With me, with my life? I didn’t even know how to begin to tell her. I wasn’t sure that I knew. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Sis.”

  She sighed. “Ben, do you have any idea how jealous I’ve always been of you?”

  “Jealous? You? Of me?”

  “Sure.” She looked out the windshield. “Things always seemed like they were—easy for you. In a way they weren’t for me. You were so smart. You were so talented. Not like me.”

  “You’re smart. You’re talented.”

  “Well, I didn
’t see it that way. I had this dazzling little brother, this fantastic-looking boy, that everybody liked. All the girls. And you wrote those stories. They were so good, for somebody your age. I didn’t have anything like that.”

  “You were good-looking, Alice. You still are. You know that.”

  “It doesn’t do much for your self-esteem, though, at that age, if all the guys want to do is get in your pants.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “You never seemed to lack self-confidence.”

  “Well, I did. Especially around you. You were too smart for me. You still are.”

  “I never had any idea of that. Growing up.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If it sometimes seemed like I was—I don’t know, putting you down—talking down to you—that was why. I could do it because I was so much older. But it was because you always seemed better than me.”

  “I wasn’t better than you to Dad.”

  “No. And I really worked on my relationship with him, just for that reason. I had him. You didn’t. It made me feel better.”

  “I’m—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just wanted to tell you.”

  “Well—thanks. For telling me.” I thought for a moment. “I guess you’ve discovered your dazzling little brother isn’t so dazzling after all. In recent years.”

  “That’s why I asked you what’s wrong. I’ve wondered. For years. What happened to you.”

  “I—I don’t know, Sis. I don’t know what happened to me. One day I looked and—and I wasn’t there anymore.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “Not much of a Christmas,” she said. “I didn’t even get you a present. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

  “God, Alice, forget it. Who cares? I didn’t even get you a card, anyway. I meant to. I forgot too.”

  “I was going to get you a cell phone.”

  I chuckled at that. She smiled a little.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like lunch?” she asked. “Back at the house?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got to get going.”

  She looked at me. “I love you, little brother. You know that, right?”