by Doyle, Brian
11.
Rachel, walking home from work at the old shingle factory near the old sawmill, worries about missing her period. Sara the wife of Michael the cop feels a flutter in her belly when she kneels to plant the pole beans. Rachel tries to stay calm and count the days before during and after. Sara throws up behind the little row of white cedar saplings. Rachel walks faster and faster. Sara gets a shovel and buries her vomit and scatters leaves and sticks over it for good measure. Rachel walks in her house and says Mom? Mom? and hearing no reply goes straight to her mom’s bedroom and gets her mom’s desk calendar the one with all the holy days marked in blue and counts the days since. Sara kneels again and plants the beans in five long rows. Rachel hears her mother coming up from the basement and hurriedly puts the calendar back and goes to the closet and pretends to be rooting around for shoes. Sara thinks a row for each of us if I keep this child. Rachel grabs two shoes and runs down the stairs and runs into the bathroom and throws up in the sink. Sara feels the flutter again but it feels like bubbles this time. Rachel flushes the toilet to cover the sound of her gagging. Sara’s daughters pat down the soil over the beans with their fingers small and gentle and active and dirty and lively as earthworms. Rachel’s mother passes the bathroom door on her way upstairs with an armful of laundry up to her eyeballs and she hears the plumbing humming and she says, Rachel? Sara’s daughters throw dirt clods at each other. Out in a minute Mum, says Rachel rinsing out the towel with which she cleaned the sink. Sara’s daughters wander off behind the house and Sara on her hands and knees in the dirt watches them go. Rachel washes her face and pinches her cheeks to get her color back. Sara presses her hand against her belly. Rachel slips out the back door and runs down the street and just as Sara stands up in her garden she sees Rachel flash past as leggy and free as a young deer and Rachel sees Sara as strong and wise as the sea. Rachel’s mother comes back down the stairs and says, Rachel? and then notices two mismatched shoes under the sink in the bathroom and a moist towel folded on the edge of the tub.
12.
After Michael the cop comes for the man in the big brown coat and Worried Man and Cedar drive the girl who is indeed twelve years old to the doctor’s for an examination and a night’s sleep in the doctor’s custody it is dusk and they are famished and drained and they head home to Maple Head who is stirring a stunning stew and there are two loaves of fresh bread on the windowsill and she says grinning to Cedar, where are my fresh salmonberries old man?
But when the two men sit exhausted at the table and explain their afternoon she stops grinning and the meal is quiet.
Near the end of the meal Worried Man begins to say something and completely loses track of his thought and he sits there startled and blank. Maple Head leads him over to the couch and says, you are exhausted love, you lie down for a few minutes, just close your eyes, there you go, just let go, we’ll knock off the dishes, just rest a minute, there you go, and he drifts off in seconds, her hands cupping his face.
When she turns back to the kitchen table she sees Cedar with his head in his hands.
That bad? she says quietly.
This one got me, May, says Cedar, looking up. That girl’s face.
You did the right thing.
I couldn’t stop hitting the guy, May. I really hurt him.
She sits down and cups his hands in her hands.
I’m worried, May. I’m getting too angry. I can’t let go of things. If I feel they are wrong I can’t let go of them. Billy was right about that time we went to talk to Grace. I embarrassed her. I said things I should never have said. I’m not her father or brother or lover. I am no one to her. I’m no one. I have no right. You have to love someone before you can say something searing. Isn’t that right? You have to love people to hurt them. Isn’t that right? I’m getting too angry. I’m doing too much work. We’re starting to do more things maybe than we should. Billy tried to talk to me about it but I wouldn’t listen. I don’t know when to stop.
She says nothing but holds his hands and stares in his eyes.
I’m no cop, he says. I’m no judge. I’m the public works guy. Sewers and water mains. Highway maintenance and storm drains. That’s what we are supposed to do, not fix people’s lives. Billy’s right. I got some kind of god complex or something.
Cedar, says Maple Head.
What am I doing, May?
Cedar. You did the right thing. You saved that girl.
Billy saved that girl, May. He smelled her pain from half a mile away. He knew. All I did was run. All I did was break the guy’s face with a rake. That wasn’t hard. That was easy. That was too easy. It’s easy to hurt someone. I’m good at that. I was real good at that once, remember?
Who was the man? she says, changing the subject.
Her father. The guy is her father, May. Michael told us the story. The kid is always calling in sick to school. She goes to school two towns over. No one knows them here. The mother left and the girl stayed with the father. There’s no other family. There’s no neighbors down there in Trailer Town. That kid was skinny, too, May. Too skinny. She looks like a ghost. She’s just a kid.
How long will she be at the doctor’s?
Michael didn’t know. Could be a while. The father’s at the county jail and he’s not coming back for a while. Could be a long while. If ever.
I’ll go visit her. I was going to tuck Daniel in anyway. Want to come?
I’m beat, May. I’ll bump off the dishes and keep an eye on your man there.
She stands up to go.
You’re doing the right thing, Cedar, she says quietly.
I always thought I was, May. I really did. All I wanted was to take care of things. To make them right. To make them okay. To protect people. To be there when it counted. To be there. Billy and me. We were a team. He smelled trouble and I solved trouble. But even Billy looks at me funny now. He thinks I’m trying too hard. But I can’t let go. I can’t stop. But I’m getting too angry. But who will take care of things if I don’t do it?
People are stronger than you think, Cedar. People can take care of themselves more than you think.
Could that kid take care of her trouble, May?
Maple Head gets her coat.
What am I going to do, May?
You’re going to help Billy to bed when he wakes up.
Who will take care of kids like that, May?
You can’t take care of everyone, she says, pausing at the door.
Then who will, May?
13.
The girl twelve years old is sitting with the doctor. Her name is Kristi. He has examined her thoroughly and she is mortified. He is silent. She gets dressed. He fills out pages and pages of forms and reports and assessments. She sits primly. His pen scritches and scratches. She ties her sneakers again and again.
Are you hungry, Kristi? he asks.
I could eat.
Would you like a pear?
I could eat.
He cuts two pears into cubes and they eat.
What is going to happen to me? she says.
Well, you get to live here for a while.
With you?
I live downstairs. You’ll be in a room on this floor. Your own room. With a lock on the door.
You lock me in?
No, no. You can lock it yourself. For safety. For peace of mind.
Peace of mind.
There are two other patients on this floor also.
Okay.
One is a boy your age and the other is a man who is very ill. Both are gentlemen. You’ll like them. I’ll introduce you now if you like.
Okay.
The man with twelve days to live is asleep in the reclining chair in the corner by the maps of the sea but Daniel is awake and curious in his bed.
Dan, this is Kristi. She’ll be living here for a while in my care.
Hi, Kristi.
Hi.
I’ll go now, says the doctor. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. I’ll be downstairs in my study wh
en you are ready to get to bed, Kristi.
They watch him go silently.
Want to sit down? says Daniel.
No thanks. What happened to your legs?
Crashed my bike. Went off the path in the woods by the sea lion cove.
Hurt a lot?
I don’t remember much, to be honest.
Who’s the man in the corner?
He’s real sick.
How sick?
He says he has twelve days left before he dies. He’s real clear about it. He’s a nice guy. Quiet. He’s a real good listener. You find yourself thinking aloud when you talk to him. Nice guy. Are you sick?
No.
Why are you here?
Some things happened.
Oh.
Family things.
Okay.
I should find my room.
Okay.
Nice to meet you.
Nice to meet you.
Kristi goes to find the doctor who is downstairs in his study reading the Book of Job. Wearisome nights are appointed to me, he reads. Kristi walks down the stairs. When shall I arise and the night be gone? She walks through the kitchen. I am full of tossings to and fro until the dawning of the day. She sees a dark hallway and thinks, his study must be down there but I am not going down there. My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle and are spent without hope. Doctor? she says. Doctor? O remember that my life is wind, he reads, and hears her voice, and he closes his book, and stands up, and closing his eyes, he folds his hands together in the ancient gesture of supplication and helplessness, and says aloud, in a clear voice that carries down the hallway to the kitchen, here I am, Kristi. Here I am.
14.
Maple Head walks over to the doctor’s house, cutting along the beach in the moonlight, the tide is low, thinking about her husband, about all the hours and days and weeks and months and years they have spent together, about all the arguments they have had, all the laughter, all the exhausted moments with the baby, and then raising a girl and then a young woman, and trying to have more children but not having any more children, that was hard for the longest time, that was a deep wound between us, he wanted more children and so did I but I stopped wanting more children before he did, and maybe we spoiled Nora a little because of that, but what can you do, you do the best you know how at the time, and we never really had any money, and I made more money than he did for the longest time, and that was hard for him, that was a small wound between us, and he had all these wild projects, and I love that, because he is his dreams, and without his dreams he’d be empty and tired, but those dreams were crazy sometimes, all the projects, all the stuff in the house, all the machines, and all the thousands of hours he could have been doing something for money, but he is who he is, a dreamer, impractical and practical, I know that, and I love him for who he is, I know that, and I am not perfect either, a dreamer too, I always wanted to open my own school and never did, never never never had the money, but it wasn’t the money I sometimes think, it was the leap, I never took the leap, but how could I?
At the doctor’s house she knocks and he opens the door and a smile spreads across his face as he sees her and he adjusts his spectacles cheerfully and says May, it is always the highlight of my day when I see you standing before me. Come right in. He’s still awake. I was just getting a new patient squared away.
Billy and Cedar told me about her. Can I help?
You might just look in on her, May. She’d be happy to see a friendly woman’s face, I think. She’s in the back bedroom upstairs.
Maple Head sits on the edge of Daniel’s bed and tucks the blanket around his shoulders as tight as a tick as he says and she kisses him on the forehead and he tells her about his sea lion dreams.
You know what your grandfather would say about these dreams, Dan.
What?
That they are visions of your guiding spirit.
Really?
Really.
What will I be, then?
Well, I don’t know, Dan. Clearly something to do with the ocean. We can ask Worried Man tomorrow.
He’ll know.
He knows a lot, love.
He knows everything.
Well, she says smiling, he thinks he knows everything. Go to sleep. I’ll come by tomorrow with your grandfather.
Okay.
Night.
Love you, Gram.
I love you too, Daniel. Deep dreams to you.
Maple Head knocks on Kristi’s door and Kristi opens it a crack and says, yes?
My name is May, says Maple Head. I’m visiting my grandson Dan and thought I’d say hello.
Hello, says Kristi, not opening the door any wider.
Settling in? asks Maple Head.
Yes.
Can I help at all?
No.
Well, I’ll be here every day to see Dan. Tell me if I can help at all. Maybe tutoring or something. I’m a teacher. Sixth grade. Most of my students are about your age. You’ll need to keep up with your schoolwork, I guess.
Thanks.
Okay. Well. I’ll be going.
Is Dan asleep?
I think so.
Did … did you tuck him in?
Yes, I did.
My name’s Kristi.
Well, Kristi, I did tuck Daniel in. Tight as a tick.
Could you … tuck me in too?
Yes, Kristi, I could, she says, her heart twisting, and she does, her hands wrapping the sheet and blanket around the girl’s shoulders narrow as bird bones, her face pale against the pale sheets. All the way home Maple Head sees the girl’s white face in the white moon trailing its white cloak over the restless sea.
15.
In the morning Owen wheels Daniel out to the little deck over the sea and they watch the gulls and cormorants and pelicans wheeling. Sea lions power through the surf heading south in little pods of three or four. Daniel sees a seal. Owen sees a whale’s spout. Three terns flash past and skim fish from the sea. The ocean hums. Owen makes breakfast and brings it out to the deck. The man with eleven days to live goes for a walk along the beach. The doctor takes Kristi off to some appointments of a legal nature. Owen and Daniel bask in the late spring sun.
Tell me about your mom and dad, Dad, says Daniel.
Is maith an scealai an aimsir, says Owen dreamily.
What’s that?
Time is a great storyteller.
Does that mean you won’t tell me the stories?
No, no, says Owen, shaking himself awake. You’ve a right to know. What is it you want to know?
Your mom lives on a hill?
Yeh.
Where?
Kilfinnane, in Limerick county. Near Clare and Kerry.
She won’t come down anymore?
No.
Why?
She’s afraid.
Of what?
I don’t really know, Dan. I haven’t spoken to her for years and years.
Why?
Just haven’t.
And your dad?
He’s buried along a road nearby.
I knew he was dead but not how he died.
No.
I always wanted to know.
I’m sorry, Dan. It’s been hard for me to talk about it.
I’m sorry.
Yeh.
How did he die?
He worked himself to death on the road. He kept working until his heart gave out. Some people think he did it on purpose.
Was he young?
Sixty.
I’m sorry, Dad.
Thank you.
What was he like?
Quiet. He never said much. I don’t think he was ever very happy. He never found the work he really wanted to do. He had a hard life. I understand him more now that he’s gone than I did when he was alive. He confused me when I was your age.
Did you fight with him?
No. He was very quiet.
And your mom?
She’s very quiet too. They married late. He was mu
ch older than she was. He lived up on the hill and she passed him in the road every day at dawn and dusk. They’d stop to talk. She found him more interesting than the boys in the town and he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He was very lonely. She thought he was fascinating and handsome. She began to bring food to his house sometimes, berries and milk and such, and one thing led to another, and that led to me. There were only seven people in the church when they got married, my mother says. Her father refused to come. She never forgot that. Her sisters keened at the wedding.
Keened?
Keening is wailing for the dead. They were saying she was dead to them. My mother and father never forgot that either. They went to live in my dad’s house on the hill and that’s where I was raised, on the hill, until my dad died, and I left for America.
Why?
I had to leave.
Why?
Lots of reasons, I guess, says Owen, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. I didn’t like myself then, I didn’t like my home, I wanted to be new, I wanted a fresh start. I felt stuck there. Trapped. I had to get out. I wanted a new country. A new self. A new start. I wanted to be born again, in a sense. I wanted my own life without everyone else’s stories in it. I wanted to write my own story.
Do you miss your mom?
Yes.
Did you ever go back?
No.
Do you write?
No.
Does she write to you?
Yes.
Do … do you read her letters?
Yes. You can read them. They’re in the shop.
Do you want to see her again?
O yes, Daniel, sure I do. But I can’t. We haven’t a penny, it’s all long ago and far away now, and I feel I’ve hurt her so with my silence that I can never make it up. You can’t heal everything, Dan. You just can’t. It’s better left alone now. Time is the great healer, eh?
I’d like to meet her.
