by Tom Corbett
“Wait,” Josh interjected. “That would make her a bigamist if she really married her benefactor and he didn’t die.”
“Yeah, I get that. Weird thought, huh. Anyways, she got there. Work was easy to find as war fever took over in the late thirties. She was young, strong, and smart. She might have had a smattering of English, but it would not have taken her long to pick it up. Think about her, she had such a quick mind. Our dad had all the charm, but mom had the brains. And so there she was when dad made one of his Atlantic runs with the merchant marines. He must have been smitten, this gorgeous blonde who must have been like nothing he had ever met in South Boston.”
They arrived back at his place on Langara Street. He turned to his sister. “I just cannot believe I know so little about my family. Really, what did I think about as a kid?”
“You were trying to get laid all the time, but I took care of that.” She smiled impishly. “You forgot one of my favorites when I would walk in on you and some bimbo. I would shout about the girl that had called, frantically crying about being late and sounding terribly worried. And then I would act so innocent asking you what this girl could be late for that got her so worried, late for what? You know, I’m not sure I knew the answer myself at the time, but I did love how angry you got.”
“God, you were a shit, I had forgotten about that one. Would it be okay if I hit you in the tummy?”
“Do it, and all you will retrieve is a bloody stump. Thanks for reminding me of that. Teasing you was one of the few joys of my early years. I mostly was this nerdy kid who obeyed all the rules, the good child, but with you, with you…” She struggled where to go next. “Perhaps I was jealous. I desperately wanted your attention, to spend time with you. I would listen when you talked serious stuff with your friends, the political stuff. I just marveled at your mind, you just seemed to grasp the big picture, you saw how things fit together. I focused on the arcane details, while you seemed to get the meaning of things. I just wanted to suck everything out of your brain.”
“Funny, here I was, embracing all that nonsense of a new world, the revolution that was sure to come, that we would lead. And what did I miss, my own family, the things right in front of my damn nose. Seriously, it is like I never wanted to know anything about Mom and Dad. Maybe it was guilt, shame, fear, God knows what. Rach, I’ve spent over four decades running away from things. Who knows, maybe I’m ready to stop, running. Thing is, I’m not sure I know how. I really don’t. Hell, I am damn old now, so it won’t be easy. I have buried so much for so long I’m not sure I know what’s real anymore. I’m kind of wondering if you can help me back. You know, for most of my life, I have felt so…exhausted, just exhausted.”
“Dumb shit, running from everything can wear any man out, even an athlete like you were.” she whispered.
“Were?”
Rachel wrapped her arms around him. “Yeah, past tense works. I can feel this spare tire developing. No matter, though. You are not running anymore. Do you hear me? I will follow you into the seventh level of hell to drag your sorry ass back.”
“Guess I have no choice then. No more running.” Rachel wrapped him up even tighter. She never wanted to let go.
CHAPTER 2
DAY 1: MORNING
Josh showed Rachel around the campus during the morning hours, introducing her to several associates and colleagues who happened to be present. He was proud of her. She had accomplished so much and yet she remained the quintessential little sister in his mind. As kids, she would follow him around asking endless questions, the most common of which was “what are you doing?” That inevitably was followed by “what do you want to do now?” Early on, most specific queries were about the world around them, questions for which he really had no answers. “Why is the sky blue? How do birds know which way to go when they head south?” Such inquiries from her were endless. At the start, he simply would make up answers. Soon, though, he saw a quizzical, and then a doubtful, look in her eyes. He soon realized that she would not let him get by with creative fabrications for long; his run as the Wizard of Oz was over.
In his mind’s eye, he yet could see her running after him, her pigtail bobbing in the back of her head. In those early years, so long ago, she never seemed far behind despite his diligent, sometimes even desperate, efforts to lose her. Despite her seeming omnipresence, he rather liked the attention. It was the kind of adoration you rarely found in life, except from a dog if you’re lucky enough to have one. She seemed to have this sixth sense about his intentions. Josh would wait until she was seemingly lost in one of her books and then creep out the door. He would get a half block away before hearing the door slam behind him. Shit, he would think, how does she always know.
Over time, though, he realized just how attached he had become to her presence. He really liked this little pest, ever at his heels while looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She was the sponge that hung on his every word, even when his words were crap. Seldom wishing to admit ignorance, Josh would simply make up plausible, or not so plausible, responses to her queries. “I heard this phrase ‘cut to the quick’ today,” she might ask. “What is the quick?” Not having a clue, Josh would say something like “Oh, you have seen swords…they have this piece at the end of the blade to protect your hand. That’s what it is.” Sounded good to Josh, and his little sister bought it. Three days later, she came running up. “A quick is not part of a sword.” Uh-oh, Josh recalled thinking at that moment, my run as an omniscient God might well be at an end.
He watched with some bemusement as she morphed from a total pest into something vaguely interesting. It all happened in slow motion though, in retrospect, Josh was taken by the suddenness of the transformation. She discovered the public library with his help. In consequence, her literary world grew apace It was another source of information to sate her unquenchable curiosity, one that replaced his questionable reliability as an omniscient seer and source of all knowledge. He quickly realized that he missed her presence, that bobbing pigtail and those wide, expressive eyes. But what really struck him was the obvious maturation in her queries about the world around him. “Do whales sleep?” was replaced by more profound conundrums such as “Can God create a rock so big that he cannot lift it?” He quickly learned that his best response was “What do you think?”
Her eyes were different. Rather than looking out upon the world with studied cynicism as he too often did, she gazed upon the world about her with a studied curiosity. It was as if the palette of input about her was a smorgasbord of delights to be dissected and enjoyed. Even if it no longer overwhelmed her, the world of her youth became a laboratory for embracing new lessons and insights. She struck Josh as the proverbial absorbent sponge that could never be fully sated. He was so proud of her then, he was still proud now. He might miss the wide-eyed innocence but never stopped loving her insatiable desire to understand the world.
That bright and fresh morning as they ambled across the campus, they would run into another colleague. “Oh, let me introduce my sister Rachel. She is the accomplished one in the family, a researcher and pediatric cancer physician at the University of Wisconsin’s respected Children’s Hospital.” Josh’s female colleagues would beam with delight at another example of their gender’s obvious success while his male colleagues inevitably murmured something like “Well, Josh, you did not set the success bar very high. We all know that your dog outperforms you.” Everyone would chuckle at the stale joke, and no one feared he would take any offense. Then they would go on to praise her accomplishments. After some time, she rebelled by telling him in private not to parade her around like the prize hog at the county fair. “You have never been to a county fair,” he argued. “They care for the hogs a lot better than I treat you.”
As his official retirement celebration approached, he realized there would be many opportunities for her to meet the people in his life. There would be too many opportunities in his mind, a realization that wearied him suddenly. That is odd, he reflected. He
was known as a witty, convivial sort, full of stories and vignettes that would keep people laughing and at ease. All the time, though, he was counting the minutes to when he could make his escape. Some get charged up in congress with others; he became psychologically depleted. It was as if all the energy drained from him in the effort. He found it remarkable that others never noticed. They assumed that he loved being in the public eye, or at least around others. It all seemed to come so easy to him. Students loved him, he was a sought-after speaker, and invites to social gatherings were plentiful. Funny how the inside and outside can be so different, he mused. No one can really know what’s inside a person.
At noon, Josh steered his sister to a small Italian place off campus. There, a striking Asian woman about fifty years of age was waiting. “This is Connie Chen,” he said as they slipped into the booth opposite her. Rachel recognized the name from letters and e-mails. It struck her that this woman was a long- standing arrangement in her brother’s life. Rachel looked over the person opposite her carefully. She saw a woman of delicate features, pure black hair, and bright, inquisitive eyes. Immediately, Rachel recognized someone who might go toe-to-toe with her brother. “Connie, like you, is plumbing the mysteries of the physical world. She is in the biochemistry department.” After the two women exchanged some details on their respective areas of research, Rachel smiled broadly.
“Tell me, Connie, did you manage to pump some useful information into my brother’s head? He fills it up with the most useless junk.” Then Rachel wondered if she had been too forward. She assumed an intimacy between her brother and this woman, but why? They could have been just colleagues. But no, she knew she was right. The way this woman and her brother talked, looked at each other, almost finished each other’s sentences, they were lovers, she was certain, or surely had been at some point. And she could see the attraction—the dark hair, olive-colored skin, and warm eyes resonated with what little she knew about her brother’s taste in women. Best of all, this woman had a quick, easy wit. Rachel warmed to her immediately; her demeanor was fetching no matter the topic on the table and her humor bubbled easily to the surface in an unforced way. Yup, Rachel could easily see why her brother would be attracted to this woman.
“Oh, I would educate him if it were possible. But you know some men, they are beyond help, just not trainable…like stubborn dogs. Now that I think on it, most of them are, though your brother is in a class by himself I fear.” Connie smiled broadly. “In truth, it turns out that I rather like his focus on those larger political and philosophical questions. I mean, I do feel bad for him. It must be deflating to be in a discipline where nothing is ever resolved, where the core questions go on forever and never get answered, or so it seems. But it keeps those social scientists busy and out of the hair of us real scientists.”
“Hey,” Josh protested, “we have testable hypotheses.”
“That’s nice, dear,” Rachel interjected patronizingly, “but let Connie talk. He is just so defensive, but what can you expect?” No question, Rachel thought, this woman is a winner. Her thoughts drifted to considering whether she might work on bringing Connie and her brother closer together, but immediately rebelled at falling into a traditional female role of matchmaking.
“I think my interest in politics comes from my background.” Connie turned serious. “My parents were professionals, scientists of sorts, in China. From what I gather, they faked being Nationalists and then Communists at one time or another to survive—not an easy task. But after the war, they knew they had to get out. Mao was certain to take control, and intellectuals like my folks would not fare very well. They got to Hong Kong but worried if that place would long survive Communist control so they made their way to Canada. Growing up, I would listen as they talked politics and the big questions that we all struggled with. You know, how do we create a just society yet permit freedom of action. After they passed, they had me rather late, I think I latched on to Josh for my political fix. And he even made sense but maybe that was because I thought he was good-looking, even sexy I suppose. Of course, that was before my cataract surgery and certainly before he got so old and crotchety.”
Josh interjected, “Rachel, this poor woman was utterly besotted with me. It was pathetic the way she followed me around, begging for any scrap of attention I might throw her way.”
“Yes, dear,” both women uttered simultaneously and then broke into laughter. Rachel was dying to ask more about this woman’s relationship with her brother but kept her counsel. She saw her brother as a kind of Russian doll. There were many levels, and you treaded carefully as you entered the inner circles. He was so clever letting you in just a little before deflecting you with humor or indirection or one of his endless vignettes.
“Rachel, it is so good to have you here,” Connie bubbled. “Now I can get the lowdown on what this guy is really like. He is like one of those enticing layer cakes but where the outer layer is glued shut so you can’t peek at the inside layers.”
Rachel looked at her brother. She suddenly was amazed at how little she knew about him. Several decades of virtually no contact didn’t help. But it was more than that. He was frustratingly private. Sure, he could be charming and voluble, but that was all artifice and designed to keep you at arm’s length. What would he tell this woman if she pressed her inquisition about her brother?
Then it hit her. Josh was his father—Big Jim. She yet could see her dad, tall and robust as he entertained customers in his neighborhood bar. The Harp Bar, or the Haap Bah as the locals called it, was a popular hangout in the area for the Irish mafia and gang wannabes. It was also a haven for those reliving IRA battles from several thousand miles away. Rachel could yet hear the regular patrons waxing on about the Maze, the English prison for Catholic freedom fighters in Ulster, and the blanket boys who refused to wear prison garb as they went on hunger strikes. When the sons of the Emerald Isle touched on the hunger strikes, Big Jim would be driven to passionate eloquence of Celtic pride that, in turn, would result in a spontaneous eruption of patriotic songs—if they were not gulping down heaps of corned beef and cabbage with sides of potato that were a hit at Jim’s place.
What could she tell Connie about this mysterious man to whom she was tied by blood? What did she want to reveal to a woman she instinctively liked, but hardly knew? Thus, she fell back on her favorite stories about messing with Josh’s labored efforts to woo women. Connie was laughing, but Rachel was beginning to pull back. Sure, these things happened, where she would break up a date with some outlandish fib, but that was rather rare in fact, at least in high school. Josh did not date all that much, not that she thought hard on the matter. He spent more time reading, playing classical pieces his mother taught him on the piano, and keeping his athletic skills sharp.
“At other times, he wasn’t so awfully bad,” Rachel paused to find a positive memory as a way of seeking balance before continuing. “I recall this story about a girl in his high school class. She was apparently decent looking but shy and very studious and not that popular as a result. Then she was diagnosed with a virulent form of cancer. The chemo treatments of the times were harsh, and she lost all her hair. Of course, high school being what it was, she was the subject of further isolation and ridicule as only teens can inflict on one another. Josh’s friend Jimmie told me that they saw this girl being teased by some girls one day in the cafeteria, the so-called cool girls. This brother of mine apparently got up from his table, walked over and, in a loud voice, asked this girl to the prom. You must understand, he was the big man on campus, the athlete. All the girls would have died to be asked to the prom by him. Some had even asked him already. I don’t think he intended to go, thinking those things silly. Yet he chose to ask this girl in such a public way, just to shut these creeps up. I yet remember him bringing her by the house on prom night. She was not a beauty, but I thought her lovely in a way. So thin, though. You can tell that some have beauty that needs a deeper look. I cannot fathom the cruelty she faced.” Rachel notice
d the look on Connie’s face and almost blushed at how serious everyone suddenly had become. “Well, I just wanted you to know that he sometimes rises to the occasion. Not often, I might add, but it has happened.”
Connie obviously had been moved. “Can I ask what happened to this girl?”
“She passed a few months later,” Josh said quietly. “But she had that night.”
After lunch, Rachel returned to his place to make some calls and work on the rewrite of a medical research paper for which the deadline for resubmission was approaching. And there were the calls to her clinical colleagues to check on patients. They would usher her toward the door with copious affirmations not to worry, that they would take care of her patients. But she couldn’t let go, not really. She knew they would roll her eyes at the sound of her voice but patiently address her anxieties. She knew they were patronizing her, for sure, but she appreciated their support. And there probably were some patients for whom her personal input might help. What bothered her colleagues is that she seldom took time off. Her professional life was pretty much her life. Taking a week off to visit her brother was greeted with awe and shock, and they all feared that she would return after two days, driven by some irrational belief that the medical world would collapse in her absence. So far so good though, she might stay the course. The many bettors on an early return were about to lose their money in the office pool.
She stumbled on to her interest in medicine early. When she reconstructed her professional journey, it inevitably involved an early memory, one so far back that she oft debated its authenticity. She recalled coming across some budding psychopaths abusing a cat which sent her into a rage where she screamed and flailed at the miscreants with abandon. She had amazed herself but was relieved when she saw them scamper off. Then, she picked up the animal that whimpered in her hands. She felt so helpless. She desperately wanted to work some magic to restore health and vitality to this small innocent creature. But she could not, and that reality tortured her. After one last gasp, it lay still. For a while she just stared, trying to will movement into this creature that moments earlier had life. But she was impotent and hated the feeling. Now, decades later, she could not really recall if this was the moment her interest in medicine was borne. Likely, there probably was no such moment, but this memory made sense. What she did recall was this growing need to ease suffering, reduce pain, restore hope. At some point, preconscious understandings and emerging aspirations matured as fully formed ambitions. And nothing would hold her back.
