The Necessary Beggar

by Susan Palwick

  “I kept having dreams too,” Timbor said, sounding bewildered. “Has he been trying to speak to me, then, all this time? But I cannot believe that. About him and Gallicina. I still—”

  “You will believe it when you hear the story, Father.”

  “I don’t believe any of this,” Harani said tartly. “And there is still the issue of this marriage. Zamatryna, even if you were older, Jerry is not good enough—oh, someone get the telephone! And if it’s a telemarketer, tell him to shoot a rocket launcher up his ass!”

  “Ooooh,” Zamatryna said, reaching for the phone. “You’re learning excellent idiomatic English at the casino, aren’t you? Hello? If you’re a telemarketer, I’m supposed to tell you—”

  “Hey, sweetie, it’s Lisa. You sound like you’re in a good mood. Is everything okay there?”

  “I guess so. A bit weird, but okay. Are you guys okay?”

  “We’re fine. But we’re heading back to the house. I’m afraid there’s a bit of a, well, a bit of a complication. We decided to call the hospital and see when Betty was getting out. She’s already out. They discharged her today, right onto a bus headed for the camp. It’s part of the first sweep.”

  Zamatryna’s throat tightened. “That stinks. She won’t get very good medical care out there, will she?”

  “Better than she would sleeping by the river. That’s not the issue. The issue is that, once she’s in there, we can’t go in to get her out. They’ve tightened security up a lot, not that it was all that loose before. We could fill out a bunch of paperwork and go through a bunch of rigamarole six ways from Sunday; I mean, it’s not Dachau, there is contact with the outside world, but it won’t be easy. And I don’t know how long it would take. And we’re kind of living on borrowed time here anyway.”

  “Right,” Zamatryna said, uncertain where this was going. “So—”

  “So Jerry and I figured we should drive out there now, see if we can maybe, I don’t know, head off the bus or something.”

  “A high-speed chase of a county transport?” Zamatryna said. “That’s wonderful. What a great plan. That’s really going to increase our credibility with the INS.”

  “I didn’t say a chase. But if we can catch up with Betty before she disappears into the camp—look, if you think it’s nuts, we won’t do it. But then you may not see Betty again.”

  “I’ll do it,” Zamatryna said, resigning herself to the surreal. “It’s no crazier than anything else that’s happened today.”

  “Okay. We’ll be in front of the house in, like, thirty seconds.”

  “Where are you going?” Timbor demanded when Zamatryna put down the phone.

  “To the refugee camp.” She was already pulling on a sweatshirt. “To try to intercept Betty. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home, if we don’t get arrested or something.” If she got arrested, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about getting married.

  “What?” Erolorit stood up. “What are you talking about?”

  Harani stood up too. “I’m going with you. What is this insanity?”

  “We’re all going,” Timbor said.

  Zamatryna shook her head. “Why? So we can all be arrested?”

  Timbor glared at her. “Because we are family, and that is what we do! We go places together! Especially if there is any danger!”

  “We may wind up back in the camp,” Zamatryna said.

  “Then we will be in the camp together. Is that Lisa honking out front?”

  It was. She was in the SUV that she and Stan had bought after they gave the van to the family. It was big enough for all of them, and a good thing, too, because no one trying to follow them could have kept up with Lisa’s driving. Lisa raced along at eighty-five miles per hour while Jerry filled the rest of the family in on the Betty situation; when he’d finished, Erolorit engaged Jerry in strained conversation about accounting. Macsofo, between bouts of heaving into his bowl, gave Zamatryna anxious instructions about the Necessary Beggar.

  “You must pick the first person you see. Even if it isn’t Betty. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Uncle Max. I understand. Can I blindfold myself, or just keep my eyes closed, and have someone tell me when we find her so I can look? Or would that be cheating?”

  “That would be cheating. It is already cheating for you to be seeking someone you know. This is making me very nervous, Zamatryna.”

  “Okay,” said Zamatryna, head pounding. “So if I see someone else first, that person has to be my Necessary Beggar? But can we still give Betty the money for the operation?”

  “Yes, of course! That is how any civilized country would do it, anyway. And you can give the Necessary Beggar something else.”

  “With what money?” Harani asked. “Macsofo, just a little while ago, you would have been the one asking that question.”

  “Aye. I suppose I would.” He was silent for a moment, running his finger meditatively around the rim of his puke bowl. “I wish Aliniana were here. She would know better than I how to advise you, little Zama.”

  “I wish she were here for many reasons,” Harani said, her voice bitter. “And whose fault is it that she is not here?”

  “Harani,” Timbor said. “Enough. That will not help anything.”

  “Nonetheless, it is the truth. Macsofo, did these visions of yours teach you any lessons about mending your marriage?”

  “Aye. Aye, they did.” He looked out the window, and Zamatryna saw him shiver. “They taught me that drinking and jealousy are both terrible curses. Like exile, except that sometimes a person can return from them. If he is lucky, and if it is not already too late.” He was quiet again for a few miles. When he spoke, his voice was almost too soft for Zamatryna to hear. “I must tell Alini that I am sorry.”

  “You should have done that a long time ago,” Erolorit said.

  “I know, brother.”

  “Hey,” Zamatryna said, and touched his arm. “Hey, Uncle Max, she’ll come back. I’m betting she will. Because even if she has a lover, like she says, she can’t be real with him. She can’t talk about Lémabantunk. She can’t share her history.”

  “Unless Darroti is sending him dreams, also,” Macsofo said grimly, and Zamatryna saw Jerry give them an inquisitive glance.

  “You told them?”

  “Yeah. It’s okay. Uncle Max, somehow I don’t think that’s what Darroti’s doing. Not that I’m an expert or anything.” Zamatryna rubbed her eyes. There was still Gallicina, the wild card in this mix: what was she up to? Zamatryna didn’t think that Gallicina’s spirit, sent into the beetle’s body back in Lémabantunk, could leave it now, but how could she be sure?

  “All right,” Macsofo said. “What has happened with Alini has happened. It will—it will be mended, or not. Right now we must think about you. Zamatryna, you must choose your Beggar properly.”

  “I know. You told me that. Look, Uncle Max, cheer up. I doubt I’ll get the chance. We’ll never get to the camp. We’re going to be pulled over for speeding first.”

  “Oh, pshaw,” Lisa called cheerfully from the front seat. “I’d have to be doing a hundred and ten to get pulled over, on this road.” They were already on the long, desolate highway to Gerlach, the desert fading away into blues and browns in the distance. Zamatryna realized that she’d never seen this route before, because the last time she’d taken it, she’d been hiding under a blanket. She hugged herself. Their story was coming full circle, for good or ill. “Mind you,” Lisa said, “I still don’t think you kids should get married yet, okay? I’m doing this for Betty’s sake, so we can get her out of there, take her home. Since we have room now. Since Alini and the kids aren’t there.”

  “Right,” Zamatryna said. “Objection noted and recorded.” Jerry, in the front seat, turned and winked at her. She wondered what he and Lisa had talked about over coffee. Well, he’d tell her later. If they weren’t all arrested.

  Lisa gave a long, low whistle. “Hey, guys, look. Up ahead. Is that the bus? Am
I good, or what?”

  Zamatryna squinted at the speck on the road as Lisa accelerated. “It could be another bus.”

  “Come on, Zama. How many buses take this road?”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So, um, how exactly are we going to convince them to let Betty come with us? Or were you planning to toss her into the SUV like firewood and take off, the way you did last time?”

  “I don’t think that will work,” Lisa said drily. “I don’t know. We’ll just, well, we’ll tell them the truth. That she can stay with us. That she’ll be closer to the hospital that way. We’ll do the best we can.”

  They were behind the bus now; Lisa really must have been doing a hundred and ten before, although now they had slowed to sixty. “Lisa,” Zamatryna said, “I don’t think getting pulled over for tailgating will be much better than getting pulled over for speeding.”

  “I’m not tailgating, sweetie. I’m keeping a good following distance.”

  “Yeah, but that’s it. They’ll know you’re following them. They’ll think we’re terrorists or something.”

  “If we were terrorists, we wouldn’t be so obvious,” Lisa said. “Our best bet is probably to be as up-front as possible. Zama, relax. Jerry, would you tell her to relax?”

  “Why didn’t the hospital call us before they released Betty?” Zama said. “They had our phone number from when we brought her in. Don’t they try to make other arrangements for people?”

  “Who knows? Maybe the number got lost. Maybe she was too scared or confused to ask them to call. Look, it’s a bureaucracy. All kinds of things can get screwed up, even when people know how to stick up for themselves. Which Betty doesn’t. Which is why we’re here.”

  Jerry turned around now, reaching into the back seat for Zamatryna’s hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ve found her. We’re in time. That’s the first step, isn’t it?”

  They stayed behind the bus the remaining twenty miles to the camp. Zama worried the entire way. Betty wasn’t going to be the first homeless person she saw. Zamatryna wouldn’t be able to choose Betty as her Necessary Beggar. They might not be able to get Betty out of the camp at all. This was craziness. Nothing was going to work. What was she doing?

  And when the camp itself came into sight, she felt her insides twist. She’d seen photographs of it, and it wasn’t even the same camp they’d been in. She hadn’t expected to have such a visceral reaction to the sight of the fences, the barbed wire, the cluster of low, drab tents. She glanced over at Timbor, who was clutching something. His towel, the wet one.

  “You brought Darroti,” she said very quietly, in Gandiffran.

  “Families stay together, Granddaughter.”

  She squeezed his hand with the one Jerry wasn’t holding. They were linked now, the three of them. She was the bridge between them, the bridge between Gandiffri and America. She looked at the fences and said, “I think Darroti would be here anyway. He doesn’t seem tied to that towel anymore, if he ever was.”

  “Nonetheless,” Timbor said. “It is—it is how he is visible, to me.”

  The bus pulled to a stop in front of them. Here were the gates, the guards going to meet the bus. Fighting déjà vu, Zamatryna got out of the SUV, into a brilliant autumn afternoon scented with sagebrush. Jerry was next to her. She had to keep her eyes on the bus. She couldn’t stop watching it, in case she missed Betty and saw another homeless person first instead.

  Someone in an Army uniform came up to them. That was all right, because he wasn’t one of the homeless; he had a job, so she couldn’t have chosen him as her Beggar anyway. “Excuse me, but who are you people?”

  “A friend of ours is on that bus by mistake,” Jerry said. There was movement inside now; the doors opened, and Zamatryna’s stomach tightened. Please let Betty come out first. Please. “We have a place for her to live. She can come home with us.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I can’t let you just—”

  “Betty!” Zamatryna said. Here she was. She was the first one. She was the first one getting off the bus; a guard had reached for her arm to help her down the steps. She looked up and saw Zama, and smiled.

  “You came to get me. I knew you would. God bless you, sweetheart.”

  Macsofo had coached Zamatryna on what to say, had impressed upon her the importance of saying it exactly right, and saying it as soon as she saw Betty. Feeling ridiculous, knowing that all the guards and everyone on the bus were watching her, she bowed and said, “Please grace my wedding, to remind me of the ground of my fortune.”

  Betty stared. “What?”

  Zamatryna straightened up again. “I’ll explain it later. And I’ll tell you what you have to say back, okay?”

  “This is highly irregular,” the guard said, sounding bewildered.

  “Right,” said Lisa, behind them. “So who do we talk to, to fix it? Come on, buddy. This place is crowded, right? If we can take care of her so you don’t have to, isn’t that a good thing?”

  It took hours. They had to answer questions, call the hospital to confirm that they were friends of Betty’s, talk to her social worker at Sierra Regional Center. Lisa and Timbor, into whose custody Betty was being released, had to sign roughly ten thousand pieces of paper. But finally it was done. It had worked. They were taking Betty home.

  On the way back to Reno, Zamatryna sat between Jerry and Betty. Jerry’s arm was around her, and her hand was on Betty’s shoulder: another bridge. Betty didn’t smell as much as usual. The hospital must have bathed her. She and Jerry told Betty what they wanted her to do, and why.

  “I knew it,” Betty said placidly. “I told you he loved you.”

  “Yes, you did. Do you remember what to say now? What I told you?”

  “I will grace your wedding, to remind you always of the gifts you have received,” Betty said. “Is that it? Did I do it right?”

  “You did it perfectly,” Zamatryna said, glancing at Macsofo. He didn’t look any happier than he had before, but at least he wasn’t retching anymore.

  “That’s pretty,” Betty said.

  “Yes,” Jerry said. “It is. It’s beautiful.”

  We did it, Zamatryna thought giddily. Everything’s okay now. We’ll be home soon, and Betty will be with us, if she doesn’t just wander away again, and on Monday Jerry and I will get our marriage license and have the civil ceremony, and then we’ll plan the other one, and we’ll invite Alini, because she’d never dream of not coming to my wedding, and Max can apologize to her and—maybe it will all work out. Maybe we’ll be okay. She put her head on Jerry’s shoulder, wondering if she loved him yet. She couldn’t tell.

  But as they pulled up to the house, Lisa said, “Uh-oh. Trouble in River City. Who are those people on the porch?”

  “It’s Stan,” Harani said, peering out the window into the dusk. “Stan and someone else. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “I have,” Erolorit said. “He looks familiar. Where have I seen him?”

  “On television,” Timbor said bleakly. “And in the newspaper. That is Kenneth Glenrock. He is in charge of the INS investigation.”

  “Oh, shit,” Lisa said. “Stan ratted on us? Stan called the INS? I’ll kill him! I’ll tear his balls off, that lousy good-for-nothing—”

  “Calm down,” Jerry said. “Lisa, just breathe, okay? Losing your temper isn’t going to help. Let’s just talk to them. Glenrock’s not in uniform or anything. If he were here to arrest you guys, he’d have cops with him. He probably just wants to ask you some questions.”

  “We should have gotten married this afternoon,” Zamatryna said, her throat tight. It hadn’t worked. She’d jinxed everything after all, by looking for someone she already knew to be her Necessary Beggar, or by saying the formula in English instead of Gandiffran, or by not really loving Jerry. Now they were going to be sent to Afganistan, where they’d never lived in the first place, where they’d have to start all over. She’d never get to be a lawyer. She’d never see Jerry again, or
Stan or Lisa, or the Truckee River.

  They all got out of the SUV, and walked in a clump toward the porch. Jerry had one hand on Zama’s shoulder and one on Betty’s. When Stan saw them, he stood up and said cheerfully, “I didn’t call him. Lisa, everybody, I swear I didn’t call him. I had nothing to do with this. I got here and he was already here, waiting. We’ve had a nice chat.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bet,” Lisa said savagely. But Zamatryna, looking at Stan, saw that he looked happy. When was the last time he’d looked happy? She couldn’t remember. In fact, he looked more than happy. He was glowing. He looked like he was in love, or on drugs.

  “Stan?” Timbor said, frowning. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, brother! I’m better than fine! I—”

  “I’m sorry,” Kenneth Glenrock said, “but do you mind if I talk to you folks for a minute? Inside the house?”

  “Certainly,” Timbor said. “Let us go into the living room. Mr. Glenrock, would you like coffee?”

  “No. Thank you.” They filed into the living room, perching on Lisa’s mother’s overstuffed furniture. Glenrock cleared his throat again. “Look, I think you know why I’m here.”

  “Yes,” Lisa said. “Yes, we do.”

  Glenrock nodded. “Can I ask—may I just speak to the family, please?”

  “We’re all family,” Lisa said, her voice cracking. “Everybody’s family here. This is Betty, we’re adopting her, and this is Jerry, he and Zama are getting married, and Stan and I, we’ve known these folks practically since they got here. So whatever you have to say, you can say to all of us.”

  Glenrock pushed his glasses up on his nose. He looked pained. “Well, all right. But I have to ask you a question, and—it may be painful. Did you come here with someone else? A man who died in the camp?”

  There was a short silence. “Yes,” Timbor said. “My youngest son. He killed himself. Why is that important, Mr. Glenrock, please?”

  He looked at Lisa now. “Yes, I know you now. You don’t remember me, do you? No, you wouldn’t. That was ten years ago.”