“B’kiso, b’kaso, b’koso” the doctor said. “I didn’t learn much in Hebrew school at the Benevolent Self, but this holds up. There are three things that show a person’s true self: when money is involved, when speaking in anger, and when drunk. In this case, I stretch drunk to apply.”
Kaddish looked over at his wife.
“A blue streak,” Mazursky said. “It’s good stuff too.”
Lillian was in fine form. “Doctor Stinky Penis,” she said. “Doctor Tiny Penis. Tiny tiny. Fat fat man.”
The doctor put a hand to his belly.
“Fat, I think, is unfair. The penis, though, would be a matter of opinion.”
Kaddish raised an eyebrow.
“The anesthesia occasionally makes for the foul mouth. The sentiments”—and here Mazurky laughed—“belong to her.”
“Bastard,” Lillian said.
“That could be either of us. For rambling it’s rapier sharp.”
“It went well?” Kaddish said.
“Wonderfully.”
Kaddish dropped his voice to a whisper.
“You made it big like she asked?” Kaddish said. “The old nose is back? With the old bump? She wants to see our boy in the mirror.”
“I guarantee this time that it will stay on her face. I’ve done my best work. There is a reputation to uphold.”
“Mamzers!” This Lillian said loudly and, though pinched, with clarity. “Up,” she said. “Let’s go.” Both men turned their attention to her, looking dazed and trying to pull herself from the bed.
Once was enough for Lillian. Two nose jobs she could handle, but waking a second time without thinking of Pato—that wouldn’t happen again. The waking itself was just as bad, mind you. It was just as painful coming back to consciousness and accepting Pato gone. This time, though, nothing would stop her. If the nose was back in place, she’d had her last rest.
“Please,” the doctor said. “Slowly.”
“Is it fixed?”
“It’s fixed,” the doctor said.
“Then there’s no time.”
Kaddish looked to the doctor while rushing over to support his wife. Lillian stood herself up, but her feet wouldn’t really hold.
“Is this all right?” Kaddish said.
“I won’t stop a mother,” Mazursky said.
Kaddish helped her dress and the doctor went off and returned with a wheelchair. “At least sit until you get to the car.” Lillian sat and the doctor pushed her to the elevator. When the doors opened, Kaddish took the handles.
“Good luck,” the doctor said. As Kaddish rotated the chair and started to back away, Lillian reached out and gave Mazursky’s hand a squeeze.
Tired of begging, Kaddish banged and banged and banged. I should have been as vigilant, Kaddish thought. How hard was it to ignore someone outside your door?
If Lillian had been feeling better, if she wasn’t leaning on his shoulder trying to keep on her feet, she might have said the same. He was glad she didn’t; he wouldn’t have been able to take it as they pleaded for Rafa’s mother to let them in.
Kaddish knew the police would have broken down their door in the end. They would have gotten in regardless. But how much better, how much better for them all, Pato too, if Kaddish had at least held them at bay, if he’d at least forced them to make a little noise.
“I just want to talk to him,” Kaddish said. “A word with your son.” Kaddish did want to talk to him. He intended to do this while sitting on Rafa’s chest and knocking his head against the floor. It was Rafa he blamed. However self-righteous the kids were, they were up to something. And Rafa was the instigator, Kaddish was sure.
Rafa’s mother told them to keep their distance through a closed door. She told them to stay out of their lives. “You’ve done enough,” she said. And Lillian was comforted. Whatever the accusation, Rafa’s mother was the first of the opinion that Lillian had accomplished anything at all.
Eventually Rafa’s mother opened the door. A look of concern spread across her face as soon as she caught sight of Lillian’s. She didn’t ask what happened or even say Come in. Rafa’s mother hadn’t seen Kaddish since his nose job, and it was only after absorbing Lillian that she focused on him. Had she bumped into them on the street, she wouldn’t have known who they were.
Kaddish got Lillian to the couch and went, without pause or permission, into both bedrooms. In one a teenage girl did her homework and didn’t bother giving Kaddish a second look. In the other an old man in heavy black shoes and two or three sweaters—with ample holes to see from one down into the next—was asleep on the bed. Kaddish walked back past Rafa’s mother and then on into the kitchen.
When he returned, the two mothers were staring at each other in silence, Lillian still seated on the couch.
“Where is he?” Kaddish said.
“It’s on your Pato,” Rafa’s mother said. “I loved him like a son, but this is on your kid.”
“What is?” Lillian said. She did not like the word loved. “Love,” she said out loud. “You love.”
“I’m truly sorry,” Rafa’s mother said. “I was sorry to hear.” She was about to cry but held it and, Lillian couldn’t help but notice, her healthy nostrils flared.
“I welcomed him in,” she said, “made him a home. He lived here when there was no place else.”
“There was always a place,” Kaddish said. “Whatever he liked to believe.”
“Pato didn’t so much think so. He spent a lot of his time with us.”
“Discipline,” Lillian said. “Often the children mistake discipline for cruelty and so they congregate in the homes with no rules.”
Rafa’s mother bent at the knees and screamed in Lillian’s face, which to Kaddish looked all the more desperate with Lillian’s bandage, and that bandage stained with blood. “A single mother,” she screamed. “A single mother!” She straightened up and Kaddish was surprised that neither the old man nor the girl came out of their rooms. “I slaved to make them a place, killed myself for these kids and now”—she raised up her voice again—“gone.”
“Who is gone?” Kaddish said.
“Rafa,” she said. “Flavia.”
“Arrested?” Lillian said. “The police?”
“No,” Rafa’s mother said. “They ran off. They took your call, took a few things, kissed me on the cheek, and left. ‘You don’t know us anymore,’ they said. What kind of good-bye is that from a son? And then Rafa said, ‘If they press you, if they torture, tell them exactly what happened. Tell them about right now. Tell them we got up and walked out the door.’” Rafa’s mother grabbed at the shirt on her chest and pulled as if she intended to rip it off with the skin underneath. “How am I supposed to live with that?”
“You’re lucky,” Lillian said. “They left on their own, and they can come back the same way.”
“How is that lucky when they won’t—when they can’t because of Pato?”
“The daughter,” Kaddish said. He had his own answer. “You’re lucky enough because there’s still the girl.”
“Get out,” Rafa’s mother said.
“Unfortunately, we can’t without answers.” Kaddish said this politely. “We need to know what the kids were up to. We need to know why Pato was taken. Tell us and we’ll go.”
“Up to? Don’t you know?” She studied them, incredulous. “You don’t even know about your own son.”
“What?” Kaddish said. “Are they Zionists? Is it communism?”
“I know what they’re guilty of,” Rafa’s mother said. She shifted her eyes to the left and the right. She leaned in to whisper. “Our children were deep into growing up.”
“That’s it?” Kaddish said.
“Nothing more.”
“There’s always more,”’ he said. “Things don’t happen without a reason. Maybe you too are missing a secret.” Kaddish gave Rafa’s mother a slow once-over. “You know where they are,” he said.
She ignored him.
“Please,” Lil
lian said. “Anything. You must have some idea where they went. An inkling.”
“No more than you,” Rafa’s mother said. “Go check their hangouts. Go ask around there.”
Lillian looked to Kaddish, and he slipped his arm behind her back.
“You don’t know,” Rafa’s mother said. “You really don’t have a clue.”
Kaddish didn’t move to speak. It was for Lillian—this had been placed before Lillian and Lillian, accepting, surrendered.
“We do not know about the children,” she said.
Rafa’s mother sat down. She sat and explained, telling them all she knew of the kids’ comings and goings, where they bought their beers and their books, where they ate and danced, on which blocks and against which streetlights they leaned.
It was wonderful to hear, like meeting a different Pato. How nice it sounded. It was a good and vibrant life. Their surly son sounded like a happy child, like the boy Lillian knew he was. They were a gift, these stories. New memories, new pictures, whole new dimensions to beef up the boy in her head.
“Thank you,” Lillian said when they left. She went to hug Rafa’s mother, who stepped away. She wouldn’t have it.
“I love him like my own,” she said, “but Pato’s the one that drove them out.”
“It could have been any one of them that got taken,” Kaddish said.
“That,” Rafa’s mother said, “is my fear.”
Lillian remembered playing her childhood games and all the ways in which they’d mimicked a sophisticated world. As she and Kaddish went from police station to police station, she wondered if Videla and the other generals had played those games the same. Maybe in their version the patient lifted the doctor’s shirt and, if the doctor resisted, the patient split her tiny little head with a rock.
Maybe all people are set in their ways that far back and it served to explain everything. Maybe that’s why she and Kaddish so differed in how best to respond. Kaddish also remembered games from his childhood, except Kaddish’s games were played by adults. If you asked him he’d tell you: when the policeman comes for the criminal, Talmud Harry offers him a drink, and some cash and lets him have his choice of the finest ladies in the house.
He’d tried explaining this to Lillian, as well as his beliefs about government offices and hierarchy and why he didn’t want to go along. “Make me a promise,” Lillian said. “We do this through proper channels. No more headstones, no more deals. No underworld contacts and no bright ideas. You’re a model citizen until we get our son back.”
At each station, as with the first, Lillian demanded to see holding cells and in more than a few the officers obliged. Kaddish was convinced that being led to the cells they’d never be led back, and one policeman looked at him with real violence in his eyes. Kaddish was doing his best to try Lillian’s way. Lillian mistook his acquiescence for like-mindedness. This was partly because she believed this to be the single logical path and partly because she assumed Kaddish knew, deep down, that his pursuits were often futile. When night had settled in and there was literally nothing left to her, she said to Kaddish, “Even for me, it’s time to go home.” She was caught off guard when Kaddish proposed they try his way for a stretch. “What way is that?” Lillian asked. “Roundabout and wrong-headed. But to me it looks right.”
There’s no reason to whisper in a parked car on a deserted street. Still, Lillian kept her voice to a hush.
“Only owls use the night better, Kaddish. I don’t know, though, if slinking about under cover of darkness will help Pato’s case. It seems the wrong message could be sent.”
“We don’t know yet that he’s innocent,” Kaddish said, keeping his own voice down. “And we don’t yet have a case to prove. As much as you blame me—”
“I don’t blame you.”
“As much as you do, I lay it on Rafa. He’s behind whatever trouble Pato’s in.”
Lillian didn’t care to share her opinion. She looked out her window into a rundown courtyard with a FOR SALE sign hanging over the gate. It had one of those checkerboard patios she’d always dreamed of. With a little money, someone could do it up nice.
“What about the fact that his best friends ran off?” Kaddish said. “It means they did something, no? It means they’re guilty of something?” Kaddish gave Lillian a chance to respond. When she didn’t, he broke off whispering and yelled. “You must agree, because you’re here, right? You’re waiting with me? Agreed? You wouldn’t have come if not.”
Lillian, still in a hush, said, “I make the best of things. At home all I’d do is sleep.”
Kaddish flipped on the headlights, illuminating the all-night bookstore they’d been watching on the next block. He pulled the car out and headed for a bar by the Obelisco, where Rafa’s mother said her son often sat. When they got there he put an elbow out the window and got himself comfortable. He dropped his cigarette in the gutter and let his hands go limp on the wheel. Kaddish was waiting—and waiting was now the order of their lives.
“How’s your face?” he said.
“I already feel like I shouldn’t have fixed it. How much better would it serve us if I’d left it a horror, putting fear into everyone we meet? Our own little junta—me and my nose. The pair of us broken, going around and spreading dread.”
There came the boy around the corner of Suipacha, pushing his way along. He walked with hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, as if that noggin was weighing him down. Lillian recognized him first. She’d fed these kids, with their bottomless stomachs, on countless occasions—and still so skinny, every last one. As soon as Lillian pointed, Kaddish was out of the car and crossing the street.
Kaddish looked this way and that to see if anyone else besides Rafa was around. He crossed the street at a slant, the way one works in open spaces, on water and ice, in wide-open fields. The boy was oblivious. It takes effort, Kaddish thought, not to notice such purposeful steps, a coming-right-at-you walk on an angled path.
Kaddish had sacrificed stealth for speed, so different from the careful way he moved when erasing names. Stealth, though, was his regardless. Considering all the time these kids wasted talking about energy and auras, Kaddish felt Rafa should have been more sensitive to the very negative, very angry vibrations directed his way. Rafa didn’t pick up on Kaddish’s approach until it was impossible to miss and too late.
Kaddish hit into him low, head turned to the side to make full use of that heavy bull shoulder. Hitting and straightening and throwing his weight, Kaddish catapulted the boy hard and high up against a brick wall. Doing the best he could without standing on tiptoes, Kaddish reached up and pressed Rafa’s face against the wall.
“You know Pato Poznan, you his friend?”
“No,” Rafa said. He spoke through a squished mouth compressed into a kiss.
Kaddish was milking the fear out of this boy and it felt good after the constant frustration. It was the first chance he’d had to unleash some rage. Maybe that’s why Kaddish was so rough, why he pressed hard against the face until he heard the rasp of skin against brick.
“You don’t know him,” Kaddish said. “But I know you.” Kaddish could feel the boy’s pulse in the palm of his hand. He could make out an Adam’s apple bobbing around. It was hard to keep hold, scared as the boy was and sweating so hard. “It’s me,” Kaddish said. “Pato’s father.” Kaddish was about to lose his grip.
“You sure you’re his father?” Rafa said. “If you’re really his father, ask me again.”
Kaddish let go and the boy slumped forward, face-to-face with Kaddish before straightening up. Rafa touched his jaw tenderly and said, “You sure you’re you?”
“It’s dark,” Kaddish said.
“There’s enough light to see that you don’t look Poznan. You sound like you, though,” Rafa said. He stared at Kaddish’s nose. “Pato told us you guys had yourselves fixed, that you’d gotten yourselves neutered and spayed.”
Kaddish hadn’t asked. He grabbed the denim collar of the boy’s
jacket and dragged him across the street. He forced the boy into the back of the car.
“Can we just clarify something?” Rafa said. “Because dragging folks into cars is an unusually sensitive matter these days. If you’re a Pato’sdad-sounding cop and you’re going to kill me, I’d like to know right now so I can have a fucking heart attack in the backseat. I can feel the fucking pains in my arm already.”
“I’m his father,” Kaddish said, “for real. And I still might kill you. His mother you also know, and she will be assisting in killing you if need be.” Lillian turned and nodded. The boy seized up, even more terrified, and actually clasped a hand to his chest.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. The boy looked to Kaddish. Whatever recognition he was working on was wiped away. Lillian smiled warmly but it only pushed at the bandage, forcing closed swollen eyes. Rafa read it as a wince. Something dripped.
Lillian turned on the inside light. “You don’t look so great yourself,” she said.
Rafa leaned forward to see his cheek in the mirror, scraped raw. There were also beads of blood forming two neat lines. Rafa wiped them away.
“We have questions about Pato,” Kaddish said.
“You could have called me,” Rafa said.
“We did,” Lillian said. “You were supposed to call us back.”
“Your mother is distraught,” Kaddish said.
“You talked to my mother?”
“We visited your mother. We were looking for our son’s best friends, but they seem to have run away.”
“There’s nothing I can tell that you don’t already know. Nothing since Pato called me from jail.”
“When?” Lillian said.
“It was before,” Rafa said. “After the concert and after the weekend, but before they took him again. He said you were coming to the station to get him. He was supposed to meet up with us later and he never showed. We called your house and no one answered. We went over last night to pick him up, and your freak neighbor wouldn’t open the door.”
“You see?” Lillian said, interrupting. “You see the locked door?”
“I see that idiot Cacho didn’t tell us anyone came by.”
2007 - The Ministry of Special Cases Page 16
