Cafe Babanussa (20 page)

When he sat down, Ruby's mother whispered, “James, do you always have to be so insistent? It borders on arrogance, my dear.”

Ruby egged her father on. “You were saying . . .”

“Well, yes I was. You know, Ruby, there are lots of good jobs at home for a bright young woman like you. Think about your future, about your security. What can Berlin offer you . . . ?”

Her mother piped up. “Your father and I disagree on this matter, Ruby. I think that if you're happy here, if you have
a good job and you're healthy, then you should stay. But if you can't look after yourself, especially with this illness, you should come home.”

“Thanks, Mom. God, Dad, I thought you told everybody I was a translator. Isn't that good enough for you?”

Her father winced. She had slowly returned to work at the institute, but only part-time. As a result, she did just about everything—translating, tutoring English, even modelling nude for desperate art students. Her father had stretched and eliminated truths, telling the neighbours that she was a translator in French, German and Spanish for some prestigious German company.

But the one thing she wasn't doing in Berlin was pursuing security. Why bother? Life was too short to worry about pensions. Besides, how could she explain to her parents that she was still infatuated with the city? How she loved its wild extremes, from tattooed punks and anarchist squatters to soaring public monuments to winding, winsome tree-lined canals. Where else could she pedal off to the open-air cinema to watch
Jules and Jim
in the twilight? And finally, where else could you knock on a neighbour's door and she'd open it up nice and wide and stand there stark naked and say, “Hello, Ruby, what gives?” She had not done any of these things lately, but she knew they were waiting for her.

The waiter carefully set the fresh coffee down in front of her father, then stood back and waited for his approval. Her father took a sip, nodded, and pronounced with sudden graciousness, “It's fine now, thank you.”

Ruby smiled at the waiter, her thoughtful gaze resting on his tanned body, curly brown hair and sensuous mouth. Her eyes followed him as he turned away.

Her father chuckled. “You haven't forgotten how to flash that smile. Well, that's okay, as long as it's just a smile.”

“Oh god,” Ruby groaned. “And what if it wasn't?”

“Oh, go ahead and flirt,” said her mother. “Enjoy it while you're young!”

Her father continued as if he hadn't heard either of them. “Ruby, you know, before I met your mother I did a lot of running around with all kinds of women. I hung with a guy, both of us just out of the army, blowing whatever money we had on the finest zoot suits and fancy drinks for the gals we chased.” A childlike grin broke over his broad face. “Damn, I nearly drove your grandparents crazy. Maybe that's why they never said much when I told them I was marrying a white woman. They just wanted me married and out of the house.”

Ruby laughed and shook her head. She'd heard different versions of the same story a million times, but it was still a stretch to imagine her flashily dressed father hitting the nightclubs years earlier.

“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked with a smile.

“Well, I know everyone has to kick about and enjoy life when they're young. But there comes a time when you just have to get it out of your system. Your mother and I have been married thirty-five years now. And I've never looked at another woman since I met her.”

Ruby shuffled her legs impatiently under the table. She knew she couldn't expect her father to understand how she could love one person and still get a kick out of messing around with someone else. Especially since she didn't quite get it herself. Intellectually it made sense; she'd read all those books about Sartre and de Beauvoir, Hammett and Hellman, and the tyranny of marriage as a patriarchal institution. And she knew many Berliners who seemed to thrive in open relationships. But something else seemed to be driving her that she couldn't explain.

Ruby stared out the window, head resting in her hand, fingers pressed tightly over her mouth. She looked at her father, his hand stirring a brown whirlpool in his white porcelain coffee cup. She expected him to launch into another tale of how her great-great-grandfather rose up from the shackles of slavery to become one of Canada's first black dentists, how her great-aunt Rose had painted in Mexico with Diego Rivera, how Great-Uncle William had studied music in Berlin, how her sister was a productive, successful member of the community back home. But surprisingly he remained silent.

“Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm doing what I like, though it can be menial at best. I don't want to be trapped in the same old job for thirty years. And I won't stay tied to someone who doesn't understand me.”

“I know, sweetheart. I guess I just want you back home, safe and sound.”

Ruby reached over to touch her father's hand, his shiny
brown skin still smooth and supple. “I'll be back someday, Dad. You'll see.”

Ruby's mother pursed her lips and said, “Ruby, we've been worried about you. I can't help wondering if you're still depressed.”

“I have been kind of low, but I'm starting to come around.”

“You look rather drawn to me, not as spunky as usual. You need to come home for an extended visit.”

“I think you're probably right about that. I'll see what I can do.”

“Please come home soon, darling.”

“Mom, I'm sorry to hear that
you
weren't well either,” Ruby said. “What happened?”

“We'll talk about that later, sweetie. Right now I want to focus on you. Can you get a recommendation for a psychiatrist from your doctor? It would be great if you could get some more help.”

“I'm taking my meds already, Mom. I get a shot of Haldol once a month. I'm not big on psychiatrists. But maybe I can find some other kind of therapist. I'll look into it.”

Her father took a last sip of his coffee, now cold, and grimaced. He stood up and said, “I'm going back to the room.”

Her mother smiled and touched his hand. “I'll stay here with Ruby for a while.” Her father nodded and slowly left the restaurant.

Ruby's mother reached across the table and grabbed her daughter's hands in hers. “Darling, I'm so sorry this has happened to you. I don't know what to tell you, except that I'm so
worried that you have to handle it on your own. Are you sure you're done with Werner?”

“Yes, I'm sure. He was smothering me.”

“You've always been so headstrong. I guess you're following your gut instincts, and if so, you know what's best. But being on your own means you have even more reason to look after yourself.”

“Mom, while we're on the topic, let me get right down to it. How come you and Dad never gave Jess and me a heads-up about mental illness?”

“Goodness, you and your sister were very young when things first started going wrong. We didn't know
what
to say. I just did my best to get better with the help of medication, a psychiatrist and your dad.” Her mother was looking deep into Ruby's eyes, searching for a little compassion.

“But all you had to do was describe what you went through, what it felt like and what you were doing about it.” Ruby turned her gaze to the window again and chewed her lip. The sun was still inching its way across the moist sky.

Her mother twirled the cardboard coaster that sat in front of her. She waved the waiter over to order a martini. Then an almost imperceptible sigh slipped from her lips. Ruby watched her mother as she struggled with the words. “I didn't know you were so angry. But Ruby, how could I possibly describe what I was going through to a young child? There's not much you would have truly understood. I was just as scared as you, but in a different way.”

Ruby thought about everything her mom would have
had to contend with and suddenly felt sorry for her. But she continued nonetheless. “You could have talked to us when we were a little older.”

“You're probably right. I can't say why I didn't. We weren't consciously trying to hide it. I guess we just dealt with it as honestly as we could have. We were still young, and mental illness was very taboo at the time.”

“Yeah, I know. It still is. And it's awful, being so out of control. Never knowing who or what to believe. Being so angry when the happiness and energy disintegrate. Did you ever have delusions? My head was full of them.”

Her mother paused before answering. “Aside from feeling like I had a godlike strength, no, I never got psychotic, if that's what you mean. It was all rampant energy, feeling strong, creative and happy.”

“But you were really cranky, too.”

“You're right. I was getting to that. I was edgy. I wanted my time all to myself and not to have to share it with anyone else.”

“And then you crash . . .”

“Yes, down, down, down.”

“Do you remember when I came to see you in the hospital once?”

Her mom shrugged. “Umm, I'm not sure. Which time?”

Ruby leaned in towards her mother. “You hugged and kissed me all over. And then suddenly you jumped up out of bed and ran down the hall, yelling and crying.” Ruby sat back again.

“I don't remember that at all.” Her mom hunched over her martini.

“I thought I'd done something wrong. I didn't recognize you anymore. Who was this person? Not my mom.”

Ruby's mom scraped her chair back and sat straight, as if collecting herself. “I'm so sorry you went through all that. And maybe somehow, when you and Jessie were older, we should have tried to talk to you about it some more. But it's not like other illnesses. It's invisible. There's no cure. There's so much stigma. And after all, just what is a ‘broken' brain? It manifests itself in so many different ways. Your experiences are so different from mine.”

“I told them in the hospital that my mother was bipolar, but they preferred to treat it as a one-off situation rather than permanently diagnose me.”

Her mother's fingers tapped out a little song on the table. “I'm not sure if that's wise or not. I needed a diagnosis in order to get proper help.”

“But this way I'm not labelled for life. I can get on with things. I know I'll only be on meds for a limited time.”

“Ruby, I hate to say this, but don't fool yourself. You may well get sick again, you just don't know. And then you may need medication again.”

“Yes, but maybe only temporarily, just like this time. Mom, what seems to bring it on for you?”

Her mother smiled at her. “Plain and simple—stress and lack of sleep. Maybe there are other factors, but those are the two biggies for me. The latest episode was when I was up a number of nights worrying about you. I had to increase my medication and lay low for a while. What sets you off?”

“I'd have to say the same. Stress. Troubles building in and out of my relationship with Werner. Other stuff.” Ruby couldn't look her mother in the face. She was not about to tell her any details about Dom and her abortion, although she guessed that Jessie might have alluded to it already.

“How were you managing your so-called open relationship with Werner? I'll admit it's not my cup of tea. It must have been rather trying.” Both women wriggled a little in their seats and glanced out the window. The final clouds had blown by and it was as if threads of gold were suspended along the lines of dampness still in the air.

“Perhaps more so for him than for me in some ways. For Werner it was all theoretical, a way of asserting his authority, but I needed to feel free and took advantage of the deal. He couldn't handle it.”

Ruby's mother drained the last drops from her glass. The women stood up and embraced for a long time, then Ruby went back to her parents' room and lay down on the sofa for a nap. Such frank talks were rare between them, and exhausting. She thought of earlier days.

Claude Gauthier, Claude L
é
veill
é
e, Félix Leclerc. Ruby's mother was playing the music of various chansonniers from Quebec, their haunting and mournful music filling the quiet Sunday afternoon air after brunch at the Edwards' house. Music was blending with food, food with music.

“Mommy, put on something French.”

Her mom slipped a record on the stereo and sat down on the sofa with Ruby tucked neatly into her body. Her mom always smelled so good. Today she smelled of baked apples. Although Louise Edwards was not the housewifely type, she had a few tricks up her sleeve and today it was big Spy apples baked with cinnamon, brown sugar, butter and nuts. As Ruby uncurled herself after the song to look up at her mom, she saw eyes that glistened brightly as they drank in the music.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Ruby asked breathily. For she too was transported by the music, the rich voices, even though she barely understood the words.

Louise hugged her daughter. “It's just so beautiful,” she murmured as she collected herself. They listened to
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
and hugged each other knowingly as the songs reached their denouement.

“Mommy, is he leaving her?”

“Yes, he's going to war.”

Ruby picked out bits and pieces of the lyrics.

“Mommy, Mommy. He's going to wait for her. But she can't wait for him.”

“No, sweetie, he says that he will think only of her and that he knows that she will wait for him.”

“Mon amour, je t'aime. Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de ma vie.”

Ruby smiled at the memory. She would always remember those dreamlike afternoons under the spell of
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
.

Ruby told her mother she was going for a walk but instead went back to the restaurant and took a seat near the bar. She ordered a drink and took a pen and some paper out of her handbag, intending to record some of her thoughts while they were still clear. As she began scribbling notes to herself, a shadow loomed over her page. She looked up to see the waiter who had served her earlier. He handed Ruby her drink and sat down beside her. Broken English and German spilled forth. His name was Hans. They asked each other the usual questions. She felt the pressure of his hand on hers.