Colette and the Silver Samovar (8 page)

The firelight flickered over Amos's black fur, and he yawned again. I realized it had gotten dark. Ethelberta must have been thinking the same thing, because she said, “You should get back to your grandmother's, Sprite. She might be wondering where you are.”

“She doesn't care,” I said. “I think she hates me. Besides, she's at the hospital.”

“Now, now,” said Ethelberta. “She does care, but she just can't show it. Give her a day or two, Sprite. I'm sure she'll come around and take you to see your mother.”

“But what if she doesn't?” I asked.

Ethelberta stayed silent for a minute while she thought about that. Finally she said, “I have to be honest with you, Sprite. I just don't have the answer to that right now. But you come back tomorrow, and we'll figure it out.”

“All right,” I said.

“Go out the back way, if you don't mind, Sprite. Just so we can keep our little secret,” Ethelberta said.

Grandmama was home. Her car was parked in the driveway. I let myself in the back door, crept down the hall and peeked into the living room. She was staring out the window. A picture in a silver frame lay on her lap. Her cheeks were wet. She jumped when she saw me and dabbed her eyes with a linen handkerchief. “Where have you been? You're filthy!” She stood up and smoothed down her hair. Her face was blotchy and red. Her hand shook. “What are you staring at?” she asked. “Go wash up. You look like a ragamuffin! Go on! Get out of here!”

I whirled and ran up the stairs. I hate her, I thought. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! Who cares if she wiggles her toes or not!

She hadn't even given me a chance to ask about my mother. I hate her!

Chapter 10

They were arguing. I lay on the landing, my nose between the rails in the banister, and listened.

“Elena told you she was gone most of the day, and you don't know where she was?” asked my grandfather.

“She was outside playing. Don't make such a fuss,” said my grandmother.

“Fuss? Emily, the child's world has been turned upside down. I think it's important that we try and understand that,” said my grandfather.

“What about our world? Our daughter is lying in a coma. She might never come out of it. She might be a vegetable!”

“Stop it,” my grandfather said. “This isn't doing any good. All I'm saying is that perhaps you need to pay a little more attention to her.”

“I'm doing the best I can, Richard,” my grandmother said. “I don't even know the child!”

“I think she needs to go and see Alice,” Grandpapa said. “Did you speak to the doctor about that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

My grandmother's voice broke. “I didn't think of it. All I could do was sit beside my beautiful daughter and pray that she is going to be all right. If only she hadn't married that man!”

“Stop it, Emily. This won't solve anything.”

“I don't care! She had everything. We gave her everything. Why did she have to do this to us?”

“Emily. She didn't do anything to us. She just didn't fit into our world.”

“What's wrong with our world? What's so wonderful about living in a slum and teaching art to people who can't pay for it?”

“Emily, stop. Please, stop. This isn't how we should be spending our energy.”

“I'm sorry, Richard. I try to understand. But the thought that Alice might never come back to us, that we've lost her forever…well, it terrifies me.”

“What do you think it does to me?”

“Were you able to track down the husband?”

“Not yet. I went through the apartment and found the flight details, but I couldn't find the name and address of his parents anywhere.”

“Weren't there any letters?”

“Not that we could find. And Faizal is such a common name in Iran that it is going to be difficult to locate him.”

“What about an address book?”

“Well, you know Alice. She never was very organized. Her address book doesn't have one entry for Iran.”

“There must be some way we can find him! What about where he worked? Do they know anything?”

“No. He never spoke of his family to them.”

“The consulate?”

“That takes time. I'm looking into it.”

“You mean he isn't to be found anywhere?”

“Since they don't have an answering machine, Mrs. Singh has agreed to stay in the apartment as much as she can so that if Colette's father phones, someone might be there to take the call and tell him what has happened.”

“I can't believe it! I can't believe he didn't leave an emergency number.”

“I'm sure he did, Emily. I'm sure Alice knows where he can be reached. But as you know, we can't ask her!”

My grandmother started to sob. My grandfather's voice dropped to a murmur.

I put my hands over my ears and went back to my bedroom. I had seen a movie once about an underground spring called a geyser. When pressure builds up, the water just explodes, and that's exactly how my sadness was inside me.

When Grandpapa came to the door and told me that dinner was ready, I told him I wasn't hungry.

He sat beside me. I wanted to shout at him to go away, but then he picked up my hand and said, “Just give us a little time. Our hearts. Your grandmother's heart…well, it's broken. She doesn't mean to be harsh. I would really appreciate it if you would come down for dinner,” he said, finally. “You need to eat.”

“Will you take me to see her?” I demanded.

“If you want,” he said slowly. “I will take you to see her tomorrow.”

I gripped his fingers. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell Grandmama?”

“I'll have to,” he said.

“She won't like it,” I told him.

He hesitated, then said, “No, she won't.”

We stared at each other. He was taking my side. I remembered my father saying that a husband and wife should always stick together, and I realized that this was hard for my grandfather. I kissed his cheek. He put his hand over the spot where my kiss had landed.

My grandmother had set the table in a great big dining room. Silver dishes glowed on the table. A golden clock tick-tocked on the sideboard. Grandpapa ate without speaking. My grandmother sipped from a glass of wine and didn't speak. Her rings sparkled in the candlelight. I tried to eat, but the food stuck in my throat.

I waited for Grandpapa to say something about taking me to see my mother, but he went to make some phone calls as soon as he'd finished eating. My grandmother left her food untouched, just like I did.

“May I be excused?” I asked.

My grandmother glanced at my plate, opened her mouth to say something, but then looked at her own plate and nodded.

I went into the hall. I started pushing open doors and peeking inside. A sign that said
The Wrapping
Room
hung on one door. Inside was an entire wall of bins and drawers and rollers holding pretty papers. Jars of pencils, pens and paintbrushes sat on a large table.

The next room was full of the kind of equipment you see in a gym. It even had a sauna. Before long, I found myself on the back porch. I thought of Ethelberta Jarvis sleeping on the floor, and I decided I should peek in her window to make sure she was all right. Mr. Singh once told me that people shouldn't sleep right after a bad blow to the head.

“What are you doing now?”

My grandmother opened the door and motioned for me to come inside. “Haven't you disappeared enough for one day?” she demanded. “You really are the most exasperating child.” She glanced at her watch. A look of relief passed over her face. “I think you should go get ready for bed,” she said.

As I lay in bed, I thought of my father, far away. I hoped Grandpapa would find him soon and tell him that my mother and I needed him. I crossed my fingers and squeezed my eyes shut. I tried to send him a message.

I'll always know what you are thinking,
my mother told me once.
If you are in trouble, I'll know it. I'll feel
it right here—
she pointed to her chest—
like an invisible
telephone line.

My father laughed and said,
Alice, you are such
a dreamer.

But when he turned away, she winked at me.
You'll
see,
she said.

I hoped my mother was right. And I hoped that wherever my father was, he would feel a vibration that would tickle his mind. Then maybe he'd hear my voice and know the meaning of faith.

Chapter 11

The next morning before my grandmother left for the hospital, she sat me down and said, “Don't go wandering around the streets. I've asked Elena to keep a careful eye on you.”

The minute she was gone, I told Elena I was going to go read in my room. She nodded and then took a mop down into the basement. I stuffed my bed to make it look like I was lying under the covers and propped up an open book.

I needed to check on Ethelberta. As I started across the lawn, my grandfather's car pulled into the driveway.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Nowhere,” I said.

He frowned. “I thought your grandmother asked you to stay inside.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“I came to get you,” he continued without really listening. “To take you to see your mother.”

My knees got all wobbly. I hadn't believed he'd do it. Now here he was, waiting for me. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He opened the car door. “Get in,” he said.

My grandfather didn't talk all the way to the hospital. It wasn't until we pulled into the parking garage and he turned off the engine that he looked at me.

“I just hope I am not making a terrible mistake,” he said, running his fingers over his face. Then he opened the door, got out of the car and headed toward the elevator.

“You should know that she looks quite different,” Grandpapa said when we got off on the fifth floor. “She doesn't respond to voices, and she won't know you're here.”

I gulped, and my hands shook.

He touched my shoulder and said, “Ready?”

I nodded.

I don't know what I expected. I think I imagined she would be the same as always, only sleeping. And that when she saw me or heard my voice, she would wake up and smile, and that would be that. I really thought she would know who I was and that she would hug me and tell me that everything was going to be all right.

She was lying in a white bed with bandages around her head. Grandmama was sitting beside her, but she got up and brushed past us when Grandpapa and I entered the room.

I took a step forward. A machine beeped, and my mother lay as still as Snow White after she'd eaten the poisonous apple. Her face seemed lopsided, and there was a cut on her cheek.

“Mom?” I whispered. I reached out and touched her fingers. They twitched.

“I've asked the doctor to meet us here,” Grandpapa said.

As if he'd been waiting for his cue, a tall man wearing a white coat opened the door and glided into the room.

“Colette,” he said.

I kept staring at the stranger in the bed, hoping to recognize the mother I'd seen two days ago, when she'd said goodbye and told me she'd pick me up to take me to the art gallery.

Grandpapa took my arm and guided me into the hall, where the bright light made me blink. The doctor came out too and bent over so that he was looking right at me. “My name is Doctor Maluk,” he said. He had brown eyes and brown skin. His black hair was slicked back from his face, and he had a little white tag on his coat with his name on it. “I am your mother's doctor. Perhaps we can go over here and talk,” he said, pointing to a waiting room.

“How old are you, Colette?” asked Dr. Maluk.

“Nine years, three months and twenty days,” I said.

He smiled. He had white, even teeth that reminded me of my father's. “That's a very good age,” he said. “I loved being nine. But I know that you might not feel that way at the moment.”