Dry Your Smile (58 page)

“Why,”
I would ask her, “why drive yourself this way? Hope will not know at the last. Hope will not care. Of what use is studying about a Primary Clear Light of this First Bardo in the Tibetan Book of the Dead? Juliana,” I would plead, “come with me and sleep a few hours instead. Have mercy on yourself, give yourself peace.”

But she would shake her head, small head so heavy with grief my breasts would ache from longing to feel its weight.

Everything had to be prepared. She arranged for the eyes to go, when the time would come, to the eye bank. “Why?” I asked her. “What is the point? Let the body rest, Juliana.”

“To be of use,” she would mutter. Possessed. Driven. Beyond my reach.

She had even called the father. I heard her, on my phone. At my apartment she did it. Santa María, such dignity in that voice.

“David,” she said, “don't be alarmed. I want nothing of you. I want only to tell you that Hope is very ill. They say she has weeks now to live. In case you wanted to see her … before. I doubt she would know you, so you needn't be afraid. Nor should you misunderstand me. I am not requesting that you visit her. I merely thought you should have the option, if there was a need in you, so that afterward you would not regret …”

But he said no. No, she said he'd told her, in his stiff manner, thank you I see no need. Her father. My father.
Patrem omnipotentem
. And all the while, Laurence, stiff in his own suffering. How can this be,
Mater Dolorosa?
How can they permit such pain to shriek out before their eyes, such blood to rinse their gutters? How can they turn their faces always from us?

If I could make her eat something, drink something other than the containers of black coffee she asks me to bring her. If I could make her sleep, even for an hour.

“I will watch for you,” I say. “I have slept. You have not.
Let
me. Let me take some of the weight. I will wake you the instant anything changes—her breathing, her color, anything.”

But she shakes her head. She looks at me with eyes like her mother's. Eyes she will have plucked from her mother's sockets and set in someone else's head so someone else can see. See
what
, Juliana? The resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come? The blood of this world, running into gutters of blindness? You must learn when to stop, I say. But she looks at me through those eyes and shakes her head.

Ave Maria
, let it be finished, so we can begin again, so I can take her home—
home
—with me and teach her how to live. She's going to be with me now.
Sanctus, sanctus, hosanna in excelsis
.

I will make her laugh again, I swear it. I will feed her and stroke her head and let her sleep. I will bathe that body with my love. Mornings we will have, and noons. Slow subtle evenings and rich nights. A real life. For how long have I waited for this through how many nights alone, or alone in the arms of another? For how long, crying to the darkness
Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna!
But she has come to me at last, my Juliana.
Lux aeterna
. Mine now.

Not much longer, surely. See how she croons over the mother, strokes her, rocks slowly backward and forward, her lips whispering without pause to a woman who cannot hear. This is what we do, we daughters.

And the other lies there. Silent, distant, unhearing us, unseeing us, unknowing us, unanswering us. Having borne and forgotten us, never reclaiming us, never permitting us readmission. We seek her, we daughters, we seek her in ourselves and in each other, in the breast and the round of belly, in the line of hip and the flash of eye. We search her out where she hides from us, is hidden from us by the fathers. We search for the curve of throat, the arc of wrist, the glance, the beckoning. We strain to hear the sound of her voice, calling us home. We tug at her hands, caress her nipples, spread her, open her, enter her,
home
. This is what we do, we daughters. We exiles.
Sueño, corazón, alma
. The body of the mother.
Let me hear you
, we cry,
let me smell you, touch you, taste you. Let me come home
.

For this you have burned us alive,
Rex majestatis!
The odor of singed flesh pleases your nostrils, not that of wild honey wept from our loving. You also seek her, your sons seek her, disrobe her, rape her. But you say we, the daughters, may not seek her. For this I turn from you eternally. But to You, Mystical Rose, Tower of Ivory, to You I appeal. Hear this daughter, O body of the mother, land of birth! Hear my offering!

Take me and thrust me from You forever. Take away my faith, my art, my laughter, take even
O Mater Dolorosa no
Yes take even Juliana's love from me if you must, forever. Plunge me into darkness eternal, eternal exile. Take away my soul, let it be spent in a lifetime's care for, sacrifice for, Juliana. Take what You wish. I have nothing else to offer. But let the agony be finished. Let Juliana be free of it, free of all these deaths, all these mournings. Let her be free—
no, I can't bear it, I can't bear losing her again, no
—free—
I must offer it, it's all I have
—free of both the living and the dead
vivos et mortuos
even—
I must
—of me. Free of me.

If that is Your will. If You can accept no other offering.

But have mercy upon us. If this sacrifice must be, let me have a little time. To make Juliana whole again. To teach her how to live again. My child.

Let Juliana be born today, no seventh veil masking that beauty, no shadow blinding that smile.

Take back into Yourself the mother.
Requiem aeternam dona eis
.

And let the daughter go.

We're ready now, Hope.

It's me, still here beside you. You're not alone.

I know you're in there. You know I'm with you.

So reach up to me one last time.

One last effort now.
Up up
to where I'm reaching down for you. Hold to this voice, this link. Here is the strength to complete the journey.

Tired, yes, I know. But it isn't long now.
You can do it
. You can be anything you want to be. Hear me, hear my singing to you.

It's a lullaby. Remember?
Lullaby and goodnight, may the angels watch over you
. You can hear me. Try …

Yes
.

These are some words for you to use, Hokhmah,
klayne libe, klayne Hokheleh
. Let them help you.

Shema Yisroel, adonai elohenu adonai achod, amen selah
.

You know those words. Let them drift down through you. Let them fall like a soft rain of light drenching the darkness.

Send to this woman perfect healing, take her in love. Grant her the abundant good held in store for the righteous. All her sins and transgressions have been of love. Give her new life, replete with joy, forever
.

Yis-ga-dal ve-yis-ka-dash she-may raba
…

No more suffering now, Hokhmah, no more, not ever.

So tired … But you can do it,
klayne libe. Just a little more now
. You're not alone.

Don't be afraid. I'm with you
. It's been me all along.

Reach
up up up
just a little more, you have the courage precise to this moment,
you have the strength, I'm sending it down to you
.

Feel me …
Yes
. You can hear me singing to you,
may the angels watch over you …

Klayne Hokheleh, libe
, can you see it now?
See the light streaming down to you
, clear and singing? It's all for you.

No more hurting, no more being tired.

Now you can let it all go, release it
, petals floating through your fingers, memories falling from the flower's center, free,
it's time
, no more heaviness.
Only this lightness now
, forever. Only this
warm singing light
that you can touch, feel, hear, see.
This is what you'll always see now
, this is what you'll never stop seeing … Blessèd be,
meina klayne libe. This is the threshold
.

Now you can let go
yes
you can do it, you can leave all the rest behind you now
yes that's right you're letting go
isn't it
yes
radiance and music and warmth now …
zeit gazunt …

I love you. I've always loved you
.

Now you can enter the light
.

God! I'm dying, God! I must be finally giving birth! The baby's finally coming, God!

Such a long labor. They never tell you it'll be like this. Got to gather my strength up through all these layers, like smoke, like water. Hurts up near the heart. I must've been carrying the baby high. They say when you carry high it's always a boy.

Got to carry it till it's born and safe. Got to clench my fists till the nails dig into my palms; then I can feel I'm doing it. Flesh of my flesh.

But it's so alone here. Dark. Cold. Afraid.
Somebody help!
I call and call but nobody hears me.
Oh God, nobody even knows I'm in here!

Such silence. Roars like a waterfall. Beats, pounds in my head, in my wrists. Wrists like a Mayan princess, he said. Who? David? Somebody said …

Somebody saying something … like a chorus singing with no … words? Somebody trying to get through?
Somebody knows I'm in here!
Who's trying …?
Momma? Is that you?

It must be Momma, she'd know I'm down here. She always loved me best, more than Yetta or Essie … wait … there it is again.

Somebody's trying to help. That means there's hope, that means I—Hope's my name! That's right, I remember. If you know your name you're not so scared. That means I can do it. Maybe it's not too late to begin singing again. God-given talent pouring out of me and spilling over packed audiences. Leaping to their feet, a roar of applause … maybe that's what the sound is? And flowers raining down to the stage, all the petals falling …

That must be it! And Momma calling through the applause
Hokhmah
. Telling me I should pick up the flowers they're throwing. And curtsy. So beautiful, all the petals misting from
up up up
in the balcony, each flower …
open, petals spread
, floating in such …
lightness
.

Dizzy, I'm so dizzy. Curtsying … I'll fall if I don't hold on to … something to grab hold of, the way a baby … I can almost feel … somebody reaching down here, in … my crib? Somebody … me reaching up, somebody reaching for her baby Hokhmah. That's me! I'm
Hokhmah!
No, the baby is …
Julian
.

That's what I'll call the baby—Julian. Full American he'll be, strength of the peasant, elegance of the aristocrat—mine. Seize the whole world in his tiny fist.
We can do it, you and me, together against the world
. So I can
let go, open my hands
the way a flower opens, ah …

Not so cold anymore. Maybe I can, after all, together with … Who? Is that … you, David? Oh, don't be silly, I don't know how to waltz. Oh, well, maybe if … ah, how I love your touch, your surgeon's fingers on my skin like that … David, David, how fast you whirl me! Darling, please, ah yes, lovely giddiness but … have to hold on tight to you or I'll fall.
Wait
… somebody calling … hard to hear, such a loud waltz! Somebody cutting in? Now don't be jealous, David, he's an old friend, he's …
linda
yes yes I know that's what you always called me but hush you shouldn't have cut in like that, David's my husband, you know, and I'm carrying his son … oh I've missed you, too,
te amo
, so lonely it's been without you …

I have to go now. Momma's calling me to do the chores. She likes it when I sing around the house. We bake cookies together and sometimes we go windowshopping. We sit at the kitchen table and eat black bread.
Klayne libe
, she calls me, that's Yiddish for “little love,” and
klayne Hokheleh
. My Momma loves me more than Yetta or …

But she's not the best mother in the whole world.
I
am. I better check the baby. Look how beautiful he is, Julian my son … why, he's not a boy! He's … it's a fine baby girl! Is she—Is that
me
in the crib, Momma? Or is—Look! Look at the talent pouring out of her like flowers from the balcony …
up up way so high
. No, look here,
they're growing right out from my fingers
, my hands are earth and my fingers stems with real flowers at each … I knew they weren't lost! Didn't I say so, Julian? Sometimes they sleep for years and then … I knew it all along! You did too, didn't you Julian? This is my own baby, my belovèd daughter … and
you
knew it, too, didn't you, Momma? I always loved you, how silly of you not to know that, Momma! 'Course you knew that, Julian! We couldn't have done it if we hadn't followed each other, looking back to make sure none of us got lost … Am I lost now? I just—Sometimes I wander off and then I … always surprised to find out somebody's missed me, looking for me to see I'm safe in the crib … is the baby all right?… She's the daughter of a rabbi, you know, the firstborn real American, that's why I have to carry her till I can set her down safe, strong and laughing and loving, her face like a bouquet of white lilacs, like a chart full of stars, stars on the dressingroom door stars floating from the balcony worn on the sleeve to show … Where's everybody gone?

It's getting dark again. Like the set before they say Lights up! and I give her a last hug and wish her “Good show, Baby!” and she runs from me onto the set, always pausing for a second to look back over her shoulder with such an odd expression I guess just to be sure I'm there, that I haven't wandered off. I gesture her
Go on
I gesture
You can do it
you can be anything I want you to be, and then she turns from me and next thing you know there she is under the lights all different, somebody else, somebody who doesn't even know me, doesn't know I'm in here … cold again, so tired.