Echoes of a Distant Summer (103 page)

Rhasan stood up slowly. He put his hand up to his neck then saw his fingers were covered with blood. He gave Deleon a look of pure rage. Jackson interrupted his thoughts.

“Rhasan! Get Dan out of here now! He needs medical attention!” Rhasan turned to the task as ordered. Deleon shifted his position casually, trying to get a better angle on Jackson while keeping in throwing range of Rhasan. Jackson stopped him with a warning. “Move any farther and I’ll start shooting!”

Rhasan dragged Dan’s unconscious body out the door. Jackson called after him, “Tell everyone to stay out!” He knelt and put his gun on the floor.

Deleon figured there were three and a half strides between him and Jackson. If the gun were farther away, Deleon could be on him and kill him before he could squat down to pick it up. Deleon opened his hands to show that all he possessed was his knife. “Kick the gun away! It’s just you and me now.” Jackson did as requested. Before the gun had skidded to a stop Deleon took off for him. He had made two strides before Jackson had even decided how he would react and then he only dropped down into a defensive crouch with his hands low. Deleon landed on his third stride and launched himself at Jackson, changing the attack line of his blade from low to high at the last minute. He was aiming for the throat. Then suddenly Jackson’s foot shot up, striking for his head. With a torque of his body Deleon contorted out of the way so that the shoe only grazed his ear. He slashed at Jackson’s unprotected belly as he continued past him and struck home, but the blade of his knife was unable to slice through the Kevlar netting of the bulletproof vest.

Deleon rolled to his feet and began another quick attack. This time he intended to stab directly through the vest. He shifted to a low striking position, hoping to bring Jackson’s hands down. He made several flashing stabs for the thighs and Jackson gave ground. Then without warning he leaped forward, stabbing for the stomach, which surprisingly Jackson blocked. Using his opponent’s arm as a pivot, Deleon slashed for the neck and the blow was blocked again. Deleon was about to make an arm cut when he saw a blade slashing for his face. Deleon had to contort his body again to avoid the blow. He broke with Jackson and cursed himself. He had been too arrogant. With two hands the fight would’ve been over, but with only the use of one he should’ve started gradually and determined Jackson’s skill level. The palmed-blade
technique was old school. Jackson had obviously trained somewhere.

Deleon started another attack. This time it consisted of a series of rapid stabs and parries, checking out Jackson’s defenses. Their blades clashed in the block and parry. Deleon noted that there were opportunities to inflict various cuts on Jackson which would eventually wear him down. However, Deleon needed something more immediate. He hadn’t forgotten those noises in the hall, plus using his left arm in close blocking was extremely painful. Several times his arm almost gave way because of the pain. He needed a mortal thrust. Deleon kept his blade flashing through the attack patterns, seeking his opening. He had seen that Jackson responded to a right-handed overhand throat attack by not fully side-stepping, but blocking it with his left hoping to come under it with his own blade. Yet he gave way to the right when attacked from the left.

Deleon used this information to back Jackson toward the low coffee table. He made several low lunging attacks then came up quickly with a throat thrust. Jackson was only able to avoid the blade by leaping backward, but the table caught the backs of his legs and he went sprawling. Deleon did not wait for him to land fully on the table before he launched himself. He had his knife high behind his head and he was striking for the heart. Jackson saw him at the last moment and raised his left hand to block, but Deleon drove his blade through Jackson’s hand and tried to put the weight of his landing behind the thrust. Strangely, he wasn’t able to drive the blade into Jackson’s heart. The tip of the knife only penetrated the vest. Deleon scrambled to get his weight behind the blade of his knife while trying to keep a grip on Jackson’s knife arm.

The blade had gone through Jackson’s hand so fast that he didn’t recognize it until the tip of the knife penetrated his chest. He realized that he was moments away from death. Deleon was trying to reposition himself, to put his weight behind the knife. Jackson’s left hand couldn’t take much more. Then suddenly he looked up and saw his grandfather staring down at him. The old man was wearing his white Stetson and smoking a cigar. The old man kicked him in the side and growled, “Get up, goddamn it, and stop playing around! I got mo’ things for you to do!”

Jackson was so outraged by his grandfather’s words, he exploded. He
didn’t quite know what happened next but he twisted his blade hand out of Deleon’s grip and then drove his knife up to its hilt into Deleon’s heart. He twisted the blade savagely until Deleon’s body went limp and his eyes closed. Jackson rolled the dying body off him and stood up. He pulled Deleon’s knife out of his hand. The pain caused him to bend over in agony. He dropped the knife on the floor and looked around for his grandfather, but he was gone. There was only a trace of cigar smoke in the air.

When Jackson twisted his knife out of the weakened grip of his left hand, Deleon knew that death was coming. He was not even surprised when the blade entered his chest. There was only momentary pain then all was numb. As his eyes closed for the last time, his dying thought was that the swirling red painting he had dreamed of was being done in his own blood.

Jackson looked down at Deleon’s body and realized that the last debt had been paid. He threw back his head and roared. The sound came from deep inside of him, beyond the world of logic and ideas. It was the raw, primal energy of an animal that had conquered a bitter rival. It was the sound of victory.

S
erena hummed a gospel song to herself as she looked over the plates of hors d’oeuvres and made adjustments to the table decorations. She particularly liked the three large bouquets of red and pink roses that Gabriel Fontenot and his wife had brought. There was laughter coming from the living room. She also heard the sound of Elroy coughing. Concerned, she went to the door and looked in to see if he needed any assistance. Elroy was in the midst of telling a funny story. He was surrounded by Samantha, Rhasan, Jackson, Carlos, Reuben, and Julio, along with his own son, Gabriel, and his wife, Nora. Elroy saw her in the doorway, smiled, and gestured that he was fine, then continued with his story.

Serena turned back into the dining room. She was beaming. It had been a stroke of luck to have located Elroy’s son in Sacramento. All Elroy
had known was that he worked as a structural engineer for a large development corporation. Serena had called in a few favors from her real estate contacts in Sacramento and within a week she had found him. Gabriel and his wife were only too happy to come down once they heard about Elroy’s injuries. Gabriel had given Serena quite a shock when he had come through the door, because he looked like Jackson’s father, Jacques. Tremain blood was there through and through. Serena’s thoughts were interrupted by more laughter from the living room. The sound of it swelled her heart. It seemed a century ago that she was sitting in a quiet, still house contemplating death. She felt that she had journeyed into the bowels of hell itself and had been blessed with a miraculous reprieve. She would not waste this second chance on anything less than happiness. Whatever little time she had left, she wanted it like this, with a laughter-filled house.

Mrs. Marquez entered from the kitchen carrying a sweet-smelling, partially sliced glazed ham on one of Serena’s fine porcelain platters.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Marquez. That looks wonderful.”

Mrs. Marquez smiled. “Thank you, but it is your recipe. I only fix it like you say. The chickens, they come, oh, maybe five minutes. They look beautiful too.” She chuckled and glanced over the table and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I forgot the deviled eggs!” She began to scurry toward the kitchen

Serena laughed and said, “Take your time, Mrs. Marquez. In a week, you’ll be retiring from this job of twenty-five years and you’re the grandmother of a college-bound high school graduate.”

Mrs. Marquez paused momentarily before going through the kitchen door, as if Serena’s words had somehow stabbed her painfully in the back. When she returned with the platter of deviled eggs, her head was down and there was a leaden movement in her gait.

Serena asked with concern, “Did I say something? What’s wrong?”

When Mrs. Marquez looked up there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry! So sorry to cry at your party! I go now! Maybe talk later! Please forgive! I come back with chickens!” She turned away, heading toward her quarters.

“Please, Mrs. Marquez! Please can’t we talk now?”

Mrs. Marquez turned, tears staining her cheeks, and said, “Please, Mrs. Tremain, I need to take back my resignation. I need my job here with you. I can’t retire.”

“Mrs. Marquez, of course you can have your job back. There’s no one
else I’d rather have. But I thought the severance package of twenty-five thousand along with your retirement plan was enough.”

“You are very generous. It was enough, but my grandson, he … he …” Mrs. Marquez started to cry.

Serena put her arm around Mrs. Marquez and walked her into a small sitting room and closed the door. “What’s happened to your grandson? Tell me.”

Mrs. Marquez dabbed at her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “He had motorcycle accident. He and his girlfriend. They are both in County Hospital in Oakland. He is paralyzed from the neck down and she has head injuries. They have no medical insurance and they get treatment like they are homeless. There aren’t enough nurses. The doctors are always in a hurry. Only one person can visit at a time. The hospital security act like we’re thieves. I will give everything I have to see that he gets a good doctor. I worked too long and too hard to see my only grandchild have no future. I can’t retire while he is in need.”

Serena hugged her and said, “You don’t have to come back to work for me to help you get medical attention for your grandson. I’d be happy to—”

Alarm spread across Mrs. Marquez’s face and she pulled away. “I no ask you for charity! You been very generous! You have helped much already. If you let me come back, that is help enough! I no ask you for anything but the job. Please, don’t think me like that.”

Serena touched Mrs. Marquez’s cheek softly. She had discovered that she liked touching people, that she needed to touch those she cared about. She said, “I have learned that there are many things that money can’t purchase: loyalty, love, trust, hope, joy, just to name a few. But this—this can be purchased! I think we can get the very best medical attention for your grandson and his girlfriend.”

“This cost big money, maybe fifty thousand dollars.”

“We have big money! Your grandson will get the best!”

Tears began to stream down Mrs. Marquez’s face, then she rushed forward and hugged Serena. “Thank you! Thank you! You give me so much! You give me hope! It is blessing I work for you. Thank you so much! You are saint!”

“I’m no saint, Mrs. Marquez; I can assure you of that!”

Mrs. Marquez started to say something more then she clapped her hands to her face. “The chickens!” She turned to rush out of the room.

Serena said, “To hell with the chickens! We’re talking here!”

Mrs. Marquez gave her a look of surprise. “I never hear you curse before! But I must get chickens. I no let your party be ruin because of me.” She hurried out of the room.

Serena followed her into the kitchen. “I want to talk to you more about this later. But I want you to know you don’t have to come back to work.”

“No, I must work,” Mrs. Marquez said as she took a tray with two brown chickens on it out of the oven. “I cannot pay for this great blessing, but I can show my gratitude this way. I work for you. I will work hard because I am thankful. It is my way.”

“I shall be happy to see you, but when you need time off I want you to take it. And if you find that for some reason work gets in the way of your helping your grandson, I want you to tell me. Right now, I want to check on Elroy. He’s been sitting up a long time.”

Mrs. Marquez nodded. “He is nice man. Always telling jokes and laughing. You are very close with this one who has been gone, no?”

“Yes. We are very close. We had a trip to the edge together. We looked deep into the abyss of hell, and were in danger of falling all the way in, but we climbed back out with each other’s help. He is my long-lost son and I owe him my life.”

“Your lost son! Is wonderful you find him. Things have been different since you have returned with him. The house used to be cold and dark. I used to wear my sweater all the time. Now, there is light and warmth. People come to visit. The house is alive with laughter. It is easier to work here now. I think I come work for you again even if not for my grandson. I like my job and I love my boss. She is saint, but doesn’t know it.”

“Mrs. Marquez, you touch my heart,” Serena said as she walked out the door. She was feeling expansive as she went into the dining room.

Franklin and Victoreen were picking over the hors d’oeuvres as she walked by.

“We need to talk,” Franklin said to her as she passed him.

Serena exhaled. Franklin was tiresome, but he was her grandson. She nodded and said, “I’ll be right back. I want to check on Elroy.” She walked into the living room and now Jackson was telling a story. He stopped when she put her hand on his shoulder. “Pardon me, Grandson, I just want to check on our patient.”

Elroy smiled and waved. “I’m all right. In fact, I’m feeling great. Surrounded by family is the only way to be.”

Gabriel said, “Don’t tire yourself out on our account, Dad. We only live eighty miles away.”

Jackson teased, “I’m more worried about him tiring us out with these shaggy-dog stories.”

Julio pointed at Jackson. “You’re as bad as him, maybe worse.”

Samantha stood up. “Take my word for it, Jackson is much worse. Do you need a hand in the kitchen, Grandma?”