Five Fortunes (22 page)

“If you were carrying everything you owned in a bowling bag, would
you
carry a dictionary?” It was a routine of theirs, it seemed.

“That’s a very good question,” Jill said.

Much later, at the groaning board in Greenwich, Jill repeated this question to the family, but no one seemed interested in the answer.

They seemed to wish she would shut up about homeless men with dirty bowling bags and the woman with her hundred pounds of potatoes. Fine, thought Jill. Watch this. And she began to eat and eat and eat until she could tell without even looking up that her half-brother’s fleshless wife was frightened she might burst and splatter herself across the tablecloth.

T
emple Emanu-El was packed for Albie’s funeral. Walter and Bert gave eulogies. Eloise sobbed. Little Trishie made a cootie catcher out of her memorial program.

Scores of people came back to the house for lunch and there were speeches and fond remembrances, and tears. By the time the last guests had gone and the washing up was finished in the kitchen, it was dark outside. The cousins and step-cousins had split into two groups. Half had gone to the Kabuki to see
Pocahontas
for the eighth time, and the other half were upstairs watching a video of
The Ter-minator
.

Rae gave Doreen and James the night off. She sat in the library with Bert and Walter in the early dark of the winter evening. Harriet and Cordie were in the kitchen putting together a bowl of pasta and some salad. Eloise came in looking gray.

“Did you sleep?” Rae asked her. Eloise nodded, sunk in misery.

The fire crackled, and Bert sat across from Rae in the chair where his father had always sat.

“Where’s Leon?” Eloise asked suddenly.

“Gone,” said Walter. “He couldn’t get anyone to cover for him for another day. It’s the holiday.”

Eloise nodded, looking blank, as if she weren’t sure what that sentence meant but wanted to seem to understand.

“Someone could put on a record,” Rae said after a while. She felt like hearing something full of feeling, maybe some Brahms.

There was a long stillness. Walter thought maybe Bert would like to choose something, not knowing that Bert wouldn’t know Brahms 165

166 / Beth Gutcheon

from Bo Diddley, and wouldn’t like either one of them. Eloise got up and went to the cabinet where the records were kept. After a while she put on the Kingston Trio.

Cordie and Harriet came in from the kitchen. They had the air about them of two who have found common ground; they moved like a team, relaxed and content.

“We can eat any time,” Cordie said.

“We just need ten minutes for the pasta, everything else is ready,”

said Harriet.

“Well, why don’t we open the bar,” said Bert. “Harriet, what can I get you?”

Harriet asked for a beer. Bert and Walter went to the pantry and soon were back with a tray of glasses and bottles and a bowl of goldfish crackers. The passing of drinks and crackers filled a few more minutes. Then it was quiet again. Everyone was either filled with emotion or drained from it. With the funeral over, the fact of death could begin.

It may be that Bert was one of those people who, when feeling sorrow or edginess or some emotional upset he can’t quite recognize or name, distracts himself by picking a fight with somebody. In any case, into the music and the crackling of the fire, he said, “Rae, how long has this Oriental couple been with you?”

Rae sighed. She was counting her blessings tonight. “They
are
wonderful, aren’t they? I guess we’ve had them…almost three years now.”

“Bert. Asian,” said Eloise.

Bert looked over at her. He was looking a bit thick.

“Asian. Oriental’s a rude word.”

“No it isn’t. Oriental. It means from the east. China’s the east, isn’t it?”

“It’s west from here. Unless you go the long way for the Frequent Flier miles.”

Bert gave that some thought. He looked at his sister and felt vaguely, globally, irritated.

“What is it I’m supposed to say?”

Five Fortunes / 167

“Asian.”

“Fine. Asian.”

“They’re quite a pair,” Rae said. “Remarkable people.”

“How did they come to you?” Cordie asked, eager to stop her husband bickering with his sister.

“I was at a gas station on California Street. James was changing my oil one day, and we got to talking.”

“You know,” said Bert, “that never happens to me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No. I just about never find myself having a chat with the Chinese guy who’s changing my oil.”

“Well, think of what you’re missing,” Rae said.

“They
are
marvelous, James and Doreen,” said Cordie, wondering if there were some way she could get her husband to go away and take a nap.

“But I mean, what did you talk about? Explain it to me,” said Bert.

Walter, who was liking Bert’s tone less and less, went quietly to sit beside his mother. Walter was a wiry man with dark hair and huge hands and feet. He looked as if his body was supposed to be thicker to match his joints but had been burned off by nervous energy. He was quick, intense, and funny, not a natural mate to Bert’s stolid self-importance.

“I asked him if he could figure out why my windshield wipers wouldn’t squirt anymore. The dealer had looked at it twice…”

“And could he?”

“Yes. He followed all the tubes and discovered the dealer had squashed one underneath when he changed the battery. But that took a little while. So while we were under the hood, I asked him where he was from, and he said ‘Hankow.’ I never met anyone from Hankow, did you?”

“No,” said Bert. “I never did.”

“Is Doreen from Hankow too?” Cordie asked. “Are they childhood sweethearts?”

“No, she isn’t, that’s the whole point. They came to San Francisco with the diplomatic corps.”

168 / Beth Gutcheon

“What do you mean?” Bert interrupted. “You mean the Chinese mission brings its own mechanics?”

“No, of course not. James is a diplomat. I believe he was quite a rising star. Doreen was stationed here too, and they fell in love.”

“Is
she
a diplomat?”

“No, a translator. But she’s from Canton, so even though they were married, they were going to be sent back to their home cities, five hundred miles apart.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all, that’s the way it works. You work in the province you grew up in or you don’t work at all.”

“That’s how they keep people from the poorest parts from pouring into the cities where the money is,” put in Walter. Bert stood up abruptly and went to get himself a refill.

“Cordie? You ready?”

“No thanks.”

“Walter? Rae?”

Walter declined. Rae said “Yes, darling, thanks.” Bert refilled her glass and went back to his chair. Eloise then got up and flounced dramatically to the bar to refill her own glass. Her brother ignored her.

“So what happened?” Cordie asked.

“They petitioned the government. No exceptions could be made.

So they decided not to go back.”

“They went underground,” said Bert.

“Yes. I don’t know exactly how. Went to friends, at first, and James got the job at the garage. Doreen was working as a tailor and cleaning houses…”

“I thought his English was awfully good for a mechanic,” said Harriet.

“I was impressed he was such a
good
mechanic, in the circum-stances,” said Rae. “Anyway, I asked him to bring Doreen to meet me, and they were right away so sweet with Albie…I don’t know what I would have done without them. And I’m so glad now to have a baby in the house.”

“But they
are
illegals,” said Bert.

Five Fortunes / 169

There was a silence. Walter had seen this coming a long way off; he didn’t think his mother had.

“Yes, I guess they are,” said Rae. “Of course, the baby’s a citizen.”

“I don’t know how you can say you ‘guess.’ They’re here illegally.

It’s not as if there hasn’t been enough publicity. You’ve got Zoë Baird, my god, you’ve passed Proposition 187! This isn’t something you have to guess about,” Bert brayed.

“Now hold on,” said Walter. “Let’s allow that this is an issue on which people of good faith might disagree.” He felt an almost imperceptible touch on the back of his elbow from his mother.

“I don’t think so, no,” said Bert. “It’s a matter of respect for the law. I don’t see how people of goodwill can disagree, when law-abiding people wait for years to be admitted to this country. It’s unfair to reward people who flout the system. The issue is whether we have a right to control immigration at all. If we have that right, then the only way to do it is eliminate the profit motive.”

“I don’t follow you,” said Cordie.

“It’s like this stupid ‘War on Drugs.’ War on Drugs, don’t make me laugh. What are you going to do, station border guards every four feet from Alaska to Maine? Ridiculous. The only way you stop people importing drugs is eliminate the profit they make by doing it. The only way you stop people flouting the immigration laws is eliminate the profit in doing it. Don’t let them work when they get here, and when you find them, send them back.”

“That’s a lovely attitude,” said Eloise. “Here you sit, with your trust fund, and your passport. Nobody ever tried to tell
you
that you and Cordie had to live five hundred miles apart. Fine, you and Cordie can get married, but you have to live in Hillsborough all your life and she has to live in Philadelphia. At least I wouldn’t have a nephew with green hair right now.”

“Have another drink, Eloise,” said Bert.

“But, really,” said Cordie to her husband. “I understand the principle, honey, but these are real people. They were like family to your father. It’s not so simple.”

“It
is
simple. You cannot take in every person who wants to come 170 / Beth Gutcheon

here, no matter how good their reason is. The aquifer can’t support it. China’s a bad place to live, so is El Salvador. I’m sorry. You can’t just have entire populations deciding they don’t like where they are and they’d rather be here. Use your head!”

“This is very troubling,” said Rae.

“I’m glad you recognize that,” said Bert. He looked now quite satisfied, since he’d upset everyone in the room and especially his stepmother.

What an odd form of grieving, thought his wife.

Walter, who had campaigned fervently against Proposition 187, was dying to leap in and put up his dukes, but he resisted.

“What troubles me most,” said Rae slowly, “is the disrespect for the law. I think you’ve got a strong point there, Bert. I’m glad you brought it up.”

“Thank you,” said Bert. He was looking more and more comfortable. Cordie, Walter, and Harriet were looking more unhappy. Eloise said, “This is a disgusting conversation. Daddy’s dead, Bert. This is his funeral day. Why is this the way you want to observe it?”

“It came up,” said Bert.

“No, it’s all right,” said Rae. “I think it’s just as well. As Eloise said, James and Doreen were as sweet to Albie as if he were their own father. I can’t go back to the days before I knew them, and decide what was right to do then. I know them now. They’re very dear to me, and I have to deal with what is, not what should have been.

But I think I have a solution.”

“Good,” said Bert.

“What is it?” said Walter.

“I think I’ll adopt them,” said Rae.

For about five minutes, all hell broke loose. Bert roared, Walter applauded, Harriet laughed, and Cordie and Eloise blithered. Rae remained thoughtful. After a while she said, “I see your point, Bert.

They’re married, so I only have to adopt one of them. I’ll adopt Doreen.”

“Rae—you don’t
know
them! They’re Chinese! If you adopt them, they’ll be—they’ll be—”

Five Fortunes / 171

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “They will.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” he yelled. “I meant, you’ll be at their mercy! You’re a very rich woman, in case you forgot, and they’ll be…” He began to hyperventilate. Rae remained calm.

“But I believe I do know them,” she said. “That’s the point. And I can’t have them being deported. What would life be in China for them now? And yet, I can’t have you as unhappy as you are with the present situation, Bert. I have to make it right.”

Walter never looked at his mother, but inside he was thinking what a jerk he was to fear that Bert could be too many for her.

The conversation raged on for another half hour, when Bert took the whole scotch bottle and got in the car and left.

“Don’t they have any scotch at The Clift?” Walter asked.

“He hates paying for those little bottles out of the minibar,” said Cordie.

“Well, everybody, how about supper?” said Harriet.

“What a good idea,” said Rae. And the family group that was left retired to the kitchen where they ate spaghetti and salad and had quite a pleasant evening.

W
hen Walter left the plane in Boise on Monday morning, he didn’t know what to expect. He’d had politicians send junior staffers to drive him, he’d been met by the candidate himself with a brass band, but of course that was Punch White in Louisiana, and if there was one thing no one had to explain to Punch, it was the value of the photo opportunity.

In Boise he found a tall woman with a rich mass of brown hair, wide blue eyes, no makeup. She was wearing a long skirt, a tweed jacket, and flat shoes. He held out his hand to her.

“Hello. Walter Keely.”

“Yes,” she said and smiled. “Hello. Laura Lopez.”

Laurie realized now that they had met before. She remembered the high forehead and the strange pale eyes. They fell into step together.

“Was the flight full?”

“Almost empty. It seemed to be all day-trippers from Silicon Valley. Hewlett Packard guys.”

Laurie nodded. “Boise’s changed so much from when we lived here.”

“And that’s good for you,” Walter said.

“Is it?”

“Yes.” They stopped to wait at the luggage belt.

“Excuse me—Mrs. Lopez?”

There was a very pretty young woman wearing a Hertz uniform standing at Laurie’s elbow.