Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights (38 page)

“Just call. Keep me posted.”

“I will. I love you, Jon. Thank you.”

“I love you forever and ever, Hannah.”

“I hope so, that would be a really nice life.”

I got in the car and rolled down the window to talk to Chahel.

“Open her bedroom windows. And get her up on the roof for some sun with her lunch.”

He went back inside. Amy looked at me sideways; she’d picked up on my borderline rude voice with Chahel.

“Margaret is having a bad day,” I said.

Somehow I got through the day. I went to see Margaret as soon as I got in. It was late, but her light was still on and she was reading. I sat down in the chair and we looked at each other.

“You know what I’m going to miss the most?” she asked. “Well two things really. Seeing you lug that needlepoint dress down the aisle with a train of sand. And watching you raise kids. I’d love to see how you handle that. I told Ed to buy them all ponies.”

“I hate ponies,” I said. “I’m so mad at you.”

“Why? Because you got to live two more happy weeks instead of unhappy weeks in your life.”

“Because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”

“I trusted you to call in the Army Corps of Engineers if you thought it would help. I know how you work. You think things are fixable if you try hard enough. I don’t want that.”

“But you’re not even fighting.”

“I’m not going to fight for the chance to be bald and bruised in the hospital, and die sprouting tubes. We did that movie eight years ago. Remember? My son says there’s no way out of this one. I trust him.”

“This isn’t a movie. Anyway, she bought time. What about Ed and the kids? Don’t you want the time with them?”

“They don’t need that kind of time from me. That’s time that has to do with them, not me. It’s like keeping an old dog alive long past the time when it would just go off and die under a bush if it was just left alone.”

“You’re not an old dog. We live longer than dogs.”

“Don’t pick it apart, Hannah. It won’t change things. Now I know how I’d handle it. I’m relieved actually. It’s fine.”

We sat in the buffalo bellowing and horn honking quiet of India for a while.

“I don’t know how to say good-bye,” I said. “I always thought I needed that because I didn’t have it, and now I realize I have no idea.”

“We don’t have to say good-bye.”

“That’s what Jon said.”

“Did you ask Jon to come?”

“No, I don’t want to start with that. He has his own life.”

“Then you shouldn’t marry him.”

“Of course I’m going to marry him.”

“Not if he has his own life.”

“He didn’t say that. He doesn’t think that way. He calls us Radna Krishna.”

“But apparently you do. I’d say that’s a disconnect.”

“I don’t feel like I have my own life. I feel like we live different lives.”

“We all live different lives.”

“Now who’s picking it apart?”

“You are, you always do. Then you confuse yourself into the wrong man.”

“Jon isn’t the wrong man.”

“I don’t think he is either. Did you tell him I’m dying?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He said to tell you I’ll love you forever and ever. Then he said the same thing to me.”

“I wish I had the energy to shake you. Ask him to come. I don’t know how else to tell you that. You need him.”

“I need you.”

“I’m spoken for.”

Chahel knocked, he brought in chai and rice pudding.

“She knows, Chahel,” said Margaret.

“I’m sorry, Chahel,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude to you earlier.”

“Chahel,” said Margaret. “Hannah is going to marry soon, like your daughter. A man named Jon. They’re going to have a baseball team that rides ponies.”

Chahel smiled his beatific smile and left.

“Don’t you think you confused him?” I said.

“I doubt it, he’s hoping for a cricket team. Be sure Ed doesn’t forget to pay for his daughter’s wedding. He only needs five-hundred dollars to make a huge affair.”

“Okay. You’ll come to mine?”

“If it’s in India. I want to meet Jon.”

I went to the Buddhist temple for some alone time and gazed at the red-horn masks. They snarled and glared back. No help there, I’m not Buddhist. I had no idea what I was supposed to feel about those beings, except that a few could use some paint touch ups.

I went back to the temple and tried calling Jon; it went to voicemail. I felt really stupid leaving him the message, but I told him I needed him to come. Then I told him he didn’t really have to come. I made it worse with all kinds of run around the block with a broom talk. I couldn’t reach through space and delete the message. I told him not to worry, I was just tired, to please call me.

Everyone spent the next few days running around like crazy people. We were racing for the finish line. The weather was loosening its grip, which gave us some relief. Amy had turned into an efficient work machine. She was starting to read my mind, or what was left of it. I made a note to self that getting a fresh helper midway through a project wasn’t a bad idea.

I kept Margaret’s secret. In return, she rallied and was up for breakfast in the morning and read on the terrace in the afternoon. She’d switched to Indian chick lit about contemporary women trying to make their way in the mixed messages of India. Like India has a corner on that confusion. All you had to think about was breast implants and the Virgin Mary to know that women live in a state of psychic split all over the world. I couldn’t begin to fathom how she could be worried about wasting time, and be reading crap like that in the same day. When I complained about her choice of reading material, she asked me what could be more important for her to read. Stumped me. She wasn’t looking for answers.

Ed had arrived a few days after the call and started right in cooking for us. Dede didn’t plan to be back. There really wasn’t any reason for her to return; her assistant was handling the shut down. Jon emailed that they’d gotten hung up in Honolulu but were on the road. Chana had an interview at Cal Poly in two days. I tried calling him; I didn’t bother to figure out the time. It went to voicemail. I left him a message that I was finally going to get some rest and that I’d try again in the next day. I asked him to tell Chana to break a leg in her interview.

I had a block of six blissful uninterrupted hours of sleep in front of me while Amy took care of the preliminary work for one of our last days. It was late by the time I went upstairs to bed.

I walked by Margaret and Ed’s room, I had planned to say good night, but he was singing. I’d never heard him sing. It wasn’t show quality, but it was one of the tenderest things I’d ever heard. He was singing “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” from the movie
Play Misty For Me
. They’d met at a screening. She used to play it over and over, like I played Adele’s version of “Lovesong” over and over since meeting Jon. Our lives have soundtracks.

I didn’t know what to do with his singing in my mind. I sat on the bath floor and poured cup after cup of hot water over my head to wash away the last tears. I finally put on a cotton nightgown and got in bed.

I awoke seven hours later to the sound of the conch shell next door, I felt almost normal.

Someone knocked; I opened the door to Amy.

“Morning” I said. I was whispering a 6:00 a.m. Indian household whisper.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Come in. What happened? Why are you crying?”

“Margaret had a heart attack in the night.”

“A heart attack?”

“She died.” I hugged her, thinking wild thoughts; I shouldn’t have slept. I should have said good night.

“Where’s Ed?” I asked.

“He’s with her. He’s asking for you.”

“Okay, let me get dressed.”

I walked into their room. Ed was sitting on the bed next to Margaret holding her hand. She looked like she was asleep just like the other morning; but her skin had smoothed out.

I hugged him, and then sat on the bed with them. I held his free hand, and took her other hand in mine. We were back on the plane waiting for it to crash. Her hand was cold, but it was soft, not like my father had felt. I rubbed the skin with my thumb like I could warm her up or comfort her. I could see Arthur’s fingers stroking my mother’s hand with mud jammed under her nails. We sat like that for long minutes; it was fine. She was peaceful, so was he, the plane had crashed without any tension.

“How are you?” I asked. “I walked by on my way to bed at 11:00. I heard your voice.”

“We talked all night.”

“All night? Did the doctor come?”

“No, she died at 8:00. It went quickly, we only had a few minutes.”

I was worried that he might be in trouble himself; shock maybe. The whole time thing made no sense. He’d been singing.

“What would you like me to do?” I asked. “Do you want me to call the kids?”

“No, we’ll call them in a few days.”

“Don’t you think they’d want to know?”

“A few days before they know won’t matter. They were expecting it. It’s what she wanted. She wants to be cremated here.”

“I know. I’ll call Dede. The production office will know what to do.”

“Chahel has started making arrangements.”

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“She wants you to do the ceremony.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about it.”

“She said to just get it wherever you got the sun and the moon. But she doesn’t want you to actually draw on her unless you just can’t help yourself.”

I burst out laughing. I’m sure anyone who was listening outside the door thought I was getting hysterical.

Ed was smiling. “She trusted you to figure it out.”

“Does she want some special set? She should have told me what she wants.”

“No, she liked it just the way it is. She wants you to be the one to light the fire.”

“Light the fire? I can’t do that.”

I was shaking my head. I could see the son circling his shrouded mother. “I’m not even her daughter.”

“You were more than that. She said you’re no ninny. That’s why it has to be you. I’ll be there.”

“I have to think about this.”

“It’s thought out; she’s ahead of you. She wrote something for you that she thinks will help. I’m supposed to give it to you right before the ceremony.”

“How could she write something?”

“We talked it over a few days ago. This is still what she wanted as of 8:00 last night. That’s as good as it gets.”

I looked at her; she wasn’t giving me any signs. None of the nods or droll side-glances we’d used to communicate over the years when I was growing up under her wing.

“I love you both. But that’s too much to ask.”

He nodded. “Chahel will be back in a little while. He said it’s very unusual, he’s afraid of how it will look.”

“I understand, poor man, stuck with us.”

He smiled. “We’ll be fine. She liked the idea of being set free here, by you. I’ll be with you. This is something you have to do, Hannah. This is her final scene.”

“I can’t, Ed. I’m sorry. We need to figure out something else. I’m going to change. Are you okay alone here?”

“I’m not alone. We’re fine. Go change, I want you there with me.”

“Of course I’ll be there. I just can’t be the one.”

I went up to the roof. Amy and Claire were having tea. It was nice that Amy had such a good friend. They reminded me of Karin and me. There was no reason to make a big secret about what was going to happen. I asked Amy to buy me a sari for the ceremony, I thought turquoise, but I left it up to them.

The guys from the kitchen brought up plates of light food and we snacked in silence as the new day came on in full. Amy and Claire left. Chahel came up on the terrace and gave me a pranam bow; he raised his hands to his forehead this time. I had no idea what that meant.

“I’m sorry to put you through this, Chahel,” I said. “But you knew Margaret. This is what she wanted. She’ll make us all pay if we don’t do it.”

His eyes opened wide.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I just meant that this is how she wants to leave.”

“It’s arranged. It will begin before sunset.”

“That’s fine. When?”

“Today.” He head bobbled like it was obvious.

He said it should be today. He had arranged for women to come and prepare Margaret; we’d leave for the ghat at 3:00 p.m. I went downstairs and called Dede.

“Namaste, Hannah.”

“Namaste, Dede. I’m calling with bad news.”

“Oh? Did Amy run off the rails?”

“No, she’s doing fine. I don’t know how to make this easier. Margaret died.”

“What?”

“She died of a heart attack last night. Ed was with her.”

She was quiet for a few minutes; I could feel her through the silence that pinged and ponged back and forth in deep space.

“I was hoping she’d come home,” she said. “I thought it was just an India thing.”

“We all did.”

She said she’d go into the office and look at their instructions and call me back. I told her there was no need; arrangements were being made. She asked how Ed was doing. I told her he said they’d talked all night, but that Margaret had died at 8:00 p.m

“Talked all night?” she said.

“To her body, her spirit really I guess. He said there was some time when they both realized what was happening and they had a chance to say good-bye. He said he doesn’t feel alone.”

“Why didn’t they call someone?”

“I don’t know. We’re not in Los Angeles, they knew that.”

I was keeping family secrets, telling lies.

“No,” she said. “She really wanted to stay. I thought it was a bad idea. But you know Margaret.”

“I do.”

I told her the plan but left out Margaret’s request that I light the fire.

“Is it okay with the Indians?” she asked. “It sounds a little out of their comfort zone.”

“Chahel is worried about how it will look. I think he worries that it will look like we’re crazy Westerners playing at Hindu, disrespecting their ritual.”

“I don’t blame him.”

I said Amy would call her later. I tried calling Jon but it went to voicemail. I left him a message filling him in. I called Eric and Anna; Anna was up studying.