The Rising: Antichrist Is Born (21 page)

“So you’re going to have a lousy team?”

“Likely. A lor of young guys, and nobody to draw the scouts unless we put together some kind of a win streak. I don’t see it.”

The fireworks came when Mr. Steele tried to outline a scenario for Ray’s future that still included the tool and die. He talked about college and
ROTC
and military duty, at least minoring in business or manufacturing, and then coming back to take over the business.

Ray had hoped that by outlining his own plans—and pointedly not including the tool and die—his father would finally resign himself to reality. Ray sat silent.

“Huh? What do you think, Ray? Good education. More hours in the planes. A little military training. Job waiting for you. Future secure, huh?”

Ray glanced at his mother, who forced a smile. She was a lot of things but dense wasn’t one of them. She had that dreading-this-moment look, obviously knowing her husband wasn’t going to hear what he wanted.

“I’m not coming back to the tool and die, Dad.”

  “What, you know that already? You hate me and my business so much that—”

“C’mon, Dad! You know that’s not true. I admire what you’ve done with it, but you can’t force me to—”

“If I was paying for your education I could, couldn’t I? But you made sure you didn’t need that.”

“You told me you couldn’t put me through college! That’s why I’ve tried all these different ways to get help!”

“Yeah, but since I’m not financin’ the deal, you feel free to—”

“I just want you to know now so you can make other arrangements. Groom someone else.”

“My people are too old. And none of them has what it takes.”

“So hire an heir apparent.”

“You’re the heir, Ray! You! It’s been my dream all my life.”

“But not mine, Dad. You wouldn’t want me in the saddle if I didn’t want it, would you? What kind of a job would I do then?”

His dad stood, face red. “I can’t eat anymore.”

“Please, honey,” his wife said.

“I just don’t see how you can decide now how you’re going to feel in four to six years. That’s a long time. Time to get your mind right. At least keep your options open and plan a little for this possibility.”

“No! Then we’ll have this discussion again, Dad, and you’ll have wasted all that time without finding someone else. I’m going to be a pilot and that’s that. I—”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Why wouldn’t it? Fm made for it. I’m a pilot now. I’ll start working my way up to the heavy jets, and—”

“And you’ll come back to the tool and the only if all your dreams are shattered somehow.”

“I wouldn’t come back anyway, Dad. If for some reason I couldn’t fly, I’d want to teach aviation. Or coach. Or both.”

His dad left the room, throwing over his shoulder, “You do hate me.”

Marilena Carpathia had never felt further out of her element. In nine years as a mother she had somehow adapted, learned, gone on instinct. But this was new territory. How would she broach such a touchy subject with her brilliant son? This would have to be an adult conversation, and while he had many of the worst characteristics of an adult—and some of the best—Marilena was ever conscious that he was emotionally still a child.

  On the drive back from Blaj, she urged him to read while she chatted softly with Viv in Hungarian. “What will we do?” she began.

Viv smiled and patted her hand. “We? Now it’s we. Now it’s not so bad someone else has been drawn into this crisis?”

Marilena took it well. That was funny. Yes, her jealousy seemed misplaced now. She didn’t want to be alone in this. “I know I must bear the brunt of it,” she said, “but believe me, I am receptive to any advice. In my heart of hearts I long for, ah—” she struggled to find the right foreign word for her son without mentioning his name—”my progeny to use his incredibly gifted mind for the betterment of mankind.”

“He will, Marilena. He will.”

Suddenly Nicky draped his arms over the back of the front seat and perched his head atop them, putting himself between the women. Marilena felt him there and saw him in her peripheral vision. She kept her eyes on the road, peeking at him in the rearview mirror. He appeared amused.

“You should be buckled in, young man,” she said, back to Romanian now.

“I am all right,” he said in Hungarian, astounding her. “My prince would not let anything happen.”

Marilena shuddered. He understood Hungarian, had heard their conversation. Was nothing hidden from him? Her fear turned to anger in an instant. She resolved not to lose control of this boy, wondering to her core whether she ever had any control over him. “Sit back and get your belt on!” she said. “Now!” 

Marilena saw Viv jerk, apparently in surprise at her tone.

“Don’t make me pull over, young man,” she said.

“Do what you want,” he said flatly. “You do not dare hurt me. And you do not want to talk to me like that again either.”

Marilena swerved the
SUV
off the pavement and slid to a stop. She turned in her seat to face Nicky, her face inches from his. “Sit down and buckle up!” she shouted. He didn’t move. She lifted her elbow and pressed it to his face, pushing with all her might.

“Marilena!” Viv screamed.

Marilena dug in her heels and straightened her legs, putting all her weight into trying to drive Nicky back. But he held fiercely to the back of the seat, and it was as if she were pressing against granite. Seething now, Marilena released her seat belt and wrenched herself completely around until she was on her knees facing him. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, trying to drive him back.

Viv grabbed Marilena’s arm and tried to pull her away.

“Viv! Don’t fight me! Help me!”

“We’re not going to fight!” Viv said. “Stop!”

“Yes!” Nicky yelled. “Stop!”

“I’m not driving this car until he’s buckled in.”

“I am protected!” Nicky said.

“What?”

“I will not be hurt.”

“What are you saying?”

“You will get hurt before I will.”

Exasperated, Marilena turned to Viv.

“Let’s just go, Marilena. We’ll talk this through at home.”

“You don’t care that he’s not buckled in?”

“I agree he’s protected.”

Marilena swore. “I don’t know what either of you is talking about!”

“That’s the problem,” Viv said. “We’re in communication with the spirits every day. He is protected. He’s immune to danger from which others might suffer.”

“I’m not driving.”

“Then I will,” Viv said.

Nicky pointed at Marilena. “She is not sitting back here with me.”

“Get out and switch places with me,” Viv said softly.;

Marilena left the car, trembling; the last thing she wanted was to get back in. But what was she going to tin, hitchhike? She didn’t want to go home either. She was without options. As she passed Viv in front of the car, the older woman said, “Breathe, Marilena. Calm yourself.”

Viv slid behind the wheel, but Marilena stood with her hand on the open passenger-side door, trying to relax. Nicky had settled into the backseat again, and Viv was talking softly to him, though Marilena could not hear. Finally she got in, slammed the door, and buckled up. She resolved not to even look at her son. Her son. He seemed like an animal.

“Catea,” Nicky whispered.

Marilena whirled in spite of herself. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me.”

As Viv pulled back onto the road, Marilena again unbuckled and turned, swinging wildly. The boy dodged and weaved, laughing. Finally she reached his wrist and yanked, but he grabbed with his other hand, pulled her forearm to his mouth, and

bit fiercely, drawing blood.

Marilena shrieked and pulled back.

Viv yelled, “Marilena! Stop!”

“He bit me!”

“You deserved it!” Viv said.

Marilena slid back into her seat, covering the wound with her free hand. “What?!”

“Yes,” Nicky said, “you deserved it. Catea.”

Marilena screamed at Nicky, calling him a name worse than the one he had called her.

“This has to stop!” Viv said. “Marilena, you’re acting his age.”

That was the problem. He was acting older than his age.

“I need an emergency room,” Marilena said, blood oozing through her fingers. “The little monster probably has rabies.” She pulled her hand away and thrust her forearm toward Viv. Top and bottom teeth had sunk deep into her flesh.

“Oh, Dumnezeul” Viv cried and pulled into the passing lane, the accelerator to the floor.

Marilena glared back at Nicky and held up her bleeding arm so he could see. “Look what you’ve done, copil nelegitim.”

Twenty minutes later Viv wheeled into the hospital where Nicky had been born. She told Nicky to stay in the car and rushed Marilena in. It was almost as if a doctor had been waiting for them.

“There was an accident,” Viv said as he examined Marilena.

“An accident?” the doctor said. “This is a bite. A human bite. Too small for an adult. A child bit you?”

Marilena wanted to tell all, but Viv said, “I had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting an animal, and she tried to protect my son. But he was thrown forward, causing this injury.”

Her son! For once Marilena was glad not to claim him. She squinted at the doctor, trying to read whether he was buying the account.

“Perhaps I should look him over,” he said.

“He’s fine,” Viv said. “Isn’t he, Marilena?”

“Yes,” she said, still trying to keep from trembling. “He’s just perfect.”

The wound from his upper teeth took eight stitches. The lower took six. Between the tetanus shot, the anesthetic, and the pain prescription, Marilena had mellowed by the time she returned to the
SUV
. That she found Nicky stretched out on the backseat, sleeping like a baby, renewed her fury.

“You’d belter keep him away from me tonight, Viv,” she said.

“He won’t harm you,” Viv said. “I’ll see to that.”

“I’m not worried about him hurting me,” she said.

“Actually I think I will take him for a week’s vacation,” Viv said.

“Really? Where?”

“Do you care?”

“No, I guess I don’t.”

Marilena’s head felt so heavy she had to rest it on the back of the seat. That wasn’t comfortable, so she lowered the seat until it angled into the backseat. She was grateful Viv was driving slower now, because though Marilena’s arm was numb, the rest of her body ached. She felt vulnerable, her seat extending back to near where Nicky sat reading. At least she thought he was reading. She peeked left and found him staring at her.’

“Read,” she whispered, hoping her tone would be the first step in a healing process. She did not want to be on the outs with her own son. It was his fault, she was certain, but she had overreacted, escalated things, not acted maturely. But who could have? Who would put up with a nine-year-old acting like that?

He flashed an obscene gesture, which made her sit up in spite of her fatigue and pain. “Nicky!” she said.

“Aunt Viv!” he called out. “She just flipped me off!”

“Marilena! Honestly!”

The fight had gone out of her. She wasn’t going to defend herself against lies. Viv would take his side anyway. Marilena turned and faced the passenger window. The scenery drifting by made her dizzy, so she shut her eyes while drowsiness overtook her. A sob rose in her throat, but she would not give in.

What had happened? What had become of her? Was it possible she had fallen so short of ever connecting with her own flesh and blood? She had wondered what could be worse than deeply loving a son with all of your being and having him act as if you didn’t exist. Now she knew: having him hate you enough to cause you to question your love for him.

Marilena didn’t want to hate him, and yet she had a feeling he was still looking daggers at her, scowling, prepared to call her names, give her the finger, falsely accuse. Why had she wanted a child in the first place? The gift that was to have brought her love and companionship as she grew old had become a curse that made anything good in her life pale to insignificance. What was there to live for? Her reading? Her study? Her research? They held no appeal if her own son hated her.

She heard Viv on her cell phone; it was clear she was talking with Mrs, Szabo. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Carpathia and I have made some progress with Nicky already and believe you will see a changed boy when he returns to class…. We would like to get him out of that environment, take him on a vacation where we can work with him…. Thanks for understanding. If you don’t hear from us, expect him back a week from today.”

Marilena heard Nicky move forward. “Good one, Aunt Viv,” he said. He still wasn’t buckled in. Marilena almost wished Viv would lose control of the
SUV
to see if he really was protected.

“Marilena, can you drive?”

“What? No, I’m—”

“It’s less than ten kilometers, and I need to e-mail Reiche.”

“I’m out of it, Viv. Can’t it wait?”

“No, now—oh, never mind. I’ll just pull over.”

“I really need to get home, Viv.”

“Well, you can’t have it both ways. You’ll get home quicker by driving, because I need to do this.”

“Just call him.”

“I will, but not in the car, Marilena. Because this message is private.”

Great, She’s going to tell him what has gone on.

Viv pulled over, got out, and slammed the door. Marilena surreptitiously lowered her window an inch, hoping to catch the conversation. Whenever Viv glanced her way, Marilena shut her eyes, but when she had the chance, she kept them open,

trying to read the older woman’s lips.

At one point, Viv turned her back to the car and talked as she moseyed away.

Marilena said, “I love you, Nicky.”

Nothing.

She said it again. Still no response. She turned and found him stretched out, hands behind his head, asleep. Marilena envied him. How she would love to be able to close her eyes to the world, to the mess her life had become. She only hoped she could stretch out on her bed at home and drift off. Right now she couldn’t imagine it.

Marilena curled back into her least painful position, facing the side window.