Vigil

by Cecilia Samartin

  As lovely as Lillian was during her pregnancy, she became even more so a couple of months after giving birth, flitting between her various adventures like a magical fairy. The children and I often halted our play to watch her float across our world until she was out of sight, which she was most of time. She was so engaged in the resurrection of her social life that she now rarely had time for her morning swims.

  Nevertheless, when it was time for Teddy’s first day of preschool, Lillian cleared her morning schedule so she could drop him off. They were all smiles when they left, but returned in less than an hour dissolved in a torrent of tears. I had Jessie in the bath when I heard her talking with Millie about what had happened, but quickly bundled her up in a towel and carried her downstairs.

  Teddy appeared to have calmed down somewhat, but Lillian was still distraught. “Oh, Ana,” she said, when she saw me descending the stairs. “I can’t go through with it. I just can’t.”

  “What happened?” I asked, taking note of Teddy’s shamefaced expression.

  “Teddy wouldn’t stop crying, and to think that he was going to be there all alone with all those strange children for three solid hours. I just couldn’t do it.”

  “But all kids cry on their first day,” I said. “Sometimes the parents cry too, but everyone gets over it eventually.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Millie said, shaking her head. “You can’t let a few tears get in the way. It’s all perfectly normal.”

  Lillian flashed Millie a contemptuous look, and then her mouth curled into an endearing pout. “How can that be normal—all those parents and children crying their eyes out? How can that be good for anybody?”

  Jessie was starting to slip from my arms, so I repositioned her on my hip and shifted my weight to the other leg. “Teddy has to go to preschool,” I said. “He’ll be behind the other kids when he starts kindergarten if he doesn’t.”

  Lillian thought about what I said as she stroked Teddy’s hair. Then she knelt before him so they were at eye level. “Teddy, you saw how upset Mommy was today, didn’t you?”

  Teddy nodded, nervously twisting his little fingers into one another.

  “And you don’t want Mommy to get upset anymore, do you?”

  Teddy shook his head.

  “Well then, how about if Nana takes you to school tomorrow?”

  He shook his head and pushed out his bottom lip. “Teddy no like school. Teddy stay home with Nana and baby.”

  “But Teddy’s a big boy now,” Lillian replied gently. “And Teddy has to go to school so he can be smart and make lots of money like his daddy.”

  Teddy glowered at her and stomped his foot for good measure. Lillian glanced up at me and asked, “Do you mind, Ana?”

  Later, when Millie and I were alone in the kitchen, she asked, “And who do you suppose will be driving you and Teddy to school every morning? Me,” she answered with a stiff nod. “And will Mommy Dearest be available to watch her own baby while we take her son to school for her? No, she won’t. How can she look after her baby and have her hair done at the same time?”

  “Don’t worry, Millie. I’ll put Jessie in her car seat and she’ll sleep all the way there and back, you’ll see.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” she said. “Disgusted is more like it.”

  “And while we’re planning it,” I said in an offhand manner, “would you mind terribly taking your afternoon nap after we pick Teddy up? It’s just…in case you oversleep, I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Millie thought about this for a moment. “I don’t mind,” she said, looking away. “But you should think about learning how to drive.” Her eyes were twinkling when she turned to me again. “Or aren’t nuns allowed to drive?”

  The next morning I walked with a very somber Teddy to his classroom while Millie and Jessie waited in the car. Up until that moment Teddy had been doing pretty well. I’d kept his mind occupied by talking about a trip to the zoo we planned to take over the weekend, but once he saw the door to his classroom, he refused to take another step.

  “Teddy no go today,” he said, his little face set like stone.

  “You can do it, Teddy,” I said walking past him, but when I turned around he was standing in the same spot, glaring at me and defiant as ever.

  “What should I tell Mrs. Crandall?” I asked.

  “Tell her Teddy says no!” he yelled.

  “Mrs. Crandall will be sad.”

  “No!” Teddy shrieked, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

  “Oh well,” I said with a sigh and a shrug. “I guess Jessie will have to take your place, and then she’ll be the big kid going to school. When your daddy comes home from work tonight, we’ll tell him what a big girl Jessie is and all about school.” I began walking toward the car as though to get Jessie, but I hadn’t taken three steps when Teddy ran up to me screaming and pushing on my legs. “No, Nana! No! Teddy big boy. Teddy big, not Jessie.”

  “Well then, which kid is going to school? Teddy, or Jessie?”

  His lips trembled when he said, “Teddy go.”

  He wailed like a wounded sea lion when I left him with Mrs. Crandall, but by the end of the week he merely whimpered and was able to give me a halfhearted wave, as though he’d resigned himself to the indifferent cruelty of the world. By the end of the second week, he couldn’t wait to go to school and hardly took the time to wave at all when I said good-bye.

  “He’s a big boy now, Jessie,” I said as we watched him through the window, and when he glanced at us, “Let’s wave to your brother.” Jessie stared at me and gave me a toothless grin when I lifted her chubby little hand and flapped it about. Before too long, she was waving all by herself.

  And by the end of the month, upon Millie’s insistence, I began taking driving lessons.

  From the day she was born, Jessie had always been the picture of health. I loved gazing into her bright eyes and imagining how she would be when she was all grown up. Her little body was strong, and she was able to hold her head up almost immediately and look around her crib to observe everything around her. She could stare at the tree branches swaying outside her bedroom window for long stretches of time and much preferred them to the zoo animal mobile that hung over her crib.

  Despite her obvious fortitude, at six months she developed a cough that wouldn’t go away. She lost so much weight that her chubby thighs were beginning to look long and drawn. She had contracted some kind of pulmonary infection that required Lillian to take her to the pediatrician nearly every week, and she was prescribed antibiotics that needed to be administered with a dropper several times a day, and special formula. I followed the doctor’s orders religiously. I prayed almost constantly while she slept and placed a medal of the patron saint Bernadette on the table next to her crib.

  A couple of weeks after treatment began, it seemed that Jessie was doing much better, but one afternoon after Ms. Lillian had returned from the pediatrician’s office, I heard her sobbing as I passed by her room. Her door was ajar, and when I peeked in I saw her sitting at her vanity with her head down and her shoulders quivering. My heart froze. Perhaps little Jessie was not getting better after all. Perhaps her illness was even more serious than we thought. And then I remembered the multitude of tiny wooden coffins I’d seen as a child. The death of children was so common in my village that I often wondered if childhood itself were a disease. I pictured little Jessie’s cherubic face tucked into the roughly hewn coffin with her pink lacy blanket framing her body and I too began to shiver with fear.

  As I slowly entered the room and approached Lillian, I became aware of the overwhelming fragrance of perfume. It was coming from the other side of room and when I looked, I saw that one of her expensive perfume bottles was shattered against the wall.

  “Ms. Lillian,” I said, my voice faltering. “What’s wrong, Ms. Lillian?”

  She looked up at me with bleary swollen eyes and then forced herself to sit up as I came to her side. She shook her head wordlessl
y and looked past her reflection in the mirror, and then down at her hands.

  I crouched next to her. “I just came from Jessie’s room and she seems to be resting very peacefully.”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “What did the doctor tell you today? Was it…was it bad news?”

  At this she turned to me, her eyes wide with surprise, and then she shook her head and looked down again.

  “Then what’s wrong, Ms. Lillian? Why are you so upset?”

  Without a word, she raised her hands and separated the hair at her temples, her eyes glazed over with stark resignation. I looked at the pale scalp beneath her copper hair, but had no idea what she intended me to see.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Ms. Lillian,” I said.

  She dropped her hands and scowled. “For goodness sake, Ana. It’s right there in front of your face and for all the world to see. Four hideous gray hairs.” She pulled her hair aside again. “There, do you see them now?”

  I leaned in closer, squinting a bit, and then I saw the offending hairs. “Yes, I see them,” I muttered.

  Her shoulders fell. “I’m getting old, Ana,” she said. “All of a sudden, it feels as though I’ve lost everything.”

  I gazed at her lovely face, mottled with tears, and hardly knew how to respond. “How can you say such a thing, Ms. Lillian?”

  “Because it’s true,” she replied, gazing at herself in the mirror again. “Once the gray hairs show up, then the jowls start to sag and the wrinkles set in. Any day now I’ll start losing my teeth, but that’s fine. I’ll just have Millie puree my food like she does for Jessie. I’m sure it won’t be any extra trouble for her.”

  I chuckled at the thought. “Ms. Lillian, you’re still a very young woman.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “That’s easy for you to say because you’re five years younger than me. Younger women love telling older women that they’re not so old. It’s like a skinny woman telling a heavy woman, ‘Oh you’re not so fat,’ when what she really wants to say is, ‘You’re a horrendous cow!’”

  I shook my head, baffled. “Have you ever heard of ageless beauty, Ms. Lillian?”

  She pouted and shook her head.

  “My mother used to tell me that some women are born with ageless beauty so that the passage of time doesn’t degrade their loveliness, but refines it all the more. You’re very fortunate to have been blessed with such beauty.”

  Ms. Lillian sniffled and glanced at me. “Do you really think so?”

  “I thought so from the first moment I saw you. But you have to be careful. It can be a dangerous thing to be so absolutely beautiful.”

  Ms. Lillian tried to suppress the smile nudging at the corners of her mouth. Then she sat up straight and lifted her chin. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, her earlier upset evaporated until her eyes were flashing coquettishly. Then she fluffed her hair and powdered her face. Pleased with the effect, she applied a bit of rouge and lipstick as well. It was difficult to believe that moments ago she’d been sobbing hysterically.

  “I’m going to color my hair,” she announced proudly. “I will not allow myself to grow old and sallow.” She turned to me, fully vindicated. “I’m going to live dangerously, Ana.”

  From that day forward I came to understand that Lillian’s moods were as fleeting as a summer storm. I felt uneasy about this at first, but soon learned how to read her temperament and predict the weather like a master meteorologist. In fact, I even became rather good at altering it after I understood that Ms. Lillian’s vanity was her primary source of pleasure and pain.

  Mr. and Mrs. Trellis received many visitors after Jessie was born. Most of them came to see the new baby, but I suspect that they were just as eager to see Lillian in her vibrant postpartum state. Whenever visitors were in the house I preferred to stay out of sight, and used the service stairs to get between the kitchen and the nursery. If necessary, Lillian would let me know how she wanted me to dress the baby and at what time to bring her down. If visitors arrived after the baby’s bedtime, I usually wasn’t called on at all.

  It was nearly nine o’clock in the evening and both children were in bed when I ventured downstairs in my pajamas, intent on preparing myself a sandwich. I heard the strains of music floating in from the patio and made my way quietly into the kitchen via the service entry, as usual. I was on my way back with my sandwich in hand when I saw the reflection of a man standing at the toilet in the powder room. I would’ve immediately looked away if he hadn’t looked so strangely familiar.

  Suddenly his eyes met mine and he smiled, nudging the powder room door open with his foot and effectively blocking my way. He zipped up his trousers and in moments we found ourselves face-to-face. His thick wavy hair was almost as black as the slacks and silky shirt he wore open at the throat, and his amber-colored eyes glistened mischievously as he studied me from head to toe.

  I immediately felt uneasy, and wanted nothing more than to drop my sandwich and run away, but I was unable to stop staring at his face. I could swear that I’d seen him somewhere before.

  “Sneaking a little peek, were you?” he asked in teasing tone.

  “I…I…apologize,” I said, feeling exquisitely awkward. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Haven’t you ever seen a man urinating before?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Perhaps you were hoping to see something more?”

  I had no idea how to respond to such a comment, and could only stand there holding my plate.

  At that moment another man entered, intent on using the facilities as well. He had light reddish hair and thick glasses, behind which he squinted curiously. The dark-haired man threw his arm around the other’s shoulders. “Peter, I’ve caught myself a Peeping Tom. A rather cute Peeping Tom who likes to prowl around in her pajamas, but a Peeping Tom just the same. I advise you to securely lock the bathroom door behind you.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “If you weren’t always looking for trouble, then perhaps you wouldn’t be so apt at finding it.” Then he turned to me. “And who are you, young lady?” he asked.

  “I’m Ana.”

  “Ah, the young woman who’s looking after Teddy and the baby?”

  “Yes,” I replied grateful to be known as something other than a Peeping Tom.

  At this the dark-haired man’s eyes widened in an exaggerated display of awe and admiration. “This is the famous Ana?” he asked. “The heroine who rescued my dear nephew from drowning?”

  And then I realized who the dark man was. “And you must be Mr. Trellis’s younger brother, Darwin,” I said.

  He bowed. “I see that my fame precedes me. I am indeed Darwin Trellis, the wickedly handsome younger brother you’ve heard so much about. And this is Dr. Peter Farrell, who compensates for his lack of good looks with his professional ambitions. I assure you,” he said, “that if you ever need to be rid of your appendix or gallbladder, or”—he cupped both hands over his chest—“if you should require bigger ones of these, Dr. Farrell is your man.”

  Dr. Farrell shook his head and eyed the other man with studied dismay. “Well, not exactly, but I am at your service just the same, Ana. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said and he entered the powder room and locked the door behind him just as a pattering of little feet could be heard coming down the stairs. Teddy appeared in the hallway and when he saw his uncle, his eyes lit up and he ran swiftly toward him with arms outstretched. “Uncle Dawin, Uncle Dawin, you came to see me, you came to see me!” he cried. Darwin swept him up and spun him around over his head while Teddy shrieked with delight.

  “How is my favorite little Superman in the whole wide world?” Darwin asked, gazing at Teddy with such tenderness that my initial displeasure for him was momentarily suspended.

  Teddy pressed his hands on his uncle’s cheeks. “Can you spin me again? Please! Please!”

  “I can do better than that,” his uncle replied, and he held him up and ran the length of the hall while Teddy assumed the pose
of Superman in midflight.

  Once they finished, Darwin asked, “Has Superman been behaving for Ana?”

  Teddy frowned and squeezed Darwin’s cheeks again. “Nana,” Teddy said. “Her name is Nana.”

  “He likes to call me Nana,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve tried correcting him, but it’s no use.”

  Darwin chuckled, allowing Teddy to continue contorting his face. “Okay, have it your way. Nana,” he repeated, which made Teddy throw his head back with chortles of laughter.

  “Say it again, Uncle Dawin. You look funny, like a fish.”

  Still clutching my sandwich that was nearly in pieces, I said, “It’s very late, Teddy. We should get back upstairs now.”

  “No, Nana, no!” Teddy wailed, clinging to his uncle’s neck for dear life.

  “Is this any way for Superman to behave?” Darwin said, giving Teddy a playful pout of his own.

  Teddy loosened his grip on his uncle, and Darwin placed him back on the ground. Teddy then took my outstretched hand, but was unable to erase the sour look on his face.

  “Good night, Sir. It was a pleasure meeting you,” I said, and we made our way down the hall.

  “Good night, Nana. Good night, Superman.”

  “Good night, Uncle Dawin,” Teddy said.

  We were halfway up the stairs when Darwin called out loudly enough so that Dr. Farrell, who was still in the powder room, might hear him as well. “And please keep the prodigious size of my anatomy to yourself. I don’t need any more women knocking down my door.”

  I didn’t respond, but his discomforting laughter followed us all the way upstairs, and Teddy began to cackle like his uncle. As I was tucking him back into bed, he said, “Uncle Dawin funny.”