Hannah's Dream

by Diane Hammond

  “Maybe so, but I don’t know what else to do. We’re just going to have to wait for something to come to us.” Sam began clearing dishes off the table. Corinna tried to stop him, but he said, “Let me do this. You’ve been on your feet all day long. Go on now, you just sit there. Sit.”

  “If you start spoiling me, there’s no telling where it could end,” Corinna said. “You’ll be doing all the chores and I’ll be sitting in a big comfortable chair by the window fanning myself and eating chocolates.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Once the dishes were done Sam rounded up the paper and sat in his easy chair, the same one they’d bought so many years ago on credit at Sears. It had taken two years to pay it off, and they’d had it reupholstered twice since then. Both times, Corinna had been after him to buy a new one, but Sam was partial to things being the same. He’d broken in that chair just right, and he wasn’t about to start over. When they were young they used to talk about moving to a fancier house, but they didn’t have the heart, once they found out Corinna couldn’t bear any more children. There’d been bleeding, complications, surgery, and scar tissue, and after that Corinna didn’t want to live on some other street that might have mothers and kids on it, said it would break her heart every morning just to get up. So they’d stayed, fixing up this house little by little—new roof, new shutters, a new window or two, and of course Corinna had opened up the Beauty Spot in the basement. She had her customers and he had his work and they both had Hannah and each other, and if it wasn’t anything like what they used to dream about, it was mighty close to being enough.

  When the dishes were done, Corinna came into the living room with her crochet hook and a pile of bright pink yarn, and settled into her chair with a soft grunt.

  Sam looked at her over the tops of his reading glasses. “Go ahead and turn on the TV if you want to.”

  “Nah. You read your paper,” Corinna said. “I’ll just listen to myself think for a while, then maybe we’ll see.”

  Sam pretended to go back to his paper, but what he was really doing was watching her. She was making a blanket for some customer who was having a baby, like she’d always done, all these years. Not one of them knew what it cost her.

  The next morning, Harriet cleared a space on the desk between herself and Truman, and laid out a half-dozen receipts. “She’s spending money like water,” she said. “Look at these! Art supplies. Art supplies for forty-seven dollars and thirteen cents.”

  “I authorized it. She wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well, she did,” Harriet said. “And frankly, you’ve surprised me, too.”

  “If I may finish,” Truman said quietly, “she wanted to surprise you once she and Hannah were ready.”

  “Ready for what, unveiling some kind of mural?”

  “She’s taught Hannah to paint.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Truman smiled faintly. “Hannah paints pictures.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Get her on the phone.”

  “I can try, but they usually work outside until late morning.”

  “Truman.”

  Truman sighed, lifted the phone receiver, and entered the extension for the elephant barn. The phone rang into an empty building, as he had known it would; Neva and Sam were always busy outdoors until late in the morning. He switched to the phone’s speaker so Harriet could hear it for herself. Three times. Four times. Five times, and then to voice mail. He watched Harriet mildly. She picked up the receiver and dropped it down again to disconnect the call, leaving no message. Then she folded her hands in front of her.

  “Truman, I’ve been in the workforce much longer than you,” she said. “And one thing I’ve learned is that workplace relationships rarely work out.”

  “Relationships?”

  “You seem to know a lot about her,” Harriet said.

  “I know nothing about her. She’s had some entirely appropriate questions, and I’ve tried to give her answers. Period.”

  “I’m just saying,” said Harriet.

  “Look, would you like me to set something up so you can see Hannah paint?”

  “I think that would be appropriate,” Harriet said, straightening in her chair. “Don’t you?”

  Several hours later, Neva set up Hannah’s easel in the sunny part of the elephant yard. Hannah was all over her, watching and reaching for paint tubes and brushes with her trunk. Curious zoo visitors were gathering along the fence.

  “Sam,” she called, “can you come do something with this girl? She’s all wound up and we’ve still got five minutes until Harriet and Truman get here. Did you get hold of Corinna?”

  “Mama’s on her way.” Sam laid down his pitchfork and came over. “Shug sure does like all these new projects.” Hannah shifted from foot to foot in excitement as Sam pulled several peppermints from his trouser pocket and unwrapped the cellophane. It had already been a Dunkin’ Donuts morning; his girl was sure getting to indulge her sweet tooth today. She let Sam lure her with candy to the other side of the yard. Sam made sure he kept her back to Neva so she couldn’t see the preparations, and once she’d eaten her peppermints he rubbed her tongue, which made her go piggy-eyed with bliss. Finally he heard Truman and Harriet coming into the yard.

  “Looks like it’s show time, baby girl,” he said to Hannah.

  Neva was telling Truman and Harriet, “I’d prefer that you stay over by the barn wall. Hannah’s very excited, and we don’t want to give her too many distractions.”

  “But you can’t see from over there,” Harriet said.

  “You can see well enough,” Neva said. “Please.”

  Sam saw the muscles flex in Harriet’s jaw—two strong women in a struggle to dominate. As he brought Hannah over he saw Corinna hurrying up from the parking lot. “’Scuse me,” he said to Neva, leaving Hannah with her so he could go around to let Corinna in the barn gate without Harriet’s seeing her. “Hi, hon,” he whispered. “Harriet Saul’s here, and she’s in a mean mood. Best to stay out of the way.”

  Corinna looked to the heavens and slipped inside the barn. She’d watch from the office window.

  When Sam got outside again, Neva was talking to Hannah. “Do you remember this?” She held up a brush loaded with blue paint. Hannah took it in her trunk and without hesitation laid down a track of blue from the upper left to the lower right-hand corner of the canvas. Truman shifted a few feet along the barn wall to get a better view. Harriet strode directly across the yard until she was standing right beside Neva. Hannah’s eye rolled nervously.

  “It’s much safer if you don’t stand right here,” Neva said in a low, quiet voice. “She’s very excited.”

  Harriet folded her arms in defiance.

  Sam saw Truman catch Neva’s eye and make the slightest gesture: Unless she’s about to be killed, let her be. Neva collected herself and turned back to the elephant, saying, “All right, Hannah. You’re doing a great job. Do you want more paint?” She offered the palette and Hannah dabbed her brush and made a tornado of red at the bottom of her canvas. Zoo visitors were piling up along the fence, including a young man who was frantically scribbling notes in a small reporter’s spiral notebook.

  Hannah switched to orange paint and then black. The canvas was filling with strokes and color, swoops and dots and vortexes. Inside the office Corinna, seen only by Sam, laughed in amazement and lifted her hands to her mouth.

  The young man with the notepad took several pictures of Hannah painting, and of Harriet and Neva watching. Then it was over. Hannah returned the paintbrush to Neva and walked off to her mud wallow without a backward glance.

  The visitors applauded.

  Neva unclamped the canvas, handed it to Harriet without a word, and began to clean up.

  Sam gave Hannah six apple quarters and a banana. Unseen except by Sam, to whom she blew a kiss, Corinna hurried back to her car: she’d left a customer under the hair dryer back at the Beauty Spot.

  Harriet walked out of the e
lephant yard without a word. Truman closed the gate carefully behind them and said, “She was just doing her job. Hannah was agitated, and I’m sure that can be dangerous.”

  “My ass,” Harriet said bitterly. “And I want you to talk to Sam. I won’t have family members in the exhibits during work hours.”

  She was furious. These two employees were completely out of hand. Harriet had been so involved with her own projects that she’d allowed Sam and Neva too much freedom, and this was what it had led to: insubordination. Harriet wouldn’t stand for that. She expected—no, she demanded—respect for her office if not for herself. Without that, Harriet could never move the zoo into the future she envisioned, a brilliant gem in Washington’s tourism crown.

  When they arrived at the office, they found the young man from outside the elephant exhibit talking to Brenda at the reception desk. He was trying to take notes while juggling a great deal of camera gear.

  “Hello,” Harriet said coolly, cutting Brenda off in mid-sentence. “Brenda, please don’t speak.” To the young man she said, “I am the zoo’s director. May I help you with something?”

  Brenda flushed to the roots of her hair.

  The young man looked up. “Oh! Sorry. My name is Martin Choi.” He held out his hand. “I’m a reporter with the Bladenham News-Gazette.”

  Harriet grasped his hand and smiled. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Sure. I was just getting some information from, ah—”

  “Brenda doesn’t speak for the zoo.”

  “Yeah? Well, okay, then maybe I can talk with you.” The reporter looked with confusion at Harriet’s badge. “Maxine Biedelman?”

  “My real name is Harriet Saul.”

  “Oh. That’s kind of confusing, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Harriet said.

  “So who’s Maxine Biedelman? She his daughter or something?”

  “Whose daughter?”

  “Max Biedelman’s.”

  “Max was Maxine,” Harriet said. “It’s what she called herself.”

  “No shit? I thought it was a guy.” Martin scribbled a note.

  “No.” Harriet took a strengthening breath.

  “Wow. So when did you meet her?”

  “Who?”

  “Maxine Biedelman. You knew her, right?”

  Harriet gritted her teeth. “She died in 1958.”

  “So that would make it a while ago. You grow up around here?”

  “No,” Harriet said. “I wasn’t born until 1956.”

  Martin furrowed his brow. “So how does that work?”

  “It doesn’t!” Harriet cried. “I never met Maxine Biedelman!”

  “Yeah? Huh.”

  “Look.” Harriet pulled several photographs out of her pocket. “Meet Maxine Biedelman.”

  Martin looked through the pictures. “Not a very good-looking old broad, was she? No wonder she called herself Max.” He cracked himself up.

  Harriet reached for the photos, snatching them out of his hand. “Let’s start again. I’m Harriet Saul, the director of this zoo. I’m re-enacting the role of Maxine Biedelman as part of a brand-new living history program. This is the first day, in fact. I’ll be giving daily lectures so our visitors can get a better feel for the zoo’s roots. We have colorful beginnings.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t we go into my office?”

  Harriet led the way. Inside her office door Martin stopped, surveying the wreckage. “Whoa! This looks like my apartment. No kidding. Looks like you should fire your janitor, huh?”

  Harriet swept the visitor’s chair clear. “We’re a nonprofit organization. We don’t have a janitor.”

  “No kidding.”

  A small vein pulsed in Harriet’s temple. She sat down behind her desk, took a fortifying breath, and outlined the history of the Max L. Biedelman Zoo in extreme, even numbing, detail, as her little act of revenge. When she finally stopped at somewhere between forty-five minutes and eternity, Martin Choi squinted at her and said, “Okay, but so wait. There was never a guy named Max? It’s kind of funny to have a zoo named after a nickname, huh?”

  Harriet shrugged. “It was a personal quirk of hers, I gather.”

  “Well, hey, you’ve given me lots of great information. I have to talk to my editor, but maybe we’ll be able to run a feature story. I’d love to get some pictures, maybe some of you with the elephant. That painting, that was some cool stuff. Would you have a few minutes to go back down there with me now?”

  “Of course,” said Harriet.

  She continued to brief him as they walked. Her twice-daily interpretive performance as Maxine Biedelman was to be called My Walks on the Wild Side, which she believed was sexy enough to draw at least a small crowd to her impromptu stage on Havenside’s marble steps at ten every morning and three every afternoon. She would give a dramatic recitation of Max Biedelman’s travels in Burma, using as props Max Biedelman’s own elephant hook, shooting stick, and old Haaselblad camera. Except for her photographs, Max Biedelman had left behind very little anecdotal information about her life, so Harriet would have to take a certain amount of dramatic license with the contents of her monologue. She had been preparing and practicing for a week; last night she had set up a video camera and taped herself. Though she was by no means a professional performer, she thought zoo guests would find the result moving.

  The elephant yard was quiet when they arrived. Hannah appeared to be dozing against the fence, her eyes closed and trunk moving only now and then to check on the tire leaning against her ankle. Rather than enter the elephant yard, Harriet suggested that Martin shoot his photographs from outside the exhibit, but from an angle that would make it look like she and Hannah were only inches apart. They never even saw Sam or Neva, which was exactly what Harriet had intended.

  When her work with Martin Choi was finished, she sat at her computer and composed a memo for all employees to receive in their paycheck envelopes first thing Monday morning. It read:

  Today, as part of our recent focus on revitalizing the Max L. Biedelman Zoo, we will begin offering a living history program that will feature two daily presentations of the life and accomplishments of our founder, Maxine L. Biedelman. Please be advised that in support of this new effort, I, Harriet Saul, will be costumed as Maxine Biedelman, and during zoo hours am to be addressed exclusively by her name. You may also be called upon to improvise in a supporting role from time to time as Maxine moves through the zoo in character, costumed as Ms. Biedelman would have appeared in the late 1930s. Presentation times will be at 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. daily. Your cooperation is appreciated.

  Signed, Maxine Biedelman, née Harriet Saul

  That done, Harriet nipped into the administrative bathroom to take one last look at herself. She put on the pith helmet, tipped it to a jaunty angle, and walked outside. A family of four was coming toward her along the path. Harriet grinned broadly and extended her hand.

  “Good afternoon!” she cried. “I am Maxine Biedelman. Welcome to my zoo.”

  chapter 9

  When Neva got out of her car at home that evening she smelled something miraculous in the air. Cookies. Sweet, sweet chocolate chip cookies. The aroma was wafting from the kitchen of the Big House—her landlord Johnson Johnson was baking. To her annoyance, she felt weepy. Her missionary zeal was leaching out of her like heavy metals, contaminating everything she’d touched since she’d arrived at this godforsaken place and its third-rate zoo.

  A foil-covered plate sat on the stoop of her garage-cum-apartment. It was the third time she’d received cookies since moving in. With trepidation she walked up to Johnson Johnson’s door. He answered her knock at the exact moment that she had decided to turn and run. Spectrally thin in battered jeans and a T-shirt that said JESUS IS COMING: LOOK BUSY, he appeared at the door holding a spatula.

  “Hey!” he said. “Did you get the cookies? Did you taste one?”

  “No, I just got home, but I wanted to thank you.”

  “Sure.” A t
imer went off inside the kitchen, and Johnson Johnson began windmilling with his arm. “Come in, because I better get this batch out before they burn.”

  “No, no—”

  But he was already across the kitchen. She followed—and found, to her astonishment, that the kitchen was painted, even saturated, in the colors of a Mexican fiesta: brilliant yellows, reds, oranges, and greens. In place of baseboards, a seven-inch band of black-and-white checkerboard wrapped all the way around the room, and above that ran what appeared to be a poem. No—Neva recognized it as the opening lines of Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky: T’WAS BRILLIG, AND THE SLITHY TOVES DID GYRE AND GIMBLE IN THE WABE…Along the tops of the walls, at the ceiling-line, Johnson Johnson had painted fragments of a dinner conversation: MY, WHAT A LOVELY HAM! and HAVE THE BROCCOLI—IT’S DELICIOUS. Even the wood floor had been painted brick red, with a compass dial beneath the kitchen table.

  “It’s so I know where North is,” Johnson Johnson said, sliding hot cookies onto a cooling rack, his mouth slightly open. “In case, you know, I forget.”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  He looked up at her. “Well, you’re supposed to.”

  “You are?”

  “Course.”

  Neva was reminded anew that it was best not to expect clarity from the funhouse that was Johnson Johnson’s mind. “So did you do all this yourself?”

  “Yeah,” he said modestly. “I don’t like white, so, you know.” He spaded gobs of cookie dough out of a mixing bowl and onto the cookie sheet. “Did you see Kitty anywhere?”

  “No. Is he supposed to be in the house?”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t go out much anymore. Check the living room, okay? He gets nervous when I use the oven.”

  Neva didn’t have the strength to ask why. She opened the door leading into the living room and found herself trying to take in a series of wall-mounted ramps, runways, platforms, small hammocks, and tunnels that encircled the room, rising from the floor to the ceiling—a gloriously outfitted feline jungle gym. In a far corner, a narrow carpeted ladder rose through a cat-sized hole in the ceiling. Halfway up one wall, draped across a sleeping perch, she spotted a battered orange tabby with a significant gut. He didn’t so much as glance in her direction. “I think he’s in here,” she called. “He’s out like a light.”