by Mira T. Lee
This time he comes to my house, he puts his feet up on the coffee table, doesn’t even take off his shoes. One thing, at least he can cook now, and this is good because he takes over the kitchen and he won’t let Lucia foul it up with her stinky herbs. Of course Lucia is unhappy, but she’s not gonna fight with Jonny so she boils the herbs in the night. I say, Aiyaaaa, like Chinese people say. Lucia taught me this. But she is trying so hard. I hold my nose, I drink the soup. Then she tells me this is not enough. She says I have to believe.
• • •
These days I don’t move so well. I have to sit in wheelchair, you can imagine how much I fucking hate this, all the time sitting on my ass. Lucia, she takes me outside, out on the grass behind the house. It’s November, Minnesota jumps into winter in November, nothing left on the trees, so we can sit and watch the lake, but I get cold so fast.
It’s beautiful here, she says.
Yes. In December I am supposed to go to Israel, but this year, I don’t think I’m gonna go.
You need coat, I say to her. She has flimsy purple jacket.
I have fat, she says, laughing. You, you need some fat.
She’s right, I have nothing but bones. When I never am feeling hungry, that’s when I know I am really sick.
We sit around, she goes inside house, comes out with blankets. Not the wool blanket from living room, because she says that one is too scratchy. She brings the blankets from the bed. I use puffy down comforter, king size. Why not? she says. You should be comfortable.
I say okay.
She sits in Adirondack chair next to me, covers herself with blanket, too. We sit, we don’t say nothing for a while, this is okay for Lucia and me.
• • •
Jie, she comes, too, for a few days, all the way from Switzerland. She hasn’t seen Lucia in such a long time. I see the way she is talking to her sister, suspicious, always trying to figure out if Lucia’s okay. And Lucia, I see this, she doesn’t want to talk to Jie. Whenever Jie comes into room, she walks out, and this is painful to see because when I first meet Lucia, all she talks about is her sister, Jie this, Jie that, me and Jie, always cutting hair together in Chinatown, they used to be so close. I ask Lucia what’s going on, she gets angry, she is crying, says I wouldn’t understand. I say, she is your sister, she is blood. I tell her she is making me sad. She says she is sorry, she doesn’t want to make me sad. I say, okay, then don’t. Past is past, let it go.
She says Jie try to control her all the time, always makes her feel bad. I know it’s about the pills, and I don’t like pills, I hate pills, too, I always think Lucia’s perfect, she just needs time to work things out by herself in her head. Always she keeps things locked inside. And Lucia says now her hands shake from the pills, and I can see it also, how sometimes her left eye twitches.
Why don’t you stop? I say. Here is peaceful, calm, you don’t need shitty pills that hurt your body. That stuff is like poison.
It’s not so simple, she says.
• • •
We watch movies. I like action thrillers. I like Denzel Washington so we watch Philadelphia and Malcolm X and that movie about the running away subway train. Denzel, he is a good actor, and seeing subway, it makes me miss New York. If I could sit on that wood bench outside the store with Lucia, like old times, watching the beautiful people going by, I think, that would be nice.
When I first marry Lucia, people wonder who is this Chinese girl? I say, this is Lucia, and everybody likes Lucia. Wherever she goes she is friends with everyone. Lucia is like child in this way, without walls. Even here in Minnesota, she goes to pharmacy, pharmacist knows her now, she meets neighbor with the three nasty wolfhounds, she knows all of them by name, Ward Dunkel and Batman and Robin and Cape (that Dunkel guy, I see the way he looks at her, he likes the women, but fine, okay, men like to look at women, it works). I like people, too, but I am loud, pushy man with missing arm and thick accent. She is less loud, but she is interested in people, where they are coming from, she listens, asks questions, she doesn’t pass judgment, so people, they love Lucia.
But then when she gets sick, it’s different. She is fighting with me all the time, aggressive, snapping like a turtle. I know, this is not Lucia. And I think she first gets sick when we’re married because we live in that small room in East Village. It’s too much going on there, too much noise, too much crazy everywhere, enough to make anybody sick. Lucia needs quiet sometimes, that’s all. Here it’s quiet. I used to go whole day without talking. Not like now, with nurses and home health aides coming in to poke me all the time. One nurse named Sandy, she comes to my house. She is not good-looking nurse, like in the movies. She is fat, wearing big, flowery tent with matching pants. I tell her, Please Sandy, you come to my house, you can wear whatever you want, you don’t need to wear uniform like that. She looks insulted. Next day she comes she is wearing same tent, you believe it? I am a dying man here, she can respect my wish.
• • •
Jie, she comes in the morning, sits on my bed. She says, I know we are family for long time now, you are like brother to me, and I know you are dying, too. But I say this, please, you cannot tell Lucia to stop her pills.
Family, we disagree. I tell her it’s okay if we disagree. It’s my opinion. What, a man can’t have opinions? I’m a dying man, I’m gonna shove my opinions inside everybody’s asses, you know me.
You can’t do that, she says. You will harm her. She listens to you. Please don’t do that again.
Jie, she has temper. I am not scared of her, but Lucia, I know she is scared.
She won’t even talk to me, says Jie.
She loves you, I say.
Now Jie is crying, too. Shit.
How is Stefan? I say. Everything is good in Switzerland?
Good? I don’t know about good.
This is also surprise to me. I am looking worried for Jie.
It’s been hard, she says.
Fucking marriage, I say.
Fucking marriage, she says.
How come you never have kids? I ask.
She stares at the ceiling for long time. Always Jie is like this, thinking, thinking. Maybe I’m selfish, she finally says.
Then I thank you for coming here.
I hate airplanes, she says. But I’d rather see you alive than in a casket.
You see now why I love Jie.
• • •
My daughter, she comes to Minnesota, too. Anat, she is always my favorite, good girl, working for bank in Jerusalem now, wearing grown-up suits. Daughters and fathers, they don’t crash head-to-head. Daughters, they crash with their mothers. But this time she comes in, she says, why do you stay in this cold, dark place? Why are you not coming back to Israel? There is your home. There is your family. Her mother tells her to say to me, it’s ridiculous, I am crazy to die alone in middle of nowhere. I think maybe she is right, but who is to say what is right way to die?
• • •
We play cards, gin rummy. Jie wins first few games, I see she is getting embarrassed. Let’s play something else, she says. So Jonny teaches us poker game, takes all our money. I say give me a break, you’re gonna get everything I have soon enough! This is joke, but you know what? Jonny slams his cards on the table, walks away. Aiya. Oh, Dad, says Anat. She runs after him. He’s just sad, says Lucia. I think how many times in my life I have been stupid like this, making my own son feel bad. And how many more times do I have left to make him feel better again.
• • •
I am coughing up blood now. I have woman doctor. She says to Lucia, if it soaks a panty liner, you call me. You believe a doctor says something like that? First time, I was scared shitless and I am thinking, those are my insides coming out, but now it’s like regular, no big deal, a little blood, but Lucia, I can see she is afraid. One day I puke in toilet and Lucia says we have to call doctor. I say, come on,
it’s nothing, she says, are you fucking kidding me? She doesn’t say the word fucking, but I know it’s what she thinks and she is really mad, so I say okay, because what do I know about maxi-pad.
The doctor says we have to go to the hospital, emergency room. No fucking way, I say. I’m not going anywhere. I die, I’m dying here.
Jonny, for one time in my life he agrees with me, and Jie, I see she is not wanting to get involved, but Anat and Lucia they are yelling and screaming and calling me a stubborn fool, a selfish jackass, and then they are both crying, but this time I don’t move, because I won’t die in a fucking hospital. And you know what, there is no more puke, no more blood, and I turn on the TV and watch some game shows, Price Is Right, Family Feud. The next day there is no more blood, but I am in so much pain, I can’t move. Lucky for me, this is the day I get a delivery. I get a brand-new hospital bed!
Where should we put it? says Jonny.
Down in the dining room, says Anat. Lots of space.
No way, I say. I like my bedroom.
But you can’t move, says Anat. What about the stairs?
But they listen to me. They push my king-size bed to the wall, and this room, it’s so big I can fit the hospital bed next to it.
Two beds, like a hotel, says Lucia.
Perfect, I say.
Perfect, she says.
And now I am comfortable, I am wanting shakshuka. I say, I want shakshuka! So Lucia and Jonny both make me shakshuka. They are having contest to see who’s gonna make the best shakshuka, like some reality TV show and I’m gonna be celebrity judge. And then Jie says she’s gonna make shakshuka, too, and she finds a recipe on the Internet. Never in my life I’ve had three people cooking for me, and even though the chemicals, the chemo, make so I can’t taste anything right, I think, this life is pretty good.
• • •
They try to get along, I see this, the four of them. The next day I am watching action thriller in my bedroom and they are in kitchen, making so much noise. For first time, I hear Lucia and Jie laughing together, and this makes me happy, but I am also a little bit sad I am not laughing with them.
Then they come in and there is Jonny, holding crazy big cake, with a million candles, like big enough for fifty people!
You gonna set my house on fire. Is it my birthday? I say.
No, says Anat. My daughter, she is smiling so hard she is squeezing tears out of her eyes.
But it’s a good day for cake, says Lucia.
Tiramisu cake, says Jonny, who is very proud of this cake that I see now is square shaped with brown and white icing like chessboard. Lucy and me, we used to play chess.
They are wearing hats on their heads, those triangle party hats for kids. They start to sing Happy Birthday song, and I laugh, and then next thing all these people are coming into my room, one and then the next and then the next. I see there is the doctor, the pharmacist, my friend who owns local hardware store, the neighbor with the three wolfhounds, other neighbors from around the lake. And the nurse with the big tent who is not wearing big tent today, only bad dress that looks like smock. Lucy, she knows I hate surprises, but she also knows only stupid fool would be mad about this.
Everyone makes small talk, and I look at them and I think, these people, most people, are nice. They don’t know what to say to me, I know it can be uncomfortable, so I make small talk, too, about Denzel Washington. Smock lady loves Denzel Washington!
And then I fall asleep and when I wake up everyone is gone. No cake, no plates, no red plastic cups, just triangle birthday hat on my head. I know Lucia, she puts it there. She is so small, sleeping alone in my king-size bed.
• • •
Next day, Jie comes in to say good-bye. Lucia is taking her to airport now, she says. She gives me kiss on my forehead. I say, no crying. She nods. I love you, she says. She can’t look at me. I don’t look at her either. Both of us pretending like we’re not gonna crack. But for first time, I feel how real it is.
When Lucia comes back I am eating dinner Jonny made, watching game show on TV. She throws herself down on king-size bed.
Everything went okay? I say.
I think so, she says.
Good.
She lets out great big sigh.
I don’t bother her anymore. I close my eyes. Even dying man needs to know when to shut up.
When it’s morning, I say, Tell me about Ecuador.
It’s beautiful, she says. We live on a farm, you can’t see anything that isn’t nature. You would love it there.
How come you don’t invite me? I say. I am joking, but I see it’s not funny to her, she is looking sad so I shut up my big fat mouth.
They eat chicken feet.
Like Chinese?
And chicken heads. By the plateful. Only heads and feet.
No body.
You can get a haircut on a truck.
What? You’re kidding me.
On the back of a pickup truck, it’s true.
You do that?
No. She laughs. I go to a Chinese lady who snacks on chicken feet.
You have friends there? A lot of friends?
Friends? She is looking at her hands, thinking a little bit, then raises up her shoulders. I know everyone, she says.
She climbs into my hospital bed, crawls under all those fucking plastic tubes. She pushes the buttons to raise our heads, then our feet, then she lowers the feet almost all the way.
There, isn’t that comfortable? she says.
We lie like that and I fall asleep for long time, I don’t know how long but when I wake up the outside is dark. Lucia is still next to me, watching action thriller on TV. She points remote to turn it off.
I want to say something, but I have to think before I say it.
What is it? she says.
Remember, a long time ago, you say you come to visit? I waited. How come you never come?
She doesn’t answer me. She puts her head on my shoulder and I kiss it. I see there is some gray now, and the skin of her face, it’s a little bit loose, with some lines around the eyes. I press them closed with my fingers.
All those years, you left your kids while you lived in New York, she says.
Yeah, sure, I say.
You were okay with that?
Sure. I went to New York to make good life. They were with their mom. Kids should be with their mother. Jonny, always he loves his mother like crazy.
She nods her head, rubs her eyes, blinks away the sleep. If I’d come, I never would’ve gone back, she says.
She shows me pictures of her daughter, Esperanza. The name means “hope.” This is the first time I ever see pictures of her, so I see a lot, from time she is tiny baby to now. She has big open face with far-apart eyes, turning down at the corners like water drops.
She is beautiful like you, I say. When I meet Lucy she is twenty-eight years old, but when I remember her she is without age.
Someday I will tell her about you, she says.
What will you say?
I will tell her love is everything.
She looks at me, then down at her hands. But now, like this, I think love is just romantic way of explaining selflessness.
She sings to me. I close my eyes, and for a while she continues to sing. Ezekiel disconnected dem dry bones. I think it is her, but maybe it’s an angel, who knows.
• • •
I am having too much pain now, too much fucking pain everywhere. They fill my plastic tubes with morphine. I can’t hardly talk. I can’t think. I say, I can’t do this. I don’t want this. I say, Lucia, you have to let me go.
She is so sad.
I tell her, You will go back to be with your family soon. Be happy.
She shakes her head, making a breeze in the room with the way her hair whips around. She shakes and shakes it, harder and
harder, like she is trying to shake out everything inside.
It makes me sad, so I close my eyes.
This is life.
10
Meyer, MN
Most people of Meyer, Minnesota, had never met her in person, but they saw the reports on the news. This was December, an early winter storm. The forecasters had touted it for a week as the next Armageddon, and the entire region had scrambled to prepare. They chopped extra firewood, drained their hoses, boarded barns, cleared gutters, salted driveways, filled tubs, dug out flashlights and emergency radios. Tommy Boyle, owner of Boyle Hardware and Lumber, said he couldn’t remember the last time he’d witnessed such hysteria; the store had been cleaned out of batteries seventy-two hours before the first squall even hit. Zak Barnes, veteran fire chief, urged those using candles to exercise caution, recalling how the Dixons’ place went up in flames just last year.
This was what she was wearing: a pair of pink rubber rain boots. A flimsy polyester jacket with fake fur–lined hood. She was a Chinese girl from some hot-weather foreign country. She didn’t know about snowstorms. At least, this was what they’d heard.
She came to town to care for the one-armed man. The one from Israel. Sandy Allsopp, hospice nurse, could attest to the girl’s diligence, the tenderness with which she tucked the man’s blanket around his feet, brought ice chips to his lips, gently lifted his head from his pillow as she mopped the back of his neck with a cool washcloth. The girl was devoted, Sandy said. Never flinched. She stayed right through to the end.