Nile Shadows jq-3

by Edward Whittemore

  -17-

  Mementos

  The vast bands of homeless pilgrims roaming the outer circles of the Irrigation Works seemed to keep no regular hours.

  They were also all said to be in search of water. Or at least that was what they claimed whenever they were stopped and asked what they were doing, those milling bands of Slavs and Rumanians and Danes and Greeks, Belgians and Armenians and Dutch, some determined and some merely dazed, others wild-eyed or tame by turns as they chaotically croaked their messages and banged their long staves on the floor, pilgrims far from home swaying as stalks of grain in the wind, those confusing groups of Maltese and Czechs and French and Norwegians, Cypriots and Hungarians and Poles, the many stateless wanderers and the occasional homespun Albanian.

  According to Liffy, they kept no regular hours in the outer offices of the Irrigation Works. But in the inner offices where Maud worked, the practice was to take an hour or two off in the afternoon, to escape the heat, before returning to work into the evening.

  Thus, after taking many precautions, Joe was sitting in the living room of Maud's small apartment when the front door opened that afternoon. He heard her put down some packages and walk along the corridor, quietly singing to herself. The room where Joe sat was shuttered against the sun and the heat.

  Maud stepped into the room and stopped singing. She stared.

  She was smaller than he remembered, close up like this. She put her hand to her mouth, startled, wonder and astonishment playing on her face. Joe took a step forward and reached out.

  It's me, Maudie. I didn't mean to scare you.

  She stared, her hand at her mouth. A familiar smile came to the corners of her eyes.

  Joe? It's you? It's really you?

  He took another step, reaching for her hands, her green eyes brighter than he remembered. Sparkling, stunning.

  I didn't want to just turn up, Maudie, but I couldn't write and there was no other way to let you know.

  He smiled more broadly.

  It is a surprise, isn't it. Twenty years later and here in Cairo, whoever would have thought it?

  She watched him, intensely curious. He glanced around the room in his embarrassment.

  It's nice, it's a nice place you have. How are you? You look fine.

  She was still staring at him. At last she found some words.

  But how? . . . why? . . . what are you doing here?

  Joe nodded, smiling.

  I know, it's strange, you just walking in like this and me just sitting here. It's as if we'd seen each other last month or last winter or something. How are you? You look fine.

  Suddenly she laughed. He remembered her laughter but not the astonishing richness of it.

  I'm fine, but what are you doing here, Joe? Are you in the army? I thought you were still in the States somewhere. You've hurt your ear. Here, let me look at you.

  She pulled away and studied him, still holding his hands. She laughed and wrinkled her nose, a beautiful little movement that surprised him at first, but then he remembered that too. She used to do it when something unexpected pleased her. It was just that he hadn't seen it in such a long time.

  He looked away, embarrassed. She was still studying him.

  Would you know me, Maudie?

  Your eyes, I'd know your eyes anywhere but I don't think I'd have recognized you on the street. Your face has changed and you have a leaner look, although you were always thin. Joe laughed.

  It's the lines, he said, they cut deeper now. But you look just the same. I'd recognize you anywhere.

  Oh no, she said, freeing one of her hands and pushing back her hair. I've changed completely. . . . But heavens, oh my, has it really been twenty years? It doesn't seem that long, I don't feel that old. . . . You look very distinguished though. Age becomes you.

  Distinguished? Dressed like this?

  Your face. I didn't notice what you were wearing.

  She laughed.

  Your clothes never did fit you, you know. Remember that funny old uniform you used to wear in Jerusalem? The one that had belonged to that ancient Franciscan priest, that Irish friend of yours who'd been in the Crimean War?

  Yes, the baking priest. He'd worn it at Balaklava.

  That's right. The one who survived the Charge of the Light Brigade because he was drunk. His horse was shot out from under him and he was too drunk to keep up on foot, so they gave him a medal for heroism because he lived. Then afterward he became a priest and was sent to Jerusalem and put in charge of the bakery in the Franciscan enclave in the Old City. And he'd been baking bread ever since, always in the four shapes of the Cross and Ireland and the Crimea and the Old City, the four concerns of his life, as he said. That uniform he gave you, that was too big for you too.

  Joe nodded, smiling.

  Well I guess I haven't changed all that much then, I'm still wearing hand-me-downs. This suit belongs to an Armenian dealer in Coptic artifacts, in transit, or at least that's what my papers claim he is.

  The Armenians, she said abruptly, were the first people to embrace Christianity as a people. Fourth century.

  Joe looked at her in surprise.

  That's an obscure piece of information. How did you know that?

  You told me.

  Oh.

  They gazed at each other.

  Would you like something to drink?

  That would be grand.

  A glass of lemonade? I have some made.

  That would be lovely.

  But she didn't move. They were standing a little apart and she went on staring at him, fascinated.

  No, I don't think I would have recognized you on the street, not unless I'd looked into your eyes. The rest of you is different. There's a leanness to your face that changes your whole expression.

  You look like someone who's been living in the desert, she added in a quiet voice Joe smiled.

  Well I guess that's only right because that's what I've been doing. Not here, over in Arizona. I finally found an Indian tribe that would take me in.

  You used to say you'd do that someday.

  I know I did. And I got the idea originally from hearing about your Indian grandmother. Remember how I used to ask questions about her all the time? . . . Ah Maudie, where did the years go? Where did they ever go?

  I don't know. But here you are again all of a sudden, and you're still asking questions the way you always did. You were always looking for answers then.

  I was young, Maudie.

  Yes, we both were. And you could never get enough of anything, you wanted things so much. And I suppose I did too, and maybe that's what was wrong with it. Both of us so young and wanting things so much, too much, I don't know. Are you still like that, always looking for answers?

  In a way, I imagine. But in a way it's also different.

  Yes, I would have guessed that. And there's a calmness you didn't have before and you're leaner, harder.

  In a good way, I mean, inside. The desert must have done that for you.

  Probably.

  She looked down at her hands, her face thoughtful.

  You've been tending your soul, haven't you? You used to talk about doing that and that's what you've done. You went away and did it.

  I suppose.

  Yes, it shows. It shows in your eyes and your face and I guess we all do that in our way, and I guess that's where the years go. . . . Oh my, but we were young then. We were, Joe, so very young, and we didn't know much of anything. . . . Oh my. We were children playing in the fields of the Lord and there was never a day or a night for us, never darkness or light, just love and the joy of being together and wanting to be together. . . .

  She stared at the floor.

  It was beautiful, she whispered. . . . It didn't last, but it was beautiful Joe moved closer. He put his arm around her shoulders.

  I brought some pictures, Maudie, some photographs of Bernini. I took them before I left the States. He's playing baseball, wearing what they wear when they do that. He's called
a catcher. Can you imagine your son doing that, just like any American boy? He was very excited when I told him I was going to see you.

  He sends you his love. He also sent this.

  Joe took a bracelet from his pocket, a thin gold-colored band without any markings on it, made from some cheap metal.

  He picked it out himself, said Joe. I asked if I could help him choose something but he said this was what he wanted. He said he knew you'd like it because it's simple, and you like simple things. And then he talked a lot about the little house by the sea in Piraeus, where you used to live. He has such a good memory for some things. And he insisted on paying for the bracelet out of a little money he'd earned. He says he's already learned enough to get paid for it sometimes. Of course it must be something they do at the school to encourage them, paying them a little now and then, but he is doing well, Maudie. I went to the workshop and watched them repairing watches and he's getting on with it all right. It's not going to make the least bit of difference, the things he can't do, they're not going to hold him up at all. In other ways he's just marvelous, the way he thinks is just marvelous. Oh he's a jewel, little Bernini is.

  Maud took the bracelet and held it, gazing down at it. She wondered whether Joe knew that Stern had once given her a bracelet like that in Piraeus, although one made of gold. And of course Bernini had remembered that other bracelet, and now with this simple gift he was saying to her that he too. . . . But of course Joe must have known all of that . . . and understood it.

  Joe felt a quiver pass through her shoulders as he held her. All at once she seemed smaller than ever to him, her shoulders thinner than he remembered.

  Here now, Maudie, what's this you're doing?

  Tears were welling up in her eyes. She shook her head, as if to send the feeling away.

  I get so frightened sometimes, she whispered. He's not little anymore, not just a child, and sometimes I get so frightened when I think about it. The world's not made for people like him, it's not. It's hard enough to get by when you start with all the regular things. . . .

  Joe held her tightly. She was crying and shaking her head, unable to shake herself free from the echoes she didn't want to hear.

  Ah Maudie, I know how you feel and it's right for you to feel that way, you're his mother and nothing else would be right. But it's also true that people succeed in all kinds of ways. It's just breathtaking how they do it and Bernini's a fine lad, that's all, and he's going to do just fine. It doesn't matter that he can't read and write the way others can, or that he doesn't have a head for figures particularly. All the one means is that he'll never be an accountant hidden away in the back of some dusty office. And as for the other, well Homer was blind and he couldn't read or write, but he still saw everything there was to see and read the world much better than most of us. What I mean is, Bernini has other gifts and it's a rich world he has, just teeming with beauty. And it's going to be a rich life he finds for himself, I know it.

  Maud had stopped her tears. Suddenly she looked up and smiled.

  My God you're beautiful, thought Joe. Just trying so hard to take in all of life and make the best of it, and never hiding to be safe. It's the difficult way but it's also where the riches are, God bless.

  She raised her hand. Joe smiled.

  In the old days, he thought, you would have put your finger on my nose when you said whatever it is you're going to say. It's your way of getting close to people, the best thing God ever made.

  Maud dropped her hand self-consciously. She looked confused.

  The lemonade, she said. What happened to the lemonade?

  I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet.

  She laughed.

  Poor Joe. You come to visit on a hot afternoon and you don't even get something cool to drink. I'm sorry, I'll just be a minute.

  ***

  While she was gone he wandered around the room looking at her little treasures, the simple things that spoke of years of trying to find a place. Mementos he remembered from Jerusalem and Jericho, even a seashell from a tiny oasis on the shores of the Gulf of Aqaba. And mementos from Smyrna and Istanbul and Crete and the islands and Attica, and now from Cairo, from Egypt.

  Once more, then, Joe found his thoughts slipping back through the years. To Jerusalem where they had met, and to Jericho where they had gone in the autumn when the nights had turned cold, because it was always summer in Jericho and Maud was going to have their child. A little house with flowers around it and lemon trees not far from the Jordan, a heady lemon scent near the river of promise and hope.

  But it hadn't worked out for them in Jericho. Joe had been away running guns for a mythical man named Stern and Maud had grown desperate, afraid that one day he might not return and love would be taken from her again, as it always had been before. Joe too young to understand her fears and Maud too young to explain them, the two of them wrenched apart because they loved each other so deeply, until finally Maud in her anguish had abandoned Joe without even leaving a note, because words were too painful for what was being lost. . . . Maud overwhelmed with sadness as she trudged up the path away from the little house and its flowers, carrying the infant son she had named Bernini in the secret hope that someday he at least might build beautiful fountains and stairways in life. . . . Bernini at least.

  And so to Smyrna, and to the islands and Istanbul and Greece, more restless years of uncertainty as her wanderings stretched on and on and seemed as if they would never end. Stern entering her life then through one of those mysterious turnings of fate so common in the ancient lands of the Eastern Mediterranean where everyone seemed to meet sooner or later, perhaps because they were all secret wanderers and it was a place for that, for seeking.

  Stern and Maud meeting for the first time on a bleak afternoon beside the Bosporus where Maud had gone to stare at the swirling waters, feeling too weak to go on, too tired to pick herself up and try again, too beaten and alone for that. The darkness falling and a stranger coming out of the rain who was thinking exactly what she was thinking, who came up to the railing beside her and began talking quietly about suicide, speaking simply because he understood so well that sad solution, that haunting companion of the lonely. . . . So Stern had saved her life that afternoon and eventually Maud had been able to try again.

  Once more there had been a little house with flowers, by the sea this time in Piraeus, where she and Bernini were happy together and Stern had come to visit.

  And those had been the best years really, the happiest years for Maud when she looked back. Bernini still young enough so it didn't matter if he wasn't quite like other children, but then all too quickly that had ended. . . . War was coming.

  Stern there to help as always, finding a job for Maud in Cairo and suggesting a school for Bernini in America, now that he was too old to sit daydreaming by the sea. A special school where Bernini could live and learn a trade, so that someday he would be able to support himself and make his way, in America where it was safe. Stern offering to pay for the school since Maud didn't have the money.

  In the end she had agreed because it was the best thing for Bernini. And she had always thanked Stern, even though she had known from the beginning that the money must really have come from Joe. Because Stern didn't have money like that, despite what he told her, and Joe was the kind of man who would find it. Joe trying to make it easier for her by sending the money to Stern, and asking Stern to make the offer in his place. . . . And thus Bernini had come to have two fathers who cared for him, two men whose lives had been inextricably entwined with Maud's through the years. . . .

  Echoes, thought Joe. Echoes of the sun and the sand and the sea and a glorious spring on the shores of the Gulf of Aqaba . . . echoes from the brief span of a moon above the Sinai so long ago. . . .

  Joe held the seashell to his ear, listening and listening, then replaced Maud's little treasure.

  ***

  She was distracted when she came back from the kitchen. She sat down beside him and pushed
back her hair.

  What is it? she asked suddenly, looking startled.

  Joe smiled.

  Nothing.

  Did I do something strange?

  Joe laughed.

  Not that I know of.

  Oh the lemonade, she said. I forgot the lemonade. I must have been thinking of something else and had a glass of water and just turned around and come back. How silly of me. It's dreadful how my mind wanders.

  Nonsense. What were you thinking about?

  Maud's face was serious.

  Bernini. What you said about him. I understand that, you know.

  Of course you do, Maudie. Sometimes it seems to me that everybody always understands everything. It makes sense, after all, when you think of it, because we do have all of the past and all of the future within us, so what happens is that we just get reminded of things in life we already know, and remind others in turn. Stern taught me that, and you did, and then I learned a little more about it sitting in the desert for seven years. The sounds in a desert are small and you have to listen ever so softly to hear the whispers of the real things, even though they're already inside you.

  Joe? I know Bernini's special and it's only sometimes that I feel confused, and right now the confusion has more to do with seeing you.

  Yes, there are just so many feelings, aren't there, Maudie. What we had and what we lost, and what we've done since then and haven't done. . . . It's confusing, I know, and it's sad.

  But now there's something else, she said quietly. You don't have to tell me why you're here. No one has said anything but it has to be because of Stern, it can't be anything else. And I suppose you can't talk about it and frankly I don't want to hear about it anyway. I know what Stern has meant to me and I'll always know, and nothing can change that. . . . But Joe? Just tell me one thing.

  She turned away and shook her head. The tears had begun to well up in her eyes.

  Oh what does it matter, you don't even have to tell me that. I already know the answer.