Making Angels Laugh

by Woods, Karen

  That got everyone’s attention. “Really?” Kiril asked.

  “If I stay with State, yes. But I’ve been offered a tenure track chair in Economics at Georgetown,” Anya said. “I’m thinking about taking it. I told the dean I’d give her my decision after we returned after this cruise.”

  “Teaching gave me time to be with my children,” Rita replied.

  “Do you want to be a professor?” Masha asked. “I thought you loved your job at State?”

  “I do. I just don’t want to take children overseas for a long term posting. I’m not comfortable with the level of security that we’d have to surround them with. Americans, particularly Americans with ties to the government or well-to-do families are kidnap targets, or worse.”

  Everyone was silent for a long moment.

  “Are you pregnant, Anya?” Masha asked, hesitation in her voice.

  “Maybe, and maybe not. Time will tell,” Anya replied, clearly uneasy.

  Kiril asked, rapidly changing the subject, “What would you spend that kind of money on frivolously, Babushka?”

  Irina laughed. “I might buy a sports car. Something Italian, low slung, and powerful. Maybe bright red in color. Can’t you just see me driving something like that?”

  Alexei laughed. “Actually, I can see you enjoying something like that. If you want it, you should get it. You’ve driven that ancient sedan of yours for so many years now, that car doesn’t owe you anything.”

  “I like my car,” Irina replied. “It is still in good shape mechanically and structurally. I really don’t need a new automobile. Most of the time, it stays in the garage and I get around town by cab, bus, or subway. A sports car would be a large frivolity.”

  “What do you usually do with your winnings, Babushka?” Kiril asked.

  “Most of the time, I give whatever I win to charity,” Irina replied.

  “Which charities?” Kiril asked.

  Irina shrugged. “That’s between me and God, my dear. A woman shouldn’t talk in detail about her charitable gifts. It’s rather like standing on a street corner and calling attention to yourself.”

  “I’d take my winnings and run with them now,” Masha offered. “They like to keep you playing, knowing that the advantage is to the house in any game and that the longer you play, the more likely you are to give back your winnings.”

  Irina laughed. “I’ve been gambling in casinos, on several different continents, since long before you were born. I know, quite well, how the system works.”

  “Do you always win?” Masha asked.

  “No one always wins, my dear. But poker is a game of both knowing the odds and being able to read people,” Irina replied. “I happen to be very good at both. As long as I keep my head in the game, I win far more than I lose. When I find my head isn’t in the game, I get out.”

  “Ever thought about doing the World Series of Poker, Babushka?” Alexei only half teased.

  “I prefer the advantage of sitting down with a table of men and having them underestimate me, Lyosha,” Irina said with a chuckle. “That’s a valuable tool.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Rita offered, “Anyone who underestimates you, Mama, is a fool or worse.”

  Irina shrugged, “Men at least show their aggressiveness outright. Women tend to bury the aggression under a false veneer of civility, letting it out in cattiness. Besides, I’m happy with the service I get when I go to a casino. I have a host or hostess who knows me and makes sure I have a good time when I go to Vegas or to Atlantic City. I go, I play, see a show or two, have a couple of excellent meals, and I go home. If I moved away from play into celebrity, which I would if I won the WSOP, all that would change. And I don’t want it to. Now, I’m just an upper range player at the Casinos, not quite a ‘whale’. If I placed in the money at an event like that, I’d be a poker celebrity. I don’t want that. I prefer to be rather anonymous. Besides all they play, these days, is Texas Hold’em. And that’s not my favorite game.”

  “What do you prefer to play, Babushka?” Alexei asked.

  “Draw poker,” Irina replied.

  “That desire for anonymity is why you chose to perform at the talent show?” Kiril teased his grandmother mercilessly.

  Irina laughed. “I never said my choices were completely lacking in contradiction to one another.”

  “None of ours are. We are all pragmatists,” Anya allowed.

  Kiril laughed, genuinely amused. “Speak for yourself, Anya. I am reputed, like my father before me, to be someone who will never stray from the path of what I know to be right, even if it’s wrong.”

  “I certainly hope that all my boys always do what they believe to be right,” Rita replied. “And your father was never so hidebound as his reputation suggested.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Alexei said. “The two of you always let us know what standards we were expected to meet. There was a right way we were expected to do things. And God help us if we didn’t. If you didn’t already know about something we did, someone from church would tell you. When we were growing up, we never could play the pair of you off one another. You always gave us the same answer.”

  “We thought alike, most of the time,” Rita replied, her voice full of memories. “I knew him as well as I know myself. It was like looking in a mirror, for both of us, from the first moment we met. We were as close to being one person as any couple I’ve ever known.”

  “And you didn’t fight at all?” Anya teased.

  “I don’t remember any fights in all our years together. We worked things out between us, discussed things. And we sometimes disagreed on minor points… I suppose as close as we ever came to having a real fight was the day Svetlana died. It was certainly the only time I ever remember snapping at him and running from the room in tears.”

  Alexei nodded. “I remember that day. It was the only time in my life that I worried that you and Papa would divorce. So many of my school friends’ parents had broken up over less than the death of a child.”

  “Many marriages where children are lost do end up in divorce,” Masha allowed. “The stress is too much for many.”

  Rita sighed heavily. “We were both in emotional pain, Dryusha and I. That was a hard time for us. It certainly would have been easier running away than dealing with the pain of her death and the pain the other one was feeling because we were each helpless to deal with due to our own pain. But the principal virtue that makes marriage work is simple perseverance, just holding on no matter what life throws at you.”

  “That Christmas was a very sad time for all of us,” Kiril said.

  “It was an incredibly hard time,” Rita agreed, her voice choked. “But we got through it. Still, sometimes, I still wonder what she would have looked like as she grew up.”

  “I had her photo processed by the programs that are used in cases of missing children to age them when they’ve been gone for a long time,” Alexei said, bringing out his phone. “Would you like to see her at seventeen?”

  Rita sighed raggedly. “I don’t know… Yes, I think I would, Lyosha.” She held out her hand and took his phone from him. The photo of her daughter as she might have been at seventeen was there on the screen. Blinking back tears, she handed the phone back to her son. “Thank you. Show the rest of them the photo.”

  Irina took one look at it. “She would have been as lovely as you were at that age. Definitely her mother’s daughter.”

  “I see her father in her,” Masha said, after looking at the photo, “as well. But yes, she would have been bright and beautiful. One day, we will see her again, God willing, if we are numbered among the Saints.”

  “I like to think that she is with Papa and Dryusha,” Rita said, blinking back tears, her voice ragged. “And Artur, Arseny, and Albert, too.”

  “Those were your brothers’ names, Rita?” Anya asked.

  “They are the names of my sons, yes,” Irina replied, her voice choked. Then she brought herself more under control, and said in an even
tone, “If I gave you a photo of your uncles, Lyosha, could you have the same thing done? Could you have photos made of what they would have looked like at five, at fifteen, at twenty-five, at sixty? They would have been sixty years old, next month.”

  Alexei replied, “Yes, Babushka, I could take a photo of the triplets and have it aged.”

  Irina nodded. “I have a copy of a photo of them in my cabin. I will give it to you later tonight.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The historic cemetery in Cartegena appeared to be walled on all sides as they approached. When the first burials had been done here, Irina had told them, this had been well outside the city limits in a swampy area that had been good for nothing except burying the dead. But, now the city had extended out to here and beyond. This section of the city was a luxurious neighborhood, filled with elegant homes.

  A nondescript secure door in the cemetery wall was opened by a male caretaker in reply to the solid knock that Kiril had made upon the door.

  Irina said in rapid Spanish, “We have come to visit the graves of my sons, her brothers, their uncles. May we come inside the walls?”

  The old man nodded and let them come inside the “garden of peace.”

  Irina led them past rows of elaborate Italian marble tombstones dating from the late 1700s.

  Rita examined the stones as they walked. Off to the left, with the graves of the poor, lay the infant sons of her parents. Even now, Rita had a hard time considering them her brothers, as she had never known them.

  The rectangular gray marble cemetery marker was written in Russian, “Albert, Arseny, and Artur Melnikov, infant sons of Aleksandr and Irina Melnikov. Memory eternal” with their birth and death dates and a three bar Russian cross. Irina laid the flowers they had bought on the headstone. Then she stepped back. It was clear to Rita that her mother was perilously close to collapse.

  Rita wrapped her arm around her mother’s waist and held her firmly. Irina grabbed hold of Rita’s hand which was on her waist, wrapped her own arm around Rita’s waist, and hung on as though her daughter was her only lifeline in a sea of pain.

  “I think,” Irina said, her voice breaking, “that we need to do the memorial prayers, now.”

  Kiril opened his prayer book and began chanting the prayers of the memorial service. Everyone else joined in the prayers that were being chanted, making the responses as Kiril led them in the service.

  One part of Rita’s mind was on the prayers, the largest portion, however, was monitoring and supporting her mother, both physically and emotionally. Irina was experiencing strong, slow, tremors, such as Rita had never seen her mother experience, not even at the funeral of Rita’s father. As the prayers for her brothers continued, Rita grew increasingly concerned about her mother.

  But the prayers rather quickly came to an end. Everyone, including Irina, sang, “Memory Eternal” for the boys.

  Their prayers fell into silence. Irina nodded tightly. “Until we meet again in heaven, my sons. Sasha, take care of them until we are reunited,” she whispered. With a clearly forced smile, she then said, “Time to go, my dears. Let me show you the city, or what I can of it based on what I remember of it.”

  “That’s why the driver has been hired, Babushka,” Alexei said. “We’ll spend a few hours in the city, then go back to the ship. Unless you want to go back now?”

  “Nonsense, Lyosha. I lived in this city for a number of years,” Irina replied. “I’d like to see it again.”

  The driver gave them a tour of the city, taking them to places that Irina wanted to see, returning them to the cruise ship docs just after noon.

  After lunch, which Irina only picked at, Rita’s mother excused herself, saying she needed some time alone.

  “I don’t know about any of you,” Kiril said, “but I could use a drink. Anyone want to join me in the nearest bar?”

  “I thought Babushka was going to collapse,” Alexei said, putting down his bottle of beer. “She didn’t look at all well.”

  “No, she didn’t. I will go check on her in a few minutes,” Rita replied.

  “It was an interesting cemetery,” Anya said before sipping from her bottle of water. “Looked to me as though tree roots are the biggest problem, except for vandalism, in that place.”

  “It was a nice neighborhood,” Kiril replied.

  “Yes,” Anya replied. “Very Posh.”

  Rita finished her cup of tea. She looked at Kiril. “You and Masha are taking dinner by yourselves this evening?”

  “Unless you need us,” Masha replied.

  “You have done your family duty for today. Go have a good time, my dears,” Rita said. “That goes for you and Anya too, Lyosha.”

  “We may just get room service, or go to the buffet, and do the movie night event. It’s been an emotional day,” Anya said. “Like Alex, I thought Babushka was going to keel over in the graveyard. I was so glad that you were holding on to her.”

  Rita admitted, “I am worried about her.”

  Kiril nodded. “Me, too. Babushka never was one to deal with the past. She’s always just moved on. Today was very hard on her.”

  “It’s always hard to visit the grave of a dead child,” Rita allowed. “I always have a hard time going to the graves of Svetlana and your father. I suspect this was especially hard for Mama, since this is the first time she’s been back here in decades. The boys would have been sixty this year. I think that makes her feel very old.”

  Masha sighed. “She always has projected the air of a much younger woman.”

  “Mama always said that if a person took good care of themselves, they could be as young as they feel,” Rita said.

  “She’s certainly lived by that motto for as long as I’ve known her,” Kiril said.

  “The problem is,” Masha said, “I think she’s feeling her age today.”

  Rita nodded. “I probably should go check on her.”

  “Give her some time to herself, Mama,” Kiril urged. “She needs to decompress. Today was hard for her. She’s never liked dwelling on the past. Yet, it was right before her today.”

  Alexei checked his email. “I’m sending you an email, Mama. It contains the age progressed photos of my uncles. I just received the photos. Want to see them?”

  “Ask if I want to keep breathing, why don’t you?” Rita said on a chuckle.

  Alexei showed her the photos on his phone. The first one was of the boys as they might have appeared today, if they hadn’t passed away as infants.

  Kiril sipped from his cup of coffee. “Yes, there is no denying their paternity. They would have had the look of your father…At least from the photos I have seen of him.”

  “I still miss Papa so much,” Rita said. “He would have so enjoyed being a grandfather. He died entirely too soon.”

  “Sometimes, people do die too soon,” Anya replied, her voice heavy.

  Kiril finished his cocktail. “Who is to say what’s too soon, Anya? Are we God, that we know the intended length of a person’s life? Everything that lives dies, sooner or later.”

  “A brave man dies but once,” Masha quoted.

  “Not exactly what I was getting at,” Kiril replied. “Everyone who is alive will die. Even Christ and the Theotokos died. The only things that all human beings have in common is that we’re conceived, we live for however long with all that entails, and that we die. Statistically, we can say that we live x number of years on average for this country or that country. The actuaries can tell us the odds of any of us living for any given number of years. But the truth is that none of us truly knows if we’ll even be alive when we draw our next breath.” He sighed heavily, “And we shouldn’t be burdened with that knowledge. All any of us can do is to live our lives the best we can in each moment, keep our lives focused on God and repent when we let the focus slip, do the best we can in our service to others out of our love for God, and make sure that the people in our lives know how dearly they are loved. Beyond that, I’m not sure that any of us can really
do anything.”

  Rita looked at her son. “My, aren’t you philosophical today, Kiryusha,” she replied in Russian with a small smile on her lips.

  Kiril shrugged.

  “We will be traveling through the canal tomorrow during most of the day,” Rita said, changing the subject. “I’m planning to spend most of the day on deck, enjoying the transit. What are your plans?”

  “So, Mama, is the trip as good for you as you thought it would be when you dreamed about it as a child?” Kiril asked.

  Rita smiled. “Far better, because I have you with me. But now I need to go check on Mama.”

  A few minutes later Rita let herself into the cabin she shared with her mother. Irina was in bed, asleep. Rita stood there beside her mother’s bed for a few minutes and counted her mother’s respirations. Relief swept over her as Rita saw this nap looked like normal sleep. Not wanting to wake her mother, who, if she was sleeping during the day, really needed the rest, Rita left the cabin and went up to sit on the deck. She took a seat on a lounge chair and removed her ebook device from her purse.

  She completed reading a mystery novel, and three more, and was about half way through on a fifth novel when Kiril came to sit beside her.

  “Good book?” he asked.

  “Moderately entertaining cozy mystery.”

  “You always did love those.”

  “Hasn’t changed. Mystery novels are both a story and a game the author plays with the reader. But I rarely find one that I don’t solve well before the conclusion.”

  “So, will you solve this one?”

  She handed him the reader. “Go to the last chapter for the reveal, and we’ll see.”

  He smiled. “Okay.” He fiddled with the buttons and opened the last chapter. He spent a few minutes in silence, reading. “Whodunit?”

  “The niece, Alice. She killed the old man because he was going to change his will and completely disinherit her, in spite of the fact that she had spent her whole adult life as his unpaid nurse. But she made it look like her cousin, James, the drug addict, had done it and then had blacked out. And James couldn’t deny it as he woke up covered in the old man’s blood and he, as usual, had no memory of the night before.”