by Tim Merriman
Rosa was quiet, thinking of the simplicity of his message and the complexity of the circumstances.
“It’s a good message, Daudi. I hope there will be people there who want to listen. Sometimes good people choose not to see what is happening.”
“It is the United Nations, the place where people from the whole world meet,” Masozi said confidently. “Surely they will care.”
“Surely they should, Masozi. We will soon know. What else would you like to do in New York City? Have you thought about that?” Rosa asked.
“We are just wishing to meet Kamau Akama and then we can go back home. I do not know how we will do that, but we made a journey here. We will get home.”
“I am just wanting a taste of the Big Apple,” Masozi quipped.
“We’ll be there really soon, so get ready,” Rosa assured them as they turned onto the highway leading into Narrows Bridge and over into Manhattan.
* * *
The drive through the canyons of buildings in lower Manhattan excited the kids. They had negotiated through many big cities on their journey, but this was by far the biggest and busiest. Masozi described the sounds and Daudi told him of the strange sights, while Ramla pressed against the back window on one side. Rosa turned in the rental car at the agency near the hotel and they piled into a taxi to get to the Crowne Plaza Hotel at the United Nations, where she already had a suite reserved. The Africans loved the huge sprawl of rooms on the forty-fifth floor in a junior executive suite. Rosa was delighted that the articles and photos she had been selling would more than compensate for her usual flow of contract work and the extraordinary expenses of the past few days.
“This is a palace, Miss Rosa,” Daudi said, walking around the large living room and in and out of the two bedrooms. “There are giant buildings everywhere.”
“You can just barely see the edge of the United Nations from this window,” Rosa demonstrated by leaning toward a living room window and pointing. “It has all the flags of member nations out front.”
“How did this wonderful United Nations come to be?” Masozi asked. “Do you know, Miss Rosa?”
“Yes I do know, as it happens, Masozi. I wrote a story on it to accompany photos I took of redwood trees in California.”
“What have trees to do with a club for nations?” Masozi wondered.
“The United States had a very famous president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, through a very difficult time in the 1930s. He always talked about getting the League of Nations to become a more formal institution where nations could tackle big problems and discuss their disagreements in a peaceful way. But he died before it happened. To honor his efforts, the representatives of many nations gathered in San Francisco right near where you landed in your flight from Africa. But even though they had agreed to meet, they couldn’t agree on much else.”
“Why was that, Miss Rosa?” Daudi asked.
“Good people sometimes have troubles coming to agreement when a lot is at stake. So they took a day off from their meetings and went north of San Francisco into Muir Woods, a famous national park with five thousand-year-old giant redwood trees. Some of those trees are as tall as some of the buildings you see here. They are really something to see, the tallest trees on the planet.”
“And what happened there?” Masozi asked.
“Those big old trees made the people think about how small we really are and how petty our disagreements. The next day they voted to create the United Nations. The street by the United Nations building is called Franklin Delano Roosevelt Street in his honor.”
“When can we go see this United Nations building?” Daudi asked.
“Right now. Let’s go get a bite to eat and check things out at the U.N.”
“I am going to eat several bites,” insisted Masozi. “Did we not miss our noon meal today?”
“Not yet, Masozi. We’re just running a little late. Let’s go find some street food. It’s unique in New York City.”
“Hmmm, big apples maybe.”
Rosa laughed. “Right, Masozi. Big apples.”
They went down on the elevator, walked out the front door and onto the street. When they were almost to the U.N., Masozi spoke up. “Miss Rosa. I am smelling very good food. I think there is New York food just to the right.” She glanced to the right and spotted a silver hot dog stand with an umbrella several yards away.
“Your nose will not be fooled, Masozi. You’ll like this,” she said. She ordered hot dogs for each of them, along with potato chips and soda. They carried their food to a bench nearby and feasted. Rosa felt only slightly guilty for introducing them to junk food. She was more concerned that they enjoy this experience to the greatest extent possible. They certainly seemed to be doing so. Even Ramla was engaged and smiling, a sharp contrast to the fearful watchfulness that had dogged her through the earlier parts of the journey. Rosa went back for a second hot dog for Masozi, astounded at how much food this gangly teenager could put away at one sitting.
After lunch they walked to the front of the U.N. building. Rosa pulled her best digital Nikon out of her pack and began taking photos of the kids with the flags and building behind them. She knew she would need to send Ilan another article and photos tomorrow morning at the latest. They climbed the steps of the building and learned that they could not get in this late in the day and the tours for the next day were already full. In addition to the regular complement of tourists, people were streaming in from all over the world for the conference. Rosa attempted to find out about registration but the desk attendant was clear that nothing would happen for another day and a half. Rosa let the kids enjoy looking at the water feature near the U.N. while she called the doctor that Dr. Simpson had contacted for her. He was unavailable but she left her cell number on his pager. He called back almost immediately.
“Miss Carson. Dr. Willis here. I’m concerned about your young friend’s condition based on the reports Dr. Simpson forwarded. I need to see him tomorrow morning if at all possible.”
“We have a free day tomorrow. I want to take them to the Statue of Liberty in the afternoon, so your office in the morning would work.”
“Just come to the university clinic and ask for me. They’ll have orders to get you right in. There’ll be no charge for this. I’ve been reading the news stories you’ve written. I can’t promise we can reverse things for your young man, but we’ll give it every effort.”
“Thanks, Doctor. That’s all we can ask. Thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Rosa was instantly depressed. The fun they’d been having together had helped them put aside the fears that were growing in each of them about Daudi’s health. Controlling the pneumonia was a temporary fix. His immune system was down.
They walked back to the hotel in a lazy circle, discovering the beauty of a very busy city. They were almost back to their building when Rosa spotted a video store and remembered that the TV in their room included a DVD player. She took them inside the brightly lit shop and began searching for a very specific section.
“Look. Here it is.” She pulled both The Wizard of Oz and The Wiz off the shelf. “Now you can see your book come to life, complete with music and dancing. Let’s make some popcorn and watch movies tonight. What do you say?” Rosa asked.
The kids were quiet.
“Movies. Have you seen moving pictures on television or in a theater?” she asked realizing something was wrong.
“No, Miss Rosa. We have not.” Masozi said. “Have we? I have not listened to a movie.”
Daudi shook his head. “We have seen news programs on the TV for short periods since we’ve been here, and there were moving pictures on the airplane, but we did not know they came with sound. What is the movie and how does it bring the book to life?”
Rosa looked at the concerned expressions on their faces and realized the idea of the characters in a book becoming real, no matter how beloved, might be somewhat frightening for someone who was unfamiliar with the technology.
“It’s al
l still make-believe, but people act out the parts and there’s wonderful music. They dance and it’s colorful, and I think you’ll really like it.” Rosa’s voice trailed off as she could see this was perplexing in a way she hadn’t thought through.
Daudi asked quietly, “Will this take away the story in my head?”
“I don’t know, Daudi. I don’t think so. Let’s try it. We can turn it back off if you don’t like it.”
Rosa paid for the DVDs and they hurried back up to the room. She ordered sodas and popcorn from room service and settled in on the sofa with the kids to watch the original movie from 1939 with Judy Garland and Ray Bolger.
“This is the first movie made from the book. I’ve watched it about twenty-five times and always look forward to seeing it again. It was made a long time ago, even before I was born. Let’s see what you think.”
Rosa kept glancing at them as the movie began, a little concerned about their reaction. She had intended to ask if they wanted to turn it off after the first few scenes, but they were mesmerized. Once when she started to speak, Masozi patted her hand to quiet her. He listened intently as if the pictures were rolling in his head.
Suddenly, Masozi said, “The book says nothing about singing, but this singing tells the story very well. I like it.”
Rosa smiled and relaxed, watching Ramla’s face brighten with every scene. They would not allow her to pause the movie when room service came, so she brought the tray in and distributed the goodies while they stayed glued to the screen. When the movie ended, they sat without a word.
“What do you think?” Rosa asked, uncertain whether the quiet indicated a good reaction or bad.
“It is wonderful.” Daudi said simply. “It is the book, even though it was different in some places. But the story is there and the scenes are just as I imagined.”
Rosa looked closely at Daudi as he seemed to be struggling with a thought. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?” she asked.
“I have read the book many times. But I have only just realized that the Wizard has no answers.”
Rosa sighed. This sobering thought had her rethinking the wisdom of watching the movie.
“It’s true, Daudi. You know, I’ve never met a real wizard. I’m not sure there’s anyone who has the answer to everything. In fact, very often, we have to be our own wizards and come up with our own wisdom, just as Dorothy discovered.”
Masozi took a lighter view. “I love the songs, Miss Rosa,” he said. “I shall have to learn them all and I can sing them whenever we read the book.”
Ramla got up from the couch and found Daudi’s pack. She pulled out the book and handed it to Daudi. “Read, please.”
Rosa watched them reading, wondering if she had damaged the power of that ritual by showing the movie, but they seemed unchanged. The book held some magic for them, some familiar road map to sanity in a crazy world. Masozi began humming the music from the movie in appropriate places, making them all laugh as he indiscriminately changed the words he couldn’t remember. She took more photos of each of them, capturing the way the book created a hearth of sorts, a warm place to gather this unique family around.
She found her laptop and began writing about their day, nothing more. It was important to help those who were interested understand the complexity of knowing a wonderful child with a dreadful disease and it was terrible to try to explain the fear of losing a treasured friend. Listening to Daudi read, with Masozi interrupting with funny questions and show tunes, and Ramla focusing intently on both of them was more than magical. It reminded Rosa of how dysfunctional many of her family relationships were compared to these young people, who had no conventional family relationship. They had invented their family ties while on a personal mission of great importance, and used a century-old piece of fiction as their road map. Why did that seem more rational to her than any other scenario she could picture? Certainly, her life of avoiding a real job and relationships in favor of traveling the world to create a photo record of other people’s lives didn’t always make sense to her or anyone who knew her.
The article took shape as she blended the threads of each child’s individual story into the braid of their unique relationship. Ramla would not speak because her memories were so terrible that talking about anything had become a challenge. And yet she watched everything with such intensity that she could be Masozi’s eyes and the early warning system against distant trouble for the trio. Ramla’s radar was on if she was awake and she slept lightly. She was a true survivor with horror movies in her young mind that no one should have to replay.
Masozi did not dwell on the subject of land mines or what it felt like to go for water and be forever changed by an unexpected explosion. His youth and natural desire to get on with life were welded into a philosophy of adventure without apology for his lack of options. What he lacked in vision or mobility he made up for in determination and ability to listen. His humor lit up a room and kept him on a personal track of finding the positive in a frustrating world that had already harmed him beyond reason.
Rosa tried to explain Daudi, but he defied explanation. On the surface, he seemed the most unaffected of the three. His HIV status had changed to full-blown AIDS. Though she had not discussed the doctor’s findings, she knew that he knew intuitively what was happening to his body. He also knew the potential implications and yet, he still heard Mamere’s voice, encouraging, protecting, explaining, questioning, and her good advice guided him.
Rosa recorded the mix of observations she had made with the strong feelings the kids evoked in her. It was not her usual journalistic style but it matched the photos that revealed their less detectable qualities. She stopped writing and sorted photos, finding several that told the story without explanation, through the expressive features of their beautiful faces and haunting eyes. She reworked the article and sent it to Ilan through the wireless Internet of the hotel. She looked over at the kids who had fallen asleep as they read. She felt a little guilty about not getting them an evening meal, but they had eaten lunch in mid-afternoon and lots of popcorn with the video. They were resilient. She knew she had a lot to learn about being a parent. She vowed to do better tomorrow and helped them wake up just enough to find their way to the king-sized bed in one room. She left the boys there in a heap on the bed and took Ramla to her room. Ramla didn’t argue. She just returned to the boys’ room when Rosa went into the bathroom. Some habits were just too hard to break, Rosa decided, leaving Ramla where she landed at the foot of the boys’ bed.
Morning came early and Rosa took the kids to a New York bagel shop. Masozi especially loved the rich odors of freshly steamed bagels.
“I will remember this place,” he insisted. “It is going into my smell collection for enjoyment later.”
They all watched him devour an asiago cheese bagel with onion cream cheese as if he had never eaten before.
“You make hyenas seem like timid eaters, Masozi,” Daudi teased. “The bagel will not run away. Go slowly and enjoy.”
“Ah, Daudi. Like the hyenas I must eat quickly so that the jackals like you do not steal my bagel.”
Rosa joined in. “I think Masozi has discovered the secret of this city. Food is the poppy patch that lulls you to sleep here. It fills you up and then you’ll start yawning and looking for a place to doze.”
Ramla ate slowly and carefully, enjoying the rich taste and smell of a cinnamon and raisin bagel with plain cream cheese.
When they finished, they left to find the medical center at New York University. They were the only ones checking in to the waiting room and were shown right away into one of many brightly lit examining rooms, all with toys and books for young people stowed in colorful crates on the wall. They ignored the friendly trappings and sat quietly waiting for the doctor.
A giant of a man entered the room wearing a white jacket and stuck out his hand to Rosa.
“Miss Carson, I presume,” he said in a very British accent, though he seemed of African descent. “I am Dr. Willis.”<
br />
“Hi Dr. Willis. Thanks for agreeing to see Daudi on such short notice,” she answered.
“Daudi. Very nice to meet you,” Dr. Willis said, shaking his hand. “I will need to do a basic examination, if you don’t mind. Dr. Simpson forwarded the tests she took, so I have a head start here.”
Dr. Willis carefully examined Daudi and listened to his chest. He examined his eyes, ears, and throat, and felt various points of his body, causing Daudi to wince from time to time.
“It hurts a bit when I probe, Daudi. I’m sorry about that. It helps me understand what’s happening with you.”
“I am not hurt. Do not worry, Doctor. Please do whatever you must,” Daudi assured the big man. “You are a very big man, Dr. Willis, and I am only a small boy,” he added. Dr. Willis smiled, thinking that this was perhaps the biggest “small boy” he had ever encountered.
“I’ll be mindful. I was a rugby player in college. As for you, you have traveled a very long distance for such young people.”
“We are on a very important journey,” Daudi explained, simply.
“I’ve read the articles by Miss Carson that explain that. You and your friends have done some amazing things. Let’s have you wait out in the lobby with your friends and I’ll chat with Miss Carson a bit. Then we’ll have some tests run to learn more. Is that okay?”
“Yes, Doctor. Please know I appreciate your help,” Daudi said sincerely, extending a hand to shake hands with the doctor who dwarfed him in size.
As Daudi left, Dr. Willis sat down in a chair and looked at Miss Carson with pain in his eyes.
“What is it, Dr. Willis? I can see in your face that this is serious.”
“We need to hospitalize him immediately, Miss Carson. Delaying will greatly endanger him in his fragile state. He is a very sick young man and the crisis he made it through in Harrisburg is not over. He may sound better with the cough gone, but his immune system has bottomed out. Bringing it back may be possible because of his age, but without immediate hospitalization, I can’t give you much hope.”