Life Is A Foreign Language

by Rayne E. Golay

  Finishing her glass, Sophie glanced at her watch and stood. “Goodness me. It’s late. I have an early call in the morning.” She squeezed Nina’s shoulder. “I’m glad we talked. I worry that you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  Nina accompanied her outside. “Don’t worry. I’m doing all right.” “Isn’t that your phone ringing?” Sophie asked.

  Nina cocked her head to the side. “So it is.” She touched her cheek briefly to Sophie’s and shut the door on her friend’s receding form.

  Chapter 9

  The phone wasn’t in its holder. Nina stood still, listening to locate the cordless. Ahh, there, on the couch in the den.

  After her hello, Danny’s throaty voice answered. “Hi Mami.”

  “Oh, Danny….”

  “Are you feeling ill? You sound strange.”

  Pressing the receiver to her ear, Nina wandered into the office. “I was just seeing a friend out and rushed to grab the phone before the answering machine kicked in. Thank you for the flowers, chéri. That was so sweet of you.”

  “Glad you received them.”

  “How’s your job?”

  “Great. The cell-phone business is booming. The good news is my team has the highest quarterly turnover, so we all received a bonus.” His voice trembled with excitement, and he cleared his throat before he resumed. “You are now talking to the Director of Sales, Europe.”

  “Danny, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! I’m so proud of you.”

  His laugh was soft. “It’s quite a challenge. But enough about me. Your publisher in New York phoned. I gave him your number in Cape Coral.”

  “Thanks. He called this afternoon, wanted to commission a book on alcoholism, but I turned him down, told him I’m writing a novel.” She paused for impact “He asked to see an outline.”

  “Great! Did you give him a definite no?”

  “For the documentary, I did. My novel is going well, I want to concentrate on that. Let’s see what he says after he’s read the outline—maybe he won’t like it.”

  “Come on, Mami, think positive. Maybe the publisher will love it.”

  Nina laughed quietly. “You’re right, I’ll think positive.” She leaned back in her chair. “I want to do other things besides write.”

  “That’s a good idea; you need to get out among people, meet new friends, have some fun.”

  Hmm … both Danny and Sophie pushing her to see people, not something she wanted to get into, at least not over the phone.

  “Have you talked to Lillian recently?” she asked to change the subject.

  “Yes, a few days ago. We talked about you. Lillian’s angry.”

  “I know. Nothing I say seems to get through to her.”

  A little twinge of caution warned Nina to be careful not to risk playing one child against the other. It wasn’t worth gambling her good relationship with Danny on the slim chance of repairing the rift with Lillian.

  “Papa asked me for your phone number and address.”

  “But he has them both.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re in Cape Coral. I wasn’t sure you wanted me to tell him.”

  “He’s playing games. Tell him I’m here, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Don’t get angry.”

  “I’m not angry with you, chéri. But I’m furious with Papa.”

  Danny’s sigh was audible. “You’re entitled, Mom.”

  “Thanks for understanding. It was good of you to call. Love you. We’ll talk soon again.”

  “Love you, too. Bye, Mami.”

  Danny’s warm voice stayed with her long after the connection was broken.

  She remained by her desk, a finger outlining the faces of her children and granddaughters in the photo, missing them a constant ache in her heart.

  Nina had kept the many years of André’s love affairs to herself, not sharing them with Lillian and Danny until she decided to leave André, and even then giving them a much edited version. Now she questioned whether she’d been wise to be so protective of them.

  Next morning Nina stood looking through the living room window, waiting for Michael to pick her up. The yard called for some attention. The mailbox, green with mildew, needed washing. She wanted to put down some colorful plants to brighten that spot. A glance across the street at Brian’s house brought a lump to her throat at the thought of Cindy’s arrival, making her restless. Nina had tried to be careful, keeping her distance from Michael, mindful not to let him too close. Despite her efforts, he had become important to her. He was so caring and attentive. Would that change after Cindy arrived? The thought that she couldn’t count on him as before made her want to cry, but at the same time she understood he would want to take every opportunity to be with his entire family.

  Michael’s car pulled into the driveway. Nina took a deep breath to still her misgivings, grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her. He already held the car door open. “Good morning. All set?”

  She stopped herself in time before she leaned to kiss him on his cheek, French fashion. “Good morning. Yes, let’s go. I can’t wait to see your clinic.”

  Nina glanced at him as he backed the car into the street. He whistled under his breath to a tune on the radio. The violet-blue of his shirt duplicated the color of his eyes. She quickly turned her head, embarrassed that he might catch her watching.

  They traveled north on Cleveland Avenue through the shopping district, past a few hotels and strip malls. Farther along, the road narrowed to one lane, and the buildings became fewer, with empty lots between them covered by dense shrubbery and small trees. A trailer park looked deserted and forlorn. The few bungalows still standing looked old and in need of repair. Some had broken windows, on others the roofs sagged.

  She pointed. “How can they survive a storm, let alone a hurricane?”

  “We haven’t had a hurricane here in years, but with a storm they take a beating. Afterward, somebody puts in new windows, repairs some of the damage, and they’re livable again. Till the next storm.” He shook his head. “They seem to stay up with a lick and a promise.”

  She smiled. “Is your clinic in this area?”

  “It’s not far from here.” He pointed. “See the blue roof, there to your right?”

  A few uninhabited cottages were scattered here and there, almost overgrown by vegetation. He drove into a parking place near a short strip mall.

  Nina stepped out of the car and took in the view on which poverty had left its stamp. Very few people were around, and only an occasional vehicle drove by. One billboard opposite the mall advertised the latest model in luxury cars; another offered your dream vacation on a cruise ship the size of a floating palace, both incongruous in this setting.

  He steered her to the front door. “We share the mall with a thrift shop, a dentist’s office and a Laundromat.”

  The writing on a shingle screwed to the door said “Family Medical Center,” and beneath it the hours they were open, “Mon-Fri 8 AM to 8 PM.” Sturdy metal bars covered the only window on the front.

  Michael unlocked the door. Nina glanced at her watch, ten-twenty. “It’s the middle of the morning. Do you always keep the door locked?”

  “Yes, it’s a must. We stock all kinds of drugs, and lots of addicts frequent this neighborhood. When the craving sets in, they’ll do anything to get their fix.”

  He ushered her inside and locked the door.

  “How do patients get in?”

  “They ring the bell outside. We check them out before opening. At least we try, but sometimes someone nasty slips by. There are several alarm buttons scattered around. A touch on one of them rings 911. Usually the police are here within minutes.”

  Nina tried to hide a shiver. This was so different from her world, sheltered by comparison. She’d worked with addic
ts and alcoholics, but had hardly encountered this level of despair and depravity. Her professional life had been protected from the real down-and-outers.

  “If I ask questions I hope you won’t take it as criticism,” she said. “I’m interested and I want to try to understand how this type of medical service functions.”

  “Ask anything you want. I won’t be offended.”

  “You told me of the physicians and medical assistants. Do you have a psychotherapist or an addictions counselor?”

  His sigh was audible. “We desperately need one or the other, but lack of funds limits us.” He shrugged.

  Nina was more and more excited. She could see a potential opening for herself, but she decided not to say anything for the moment.

  Michael kept his eyes on her, head cocked to the side, thoughtful.

  They stood in the waiting room, furnished with groupings of white straight-backed chairs and low tables. The linoleum floor was mock red brick design, and the walls painted an eggshell white. A skylight let in the sun, making the room bright. The overall impression was clean and light, the room cool from air-conditioning and rotating ceiling fans.

  In a corner of the waiting room “Touched by an Angel” played out on the TV screen, the sound turned down. Next to it stood a water cooler, and a nearby table held a large plate of cookies and two coffeepots—one half-full, the other filled to the brim. The plaster tape on the side of each said “Coffee” and “Decaf.” Styrofoam mugs stood in neat stacks.

  The only patient in the waiting room, an overweight black woman, sat in one of the chairs, her heavy legs spread wide. Dark eyes almost disappeared in the fleshy folds of a round, shiny face. Her hair was short with hennaed highlights. An A-shirt covered sagging breasts.

  The reception counter was to the left of the entrance where two round windows with perforated holes allowed conversation with the receptionist. Michael tapped a finger on one of the windows. The receptionist looked up from her work, and recognizing him, smiled, flashing white teeth.

  “Hi. Still having fun on your vacation?” she asked.

  “Great fun.” He half turned. “Nina, meet Wanda, our receptionist. She screens the patients before she lets them in.”

  Wanda’s coal black eyes sparkled. “Hi. How you doin’?”

  Smiling, Nina waved, then the ringing phone claimed Wanda’s attention.

  “Come,” Michael said. “I’ll show you around before the place gets too busy.” He led her through a door to the clinic interior, pointing at two rooms along each side of a hall, illuminated by neon lights. “We’ve four examining rooms, although ‘room’ is an exaggeration—cubicle is more like it.”

  The sign on two of them said “occupied.” Through the open doors of the other two she saw the standard examination table covered by a white paper sheet. A plastic chair and a small desk completed the furniture. Charts on the human anatomy hung on the walls in both rooms.

  Michael guided her through a short corridor to yet another room. “This is my domain.”

  The room didn’t bear any resemblance to the others. More like a playroom, it lacked the stark medical aspect. Toys and building blocks lay scattered on the floor. Groups of colorful Walt Disney figures adorned one wall. Small chairs, each in a different color, surrounded a low red table covered with cartoons and storybooks. Michael’s desk and swivel chair stood by the window. An airy and sunny room.

  Nina pointed at a tall glass jar filled with lollipops on his desk. “Candy to keep your young patients happy?”

  “Yes, and to reward them when they’ve been good. Or not so good. Makes no difference, no kid walks out of here without a treat.”

  Moved by his kindness, she squeezed his hand.

  At the other end of a short corridor, opposite his office, was a doorless toilet, the water in the toilet bowl cobalt blue. The wash basin with only a cold water faucet was on the outside. “Very efficient,” she said. “You’re not taking any risks that the urine samples for drug testing will be contaminated or diluted with water.”

  “Don’t you do drug testing in France?” he asked.

  “Sure, we do.”

  By the door to the waiting room they ran into a man dressed in a short white coat.

  “Hi,” he said in a deep, slightly husky voice.

  “Hi,” Michael said, and to her, “Nina, meet Craig Clark, our GP.”

  They smiled, exchanging a casual “Hi, how are you?”

  Craig was tall, well over six feet, and broad in the chest. His head was large, almost round, very bald and very shiny. With a discrete gesture she coughed behind her hand to hid a smile. Kojak without the lollipop.

  Michael preceded her to the waiting room. During their brief tour it had filled up.

  “This is the unpredictability of a walk-in clinic,” he said. “Not a patient in the room, then before you know it, it’s crowded.”

  Patients of all ages, men and women, mostly African-Americans took up every vacant chair. Some drank coffee out of Styrofoam cups, others held soda cans. One old, very skinny man munched on a cookie with toothless gums and took sips from his mug. Some leaned against the wall in an attitude of quiet patience. They seemed content to sit or stand in the cool of the room. Some read. Others watched TV. A young woman breastfed a baby. Nina couldn’t detect the usual restless frustration at waiting, nervous apprehension to meet the doctor.

  A young boy, who looked almost emaciated, pushed himself off the wall where he’d been slouching. An orange knit cap covered his dreadlocks, a bare knee showed through torn jeans, the T-shirt sleeveless. He ambled toward Michael in a stooped walk, arms swinging. His dark bony face with high cheekbones lit up in a smile so warm, so joyful it seemed to brighten the room.

  “Hey Mon,” he said. “How ya bin?” The dreadlocks and his dialect hinted at a Jamaican origin. His voice was that of a boy on the cusp of becoming a man.

  Moving even closer he put one graceful, long-fingered hand on Michael’s chest.

  Michael covered his hand with his own. “Bin good. How’s you?”

  “Not bad, Mon, not bad t’all.” Keeping his hand flat against Michael’s chest, he took Michael’s hand and pressed it against his own chest. It was a gesture of affection and—yes, reverence. The moment passed, and the boy stepped back.

  Michael’s smile radiated love, a mirror image of the boy’s obvious fondness for this man.

  “Have you had your shot yet?” Michael asked.

  “No, bin waitin’ for you, Mon.”

  Michael turned to Nina. “Excuse us a minute, will you? Be right with you.”

  She nodded.

  They disappeared inside the clinic.

  The scene she’d witnessed moved her in a profound way. She didn’t try to analyze what she’d seen, the shared history evident between the two.

  Nina stood at the window, her back to the room, waiting for Michael. Presently, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned. Before her was the young boy, cap in hand, wearing a smile that made his beautiful dark eyes sparkle.

  He held out his hand. “I’m Marley.”

  Nina put her hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Marley. I’m Nina.”

  “I knows. You Mon’s woman.” A statement.

  “Yes.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  Again his smile beamed. “He good.”

  He touched off nostalgia and longing deep inside her. Maybe it was the memory of Danny at this age. On impulse, she reached to brush her lips against his cheek, the skin a bit bristly from young hair growth.

  For a brief instant, he held the palm of his hand against her cheek. Then he was gone.

  The exchange took only moments and seemed unreal. She wondered about him … who he was, where he came from, what ailed him to need medical care.

  Michael returned to th
e waiting room. Nina watched as he made his way across the floor, stopping to listen, say a word or two to some of his patients. While he talked to one of the them, a toddler on the floor was playing with the laces to Michael’s sneakers. He bent to pick up the little boy, and made him laugh by burrowing his face in the child’s neck. As he handed the child to the woman accompanying him, he said something that brought a smile to her young face, eyelids bluish from fatigue, deep furrows bracketing ragged lips.

  Michael reached Nina. As they were leaving, she meant to ask him about Marley, but he was in a hurry to be gone. From the door she waved at Wanda, still busy on the phone; she smiled back and wiggled her fingers in return. Michael locked the door from the outside.

  The sky had turned menacing. Heavy dark clouds hung overhead, the air still and muggy.

  Chapter 10

  Michael drove out of the parking lot, the midday heat shimmering on the asphalt. He turned the music low. “Would you like to stop for lunch?”

  Nina made a quick mental inventory of the fridge at home. “Yes. That would be nice.”

  Halfway through town he made a left turn, and drove through a vast park with winding footpaths and tall shady trees. He parked next to a round building overlooking the wide Caloosahatchee river, its water rapid.

  Inside the restaurant it was pleasantly cool. A server approached. “Smoking or non?” she asked.

  Nina glanced at Michael. “Smoking.”

  “Non,” he said, and they both laughed.

  The server showed them to a window table in the smoking section overlooking the river, the boat traffic brisk. A candle and vase with silk flowers sat on each table. Insect netting replaced windowpanes. Ceiling fans churned the air, filled with the delicious aroma of olive oil and garlic, making Nina’s mouth water.

  They both ordered the chef’s salad and ice tea.

  Nina sighed with contentment. “I like your clinic. The atmosphere is comfortable, and I didn’t feel any of the nervousness you usually find in doctors’ waiting rooms. Your patients seem content to be there.”