She looked past Manny to the window. A man in an overcoat and hat stood studying the menu. She could see her father in his shape. It took almost nothing to conjure him, especially if she dared to be happy.
She thought back to other triumphs: being released from the sanitarium where she’d spent her adolescence, the first poem she’d ever published, her bachelor’s and master’s degrees, defending her dissertation. Just a few days ago with Panda at the Market she'd innocently toasted what had seemed a sudden gift from above. Momentous moments all. But nothing compared to today. And now, here was a day of happiness that came of nothing but sharing simple pleasures: she hadn't thought once of the Dovinger or early tenure. Everything she'd thought meant happiness had flown right out of her head.
“What should we call this celebration?” Manny asked.
“Let’s call it living,” she said and touched her glass against his.
XXX.
Rosa Ruiz stood outside Deirdre’s apartment, key in hand, hesitating a moment. She had called a friend to look after the children, then made her way here without taking the time to examine the impulse that drove her. It was very important to come right away, but she didn’t know why. Her heart had begun to beat faster even as she pulled to the curb, and now a rare panic overwhelmed her. She’d thought she’d seen enough of darkness to be past fear, but now she knew she'd been wrong. She turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
The stench of blood rolled out.
Rosa stood still, clutching the doorway. What had happened here and when? There had been no look of murder in Deirdre’s eyes last night, and this morning they were clear, full of relief and gratitude.
Rosa stepped inside. A shape of death: a body slumped against the wall. She felt the saliva flood her mouth and knew she was about to vomit. Reeling backwards onto the landing, she leaned on the rail and took a deep breath.
Even with her eyes closed, she could see the interior of the apartment as clearly as if she were still standing inside. Rosa steadied herself. Then she turned back to the door, kicked it farther open, and let the sunshine in.
Suddenly, everything looked different.
Her hand went immediately to the light switch, and she could see nothing unusual. There was no blood after all, and only the memory of its cloying odor remained.
A vision, but of what? Had rage and desire for revenge imprinted itself in the very air? Or had last night’s fear mirrored the past, and opened the door to the spirit of Deirdre’s father? She crossed herself quickly at the thought.
Rosa glanced around the room again. The apartment had become a sick place now and must be purified. All traces of the nightmare must be erased before Deirdre returned here. First, the mundane. Taking the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet, she set about her work, methodically running it across the rug, into the corners, sucking up the fallen cigar ashes. It gave her a feeling of satisfaction and purpose, as if she were erasing the sorrowful mistakes of the previous night.
She followed the lines of the familiar rooms with her cleaning, wiping away the anger from the woodwork, sweeping the crumbs of fear from the floor. She dusted every book, polished every ornament, sensing that the diablo had touched each one of them.
In the bedroom she pulled the sheets from the bed and remade it, even turning the mattress and changing the blankets and bedspread. The man had sullied everything, like a dog marking its territory! Anger bubbled within her, and she took a deep breath. She knew Deirdre was right—there would be no coming back to this place. Best to find somewhere with no memories.
When her work was done, she would burn sage and say some prayers, and perhaps rearrange the furniture. She didn’t want the spirit to know the place if he sought out Deirdre again in the plane of the living.
“Deirdre? You left the door wide open! Are you nuts?”
Mrs. Ruiz recognized Panda’s voice and hurried forward to the front of the apartment.
“What’s up, Mrs. R.? This isn’t your day to clean.”
“Unexpected mess,” Mrs. Ruiz replied briefly. Had she really left the door open?
“Where’s Deirdre?”
“Out.” She had no duty to say more. She only distrusted Panda a little, but that was enough.
“Did she say when she’d be back?” Panda asked as she plopped down on the sofa.
Mrs. Ruiz shrugged. “You back from your trip so soon?”
“Yeah, look what I brought back!” Panda opened her duffel and pulled out a sack. “I have four new tarot decks.” She tossed them one by one on the table. “Environmental, Post-Modern, Folk and Dickensian.”
Mrs. Ruiz shook her head. “Next thing you know, they’ll have a deck for Republicans.”
“You are such a kick in the pants!” Panda laughed. “Come on, have a look.”
“Why you spend your money on these things?” she asked, ruffling through the cards. “You get another grant?”
“Matter of fact, I did. I got the final go ahead in New Orleans. I’m going to do a study on the ways in which the beliefs of subcultures are reflected in New Age marketing. Can I get an interview with you?”
“Too much to do, Panda. I’ll tell Deirdre you were here.”
“Wait, I’ve got a little present for her.” She dug in her bag again, pulled out a tissue wrapped bundle and set it on the table.
Mrs. Ruiz felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. “What’s that?”
Panda grinned and said, “A new boyfriend.” She pulled back the tissue and revealed a skull-headed doll wearing a tux and top hat. “Just a minute – where’s his cigar? Here we go – direct from the New Orleans Voodoo Museum, Baron Samedi! That should keep the bogeyman away!”
Sweat broke out on Mrs. Ruiz’ forehead. “Put that away, Panda. That’s nothing to give to a friend.”
“But he’s supposed to be powerful protection,” she protested. “They told me at the shop he’s a partying spirit who likes to drink rum. Where’s the harm in that?”
Mrs. Ruiz set her lips in a grimly. “He’s the Lord of the Cemeteries, Panda. God of the Dead.”
Manny and Deirdre walked along the downtown waterfront in the crisp fall breeze, hands thrust in their pockets. Deirdre’s face felt the numb champagne glow fading, and she wished she could save forever the day she and Manny had shared: intimate and safe.
Ahead a few blocks, she could see the entry to the Market where this had all begun several days ago. It seemed almost possible that she might see herself and Panda winding through the crowd with their pink plastic foo dogs, unaware that life was about to change. The Dovinger Prize and the prospect of early tenure had made her happy, but they seemed insignificant compared to this simple day of shopping for the children. Why?
“You’re frowning, Deirdre.”
She looked up at Manny. His expression was concerned, but the inquiry she read in his eyes was not demanding. “Just thinking in circles.”
“Do you want to talk it through?”
She smiled. "It’s difficult to put into words. These past few days have given me emotional whiplash."
"How do you feel today?"
"Happy—very happy. I didn't think I could come close to the way I felt when I was down here last week. Before I ran into that trouble, Panda and I were celebrating the Dovinger prize and my tenure offer."
She took a few more steps, off the sidewalk and across a stretch of grass to the seawall. There she leaned against the cement and stared up at the sky. “It's a terrible thing to distrust happiness,” she said.
“But you’re afraid not to?”
“Every time I've relaxed my guard, I've been sorry."
“If you stay where you are and ignore Willard’s threats, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Deirdre felt the tears prick at her eyes. “Being found out,” she whispered. "I don’t want to be known for that one moment in time, for killing my father. No one would ever see me again without the caption of those damned headlines. Dovinger or not, no one would
read my poetry without looking for that one symbol. I couldn’t teach in peace, even with tenure. It would change everything. The press would disturb my mother. Aunt Heinous would be offering tell-all interviews to the highest bidder."
“Do you really think Freemont will expose you? You seem to be at an impasse.”
“I don’t know,” she said wretchedly. “It depends on how much of a thrill he’d get from ruining my life. He can do more harm to me than I can to him.”
“Maybe, but he may not know that. I suspect he has trouble seeing beyond his ego.” His tone wasn’t convincing. There was something he wasn’t saying.
“What does your intuition tell you, Manny?”
He didn’t answer at once, and she appreciated it. Even at the university—especially at the university—a quick response seemed to be valued more than a considered one.
At last he said, “Tell me what your best-case scenario is—within the bounds of reality, what would make this all go away?”
“I don’t suppose a genie and three wishes is an option?”
He grinned. “Not in my experience.”
There was so much she wanted, and so much she feared. Lines from the Rubaiyat sprang to mind:
Ah Love! could Thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits—and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!
If only she could disappear into Manny’s life, instead of her own. Waking to the purring of the orange cat, the scents of the safe warm kitchen, falling asleep against his shoulder each night—but that wasn’t an option. He’d told her to be realistic.
“Damn.” She took a deep breath. “The best I can hope is for Freemont to take me seriously. I told him to resign from the university and go away.”
“That’s all you want?” He looked at her for a moment, then turned around to face the water. “Do you think that might happen?”
“No. It won’t be that easy. He was only scared for a moment last night. Then he figured out the truth about me. He has a much bigger weapon than he thought.”
“Did he say anything at all about what happened in the Market? About cutting your hair?”
“No,” she said slowly. “Not even a hint.”
“So we’re not absolutely sure that he had anything to do with it.”
She shook her head. “He has to. Otherwise it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Not coincidence, but maybe synchronicity.”
Like in a poem, she thought. Symbols, archetypes brought together to form a web of meaning. Here she stood at the edge of the water with a man she wanted to love. Above, a chain of crows flung themselves against the sky, separating and regrouping in black formations. Darkness and light.
As Manny drove them back to his aunt’s, he felt his mood deflate. What had he expected Deirdre to say back there anyway? He knew they had a connection that struck sparks, but he was foolish to think anything more could come of it—at least until the snarls of her life had been smoothed.
If he had one mission in all of this, it was to find a way to help Deirdre live her life without fear. She was right about the Press. If they smelled blood, they’d never let her go. But that issue was separate from the stalking.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Freemont Willard had nothing to do with what had happened with the hair cutting and the wreath. Willard was essentially a lazy man and a coward. The planning involved and the risk of being caught in the act were too great for him to have done something in public.
He glanced over at Deirdre. She stared straight ahead, hands clasped on her lap. His heart hurt to see how lonely and frightened she looked. There was a Spanish proverb: God keeps the cold wind from the shorn lamb. He prayed it was true.
When Deirdre and Manny finally returned, the orange cat, Calabaza, was lounging on the front porch in the last of the day’s sunlight. She stretched, then leapt to weave herself between Deirdre’s ankles, and issued a purring thrum.
Deirdre knelt and rubbed the cat’s ears.
“She doesn’t welcome many,” Manny said. “A very discriminating creature.”
Welcome. The idea was foreign to her. The home she grew up in could hardly have been called welcoming. The ones she’d filtered through later had offered only the safety of cold neutrality. The homes she had made for herself had been womb-like refuges: there had never been room for more than one.
“I haven’t known any cats before,” she said. “My father had an aversion to them, and later, there was never the chance for a pet.” Deirdre traced the cat’s fine bones as she petted her. “I didn’t know a purr could be so loud.”
Calabaza pranced to the front door and meowed. “She says, ‘Come in,’” Manny said as he pushed the door open and stood aside for her.
Inside, they found the children sitting on the sofa, staring at the pile of packages that had been delivered, as if their mere concentration could snap away the tape and strings.
“I told them to wait until you got here,” Rosa told them, coming in from the kitchen. “Looks like the two of you worked hard today.”
“¿Podemos abrirlos?” The children all but bristled with curiosity. “¿Por favor?”
Manny glanced at Deirdre. “Can they open them, or do you want them to wait?”
She laughed. “How can I ask them to wait? Look at their eyes.”
Ana clapped her hands, apparently understanding, and Marco set about opening the packages. The children's squeals of delight with each discovery lightened her heart and brought back the mood she’d experienced earlier.
“I went to your place to tidy up, Deirdre,” Mrs. Ruiz said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. That was so kind of you. Was everything all right?”
“It needed cleaning,” she said briefly, “so I cleaned it. Panda came by.”
“I forgot! She’s back from New Orleans.”
“Yes. She wants you to call her.”
“What did you tell her?” Manny asked.
“Just that Deirdre was out.”
Deirdre knelt to help Ana try on the frog rain boots she had purchased earlier. “Good! They fit! What do you think of those froggies?”
Ana smiled broadly and marched about the room singing, “Froggies! Froggies!”
“Thanks, Mrs. Ruiz,” Deirdre said when she stood up again. “I’ll have to think of something to tell her. Knowing Panda, she’ll want to do popular culture study of tabloid celebrities if I tell her everything.”
“Do you think a friend would do that?” Mrs. Ruiz asked.
“She wouldn’t really. It’s just the way her mind works and her mouth runs. She’s my friend, but not the most sensitive of creatures.”
“How long have you known her?” Manny asked.
“About six or seven years. We met in graduate school.” She glanced at Mrs. Ruiz. “I don’t think your aunt likes her very much.”
“Panda’s not what she seems.” Mrs. Ruiz shrugged. “Of course, most people aren’t. Do you want some coffee? I think I’ll make a pot.”
Manny smiled as his aunt disappeared into the kitchen. “She’s that way,” he said. “Trying to stay out of your business and give you advice at the same time. Don’t worry. If there were anything really wrong, she’d let you know.”
“That’s good enough. I’ll give Panda a call.”
As Deirdre dialed the number, she felt reluctance settling over her and realized she hoped there was no answer. Panda meant reality, and this day had been part of another life. Panda would be full of questions whether she told her anything or not.
On the fifth ring, Panda answered the phone.
“How was New Orleans?”
“Deirdre! It was incredible! Let me call you back, though —I’m in a towel and I’m dripping all over the floor.”
“OK, but I’m not at home, Panda,” she said quickly. “I’ll try you again later.”
>
“Wait! Are you OK? Did you find out anything?”
“Don’t worry. It turned out to be Freemont Willard.”
“That slime bag!”
“I’ll tell you more later. Bye.”
Deirdre hung up the phone before Panda could ask anything else. It was ridiculous. Why should avoiding Panda prompt such overwhelming relief?
She joined Manny and his aunt in the kitchen a few moments later. “Can I help with anything?”
“I’m going to make a little dinner. It’s been a long day for everyone. Maybe you and Manny can go out back and see if you can find some herbs and vegetables – I think there’s still enough light.”
Outside, the smell of autumn rose up in the garden. Manny snapped a few small tomatoes from their stems and tossed them into a basket. “End of the harvest,” he commented. “Any day could bring the frost – then it all goes in the compost heap.”
The rows were still green, despite a few leafy spikes that had faded to brown. “Doesn’t any of this survive the winter?” she asked.
“The rosemary is sturdy, loyal. I’ve seen it covered with snow and still come through in the spring.”
Deirdre broke off a silvery green branch of the plant and crushed the leaves to release the heady scent. It reminded her of incense. One of Ophelia’s herbs. There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. I pray you, love, remember.
“Thanks for being with me today, Manny. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun. You were so patient.”
“It wasn’t a chore to be with you, Deirdre. I had a great time, too. I only wish…”
The silence fell between them for a moment. Above, a blackbird flew swiftly against the deepening sky.
“What do you wish?” she whispered.
He laughed briefly and stared up into the branches overhead. “What do I wish? Only that everything were different.”
A whole lifetime, and always the same wish! If only. A rush of regret brought the tears pricking at her eyes again. They had been waiting all day to be shed, and now it seemed they would flow.
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