The Land of Mango Sunsets

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  Maybe the treadmill wasn’t so bad after all. I was getting my thoughts organized and making a plan for the day, and even I had to admit, I felt better about the world when I got off the ridiculous thing and took a shower. You know, I felt a little virtuous or something? Oh, who cared? Then, like there was someone else inside my head, that little voice I struggled to ignore said, You’ll care when this wedding happens and you have to face Charles and Judith. I broke a sweat born of terror. Dear Lord, please take fifteen pounds of fat from my body and I’ll never ask for another thing. Thank You, Lord, amen. P.S. If You are so inclined, please throw in tone for my upper arms.

  Intellectually, I knew better. There just wasn’t much of a point in having a panic attack over Charles and Judith. She was young and gorgeous with a body not to be believed and I wasn’t and never would be. I told myself for the umpteenth time to simply get over it. I would enlist Kevin’s help in finding a beautiful dress that flattered my protrusions and lumps somehow and I would be so gracious that I would outshine her anyhow.

  Clearly, that was a dewdrop of fantasy.

  How did I think that I could really outshine Judith? Not happening. This sidebar needed a lot of thought and planning for me to be even marginally triumphant. Time was up for the dreaded exercise routine of the day and I decided that adding another ten minutes to it might be a good idea. Maybe fifteen because the wedding would come and go and my backside would still be of terrifying proportions.

  After showering and dressing for the day, I steeled myself and called Dan’s cell.

  “Hi, Mom.” His voice was as flat as a pancake.

  “Come on, Dan! Can’t we start with how are you? I haven’t talked to you since the earth cooled its core!” (More humor wasted on offspring.)

  “How are you?”

  Would you like sausage or bacon with that short stack?

  I kept my voice light, sprinkled with good nature that he appeared to have no interest in whatsoever.

  “Well, I’m fine! Fine! There’s lots of news around here, you know. And how are you and your family?”

  “Good. What’s up?”

  Sometimes his lack of personality and affection just completely irked the devil out of me.

  “Have you spoken to your brother?”

  “He called a couple of times but I’ve been really busy.”

  “Oh, well, are you sure everything’s okay with you? I mean, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “No, I told you. We’re fine. What’s going on?”

  “Well, your brother is getting married, for one thing.”

  “To that black woman?”

  I bristled.

  “That is an unacceptable remark, Dan. Your brother is marrying Priscilla, who happens to be Jamaican and is a very beautiful woman, Dan.”

  “I’m sure she is. When’s the wedding?”

  “Right after Easter, and that’s why I’m calling. When you speak to him I imagine Charlie will ask you to be in the wedding party, so I wanted to know if you and Nan and the kids would like to stay with me?”

  Silence.

  “I didn’t ask you for a kidney, son. I’m inviting you and the children to stay with me. I would love to see them and you and Nan. It’s been such a long time.”

  “I’ll have to ask Nan. I’ll call you back.”

  “Sure. That’s fine. Okay, then…we’ll talk later? Give my love to everyone, will you?”

  We hung up and I was reminded of the details of his annoyance with me. Every Christmas since we all but stopped speaking, I sent him a check for the family so that they could buy what they wanted. I did the same thing on birthdays. So I wasn’t completely negligent. But checks probably seemed impersonal or cold. That, however, wasn’t the worst of it. I had never been to visit them since they had named their son Independence Maybank Swanson. He was nicknamed Indy May, and if that didn’t give the poor child gender issues, I didn’t know what would. Their daughter, now seven years old, was named Mary Freedom Swanson. When all the schoolchildren nicknamed her M.F. and snickered to her face and behind her back, I told them both it was wrong for parents to give their little children a name that could be construed to mean something so very vulgar.

  Dan told me to mind my own business, Nan wept for days, and we had barely spoken since.

  M.F. and Indy May Swanson were seven and four, and I hoped to heaven they could forgive their parents someday. Maybe if I could send them plane tickets it would soften their hearts, I thought. Buy their forgiveness? Why not? Just because I didn’t approve of the names they gave their children did not mean I did not care about them at all. I had stood my ground long enough to significantly damage what small relationship we had, and it was time to let it go. I mean, what if I dropped dead? Would they tell their children, Well, sweeties, the reason you never knew your grandmother is that she didn’t like your names. How completely horrible would that be? No, if they had any more children they could name him or her Garbage Dump McGee Finnegan Swanson, call him/her GDMF, and I would not utter one single word about it. Not one word. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth it to be right.

  Where did I think I was going to find all the money to do the things I wanted to do for Charlie and Priscilla’s wedding? And to fly Liz to Sullivans Island? Or to fly Dan and his family to New York? It surely wasn’t under my mattress. I looked all around me and thought, Well, what about that apartment sale? I would discuss it with Kevin, who was a marvel at all retail ventures.

  I mean, did I really need three silver coffee services? One was more than I cared to polish. Did I need four sterling-silver sets of flatware for twelve in different patterns and one for twenty-four? Ten sets of mother-of-pearl-handled silver flatware for fish and another six sets for dessert? Twenty silver trays, bowls, and fruit baskets? Thirty-six silver goblets? Fifty toast racks? Sixty-five sterling saltcellars with little spoons? That crazy collection of my grandfather’s German beer steins and all those risqué Meissen figurines of topless fräuleins eating fruit and playing lutes under trees in Vienna? An inventory was most definitely in order.

  So was a call to Miss Josie. I dialed her number and she answered.

  “Miriam? What’s new, dear?”

  “How much time do you have?”

  I gave her the full download on the state of my world, and when my report ended, she had a few things to say.

  “Unload all that stuff that you don’t need anyway, come home, and bring Liz.”

  “Are you sure? About bringing Liz, I mean?”

  “Honey, that child needs an old lady’s wisdom. Big-time. And as for you, missy, Manny’s been asking after you like an old hound dog looking for his master. He’s plain pitiful.”

  I found that to be surprising, but maybe he said it to amuse or compliment Mother. Men were capable of that kind of behavior.

  “Then he should pick up the blessed phone and call me once in a while. And P.S., you’re not an old lady.”

  “Yes, I am, and men are stupid. You know that.”

  “So are women.”

  “And you really like Priscilla?”

  “Very much.”

  “Give them a coffee service for a wedding gift.”

  “Fabulous idea!”

  “Say it’s from me.”

  “Okay. You gave it to me in the first place. I’ll give them flatware from me.”

  “Sounds good. But you had better save a coffee service and some flatware for Dan and Nan or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  A few minutes later we hung up. So Manny was asking about me, was he? Good. That was promising, even if he didn’t mean it.

  I looked over the coffee services and decided to give the two less elaborate ones to my children and I would keep the third until after the wedding. There was a lovely man over on Second Avenue who polished silver and made it look like it belonged in a museum. I wrapped two of the silver services in newspaper and put them in grocery bags, threw on a coat, and hailed a cab. I would bring the trays and flatware to h
im on a second trip.

  “Oh, these are beauties,” Mr. Lefko said as I unpacked each piece and placed them on his counter. “I can make them sing!”

  “Wonderful! I’ll be right back with the trays and some flatware.”

  I took a cab home, packed the other things, dropped them off, and decided to walk home. The air was brisk but it felt good against my face. For some inexplicable reason I was in excellent spirits. I pulled out my cell and called Kevin.

  “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  “No, why? Is my best girl inviting me over?”

  “Yes, I am. In the mood for, I don’t know, roasted chicken with mashed potatoes? Steamed carrots?”

  “My mouth is watering, Petal. I’ll be home at six-thirty and I’ll help you.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I picked up what I needed for our dinner, and when I arrived at home, Liz was there in my kitchen filling a glass with water.

  “Dr. Imber wants to do the surgery Tuesday morning,” she said.

  “Good. Just so you know, I’m paying your bills and you can pay me back.”

  “Oh, Miriam! How can you?”

  “With my AmEx card? I get points. You can pay me back ten dollars a week for the rest of your life. Are you ready for that?”

  “Are you kidding?” She threw her good arm around me and squeezed. “How can I thank you? I can’t wait to have this all over with. On Tuesday, I’ll have a mouth full of temps, but Dr. Imber said that was okay with him.”

  “Well, good then. Because as soon as you have your stitches out, we’re heading south to visit Miss Josie.”

  “Do you really mean it?”

  “Yes. Prepare yourself to fall in love with a sandbar.”

  That night, the three of us had dinner, and although I had cut Liz’s chicken in the tiniest pieces, she still had difficulty chewing.

  “My jaw still hurts so badly,” she said. “And I’m so sick of this sling.”

  Kevin, who was usually so ready with quips for every occasion, became somber.

  “I just hate this entire business,” he said. “It makes me so angry.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Liz said.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  Liz looked at her plate for a few moments and then said, “It just amazes me how some people get away with this kind of insane violent behavior and go on with their lives completely unfazed.”

  This girl had definitely experienced some kind of abuse. I was sure of it. Kevin gave me a nod of agreement.

  “Guiltless,” I said. “I can see Agnes and Truman now eating heart-healthy Dover sole and monkfish at Le Bernardin and pretending nothing ever happened, except for his heart attack, which I’m sure they blame on me. And Liz.”

  “I just hope to God there’s a hell,” Liz said in a quiet voice, gently chewing a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

  We smiled at her, and Kevin said, “Daisy Mae? Sometimes you are so adorable and you don’t even know it.”

  Monday, Liz saw Gordon Ferguson and came home smiling.

  “I really think I’m going to be okay,” she said. “Eventually. See?”

  I inspected the inside of her mouth and agreed with her, although I’ll admit privately that looking inside Liz’s damaged mouth resurrected and nearly jet-propelled the undigested remains of my morning’s breakfast.

  The next day Gerald Imber worked his magic and came out into the waiting room to speak to me. My hands shook as I handed my credit card to the gal behind the desk, thinking it would be twenty thousand dollars or more. But Dr. Imber’s bill was only for the anesthesiologist.

  “Ms. Harper’s in recovery and did just fine.”

  “Thank heaven. How many stitches did she need?” I asked.

  “About a zillion, but they’re mostly internal and the others are very tiny,” he said. “The good news is there’s no apparent nerve damage and in a couple of months she’ll be able to cover it completely with makeup. Just make sure she doesn’t go out without a heavy dose of sunscreen on her face.”

  “Right. I’ll make sure to tell her. Um, Dr. Imber?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s no charge here for your surgery?”

  “Mrs. Swanson? Your son Charlie is one of the finest young doctors I’ve ever known. He worked like a dog for me. This one’s on the house.”

  “Oh! That is so incredibly kind of you! How can I thank you?”

  “Little kiss right here,” he said. His eyes twinkled as he pointed to his cheek.

  I delivered a very polite smooch and thought the world wasn’t such a terrible place, after all.

  Once I got her home, Liz slept all afternoon as the anesthesia made its way out of her system. That evening, Kevin and I shared a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese in my kitchen, waiting for her to wake up. Harry was on top of his cage, playing on a new jungle gym I had just bought him.

  “She’s been through a terrible ordeal, hasn’t she?” he said. “I wish I knew a nice single guy I could introduce her to, but in my world? Well, there just aren’t many.”

  “Well, she’s going to want to be all healed before she goes back on the prowl, don’t you think? Do you want some Parmesan?”

  “Of course to both.” Kevin poured another glass of Chianti for both of us.

  “Isn’t it funny that she hasn’t said anything about her family? I mean, she didn’t call her mother or anyone, at least not that I’m aware of. Did she say anything to you about calling her folks?”

  “Not a word. It is strange.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something else, Kevin.”

  “Please! You sound so serious! Are you raising the rent?”

  I laughed and said, “No, how could I do that? No, no. I want to raise some cash to help Charlie and Priscilla with their wedding expenses. And heaven knows, Liz needed help with her bills. I put Ferguson’s bill and Imber’s anesthesiologist’s bill on my AmEx card. Points, right?”

  “Well, that’s using the old bean. How was Imber’s bill? Through the roof?”

  “How about zero?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. He did it for Charlie as a favor. And he’s just about the nicest man I ever met to boot.”

  “Wow. That is unbelievable in this day and age. But how is Liz ever going to repay you?”

  “I don’t even care if she does, Kevin. If she can, Liz can pay me back whenever. I don’t care. But I will have to pay the AmEx bill, which is why I have to sell some things.”

  “Understood. But Charles not helping the kids? I don’t get it. Really. I just don’t.”

  “Charles is a horse’s ass,” Harry said.

  “God, I love that bird,” Kevin said.

  “Me, too. Anyway, Charles is so disgusting to me sometimes. Charlie merely called him to announce his biggest news of his entire life and Scrooge just jumped all over him and told him not to dare ask for a nickel. So I’m not asking him either. Give him the opportunity to yell and scream at me? I think not.”

  “Good grief. You’re right. Don’t call the bum. Too demoralizing. I agree. What is the matter with that man?”

  “A lot. Charles has lots of issues. But why he’s so stingy? I don’t know.”

  “It just doesn’t make any sense that you wouldn’t want to help your son get married. You know, honeymoon expenses or something?”

  “Let’s not dwell on him and his peculiarities. Anyway, the only way I know to raise some cash is to sell some silver and so forth. I was hoping you might help me figure this out?”

  “What? The Old Curiosity Shop is finally deaccessioning?”

  “Yes. It’s about time, right? I’ve got boxes of silver stuffed under the bed, in the back of closets…Let’s just say that in my younger days I had a little thing for silver? And then my mother gave me all of hers, which was a lot, and well, all totaled, it’s an embarrassing amount of tarnish. But I’m glad I hung on to it because now I can use it for something worthwhile.”

&nb
sp; “Petal? You always surprise me with your resourcefulness. I would be thrilled to help you. This Saturday I’m free. Why don’t we dig it all out, photograph it, and I’ll get an appraiser to establish approximate values. Have you thought about whether you want to auction it or just sell it straight out or what?”

  “Well, I was thinking about a house sale like they have in the suburbs? You know? Garage sale but indoors?”

  Harry imitated the doorbell sound five times in a row.

  Kevin looked at me like he was certain my brain was a small wad of low-fat Swiss cheese.

  “What?” I said.

  “Petal Puss? Not happening. Even Harry knows it’s a bad idea. Let Uncle Kevin handle this for you. I’ve got so much attitude, I’ll have people thinking they’re getting bargain prices on Queen Betty the Second’s treasures. Seriously.”

  He was right, of course.

  That Saturday, Liz had removed her bandage because she had to clean the wound and apply a special ointment every four hours. It was hard to look at because it was angry and red and the stitches were unsightly, too. But we could see the line of the scar wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been and that was a blessing to be sure.

  “It’s going to look much better when the stitches are out,” I said.

  “I hope so!” she said.

  “I still wish I could have wrung his neck,” Kevin said. “So, ladies? Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Liz and I helped Kevin as he photographed each piece of silver I was willing to relinquish, including a separate picture of the hallmarks. Next, we cataloged the beer steins, and when we got to the Meissen, the nymphets caused no end of wisecracks.

  “Charles loved these hideous things. There’s just no accounting for taste, is there?” I said.

  “Why are all their bosoms round like little tennis balls?” Liz said. “Do you think they really were that perky?”

  “Perky bosoms. I love it. Me? I like the britches on this fellow,” Kevin said.

  It felt so good to be letting these things go. What had once seemed extremely necessary to a refined life now felt like nothing more than clutter and pretentious excess. I kept a few things—two trays, a breadbasket, candlesticks, one set of flatware, a pair of Chinese export vases, and some things I thought the boys’ wives might enjoy—but the rest of it held no meaning for me.