The Land of Mango Sunsets

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Something is very wrong here,” I said. “She looks like death warmed over.”

  “Get Harrison on the phone.”

  I dialed his cell and he answered.

  “Harrison? Hey, it’s Mellie. Do you have a moment?”

  “Well, hey yourself! Where are you? Blowing bubbles on top of the Empire State Building?”

  “No. Actually, I’m on Mother’s back steps wondering if there’s anyone who wants to tell me the truth about her health.”

  There was a pause and I could hear him breathing.

  “I’ll be right over,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  SANDS OF TIME

  “How long did y’all think it would take for me to find out?” I asked my mother. “And exactly what are we dealing with here?”

  We were in the living room. I was reeling inside, terrified, broken-hearted, and knew that it was only the beginning of the roller-coaster ride. Harrison was leaning against the fireplace mantel. Kevin was staring out the sliding-glass door that looked out over the marsh, giving us some space. My mother was seated on her favorite club chair and I was sitting on the edge of the ottoman opposite her. She took my hands into hers and smiled a kind of an apologetic smile as she looked in my eyes.

  “Well, my darling girl, it appears that I don’t have a lot of time left on this earth. I have fully metastasized cancer.”

  I burst into tears and Harrison put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Please, no,” I said. “Please tell me this isn’t true.”

  “I’m so sorry that we didn’t tell you before now, but your mother wanted to be the one…to say it…I mean, it just wasn’t my place.” Harrison stepped away to the powder room and brought me a handful of tissues.

  He was right of course. It wasn’t his place to deliver that kind of news. I looked to my mother for some explanations.

  “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because the right moment never came around. There just wasn’t a right moment. When? At the wedding?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “To tell you the truth, that’s why I went organic. Or tried to live on all organic foods. I thought I might prolong my life, and I did! I have already beaten the predicted odds by over two years. I was feeling really fine, robust in fact, until just recently. I mean, didn’t I tango at Charlie’s wedding?”

  “Yes, and you were fabulous!” Kevin said.

  “Well, thank you, but now I think the nasty monster is finally going to get me after all.”

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Josie,” Kevin said. “What can I do?”

  “You can roll me a big fat doobie, if you know how to do that. It helps the pain.”

  “Pain! Oh, Mother! Is that why you’re smoking pot?”

  “Why else would I? You think I want to be all doped up on morphine? That stuff is addictive!”

  “Um, where might I find…?” Kevin said.

  “It’s in the freezer, Kevin. In a plastic bag that once held frozen corn. Rolling papers are in there, too.”

  “Right! In case the corn police show up…” Kevin said, and Mother smiled.

  “Oh, my girl! It makes me laugh to think that you thought I was turning into a hippie or something! We laughed about that, didn’t we, Harrison?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we surely did.”

  “But I don’t understand how this happened. I mean, don’t you get regular physicals, Mother?”

  “Yes, but I would always skip two of the tests. Listen to me, this is what happened. I felt absolutely fine. I very foolishly didn’t get a mammogram for a few years because the radiation frightens me and we don’t have it in our family history. And I did the monthly self-exam and never felt a thing.”

  “Mother? One in eight women is diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s not about family history anymore. I know at least ten women who have had it and never had a single case in their families and never smoked and don’t drink!”

  “Personally, I think it’s because of environmental toxins, but I’ll get to that. And yes, I know that the whole mammogram procedure is different now and no longer considered dangerous. But anyway, I had microcalcification, which I never could have felt anyway. And, to add insult to injury, I didn’t get a colonoscopy either.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “You’re telling me? So the oncologists weren’t even sure what the primary site of the cancer was. My legs were killing me, so I finally went to the doctor about it, and by the time I gave in and had a complete physical, I had a body full of demons. Stage-four everything. Chemo and radiation weren’t going to save me, would have made me sick as the devil, and I would have been dead in a year or less anyway. So I decided to take my chances with some alternative treatments. Lucky for me, my cancer has been slow to spread, probably because I’m older and also because I drastically changed my diet. And I was in very good shape when I was diagnosed. All the farming exercise has helped me a lot, too.”

  “Oh, Mother. So what are you thinking now? I mean, do you have a plan?”

  Kevin had rolled Mother a fat joint that was as neat as a pin. He handed it to her.

  “Miss Josie? I went to Woodstock, you know,” he said.

  “Oh, sure,” I said, “you would’ve been about four years old.”

  “I went with my parents,” he said.

  “He’s a big liar, Mother.”

  Mother and Harrison chuckled.

  “Well, I watched the video,” he said.

  “Whatever! So, Mother? What about you? A plan?”

  Harrison gave Mother a light and she inhaled deeply.

  “No, baby. I think we are just coming to the end of the road. Right now smoking this crazy weed helps, but if and when my symptoms get too bad, I guess I’ll call somebody…maybe take an aspirin…”

  “Aspirin? You’re not even taking aspirin?”

  “That was a joke, Mellie. Do you want to know something? Being happy and laughing boosts your immune system.”

  “Yes. I’ve heard that. I realize I need to work on my sense of humor.”

  “Yes, you really do.”

  The conversation went on for as long as Mother wanted to talk about it and then I helped her up to bed. She was worn out.

  It was the end of the day and I went outside with Harrison and Kevin to watch the sunset.

  “I’m just absolutely heartbroken,” I said. “I knew something was wrong.”

  “Yes, you said that on the way here,” Kevin said. “God, look at that sun just hanging there like a ball of fire.”

  “Your mother is one helluva great lady,” Harrison said. “Anybody want a glass of wine?”

  We said that would be great and Harrison returned with a bottle and three glasses within minutes.

  “Scuppernong?” I asked.

  “Actually, this particular variety is called Noble, appropriate for the occasion, don’t you think?”

  “What is this?” Kevin said, giving it a smell and pursing his lips.

  “It’s a local wine,” Harrison said, “and I think you’ll find that it stands up to ice very well.”

  “Just drink it, Kevin. To Mother!” I said, and we touched the edges of our glasses.

  We were quiet as we stood there watching the sun slip away, each of us keeping our own thoughts to ourselves. Then, in the fading light, the sky painted itself with great streaks of sheer rose and lavender. I would never forget one detail of this day.

  We left Birmingham after helping Liz bury her mother, and soon, if she could, I suspected Liz would be coming here to help me bury mine. I just hated the fact of it and the coincidence made it all the more terrible.

  How brave my mother was, I thought. How brave to thumb her nose at modern medicine and to do all she had done to fight her disease. Now I understood why she had Cecelia, and why she went to all the lengths, transporting her to visit organically fed gentlemen goats, to keep her lactating most of the year—so that she could always have milk and yogurt that was free of chemica
ls. It was why Mother kept all those nasty chickens and tilled her vegetable garden, fertilizing with her own compost.

  I suspected that the initial efforts came from her simply trying to heal herself. But those efforts led her to fall in love with the recycling, save-the-world, live-green movement in the first place. It was never about the bomb dropping and blowing up the grocery stores. That was her cover story. Knowing her, she enjoyed the challenge.

  I still wrestled to understand why she had not told me she was so ill. Maybe she didn’t believe it herself. Maybe she didn’t want to admit it. Perhaps she thought I would badger her into all the chemo and radiation that she knew couldn’t really help at her stage. I probably—no, I definitely would have. Or maybe she just wanted to live her life this way—collecting old eyeglasses and toothbrushes and making plates and bowls from potato starch. Yes, she had probably fallen in love with the lifestyle because it was the absolute opposite of how she had lived with my father.

  If she could lengthen her life, feel well, and do something good for the planet along the way, it had certainly been so much the better. It was one reason why people called her Miss Josie after Daddy died instead of Josephine. She had transform herself. Unconsciously or not, I had taken my cue from her by allowing Harrison to baptize me Mellie.

  One thing was certain then. I wasn’t leaving Sullivans Island until Mother went to her Great Reward. As of that moment, there wasn’t anything more important to me than her comfort and her care. I wouldn’t let her suffer for a minute. Not for a minute.

  All right, I figured I could rise to the feeding of her goat and the chickens. I could tend a vegetable garden with the best of them. However, I couldn’t see myself actually milking a goat named Cecelia and I had no intention of gathering eggs and being pecked to death by a bunch of filthy chickens. I was sure I could hire someone to do that part of the job. There had to be someone somewhere in the area who had a kid who wanted to earn some money to buy beer with a fake ID or whatever they did in this neck of the woods with a few extra dollars. I would make that a high priority.

  Now that I had a laptop I could get on the Internet and see what I could find out about palliative care. In the meanwhile, gentle massages or herbal baths might help. Who knew? Maybe someone who practiced kinesiology could do something to alleviate pain or improve her state of mind if she became depressed. Acupuncture? I would make a list and go over it all with her.

  Yes, I would do every single thing I could because plain and simple, I loved her so much. Yes, I had a sense of duty to her but that was not why I was staying. It was because I really loved her and everything about her. Every quirk, every peculiarity, the way she could change her lifestyle and embrace something new, how empowered she was, and the way she loved. The way she loved was a mighty force. And she loved me so much sometimes it scared me. I knew by the way her eyes were almost backlit with affection when she saw me coming up her stairs and the way her voice was raised an octave when she heard my voice on the other end of a call to her. There was nothing she would not have done for me all my life and now there would be nothing I would not do for her. Sure, she had given me the dickens for mourning Charles’s departure and because I was so judgmental and unforgiving, and because I expected too much from other people sometimes. But I was stuffy and prudish and a social climber. She had been right to point out these shortcomings to me because if your mother can’t help you to shape up, who will? And there is no one more entitled to telling you where you are lacking in your character than your own mother.

  As long as she was ambulatory, we could walk together and I would show her how I had changed and tell her that she had been right all along about so many things. I would make sure I got her out of the house once a day at least. We could take the golf cart down to the beach and look up at the stars. I could read to her. Maybe she could help me conquer the late-week crossword puzzles in the New York Times. She could sit on a kitchen stool and tell me how to make the yogurt we both loved so much, courtesy of Cecelia.

  If she wanted to, she could tell me everything she had never told me as though I would write her memoirs. It was strange to realize how much I didn’t know about my mother. Her favorite movie? Her first kiss? Her favorite place in the world? The funniest joke she had ever heard? So many details to discover, and how long did we have together?

  I knew that the day she finally closed her eyes that my sorrow would be unspeakably devastating, but there were minutes, hours, and days in between now and then. I would take full advantage of them.

  I needed to call my children and tell them, and Liz should know, too. Even that stupid Charles probably deserved a call. But I decided I would wait until I had come to grips with the news myself. Perhaps I would call them tomorrow or the next day. I still needed time to absorb it.

  “I’m starving,” Kevin said, breaking the quiet. “And I think I might like a vodka martini.”

  “Why don’t we walk over to Station Twenty-two Restaurant?” Harrison said. “We can bring your mother back some shrimp and grits. She loves that.”

  “Excellent idea,” I said. “I’ll just leave her a note.”

  We ordered a bottle of wine, a martini for Kevin, and I told them over dinner that I was staying.

  “I wouldn’t leave my mother either,” Kevin said. “If you want I can send you clothes and whatever you need.”

  “Clothes, yes. I don’t need anything else.”

  “I’m glad you’re staying, Mellie,” Harrison said. “It’s going to do a lot to boost her spirits.”

  Kevin left so early the next day, the sun wasn’t even up. But I got out of bed to make him some coffee and a piece of toast but mostly so that we could have a last word together. Walking out to the car, he said, “I’m so sorry, Petal.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  Cecelia wandered over to the edge of her fence, bleated, and looked at us as though she expected us to make polite conversation with her. It wasn’t happening.

  “Have you thought about a milking ensemble? Something Swiss with puffy sleeves and a crinoline? Or shall I check the Armani department when I get back to work?”

  “Somebody should give you a good pinch,” I said. “If you think I’m touching that goat, you’re cracked.”

  “I’ll send a film crew if you do,” he said, and laughed.

  “Have a safe trip,” I said, “and thanks, Kevin. I love you, you know.”

  “As you should!” We hugged and sighed. “I love you, too. Call me every day.”

  “I will.” I watched him drive away, and bravery, loyalty, and love put aside, I knew I was in deep manure, or I certainly would be if I stepped in the chicken yard.

  First, there was the issue of the eggs to be dealt with. Next, Cecelia probably needed a squeeze or I imagined her milk would begin to dry up. We had to keep the old goat producing because Mother loved her milk.

  Maybe Mother would be up to the task for today and I could ask Harrison to help me find someone quickly.

  It was too early to call anyone and I checked to see that Miss Josie was still fast asleep. It was almost dead low tide, so I decided to go for a walk on the beach. I left Mother a note and took the golf cart over to Station Twenty-six. There was a nice walkover there and I wanted to check its condition to be sure that Mother could navigate it. It was in perfect shape with a handrail and there were several benches thoughtfully positioned either for a resting place or as a place to lean or to remove your shoes.

  One of the many things I loved about Sullivans Island was that you could leave your shoes on the walkway or down on the beach and they would be there when you got back. If I left a pair of shoes, even my ratty oyster-roast sneakers, on the front stoop of my town house in Manhattan, they would be scooped up in two minutes flat. Once, during a sanitation workers’ strike in New York, people joked that they gift wrapped their garbage, left it on the curb or on the trunk of a car, and it disappeared almost immediately. What does that tell you?

  It was going to be a beaut
iful day. Hundreds of tiny sandpipers were all over the shore, digging for breakfast in the mud with their needle-nosed beaks. As I approached them, they would scatter, fly low over the water, and then return as soon as they sensed it was safe. I looked out toward the horizon and the shrimp boats were there, their nets lowered as they moved slowly across the water. A European container ship was rounding the far end of the island headed into port. It looked for a moment like it was going to slam into the island and run aground, but of course that was an optical illusion.

  I breathed deeply and wondered what really lay ahead of me. The first person I would call would be Charlie. After I told him the news, I would ask him and Priscilla to stay in my house, pay the bills or send them to me, and most of all, take care of Harry. Maybe I would ask him to call his father so that I could avoid the attack of acid reflux I would surely get if I had to hear a shred of disingenuous pity or sympathy come from Charles’s mouth. Yes, I would ask Charlie to make the call. Next, I would call Dan and Nan. And then Liz.

  I would start cooking for Mother that very day, under her supervision of course. I would put her juicer on the counter and have it going all day long. Consumer that I was, even I knew that fresh vegetable juices were like a transfusion of energy. But rolling her a joint? I didn’t have any expertise in that department whatsoever. Maybe I would buy her a pipe. I wondered where or who she bought the pot from. Did she get it delivered like pizza? Was there some sleazy drug dealer who would sneak up our porch steps after dark with her new supply? Maybe I would ask Harrison to handle that. Yes. That was a good idea.

  I turned around and began walking back. It was almost seven o’clock and time to begin the day. I thought about the yoga studio at Station Twenty-three and it occurred to me that it might not be a bad idea to look into it. I was going to need something to help me deal with the stress, and maybe meditation might be a good idea for Mother and me. Every step of the way up and down the beach, that little voice in the back of my head wanted me to throw myself on the sand and weep. There was no time for that. In fact, I was determined not to cry at all. I swung by the yoga studio, noted the name and phone number, and went on home.