Lucy

by Laurence Gonzales

  “Those? They’re headphones. For music.”

  “Music on top of music! How can they stand it?” But Jenny just laughed good-naturedly and squeezed her hand.

  The colors were so bright and dazzling. Lucy couldn’t decide where to look or what each thing meant. And the lights overhead hummed and hissed like snakes, keeping her constantly on edge. Lucy gripped Jenny’s arm tighter, and Jenny said, “Lucy, you’re hurting me. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.”

  Jenny had led her across the store, through the cosmetics department, where Lucy covered her nose and mouth with her hand against the smells. They approached an escalator and Lucy stopped walking and went rigid. She had read about such things but had never seen a real escalator before. She stood before it attempting to comprehend the mystery of this vanishing staircase, which seemed to embody some deep magical property like the Möbius strip that her father had once made for her from a piece of paper.

  “Step onto it now.” Lucy remained planted, her eyes wide. She began making high-pitched barking noises at the escalator, and Jenny said, “Lucy, please. Shh. It’s not like in the forest. We have to be quiet.” Then people were staring at them, passing by with odd expressions of alarm. “I’ll help you. Come on. It’s perfectly safe.”

  Lucy held tight to Jenny’s arm and closed her eyes as Jenny dragged her onto the escalator. Lucy’s eyes remained shut, and she trembled with fear. Then she stumbled over something and almost fell, but Jenny kept her upright. Lucy found herself on solid ground once more and opened her eyes to look around. Then for the first time, she laughed.

  “There. That’s it. See? It’s easy.”

  Jenny led Lucy to the Junior Miss department and told her she could pick out anything she wanted. But as Lucy appeared incapable of choosing, Jenny selected clothes for her to try on. They stood in the dressing room together, and Lucy writhed and squirmed as if the clothes had insects in them, until Jenny was stifling her laughter and apologizing. “You look adorable. Don’t worry, they’ll feel better after I’ve washed them.”

  Walking between stores they witnessed a scene that carried Lucy back to the forest. They were trying to get through a crush of people who were milling and moving in every direction by a central fountain. The crowd parted and two small children, one little girl in pink and one small boy in tiny blue jeans, rushed across the open space shrieking with joy, expressions of ecstasy on their faces. They ran straight toward each other without restraint and flew into an embrace, dancing and hugging and twirling around. Soon two parents, a big man and a petite woman, came rushing up and tried to separate them. But the blue boy and the pink girl were in transports of joy that could not be extinguished. Lucy recalled a time when she was very little and had met a family of bonobos moving through the forest. All at once she had caught sight of a beautiful little bonobo boy. The two had rushed at each other with cries of delight and they hugged and rolled on the ground together, as the adults greeted one another and slapped backs and cried out. As Lucy now watched the two little children experience the miracle of discovering another, she saw Mariposa and Chantel and little Faith, all equally capable of the joy that Robinson Crusoe must have felt when he found a footprint on the beach. It told him, Yes, yes, you are not alone. But Lucy felt sad, because she saw that in Jenny’s culture one could not display joy openly except when very young. Those children were like little bonobos. Soon they would grow up to be like everyone else in the mall. That world of joy would be forever closed to them. And at that moment Lucy vowed that no matter how accustomed she became to this place, she would not let go of her joy.

  Seeing something familiar had relaxed her somewhat, but it also made her feel a terrible pang of nostalgia for her beautiful protective home in the forest. She felt a longing for the rich pastel colors and the sudden blaze of blue as clouds parted after a hissing rain to let golden shafts of light slant through the trees at the end of the day. Here all of the bounty and beauty had been swept away. And she wondered why people would want to do that to their home.

  When they had finished shopping, Jenny had taken Lucy to a place with restaurants of all sorts. They discussed what they might eat. On the long way home from the jungle they had already discussed food a great deal. “Everyone wants to kill something,” Lucy had said. “But Papa and I didn’t eat meat in the forest. We’d eat grubs and earthworms and insects of all sorts. The caterpillars that fell from the botuna trees were best. Occasionally someone would catch a small monkey but most of the time they’d only play with it and groom it. I ate the little fish and shrimp that we’d find in the shallow streams. I ate bird’s eggs. But none of us really ate meat. What shall we eat, Jenny?”

  Lucy’s father had told her that killing was wrong. The bonobos didn’t know any better, he said. They couldn’t think things through the way people could. He told her that once you start killing one kind of animal, then pretty soon you’re killing everything. He said that to be human was to have a mission in life beyond eating and making babies, something larger than yourself.

  “How about falafel? It’s chickpeas.”

  A man in a little stall made falafel and fresh carrot juice and Lucy liked it.

  “I hadn’t known that you could squeeze a carrot,” she said, and Jenny laughed. Lucy thought that Jenny laughed an awful lot.

  But by the time they reached home, Lucy was already feeling ill. She told herself that it was the stress of shopping and all the new things. Her father had warned her about how delicate her constitution was. Stress could make her sick. When the Germans bombed London during World War II, her father had said, the bombs didn’t hit the zoo. But all the bonobos had died from the noise.

  4

  COMING HOME FROM LONDON, Jenny thought: I ought to have my head examined. I don’t even know this person. But another part of her kept up a rational counterargument: She would take care of the girl until they could locate her family. Lucy would be there for a few weeks, perhaps a month. David was searching for her mother’s relatives now. Surely he’d find someone who would want to care for such a bright, engaging, pretty girl. But Lucy was strange, too, there was no doubt about that. Who wouldn’t seem strange, raised in the jungle like that?

  Jenny recalled the episode of the shower when they’d arrived home that first day. The first thing that Jenny always wanted when she returned from Congo was a shower. All they’d had in London was a sponge bath in that horrid apartment. As desperate as Jenny had been for a shower, she had let Lucy go first. She took her hand and led her up the stairs. At the top was a guest room. At the other end of the hall was the master suite with its own bath, Jenny’s bedroom. In between the two was the guest bathroom, exactly as it had been when Jenny’s parents built the house in 1955, with yellow tile halfway up the walls and an unglazed mosaic floor in three shades of yellow. A print of Sargent’s Egyptian Girl was on one wall, and Jenny had hung a basket of dried flowers on another.

  Jenny showed Lucy how to adjust the temperature, saying, “Careful. Not too hot or it may burn you.” She had started the spray of warm water, and Lucy stood staring at it for a long time. “Have you seen a shower before?”

  “I read about this. But I didn’t know that it would be like making it rain indoors.”

  “Well, yes, a little I guess. So you just get under the spray and wash yourself.” And before Jenny could stop her, Lucy had jumped in and was dancing under the spray.

  “Lucy, Lucy, please.” But Lucy wouldn’t stop until Jenny turned the water off.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lucy said, wiping the water from her face. “It feels so good. Can I please do more?”

  “Yes, but take your clothes off first. I’ll get you some fresh ones. Just call if you need me.” Jenny left the bathroom shaking her head.

  She sat in her favorite chair and looked around the living room. She sighed. It was good to be home. She loved the forest, but that little hut got old. When she was in Congo, she missed her “stuff,” as Harry called it. She’d done her best with
the 1950s styling of the house. The walls were painted soft green, and she had put wicker baskets around and African masks and pottery to give the place a more natural feel.

  Jenny began to go through the piles of mail, but when an hour had passed and Lucy hadn’t come down, she went up and peeked into the bathroom to see if she was all right. She found Lucy still dancing and turning under the water. But her teeth were chattering and her lips were tinged with blue.

  “My God, Lucy, look at you.” Jenny turned off the water and wrapped the girl in a big bath sheet. But Lucy was smiling even as she shivered.

  “No more shower?”

  “My turn.” Jenny had had to wait another hour before there was enough hot water.

  Nydia, the house sitter, had left little in the way of food, so after they had cleaned up, Jenny took Lucy to the grocery store to stock up. Lucy stood staring as they entered. She couldn’t seem to move at first. She looked all around her, eyes wide, mouth agape, sniffing the air, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she tried to process the scene.

  “It doesn’t smell like there’s anything to eat here.”

  “Welcome to America. It’s all about packaging.”

  “Don’t they ever turn the music off?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Wait, I see fruit.” Lucy pounced on a big bin of grapes. She took a whole bunch and bit into it, the juice dripping down her chin. “Mmm. These are good.” She took another bite.

  “We should probably weigh that first.” But Lucy couldn’t seem to stop herself and took another bite. “Oh, well. A little shoplifting never hurt anyone.” Jenny pushed the cart down the aisle and Lucy followed, leaving a trail of juice.

  As they moved along among the shelves, Lucy kept asking, “What’s this? Oh, my, what do you call these? What’s in this box?” One question after another. After they’d been shopping for a while, Lucy seemed to go a little crazy. She went running up and down the aisles, grabbing cans and jars and packages off the shelves seemingly at random and throwing them into the cart, saying, “Oh, let’s have this. And this. Can we take some of these? Oh, look at this!” People turned to stare.

  “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.” Jenny put her arms around the girl and held her close. “Lucy, stop. Stop!”

  Lucy went limp in Jenny’s arms. People turned away in embarrassment. Jenny imagined that they must think that Lucy was mentally impaired in some way. And then the thought occurred to her: The girl has Tourette’s syndrome. As Jenny was holding her, inhaling her curious scent, she felt Lucy’s compact and powerful body press against hers and was struck by how solid she was despite her delicate appearance.

  Lucy looked up forlornly. “Jenny. What are Fruity Cheerios? Do people really eat them?”

  Jenny couldn’t help but laugh. And as she held Lucy, she remarked to herself what a beautiful child she was. Maybe she was a blessing in disguise. Jenny had always wanted children. At least temporary children. That was one reason that she volunteered at the shelter. Maybe she could try to exercise her maternal instincts with Lucy for a few weeks.

  On the way home in the car Jenny said, “Lucy, dear, it’s not like the forest here, where you can just express yourself any way you want.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened.”

  “I understand. Just try to exert a little more … control.”

  “I will. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not for my sake, honey. I don’t care what people think. But when you’re reunited with your family it might make it easier on them. And then when you go to school you’ll get along better if you fit in.”

  Lucy gave Jenny a pained look. Jenny wondered if her odd behavior was the result of post-traumatic stress disorder and made a mental note to get her to a therapist as soon as they were settled.

  When they arrived home from shopping, Lucy had helped to carry in the groceries. Jenny noticed that she seemed flushed. As Jenny unpacked the food, Lucy drifted over to the back door and wandered out into the garden. It was a warm and sunny day, and Jenny thought nothing of it. She spent the next hour preparing a roasted red pepper lasagna. When it was ready to bake, she went outside to check on Lucy.

  The sun cast slanting bars of yellow light across the stone patio overlooking the garden, which was crowded with prairie plants. Jenny kept thinking that in a moment Lucy would pop up from behind the tall grasses that concealed stone walkways. Jenny gradually began to wonder what would happen if the girl wandered off and was lost. “Lucy,” she called. Then louder: “Lucy!” She felt her heart beating in her temples. She thought, Good Lord, I got her out of the jungle only to lose her in the suburbs.

  Jenny stepped around the barbecue grill and went part of the way down one of the stone paths. She called again. Nothing. She turned back, then ran down another walkway. Lucy was nowhere to be seen. As Jenny returned to the patio, she felt the beginning notes of panic flutter in her chest. Then she heard a rustling sound and looked up into the maple tree that overhung the patio. There in a high branch she saw what appeared to be a great green nest of broken and interwoven branches. She couldn’t imagine what could have made a nest that size at this northern latitude.

  She was just beginning to reach for a familiar image in her mind when she heard a moaning sound. “Lucy? Are you up there?” Again she heard the soft cry. “What are you doing in a tree?” No answer.

  Jenny hurried to the garage and brought out a ladder. She propped it against the tree and climbed it to reach the lowest branch. Cautiously, she negotiated the rest of the climb to find Lucy curled up in the nest of branches. Jenny looked at the thickness of the broken branches and wondered, Had the girl done this? Was she that strong? Lucy was flushed and shivering. Jenny touched her forehead.

  “My God, you’re burning up.”

  “I’m cold.”

  “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

  “I am in bed.” And Jenny went still with some emotion that she could not quite place. It sounded so odd to hear the girl say that. But why? There was no time to think it over. She had to get her down.

  “Can you climb down? I have to take your temperature.” Lucy didn’t move. “Come on, honey, climb onto my back. I’ll take you down.”

  Jenny managed to get Lucy draped across her shoulder. “That’s it. Hold my neck.” She felt Lucy’s arm come to life and grip her neck. Jenny gingerly picked her way from branch to branch. At the bottom she held Lucy’s arm and led her inside. She urged her up the stairs and into the bed, then pulled the covers up without bothering to undress her.

  By the time Jenny had found the thermometer, Lucy’s temperature was 103 degrees and her teeth were chattering.

  “Am I going to die now?”

  “No, no, of course not. You just picked up a bug.”

  “Bug?”

  “I mean, you must have the flu or something. You’re sick. You’ll get well.” Lucy’s hair was matted with sweat. Her green eyes glistened as she glanced around in fear, fixing on the tree outside the window where birds were calling. “Harry is a doctor. Remember Harry? I’ll call him.”

  “But what about the London Zoo?”

  Jenny assumed that she was delirious. “I’ll be right back. I’ll get ibuprofen. Don’t worry. Try to sleep.”

  Jenny went down the hall to her bedroom to phone the hospital. “Could you page Dr. Prendeville, please?” she asked the nurse. Jenny thought, It was those long airplane rides with all those people breathing one another’s air. But she still felt personally responsible. Harry came on the line at last, and Jenny explained the situation.

  “Over in a flash,” he said, and hung up.

  Jenny waited forty-five minutes for the ibuprofen to take effect, but when she checked Lucy’s temperature again it had gone up to 104. Jenny undressed the girl as gently as she could. Lucy’s body was almost like that of a boy. Fourteen years old, on the cusp of womanhood. Her breasts were small, her belly concave. But her pubic hair, though wispy, was such a dark brown that it appear
ed almost black. Her limbs were faintly furred with dark hairs and cabled with muscles and veins that contrasted with the soft feminine appearance she had in clothes.

  Jenny wet a washcloth and sponged her all over. Lucy whimpered at the touch of the cold water and shivered violently. But half an hour later her temperature had fallen to 102. Her muscles seemed to convulse now and then as if from a startling dream. Twice she gave a weak cry.

  The doorbell rang, and Jenny hurried to let Harry in. He stood in the doorway for a moment, holding a red motorcycle helmet in his arms with the bearing of a knight. Jenny’s hair was awry, her face flushed and seamed with worry. She wore a sweatshirt that said, “Point Beer: Not Just for Breakfast Anymore,” along with battered old jeans and filthy jogging shoes.

  Harry cracked a smile and observed, “Basic black and a string of pearls. Very elegant. I’d reconsider the shoes, though.” Jenny pulled a face and turned toward the kitchen with a squeak of her heel. Harry put his helmet on the oak island in the middle of the room and sat on one of the stools. He was a tall man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a sad smile. He looked as if he’d slept in his clothes. A stethoscope dangled out of his jacket pocket. He’d probably forgotten that it was there. But he was the best diagnostician that Jenny had ever met and a kind and thoughtful soul. It was Harry who had helped her to get to Congo in the first place.

  Ever since Jenny was in grade school, she had intended to become a registered nurse. She met Harry while doing an internship after graduating from college. She was twenty-two, and Harry was a passionate doctor in his mid-thirties. He swept her off her feet. He had the most piercing hazel-colored eyes. Sometimes he’d just train his eyes on Jenny and she could feel her knees begin to buckle. And for a rumpled intellectual he cut a very romantic figure. He owned a small airplane and on weekends in the fall, he’d perform operations all day, then hop in his plane, fly to New York, and attend the opera. He took Jenny with him once and she felt like the queen of Manhattan.