Connections

by Jacqueline Wein

  In the last two years, more than 70,000 elephants—majestic animals with strong emotions and family bonds—have been slaughtered. Their tusks savagely cut out of their flesh, leaving them to bleed to death in excruciating pain.

  Next, she would report on the farming industry and the eight billion animals raised in factory-like environments and subjected to torturous lives.

  As she typed, her stomach twisted, and she started to gag on the vomit threatening to churn up her guts.

  Chapter 123

  Yolanda tapped the hard-boiled egg on the table and peeled the shell back as she half listened to Señora Sanchez’s commentary on their neighborhood, her children in Colombia, her children in New York, the state of the city, and the plight of poor people everywhere. Without a pause in her monologue, Señora got up from the kitchen chair, opened the refrigerator, took out the jar of mayonnaise, and placed it next to Yolanda. “You making too much,” she told Yolanda in Spanish.

  “Not the way those kids eat. And it’s more fun when they’re out…gives them a bigger appetite. This is going to be a real picnic. They have the tables and benches all set up. I wish you’d come with us.”

  Señora Sanchez waved her hand. “I’m too old for that.”

  “Nobody’s too old. The bus is comfortable, air conditioned, and we’ll leave you somewhere in the shade while we go off exploring. Please. The children would love it.”

  “Nah. I’ll just stay home, like I do every holiday, and wait for someone to visit me. You’d think one of my daughters or my granddaughters could find time to stop by and just say hello.” She switched to English. “How you doin’?”

  “You’ll just be disappointed, like always,” Yolanda responded, ignoring the question. “That’s why you should come with us. So you won’t be alone.”

  “It’s not the kind of holiday that you can’t be alone. Not like Easter or Christmas. It’s okay. Ricardo going?”

  “Are you kidding? You know he wouldn’t do a family thing, like go to Bear Mountain with us. What would his friends say? Anyway, I think he has to work.”

  “On Labor Day?”

  “Labor Day isn’t ’til Monday. It’s just a regular Saturday for him.”

  “You think he’s going to stay there when school starts?”

  Yolanda cut the eggs into a big soup bowl, chopped some onions, and added salt and pepper and the mayo. She mixed the ingredients hard with a wooden spoon. “I hope so, I hope so. They asked him to. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if he stayed ’til he was finished with school and then went on to college? And then—who knows? He might go to medical school or whatever you have to do to become a vet himself: Dr. Ricardo Santiago Jr. Sometimes I dream about it, Señora, walking down the aisle for my son’s graduation from college. Oh, if my mother, poor soul, could have lived to see it—he was her favorite, you know.”

  “He’s everybody’s favorite. El joven es encantador. A charmer. If I had a young daughter around his age, I’d lock her up. Soon as his face clears up, he’s going to be a real lady-killer, that one.”

  “Don’t tell him that. His head is big enough as it is. Yes, he knows how to be charming, but the real reason he’s so appealing is that he’s…I don’t know…caring. Sensitive. That’s it, sensitive.”

  “Could this be the mother speaking? Of course she has no prejudice about her son.” Señora Sanchez laughed and reached over to run her finger along the rim of the bowl to scoop a taste of egg salad. “The bread will get soggy.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make the sandwiches ’til the morning, just before we leave. Tell me—good?”

  “Of course it’s good. Needs a little more salt, though.”

  “I was talking about Ricky,” Yolanda said, sprinkling more salt into the bowl. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he?”

  “Of course he’s a good boy. You worry too much. About all of them. They’re good children. You did a good job bringing them up.”

  “Well, I had lots of help. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Señora Sanchez beamed. “It was good to have a tough old bird around, hah? Someone with the exact right mixture of discipline and love.”

  “Now look who’s not at all prejudiced.”

  Wordlessly, the señora stood up and held the plastic container steady on the table, while Yolanda tilted the bowl over it. “So then,” Yolanda asked, shoveling the egg salad into it with the wooden spoon, “how come I always worry?”

  “How come? Because you are a mother; that’s how come.”

  Chapter 124

  Jason Ruderman looked around the living room, his eyes examining everything to make sure it was all right. As if whatever was wrong would be noticeable now and not after they came back. The windows were all closed, the lights all turned off, except for the lamp in the bedroom, which faced the street.

  Chris walked into the foyer and pointed to the carrier, open on the floor, airing out. “I’ll take that.”

  Jason nodded and called out, “Now, don’t start hiding, Sabrina. We’re going on a fun trip. You don’t even have to get in your carrier yet.” He went into the kitchen and came back with a small rawhide bone and a rubber hamburger, which he put into the carrier. “And if you’re real good and quiet, we may be able to let you sit on Daddy’s lap on the choo-choo.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Chris told him. “The train will probably be mobbed; somebody’s bound to complain.”

  “It’ll be just our luck that somebody like Nettie Pedersen will go all the way to Amagansett on the same train.”

  “No, that would be the good news. The bad news would be if Nettie Pedersen herself was on the train. ‘Oh, Conductor. Conductor.’” Chris pursed his lips in a prudish pout. “‘There is a loose ani-mule in this car, and I must insist that it be crated immediately.’”

  Jason laughed, and Sabrina cocked her head at the shrill imitation.

  “‘And furthermore, Conductor,’” Chris continued, “‘the two gentlemen escorting her are not gentlemen at all. They are of a homosexual persuasion, and I must request that they not be permitted to sit together. In fact, they should be crated too. They should not be allowed to ride next to decent people.’”

  “‘Well, miss,’” Jason said, taking the conductor’s part and deepening his voice as low as he could while making a stern face, “‘I quite agree. The Long Island Rail Road rules and regulations do not permit any lewd or lascivious behavior, so…I demand that you stop drooling over my sexy body at once. Or I shall force you’”—Jason opened his fly, pulled out his penis, and shook it back and forth at the imaginary Ms. Pedersen—“‘to take this and this and this.’”

  When they finished roaring with laughter, Christopher followed Jason into the kitchen, and watched him push each knob on the stove to make sure the jets were closed all the way.

  “Let me just double-check the bathroom,” Jason said.

  “I already did.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to look again. Did you look in the tub too?”

  “Jason, for Chrissake, we never ever leave water dripping. Why would we now, just when we’re going away?”

  “Who knows why? Because I’m a nut.” Jason’s voice faded as he went to check. Moments later, he came back, picked up Sabrina’s leash, and then stood for a moment, looking to Chris like a little boy about to go away to camp for the first time.

  “You okay?” Chris asked.

  Jason continued to stare at Christopher Barrett—his friend, his lover, his life companion. His eyes softened with his love. And deep within him, he felt serene in the knowledge that his mother and father would understand that and even be glad for him. That his whole family would embrace him and Chris. Jason hugged Chris close and patted his back emotionally before pulling away. As Jason hooked the leash onto the dog’s collar, he hid a tear on his cheek. Then, silently, they took their bags and the carrier, locked the door, and walked down the hall toward the elevator, with Sabrina waddling between them. Yes, Jason thought,
I feel serene. And giddy.

  Chapter 125

  Jessica paced back and forth in the police station while her husband sat on the edge of a wooden bench and cracked his knuckles. The desk sergeant hung up the phone. “Mr. Marcus? Ma’am?” As they approached the desk, Jessica fumbled for Lenny’s hand and squeezed it. “They’re bringing ’im right down,” the sergeant said kindly. “Detective’s gone to get him. He’ll be coming through that door there.” He pointed to the far end of the lobby-like hall.

  “Is the dog still with him?” Jessica’s voice was shaky with fear. “They didn’t send her to the ASPCA, did they?”

  “No, we’re not monsters. From the way I hear it, the little fella survived so well because of that dog. Anyways, he put up a big fight when they tried to take them in separate cars. No, they’re still together. But you’re going to have to have her examined and…well, the detective will explain everything to you.”

  They nodded their thanks, walked back to the bench, and stared at the door. Where the paint wasn’t peeled, it was black with fingerprints. Lenny took his hand away, pulled his fingers for a few faint cracks of his knuckles, and then slipped it back in Jessica’s.

  “Oh, God, I’m so nervous,” she whispered.

  “Why? He’s all right.”

  “Because. Because I’m afraid he hates us now, hates me. That’s why he did it. I don’t know how to act.”

  “Don’t act, Jess, just be yourself. He loves you. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Don’t yell at him,” she instructed. “Whatever you do, don’t yell.”

  “Come on. What do you take me for? And I’ve never yelled at him in his life.”

  “You don’t have to raise your voice to be yelling. It’s like my father always did to me. It’s the tone of disapproval. Sorry. I know you don’t yell. I just don’t want to scare him away.”

  “I think he’s had enough,” Lenny said. “I don’t think he’s going to run away again.”

  “I didn’t mean run away. I meant retreat. Inside himself. Go back to the way he was.”

  “He’s not going to do that. He’s come a long way. He’s grown up fast—eleven years in the past one. He’s not going to go…backward now.”

  “Len, I want him to continue therapy. Please don’t interfere with that. If you dislike Michelle so much, we’ll take him somewhere else. But it’s important for him. Promise you’ll let him continue, without fighting about it.”

  “Jess, Jess, I don’t object to his going to Dr. Kravitz. Or anybody else. But stop trying to plan everything every second. Let him be just a little boy for a change. He’s entitled to—”

  The door opened. The same electric impulse jumped through both their hands; the air hung suspended in their lungs. Clifford and Kola followed a burly man through the door and then stopped to look around. Jessica exhaled so quickly that a whistle rode her breath. Kola’s tail stiffened. Even matted with dirt, the white fur that hung from her tail created a feathery bow, arched in attention. The luxuriant plume swayed once, poised as she turned her head in their direction, her eyes fixing on theirs. Then it fanned wildly in recognition before she yowled her happy surprise. In three great leaps, she was dancing on her hind legs with Jessica.

  Jessica tried to open her arms to Clifford, who just had started toward them, but Kola kept coming into them. She could not stop yelping and smothering Jessica with sloppy licks. Clifford watched as he came closer, stopped, and waited, trying to gauge his father’s response. Then Leonard Marcus was down on his knees, his hands pleading. Clifford dropped the canvas knapsack he was carrying and ran the last few steps into his father’s hug. A lump clogged Lenny’s throat. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. “Welcome home,” he whispered against Clifford’s ear. The small body fit comfortably against his chest and Lenny held him there tightly, bosom to bosom. “We were worried about you, son.” His words came out gravelly.

  Then suddenly, they were exchanging partners in an orgy of kissing, hugging, howling, licking, and crying. The desk sergeant swiped the back of his hand across his nose. “Somethin’ bothering you?” the detective asked.

  “Naw, why’d you ask?” They frowned at each other for a few seconds and then broke into broad smiles and gave each other a high-five.

  Chapter 126

  The ends of the shoelaces were open, the white tongues sticking out of his high-tops. Although he was thin, his feet were an E-wide and gave him an athletic look. The thick rubber soles of his sneakers padded his footsteps as he walked around the office, making sure no one had come in yet. He peeked through the window at the waiting room, straining his neck to look as far as he could toward both corners, since she had a tendency to come in early. He tried, but he just couldn’t have gotten here any sooner, what with waiting for his mother to get out of the bathroom this morning and the delay on the A train. It had to be today, so they’d get it right after Labor Day. Otherwise, he’d only be working on Saturdays, and it would have to wait another whole week.

  The coast was clear. He went to the four-drawer cabinet in the receptionist’s cubicle and crouched in front of the bottom drawer marked S-Z CURRENT. The ones above it had already been emptied out, the files transferred to the computer upstairs. He was excited about starting school on Tuesday; he was taking a computer class for one of his sciences. He knew he was going to be a whiz at it—he loved mechanical things. Maybe he would go to college for it. But first, he needed just a little more money to pay for his education. And theirs, he thought, snickering silently. Not that they’d learn their lesson.

  How dare they—how fucking dare they—come in with their spoiled little pets and make such a fuss over them? Spend all that money on injections and pills and medicated baths, and X-rays, not to mention operations and pulling teeth and…jeez, imagine pulling a dog’s teeth, giving it anesthesia and all! He noticed the folder for “Sidway, Louise,” pulled it out, and read the medical history of her dog, Honda. Of course he would never do anything to her—especially since she was the one who got him the job in the first place. He was just curious. No, she was an okay lady. It was the rest of them. The middle-aged women fawning, pampering, cooing. Writing out checks. Whipping out credit cards. No matter how much it cost. Young girls with their kittens, talking to them through the holes in the carriers, apologizing to them for bringing them. God, it sucked! Didn’t they know there were poor people out there, little kids with no food? While they were buying gourmet cat foods and rhinestone leashes, there were babies practically dying of starvation. People who couldn’t even afford to go to a doctor. Yet here they were, bringing their animals to a hospital.

  And what about decent people who just couldn’t get it together? They didn’t offer to help them, give them rent money or send their children to college. For their pets, they had it, not for other human beings. Look at his father, running out on them. He knew why—his father couldn’t cope. No matter how hard his father worked, it never got better, never got easier. Well, he wasn’t going to let that happen to his mother or to the rest of his family. He already had enough to take care of them. It was just too bad he couldn’t use it yet. It was too soon. Only if there was an emergency.

  Every day was an emergency for some of his friends. Trying to scrape together enough for the next meal. Life sure wasn’t fair. Not when these jerks could take care of dogs and cats, and there was nobody to take care of the people.

  Ah, there it is. He held the chart in one hand and copied down the address with his other. It was the least they could do. Give up some more money. It was for a much better cause than their pets. He admitted, though, that he got a great deal of pleasure from imagining their absolute terror, knowing their fear. They deserved to suffer.

  His skin tingled when he thought about the old lady opening the envelope with the ear. Even as he cut it off the dead mutt in the plastic bin, waiting to be picked up by the crematorium, he thought he would’ve enjoyed it much more cutting it off a live dog, hearing it scream. No, he didn’t really want
to hurt an animal; he wanted to hear its owner scream in horror.

  Chapter 127

  It was a delightful 68 degrees and even though the forecast was for highs in the mid-80s, the early morning breeze smelled like autumn. The last day of August would be remembered for its clear skies and bright sun. But not for long. Tomorrow, the skies might be the same blue and the sun as hot, but they would belong to September and the promise of a spectacular season of crunchy leaves and bracing air and old cardigans.

  Rosa opened her mouth and inhaled deeply, enjoying the freshness in her chest. There was nobody around. Few cars lined the curb but she still would not let Princess squat in an empty parking space. She remembered a dog back in 1976, whose owner had let her pee in the gutter. Someone in the car right behind her had turned on the ignition, and the loud noise had startled the dog, causing a heart attack. The dog collapsed and died in the puddle of urine. Right in front of her owner.

  The old man Wally Schilder had hired to clean the street and carry the garbage out during Wally’s vacation was nowhere around, even though big black plastic bags leaned against each other in front of every brownstone. If she stood in a line straight and bent a little, they almost looked like mountains. Rosa checked her watch so she could write down the time when she went back upstairs to show Wally how many days the man was late. She did that every year.

  She strolled to the corner, enjoying the emptiness of the block, but feeling a little like the only person left on earth after a bomb fell. Everybody was on their way somewhere for the weekend, but it was just like any other Saturday to her. Any other weekend. If she could go anywhere, where would she go? She shrugged. “I’d go back-a home,” she said out loud. “To Italy.” It was nice of Eileen Hargan to invite her on a trip. But they’d never do it. By the time both their dogs were dead and they were free to travel, they’d probably be too old or too sick. Besides, Eileen’s intentions might be good, but that woman would never part with her money. Must be the Irish in her, Rosa thought. It didn’t matter. It was nice to think about going somewhere.