Infinity's Daughter

by Laszlo, Jeremy

  After that, we began to volunteer. Twice weekly, sometimes three times, we would head down to the soup kitchens in Midtown; on occasion we even spent time in some that were opening up in our own borough.

  I often helped with the cooking, while Susan stood in the front lines, helping keep everyone organized or serving out the food. She was an inspiration. Her spunk and passion reminded me of myself at the end of high school. So dedicated, so ready to help the world. I wouldn’t say that the time plunge smoldered that passion, but it definitely made it much harder. My new focus became survival, and escape. Hoping for years to see my father come stumbling through the wilderness to rescue me and take me back to the cusp of the turn of the century into the year 2000. But in Susan I saw a more empowered version of myself, able to extend her vision and compassion outward through the opportunities she was given. I felt so lucky to have her as a daughter, and to have her support for my endeavors to help after all the times when I felt I could do nothing, or very little, unable to see beyond the time traveler’s paradox.

  It was truly unbelievable, living in that time. Every day we went to the kitchens and pantries, there were a shocking number of new families and individuals in the lines. As we dipped further into the Depression, the numbers climbed, and the mouths to feed seemed inexorable. And with every day, the faces seemed to wear deeper into poverty and sadness. I watched the families bringing in their little babies wrapped in rags, the young men without places to go who had lost their jobs and been living on the streets, their faces caked in dirt and grime. The elderly, who couldn’t work, and lost everything in the collapse, stumbled in, all of their investments out the window. It was a sadness I had never known. Even during the war, it felt removed, so foreign. But this, at home, and so close to you, you couldn’t ignore it. There were people starving on your doorstep, and we had to do everything we could without falling into it ourselves. But I was lucky, the gold I had saved up saved us. I only wished that I could have warned the nation. Sent anonymous letters to the President, anything.

  But I knew that such hopes were all in vain. What had happened had to happen, and to tamper with the proceeding of time was a dangerous, even deadly game. And so I sat, behind the counters of the food pantries and kitchens, serving out watered down food to those who were less fortunate, trying to focus on the good, and not get swept up in the unrelenting suffering that was so prominent across the entire nation, and so evident on our own streets.

  As Chief Detective, Sam’s job was safe. This was good for us, but even with drastically cut wages, the guilt weighed on him, as he had to watch members of the force let go due to budget cuts and financial strain. Todd, luckily for Susan, was able to keep his position as well. He was a fine police officer, and his humility was recognized as an asset during the hard times. Todd and Sam began spending evenings together after work now and then, having a drink on the way home, to console their own emotional malaise brought on by the mass suffering and hardship they attended to first hand during the day.

  The Met decided to keep Susan on. She had felt so incredibly lucky she almost didn’t know what to do with herself. I often reminded her that success was nothing to be ashamed of, despite the circumstances of those around her. She was doing everything she could to help, and that was recognized by all.

  We were never an especially pious family, but on Sundays we all began attending mass in the big church down the block from our home. If the Sullivans were in town, they would join us. There was solace in mingling with the community. Attending brought everyone together, to alleviate the suffering and give comfort to those who had lost. For the first time in my life, I began to pray regularly. Not only praying for those in need, and for the swift recovery that I knew would be anything but, but a quiet prayer asking why I was meant to live through such tumultuous times in our country’s history, with the painful knowledge of what was to come harbored inside myself without any way to ameliorate or prevent the adversity.

  1934

  In 1934, right at the beginning of the Dustbowl, my greatest hopes and my greatest fears came careening into each other. Susan became pregnant with her first child, and my first grandchild to be. As a grandmother in waiting, I was naturally nervous. But, more than ever I was nervous about Susan bringing a child into the world during such hardship. Sam and I were still doing alright though Susan and Todd were beginning to struggle. She had been able to keep her position at the museum, but had difficulty climbing up the corporate ladder due to tight budgeting. Todd was one of the premiere officers, but had taken a mandatory pay cut due to the city’s financial restrictions. Sam and I were doing what we could to help them, but we weren’t able to help as much as we typically would have been.

  To make matters worse, Susan was not taking well to the pregnancy. She was ill very often, and spent an increasing amount of time in bed. She feared she would lose her job because of it, although she had a little family in her co-workers at the museum, and presumed that they would hire her back after the pregnancy if she did lose her position in the interim.

  I went to see her every day. Her beautiful face was insipid and melancholy, although she tried her best to keep up appearances that she was feeling and doing much better than she looked. Her efforts hadn’t fooled me in the least.

  For a brief period of time in the first few months of her pregnancy, she was bedridden for almost two weeks. Todd had sat by her side every minute of the day he wasn’t at work. When he wasn’t with her directly, he was in the kitchen preparing her meals, or on the phone with the physician, asking for reassurance that he wasn’t going to lose his one and only. One day when I had gone to see her, I found Todd in the kitchen, hunched over a pot of homemade noodles, crying.

  I had grown close to Todd over the years, but had never seen him in such a state. He was one of the most genuine and caring men I had ever met, but he was always composed in his compassion. His emotional vulnerability was surprising, and it made my heart go out to him.

  Todd had made the noodles himself. Trying to save money, he was using his mother’s own recipe. She had been over earlier in the week to help him get started, but had headed back to Queens and would be returning during the weekend. I found him staring morosely into the pot, watching the fresh noodles roll over each other in the softly boiling water, the heat spitting little droplets of water into the air near his face every now and then. Amidst the steam rising out of the pan, I saw his eyes laced in tears.

  I walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Todd, what is it?” I knew what was wrong, we all did, but I didn’t know how else to approach him.

  He looked away momentarily, grabbing his forehead and rubbing his eyes. Then he turned back to me, smiling against his pain. A silent tear rolled down his cheek, surprising him. He caught it and wiped it away, sniffling. His lips quivered as he tried to speak, but no words came out. He blushed, and looked down at his feet, a small whimpering sound falling out as he stifled a cry.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I had said as I reached out to hug him. I couldn’t believe I was seeing him like this. Part of it scared me, and I wondered if Susan was really sicker than I understood; if Todd was keeping information from me that the doctor had delivered to him. But I knew that wasn’t the case. I assumed it was fear—and not unjustified. Seeing the person you love, suffer, is one of the hardest things anyone will ever go through next to losing them.

  He wiped his eyes again, “I’m just so scared,” he said, “the doctor says she’s doing alright, but he’s not sure if she’ll be able to carry to term. Her body just wasn’t ready; she’s under too much stress, that’s what he said.” He sniffled again. “I just can’t imagine my life without her. I wouldn’t be anything, not without Susan.” He hugged me then. “You have an amazing daughter, Lucy. I’m so lucky to be a part of your family.” His tears flowed steadily now. I was unsure what to say. I was afraid for Susan, too, but didn’t fear her death. I think much of it came from my own experiences with pregnancy. What I fe
ared the most was her losing the child. But I couldn’t tell Todd that.

  “Susan is strong, she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever known,” I told him, “and she’s my daughter. If she’s anything like I am, I’m certain she’ll pull through.” I patted his back, “I know this is hard; it’s so hard for all of us right now. We have to be strong too, strong for Susan. I’m here to help whenever or however you need it.” I smiled, “and she loves you so much, more than anything. You’re a wonderful husband, and she is so incredibly lucky to have you. I’m proud to have you as my son in law.”

  “Thanks, Lucy,” he sniffed, “that means a lot. I’ve been calling the doctor every day, just to check in. They think she should be alright. It will just be a hard next few months.” He looked down again, shrugging his shoulders in grief.

  But the doctors were wrong. It was a hard next few months, but not in the way they had meant.

  Susan had been at work one day, working on restoring an invaluable painting down in the catacombs of the Met. Her colleagues down in the depths were few and far between, mostly each posted at their own workstation, engrossed in the fine detailing of their own projects.

  She described the instance to me, and said she had been feeling better recently, so had gone back to work. She had been back to work for about two weeks, and was very happy, and quite optimistic about the pregnancy. That day, however, before going back into work, she had felt ill again. Not ill enough to stay home, but ill in a strange and foreboding way.

  She was working on the fine little brush strokes, applying the cleaning agents one tiny stroke at a time, with her own fine-tipped brush, when suddenly, little beads of sweat had begun to form on her face She had told me how she had felt very flushed, perhaps faint. She had turned to get a glass of water, when a great pain struck her and she collapsed on the floor. One of her co-workers down in the belly of the museum beast had heard something fall, and thought it might have been one of the works. He walked through the maze of restorations, until he came across Susan, curled on the floor, unconscious, with a pool of blood around her legs.

  They whisked her away to the hospital. Todd was called, and came over in a police car, as quickly as was possible in those times. Living in that part of town, I had beat him to her side. He came in in his uniform, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hat tossed off somewhere. Susan was snowy white, all of the color drained from her cheeks. She was disoriented, and exhausted, but cogent enough to understand what had happened. I was standing next to her, holding her hand on the hospital bed when Todd arrived.

  He grabbed her then, as delicately and as completely as he could. “Baby, baby, Susan, oh God are you okay, baby, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, honey…” He was weeping, big heavy sighs, his form shuddering up and down, worse than I had seen him that day in the kitchen.

  Susan’s frail figure, and her petite, pallid face looked up to meet his eyes. “Todd…” she said quietly, tears brimming around her irises, “Todd…the baby…the baby…” Her voice faded into her own sobs, and her face contorted as the words fell in a heavy mass from her lips, “we lost the baby…Todd, we lost the baby…” Her words came in sobs, stripping her of all her energy. I thought she would lose consciousness again, she had lost so much blood, there was little left to her, I couldn’t believe she could muster any tears.

  Sam arrived a few minutes later. Standing in the door, understanding what had happened, and waiting respectfully for Susan and Todd. I placed my hand on her in understanding, and left the room to meet him. Together they mourned the loss of the little, precious life that they tried to bring into the world. It was the pain of what could have been, and the pain of what was perhaps not to be. They burdened themselves with guilt about what they could have done differently, or about what was wrong with themselves. In the end it didn’t matter. It was too late. I cried for them, quietly, in the halls of the hospital with Sam. I understood her pain. The pain of a mother’s loss is one that cannot be explained, and should never be felt.

  Susan returned to work a few weeks later. The Met was a considerably kind place to work, and their respect for her and the work that she did, kept her in their good graces and they held her position in her absence. When Susan arose from the tragedy, she came out slightly different. She was still my beautiful and widely intelligent daughter, but there was something missing. In her soft voice and compassionate manner, it was as if someone had taken something out, misplaced a cog in the watch, or forgotten something in the recipe. I understood what it was, and it can never be replaced. She would heal in time, but it would never be the same again.

  From our own personal misfortune, we turned outward to the world. I found it insane to watch the way everyone and everything had begun to crumble. Despite the efforts of FDR and the government to spur job growth, creating jobs commissions and encouraging public works, we were still sinking. Although I knew what was to come, and that our nation would pull out of it, living through a time where precious life balanced on the cusp was devastating.

  I remember reading the newspaper and seeing pictures of dust storms so thick that when it snowed, the snow came down black to the ground. The whirlwinds that came up in the southwest were horrific. Without crops there, the dust just picked up and blew. I never understood in my history classes how bad it really was. To watch people starving on the streets, young children begging for money whenever I walked outside, and it was everywhere. The Depression was in everyone’s homes, in everyone’s pockets, and all across the country. The dustbowl sucked up everything that anyone had, and wiped it away in the wind, just as the stock market had plummeted, dumping all of the country’s money over a cliff.

  Susan would come home crying, having seen pictures in the newspaper about the hardships across the nation. Sam tried to boost everyone’s spirits with political talk about the promise of the government works projects, and how Roosevelt would pull everyone through. I smiled, knowing he was right. But I dared not say anything. I knew what was happening next. I knew what was already happening overseas in Germany. And I was scared and perplexed all at the same time. I just kept having the same horrible, terrible feelings of guilt that there should have been something I could do. Someone I could have warned. Perhaps I was too afraid, consumed by my own fear of the unknown should I try to change time. Perhaps I just didn’t have the guile. But whatever it was, I suffered along with everyone else.

  And in our personal finance, we were struggling too. With Todd and Susan down money from their slipping paychecks, we began supporting them off of Sam’s salary. I tried to go out and get a job—something I had never done before—but there just wasn’t anything to be found. And now with Susan’s medical bills, things were getting very tight.

  We saved everything. Newspapers, cardboard, empty soda cans and soup cans, even empty spools of thread. You never knew when you might need something, or you might be able to sell it or even burn it for heat. I reminisced about the days when it was easy, missing the life with parties and dresses and glorious dinners. But that was no more. I would go to the market or the grocery store even when there wasn’t much for them to offer, and we were forced to make it last the entire week. On our own without the finances to eat at what few diners remained open, I found myself in the kitchen more and more. I had never cooked so much in my whole life. Feeling rather spoiled, I came to realize that preparing my family’s meals was good for me. I was embarrassed that it had taken sheer adversity and hardship to bring out these skills and my own capabilities.

  And so we waded through destitution, being far more fortunate than others. I kept my guilt silent, continuing to volunteer with Susan on the weekends, and even mustered up the courage to go myself during the week, hoping to make up for my inaction on the front of preventing this entirely. But, even if the paradox hadn’t existed, even if the possibility of completely ruining the course of history for the worse wasn’t a true possibility, I couldn’t even have known that anyone would listen. One person with knowledge is som
ething, but it takes a lot to change the course of history. I pondered this while I cooked for my family, and served food at the shelters. My breath would catch in my throat as I worked, trying to parse out my own paradox, hating myself, and weeping for the suffering of the world.

  1938

  The Dustbowl had been a particularly difficult period of my life. From the challenges with Susan losing her first child, to the prolonged and unrelenting suffering amidst everyone around me and the painstaking recovery that our nation had rolled into and what I knew it would be, my heart and my mind had begun to close off. In 1936, we lost both Adelle and John. On that day, I felt like I lost a piece of myself. They had come to be more my parents than my own had been, taking on a vital role in my adult life and transition to the new time that I wouldn’t have been able to do without them, and couldn’t fathom life with anyone else at my side.

  Adelle, especially, had been my rock. My own mother had become a phantom, haunting my mind and spirit, drifting out of my dreams and my memories of my youth. She was still real to me, but my memories of her smell and her touch teased me, changing in their solidity, asking me if she were ever real at all. Adelle filled that hole in my heart, keeping me above water whenever I was sinking. She was almost more than a mother to me, she had become my best friend, I think. As the visions of my own mother ebbed and flowed, and her image standing alone, deserted in the driveway frequented my mind and tugged at my soul, Adelle was there to console me and bring me back to my new reality.

  And John. John was the first person to give me a chance in the new world. He didn’t pin me as hysterical, which would not have been surprising given the time period. His compassion could not be matched. He had opened his home to me, a stranger, protecting me at the most vulnerable time of my life.