She let go one of his hands to caress his face. “Thank you for that.”
“I love you. I don’t want to share you. I don’t want to be shared. I love my life with you. I don’t…” Almost angrily, he took his hand away, picked up the pen and wrote out his card.
I’d like to be faithful to you another year.
He slid the card across. “That’s who I am. That’s who I want to be. Wanting isn’t having. You letting me be open about the wanting is enough.”
Her throat clenched as she took the cap off her pen.
“The wanting is enough, Val,” he said. “It’s enough.”
She wrote, blinking through tears. “It’s enough. But God, it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “It’s hard this year.”
She looked at him a moment, then wrote a little more and showed him: I’d like to be faithful to you another year. (It’s hard this year.)
“One day,” she said. “We’ll look back through these cards and we’ll remember this year.”
“And laugh?”
“Or cry.”
“No,” he said. “I think we’ll laugh. Not at him. Just laugh and remember.”
“We’ll think, Wow, that was tough.”
“I thought I was gonna die, what the fuck?”
“My heart.”
“My stomach.”
They both inhaled and sighed at the same time.
“The old man in Santiago said it’s a life,” Alex said. “Not everyone gets one.”
She touched his face, burning to touch him all over.
“And not everyone gets you,” he said. He put his hand over hers and turned his mouth into her palm. “You’re my life, Valerie. I’m sorry I took it for granted. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
She closed her eyes, feeling his warm breath curl through her fingers. “I haven’t made love in a long time,” she said softly.
His smile flickered. Sputtered like a damp candle wick. Then it grew warmer. Brighter. One dimple showed, then the other. He gathered the cards together and slipped them into his blazer pocket.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
“I’m taking my mother’s advice,” Deane said. “I’m going to love you and see what happens.”
Ari was leaving for Vancouver in a few days and wouldn’t back until August. Then it would be a matter of weeks before they both left for college.
“Are you worried?” he asked.
“I’m not,” she said. “It feels like I should be, but I’m not.”
Jav already planned to fly to Vancouver mid-July to visit. After some discussion, Alex and Val agreed Deane could go with him.
“So we have that to look forward to,” Ari said. “And then…”
“Then we see what happens,” she said. “Let’s be real: we’re both of us heading off. Our relationship had this coming whether we found out we were related or not.”
They packed as much time together as they could that week. Made as much love as they could, down by the river or parked in Ari’s car.
“You’re my cousin,” he whispered as they lay under the stars one night. “I keep saying the word but it doesn’t register. I don’t react to it. You’re my cousin.”
“We didn’t know. We didn’t grow up together. We didn’t imprint as genetically off-limits or whatever. We met. We liked each other and—”
“But do you ever think part of why we liked each other right away was because we’re related?”
“All the people in the world,” she said, running her hand over his chest. “And it ends up being you.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Is it a freaky coincidence? Or is it destiny?”
“Lying around talking, I tend to think it’s a freaky coincidence.” She pushed up on her elbow and looked down at him. “But when you’re inside me, I definitely think it’s destiny.”
“Oh is that so?” He pushed her down on the blanket and slid on top of her.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Put your arms around me,” he said. “Put your legs around me too. Hold onto me with everything. Don’t let go.”
She held on. All through those last days of the last week, she held him tight, pressing him into her body and into her memory.
They hugged goodbye in the parking lot behind the Lark Building, teary-eyed but laughing. Waving after Jav’s car, Deane felt happy and brave, but later in the day it started to hurt. Lying in bed that night, it really hurt. Enough to make Sheba leave her post outside the master bedroom and come hop up on Deane’s bed.
“This sucks ass,” Deane cried into the smooth, black fur.
She crammed her days with work. She was assistant coaching a girls’ lacrosse clinic, which meant long hours of physical activity in the sun. In the evenings, she went to the gym or ran with Alex. On Saturdays she worked double shifts at Celeste’s, both for the money and to wear herself out. She slept late on Sundays, then hung around in Val’s workroom, being crafty.
Her parents acted less tense around each other these days, but the air in the house stayed still. They hugged in the kitchen and held hands in front of the TV. But no soft laughter or little noises from behind their bedroom door at night. Once this would have filled Deane with a nervous upset. Now she could only hope they were loving each other and seeing what happened.
They had a beautiful Fourth of July, then rain hit Guelisten. By the third day of the deluge, the athletic fields turned to swamp and the clinic was cancelled until the weather cleared. Deane slept until eleven, woken when Val brought in coffee and toast with dulce de leche.
“Mumsy,” Deane said, sitting up and stacking the pillows behind her. “You shouldn’t have.”
“You for to work hard,” Val said, kissing Deane’s head. “I for to make you break the fast.”
Deane lay around, eating and reading until she dozed off again. This time she was woken by the slam of the front door, followed by the dogs barking and footsteps pounding up the stairs and down the hall.
“Val?” Alex called.
A door was flung open, more footsteps. “Val?”
Footsteps back down the hall, Sheba barking. Then Deane’s door flew in. “Cosita, where’s your mother?”
“In her room?”
“She’s not.” Alex’s glasses were lopsided. He looked positively crazed. “Valerie?” His accent was at the forefront of his mouth, Valerie coming out as Balerie.
“I don’t—”
“Where’s your mother?”
“Dad, I don’t know. What’s the matter with you?”
“Val,” Alex cried, heading back down the hall. Her heart pounding, Deane untangled her legs from the covers and followed him.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
“Valerie,” he yelled. “Oh my God, where is she?”
“I’m right here,” Val called from the bottom of the stairs. “I was in the basement. What’s the matter?”
Alex pushed past Deane and ran down the steps like a thunderstorm. Deane crept after, staring open-mouthed as Alex seized her mother and crushed her against him, folding her up in his arms. Val’s hand crept to the back of his head, running through his hair.
“What, what, what,” she said. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
“Dad?” Deane called, knuckles white on the banister.
“Valerie.” Alex’s legs buckled. He went right down on the floor, taking Val with him.
“Dad.”
“Alejandro, what’s wrong?” Val cried as Deane came down the rest of the stairs and fell on her knees by them.
“They called me,” Alex said.
“Who called you?”
Alex’s hands closed in fists around Val’s shirt. He lifted up his face. He was crying. Then he was laughing. “The Medical-Legal Institute in Santiago,” he said. “They’re sending an email. They found a match. Los encontraron. Valerie, they found them…”
Alex sat at the computer, Val and Deane on either side, reading the email from the
Institute. It came with two attachments: the original report in Spanish, and the director’s translation in English, explaining the analysis made on twenty-seven fragments of bone.
Lot 97-M, sixteen male fragments, matched Alex’s Y-DNA markers, indicating a direct paternal ancestor.
Lot 102-F, eleven female bone pieces, matched Alex’s mitochondrial DNA, indicating a maternal ancestor.
The director regretted no other remains were found with the same mitochondrial match to Lot 102-F.
Meaning a brother or sister could still be somewhere in the world.
Or not.
Sometimes not knowing the answer is better, Deane thought.
“Which is harder,” she said, sliding arms around her father’s shoulders from behind. “The end of hope? Or the truth?”
“They’re both hard, cosita,” Alex said, stroking her forearms.
Deane’s eyes filled up, warm and wet. Her mind began to grasp the enormity of her father’s life. Staring at the computer screen, she finally understood this indescribable, unresolved loss. The decades of torturous grief that took Alex to Crazytown and back. The miracle within twenty-seven bone fragments dug up from a mass grave.
My grandparents were murdered, she thought. Thrown into a hole in the ground to be forgotten. Disappeared. Dad was just a little boy. He didn’t have a Jav to come rescue him and get him down from the mountain. He flew out of Chile alone. With a backpack, two cardigans and a knife.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tightening her arms. “Dad, I’m so sorry.” She slid around his chair, wanting to be both comforting and comforted. She sat in his lap—something she hadn’t done in years—and buried her face in his shoulder. “Me duele el corazón, lo siento mucho.”
His scarred, tattooed arms were strong around her. He kissed her head, rocked her in his lap and wound her ponytail around his hand. “Thank you,” he said softly.
He and Val went to bed early that night. Deane stayed up late, talking to Ari, then reading. She went downstairs for water and passed her parents’ bedroom. Sheba was curled up by the closed door. She opened her eyes. Almost seemed to roll them at Deane with a knowing air before returning to rest.
Deane held still a moment, pressed on all sides by the air. Thick and heady. A burgundy red. A core of orange at its center. Through it came a tiny yelp, followed by a shushing hiss. Then soft laughter.
Jav texted Alex: Ari told me about finding ur parents’ remains. It’s unbelievable.
Alex replied: I still can’t believe it.
Has to B surreal.
It is. Slowly my mind is getting around it.
It’s amazing. I’m really happy u got this closure. What will they do now? I mean, will they bury them in Chile or…?
I’m bringing them here. After 34 years, I want them where I can find them. I want them with me.
Can’t blame u. Really happy for u.
Thanks. How’s the book coming?
It’s done. Signed off on final edits, final cover, etc. Galleys should B printed soon.
Can’t wait 2 read it. Te extrano.
I miss you.
Jav exhaled, his heart hugging itself. Alex missed him. His absence was noticed. Someone’s life had an empty place where he used to be. He echoed in its longing space.
Te echo de menos, he typed back.
He went down to the Hudson that night and stared at the water, thinking I miss you.
He told his father, I miss you.
I miss you, he said to Gloria.
Ari, his magnificent sister-son. I miss you.
Flip, navigating a ship across the skies. I miss you.
And Alex. I miss you.
Full of empty places, Jav told the truth to the river.
I miss you so much.
He lifted his face to the stars, asking love to be his friend. Admitting out loud, to himself and the world, “I want somebody to love.”
“I swear,” he whispered. “Give me one more chance and I will make the most of it.”
He went home and dug in a desk drawer for an envelope with a flash drive inside. He opened The Voyages of Trueblood Cay and read a few chapters.
“A captain who is a king,” he said under his breath. Pinky to index, his fingers drummed along the desk. “But the king has no queen.”
He stared at the wall, thinking. He picked up the framed picture of him and Naroba. His fingertips touched his sister’s face. Then they started to itch.
He opened another drawer and pulled out a file. Encased in plastic was the December 1979 issue of Cricket, with his winning story about Naria Nyland. He looked up from the magazine to his computer screen, then down again.
“Nyland,” he said. “The land of Nye.”
What was Nye?
He drummed his fingers again. Great was the day when Trueblood Cay sailed into Alondra, the mightiest port of Nyland, where Queen Naria ruled by sword and…
“Spice,” he said, slowly spinning in his chair. A single index finger lifted off the armrest. “Nye is a spice. It only grows in one place. In trees. It comes from a tree. A tree that only grows in this one land. The warrior queens conquered the land for the spice trees.”
He put his feet down and stood up. “The land was once ruled by giants. The trees are their abandoned playthings. The trees wonder why no one loves them anymore.” He pointed at his reflection in the mirror. “The trees won’t make Nye until they’re loved again.”
He was pacing now, striking matches. “Naria’s people are descended from the giants. They took the land back. Became good citizens with beautiful hearts. Built houses in the trees, mined the spice and created Nyland. Nye is valuable. You can’t have Nye without love. You put Nye in bottles with rum and it makes a drink. A magic drink. It makes love…”
Arriving back at his desk, he took Flip’s hat off the wooden stand and put it on his head. “Trueblood wants the Nye. Because he wants somebody to love”
He sat and made a single spinning revolution.
“Naria Nyland wants Trueblood. She wants a Trueblood. An heir to inherit the spice.”
Sword and Spice: The Voyages of Trueblood Cay.
Jav hitched the chair closer to the desk and started to type.
September 11, 2007
Guelisten, New York
American flags were attached to all the lamp posts on Main Street. They fluttered and flapped from poles and storefronts and whiskey barrels of flowers.
Jav parked his car at the gates of the village cemetery and walked the graveled pathways. Coming over a knoll, he found Alex sitting on a bench beneath an oak tree. Elbows on knees and hands laced, staring at the gravestone before him.
“Hey,” Jav said.
Alex raised a hand and shifted over on the bench. Jav sat, looked at the silvery granite marker and its chiseled letters.
Maria Clementina Penda 1938-1973
Eduardo Alejandro Gabriel Penda 1936-1973
Nosotros Dos
“I was going to bury the knife with him,” Alex said. “It seemed the poetic thing to do. But I’d miss having it around.”
“He’d want you to keep it.”
They leaned back against the bench, arms and ankles crossed. Listening to the wind rustle the leaves.
“It’s so peaceful in a cemetery,” Jav said. “You think of them as haunted places but to me, it feels…alive.”
“I know. I’ve been coming almost every night after work. Just to sit and tell them about things. Or just sit.”
Jav leaned his forearms on his knees, tapping his thumbs and thinking about his father’s gravesite in Queens. Wondering if it might be time to go visit it. Sit and tell Rafael about a lot of things.
“So,” Alex said. “You find a place that takes pets?”
“Yeah. Nice building on Riverside Drive. I got a neighbor with a twelve-year-old girl who needs pocket money. She’s in love with Roman.”
“He’s easy to love. How’s Ari doing?”
“Great. Happy. Busy. Missing Deane.”
Alex smiled. “I get the same report from Burlington.” He reached to the ground beside him and picked up two small bouquets. He put one on his parents’ graves. The other was for Felipe, whose stone stood a foot from Eduardo’s name.
“I wanted the brothers next to each other,” Alex said, picking a weed out of the ground and tossing it.
“You did a good job,” Jav said absently, fixated on the weed. Such a small gesture, but loaded with attentiveness and love and care. Were weeds growing around Rafael’s stone? Jav should go dig them out. He needed to go. He’d waited too long.
Alex kissed his fingertips and pressed them to each stone. Then he stuffed both hands in his pockets and headed down the path, Jav following.
“Heading out?” Alex said, turning to walk backward. He wore the light blue sweater that deepened his eyes to pine. He’d had a haircut recently and was growing a goatee.
The beautiful bastard.
“Yeah,” Jav said. “I’m all closed up, just have to give the keys back to Trelawney. I wanted to say goodbye.”
“To me?” Alex chuckled through his nose. “Good luck.”
“Still got my card?”
“The old one and the new one.”
At their cars, Jav reached in his passenger seat and drew out a book. “Hot off the press.”
“Hey, look at that.” Alex took it from him. Looked at all sides, fanned the pages. “That is one handsome book.” He hefted it up and down in one hand. “And not a novella.”
“I had a lot to say.” Jav looked over Alex’s shoulder at the glossy cover with its grainy depiction of lower Manhattan.
The Trade, by Gil Rafael.
“When are you going to write under your real name?” Alex said.
“The next one.”
Alex’s eyebrows raised. “Really? What’s it about?”
“Swords and spices. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you.” He dodged his head as Alex bopped him lightly with the book. “In other news, I’ve retired.”
“From escorting? No way.”
“Officially put myself out to pasture. I’ll die solely as a starved writer.”
“What brought you to the decision?”
An Exaltation of Larks Page 47