The Lyre and the Lambs

by Sydney Avey

  “Better hand her over, Mom. I think she wants to eat.”

  I move quickly to the side of the bed and transfer Miren into her mother’s arms. Then I look around for a bottle to hand Valerie. Surely the nurse has prepared formula. When I turn back, all I see is a fat pair of legs and a fan of tiny toes stretching out from underneath the blanket that now tents the baby. Roger had skedaddled from the room but the proud papa remains, gently cradling one little leg in the palm of his hand, exploring the heel and arch of his new daughter’s foot.

  “I thought...”

  “The nurse convinced me I should try to breast feed. It seems to be going pretty well. She says I’m a natural.” Valerie looks proud of herself.

  I compose my face in a mask of polite interest. I thought only women in third world countries breast fed babies. Why did we buy a boatload of bottles and formula? Wasn’t the bottle an innovation to free women? What happened to Valerie the modern mama?

  Miren eats quickly and passes out.

  R

  It would be a few days before I would see her open her eyes, large and dark, like mine and Alaya’s. The olive toned skin could have come from either the Moraga or Ibarra side of the family, but she has one feature that surprises me. Those rosy lips curled into a sweet smile punctuated by a tiny dimple are pure Henry Carter. One day I will take Miren out to Golden Gate Cemetery and tell her about her grandfather and the sacrifices he made so she could be born into our family.

  Headlines

  Headlines

  No one can resist a brand new baby. Pink balloons secured with three-inch wide glossy pink ribbon festoon the mailbox to announce our happy news. They bob together in the Saturday afternoon breeze. As Roger and I unload the trunk of the Ibarra’s car, a gas-powered lawn mower sputters to a stop across the street. The Tanakas walk down our driveway and little Simon runs toward Valerie and Andy yelling Baybeee! In this moment, I wonder whether Valerie will show her protective feathers and shield Miren from sight or display her pride.

  Yoshi scoops his son up into his arms and my daughter moves the blanket away from the baby’s face so Simon can get a good look. I stand back, examining Simon’s face for watery eyes or a drippy nose, ready to interfere if I don’t like what I see. Roger places a restraining hand on my arm, a gentle but firm suggestion that I not poke my nose into the tight circle the Ibarras have formed with the Tanakas. It hits me like a seismic shift. This is their neighborhood, not ours.

  This new little person changes the terrain. Valerie will go into decision-making mother mode and I will have to take a back seat. Didn’t I relinquish my facilitation role years ago when I acknowledged that Valerie was a grown woman, free to make her own mistakes? What-ifs grip my heart. Critical thoughts ping pong inside my head. Dear Jesus, this is not what I want to feel!

  Simon reaches out to stroke the baby’s cheek with his finger and watches as Valerie closes her hand gently over his small fingers.

  “Simon, Miren is very new and it will be a little while before I can let you touch her, okay?”

  “When can I play with her?”

  “Oh, it won’t be long. But we need to let her get used to the world. She’s going to sleep a lot at first.”

  “And eat a lot!” Naoko laughs and pokes Simon’s tummy, “just like you did.”

  “We need to get you and the baby inside.” Andy puts an arm around his little nestlings and Yoshi transfers Simon to Naoko. Mother and son head back home but Yoshi lingers.

  “Roger, is David here?”

  “No, he’s out somewhere with Sophie.”

  “Will you tell him I have some good news for him about Triophonics?”

  Roger arranges his face into the mask of polite interest I remember seeing when we worked together at General Electric; an expression that suggests that he knows things he really doesn’t and invites the news bearer to spill the details.

  “Sure. Say, Yoshi, I’d like to take a look at that mower of yours. I think it’s time I upgraded my rotary grass cutter.”

  I take this turn in the conversation as my cue to leave him alone with Yoshi, so I wave the men off and head inside. Maybe Roger will be able to pull more out of Yoshi about what David is up to. His garage conversation with his son last week was not that productive.

  Before I push through the door, I look across the street. The shades are drawn at the Dold’s. We’ve heard nothing about Lukas. I’ve been so caught up in the baby’s birth I haven’t noticed any coming or going at the Dold’s.

  The clouds that parted with the joy of Miren’s arrival begin to cluster again. I take a deep breath and listen. Next door, no dog barks; no hose jets water onto Marjorie’s late-season chard; eerie silence moves in like a gathering storm. At that moment, a baby’s hungry cry dispels the gloom. I stand and listen awhile longer and then I open the door to see Boofus skid across the tile in mad pursuit of a ball Andy has just rolled for him. Across the atrium, Valerie snuggles under a soft wool lap blanket in her rocking chair by the far window. A fire burns in the gas fireplace and she sleeps while Miren nurses. I’m caught up in an American family Currier and Ives moment as past and present play tag with my emotions. Don’t think so much about tomorrow, Father Mike would tell me. Today has enough of its own stress. I want to live in this tiny moment.

  R

  Roger suggests that we go out to dinner and give the new family time to themselves.

  “How about some Japanese food at Sakura Gardens?”

  “Fancy! I’ll have to change, then.” I go to the closet, pull a new shantung sheath dress with a mandarin collar off a hanger and swing it around to show Roger.

  “That is fancy. When did you get that?”

  “A while ago. I’ve been saving it for a celebration.”

  “Well, this is going to be a celebration, in more ways than one.” Roger doesn’t meet my eyes, a signal that he doesn’t want to start this conversation until we are at dinner. My heart beats a little faster. Could this have something to do with his conversation with Yoshi? I’ve known Roger long enough to know that I am better off being patient and waiting for the moment he has designed to tell me whatever is on his mind.

  “Do you think we need reservations?”

  “I’ve already taken care of that.”

  Sakura Gardens features glass panels that look out onto a classic Japanese landscape. The restaurant appears to float on a glassy pond. At this hour we are losing the light, so I move the heavy, eight-page menu closer to the flickering candle in the center of the table and begin a study. Roger flips his menu open and shut and suggests the four-dollar Tri-Entree Deluxe Dinner of shrimp tempura, chicken teriyaki and beef sukiyaki.

  I’m feeling my hips strain a bit against the stiff fabric of my dress, the result of too many meals out in the past couple of weeks. A black-kimono-jacketed waiter delivers plates piled high with sizzling food fragrant with honey, sesame, and ginger to nearby tables. My stomach growls like a hungry tiger. I suck it in and let out the stops on my appetite. The Deluxe it is.

  Roger has taken many business trips to Japan. Early in our relationship, he instructed me in the use of chopsticks. Now that I’ve got the hang of it, I think it much more elegant to slip a slim piece of bamboo into your mouth than risk slicing the inside of your cheek with large, sharp-tined metal object. Chopsticks have the added advantage of slowing the eating process down, making time for conversation. After we have sampled each dish, Roger sets his chopsticks aside and shares some startling news. David and Danny are starting a business and Yoshi is putting up the money.

  “What kind of business? Is this related to what they’ve been doing in the garage?”

  “Directly related. You know they’ve been playing around with a methodology that detects the acoustics in a limited space and makes adjustments automatically.”

  I cross my eyes at him and chase a shrimp around my plate.

  “They were thinking this was something they could sell to bands that have to set up in unfamiliar places. Yoshi
got curious about what they were up to. He has good business sense. He told them most bands have budgets that are too tight to invest in something like that, but he thought their idea might have other applications.”

  Roger tests the jasmine tea to see if it had steeped long enough and then pours two cups while I digest this information.

  “Such as?”

  Roger looks around and then lowers his voice. “Such as military applications, but I don’t want to talk about that here. Let’s just say that Yoshi is providing investors and consulting services to launch the boys into business. Apparently, that’s why Danny has been so scarce. He’s been out looking for office and manufacturing space.”

  We let that sit in the air for a few minutes while we attack our food.

  “Roger, how do you feel about this?”

  “Well, I’m not happy that David plans to drop his studies at Stanford, but I see the potential. These boys have a golden opportunity.”

  “What is Danny’s part in this?”

  “David is the brains.” My mama bear wakes up and Roger reacts like a stranded hiker on an unfamiliar trail. “What I mean to say is that the amplimorphitizer is David’s invention, but Danny has the marketing skills. He’s a talker, and a good one.”

  “Okay, I’m starting to get the picture. Wow!”

  We chew on that and our dinner for a while. The waiter brings us coffee and a dessert menu. Roger goes off to the men’s room and I look around the restaurant for the first time. A large group is being seated at a long table. It looks like a birthday party. It’s likely to get noisy here; probably time to ask for the bill. As I peer through the darkened room toward where I expect to spot Roger returning to the table, I notice a couple holding hands across a table for two in the corner. It takes me a few seconds to register Father Mike and Laura. Roger appears and drops into his seat.

  I nod toward the corner. “I’m thinking they aren’t discussing the neighborhood Bible Study.”

  Roger smiles. “I’m thinking you are right.”

  Roger pays the bill and comes around to pull my chair out.

  “Shall we stop by their table, or sneak out?” As I whisper this to Roger, Laura looks up, breaks into a smile and waves us over. We make our way to their table for a brief exchange of pleasantries.

  Father Mike rises to shake Roger’s hand and Laura clasps her hand together in front of her heart. “Have the kids brought the baby home yet?”

  “Today.”

  “Let us know when we can come by and see her.”

  More and more, Father Mike and Laura are becoming we and us. I wonder when they plan to do something about that. Roger just grunts when I ask him if Father Mike ever discusses his intentions when the two of them play golf on the occasions that Mike is in town. We leave with a promise to call them next week.

  R

  Back at the house, Roger and I settle into our room to watch the late evening news. Not wanting to do anything to wake the baby, we purchased a sleek Danish modern TV and somehow managed to wedge it into a corner.

  “It’s starting to feel like a furniture warehouse in here.”

  Roger has been making noises about needing office space. It occurs to me that if I don’t raise the issue of getting our own place pretty soon, he might start thinking about joining the boys in their new venture. I don’t want that. Work kept us apart for years. I’m pondering this when Roger leans over and turns the volume up.

  “Dee, look at this.”

  The news footage is jumpy and blurry. I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but the familiar voice of Walter Cronkite reports that today in Spain some students who were convicted in a terrorist bombing earlier in the year were released from prison. Torture apparently was used to obtain confessions from some students who were not directly involved in the bombing that killed an innocent bystander. The familiar face behind the news desk looks up from his notes directly into the faces of America.

  “One of the students has been identified as Domeka Palacios, the son of the famous Jai Alai player Elazar Palacios. Domeka is reported to have a twin brother living in the United States. That raises a question about whether the ETA organization is receiving any kind of support from people living in the U.S.”

  I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. “Roger, if the neighbors connect Dom to Danny, it’s all going to come down on our heads again.” The dinner that was sitting so well in my stomach takes a nasty churn. My throat is burning and a sour taste spreads in my mouth like a malevolent lotus flower.

  “That’s not all it will do. It will kill the funding for Triophonics.”

  “Is Danny home yet? We have to tell him about this.”

  “I haven’t heard any of them come in yet. David told me they were all going to a party at Stanford. As late as they come home these days, we probably won’t see them until tomorrow morning.”

  “And you are okay with this?” Although our room is cold, I start to feel sweaty, numb and closed in, all in turn. I gulp for air.

  Roger gives me a stern look. “Dee. Take a slow deep breath.”

  I struggle for control. When he sees my breathing start to slow, he goes into the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water.

  “Honey, they aren’t children. They’re young adults on a different time clock. If Danny has heard this news I’m pretty sure he’d come right home, or call to talk to us. Let’s not borrow trouble.”

  For today has enough trouble of its own. Lord, haven’t we had enough trouble? For the very first time since I became a Christian, I hear a voice speak in my heart. It does not start in my brain and trigger emotions, it resounds in my heart and triggers understanding. This isn’t trouble for Alaya, it is blessing. Tears flood my eyes. My sister has received her son back.

  Pressing News

  Pressing News

  “How was your evening?” Valerie paces in front of the living room window, jostling Miren and patting her back in a rhythm mothers instinctively know.

  “Here, give her to me and go get your coffee.”

  Valerie hands me little Flopsy and shuffles off in the bunny slippers I got her for a joke. It’s chilly this morning. I wish I’d gotten a pair for myself. When she returns, I’m sitting on the couch, my right ankle resting across my left knee to form a cradle for Miren so I can jiggle her and read the paper at the same time. I was at the top of the driveway when the paperboy came by with the Chronicle. Halfway through the first section, I haven’t seen a story about the ETA yet. Maybe I overreacted, but the morning news generally picks up what the TV has broadcast the night before. Or maybe it’s the other way around and I missed the story in yesterday’s paper. If the story already ran, maybe nobody made the connection between Domeka and Danel. I’m deep into maybes when Valerie sets her coffee on the teak table and falls into the couch beside me.

  “This table is going to have to go.” She traces the sharp corner with her finger. “So, how was your evening?”

  “Good. Fine.”

  Valerie frowns.

  “I’m sorry. I have something on my mind. A lot of things, actually.” I tell her Roger’s news about the business Yoshi is helping the boys start.

  “Wow, Mom; that’s terrific. Hewlett-Packard started in a garage. Maybe they’ll hit the big time.”

  I work the knot that has formed in my neck with tired fingers.

  “Hey, it could happen.”

  “Well it could...but do we need this kind of attention right now?”

  “What do you mean? Because of, of the...” Valerie reaches for words we’ve all been reaching for since Scott’s body was discovered. The accident? The murder? The...what? When will we know?

  “Yes, that. But there is something else. This invention, it has some kind of a military application.”

  “Most inventions in this valley do, Mom.”

  “Yes, but the boys aren’t U.S. citizens.”

  “So?” Miren has settled into sleep and so has my leg that supports her. I readjust a little and Valerie, misin
terpreting my discomfort, scoops her daughter from my lap.

  “Most inventors don’t have relatives who are terrorists.”

  “Mom! Domeka is not a terrorist. He’s a student who got caught up in an unfortunate situation.”

  “Not according to last night’s evening news.” I look up as Danny crosses through the dining room heading in the direction of the coffee pot. Apparently my last remark sinks in, because he U-turns into the living room.

  “What was on the news?”

  I explain the situation in as few words as possible.

  Danny runs his hand through his sleep-mussed hair and scratches his head. Then he breaks out a grin. “That’s great news!”

  “Well, yes, it’s great news that your brother is free, but what will it mean for your enterprise if word gets out that you might be funneling money or some kind of technology to the ETA?”

  “That’s what the reporter said?”

  “Not in so many words, but the announcer named your father and your brother and made reference to ‘a twin brother in the U.S.’ Then he suggested the possibility that a group of people here might be sending money to the terrorists.”

  “That’s not exactly what he said.” Roger joins the conversation. “But close enough.”

  “Am I missing a meeting?” Andy comes into the living room, knotting his tie, Boofus at his heels.

  “Looks like we have a quorum,” I say, and Roger brings Andy up to speed.

  Danny takes charge of the conversation. “I think it might be wise to place a phone call to my mother to get the facts so we can be prepared for whatever comes.”

  “Let’s place that call from my office, Danny.” Andy found space in a new building in Stanford Industrial Park shortly before Miren’s birth. Smart man.

  The phone rings and I go to answer. Let this be Laura and not some reporter. Shifting the conversation, I address Valerie over my shoulder, “We saw Laura and Mike cozying up at a corner table at Sakura Gardens last night.”

  But it’s not Laura. It’s a KGO radio news reporter. The panic that rises in my throat turns to confusion. He isn’t asking about Domeka, or Danny, or the ETA, he wants my comment on news that has leaked about Lukas. I get him off the phone as fast as I can.