Stranger

by David Bergen

  IT was on the second or third visit when she realized that the danger was not Eric but Susan. She looked at him and asked if this could be a secret, their visits. He was happy to agree. He said that Susan was a stickler for routines, and she disliked surprises, and she didn’t know that he took these walks with the baby, and she would be upset if she knew that he was meeting a stranger by the river.

  Okay, she said. This is our secret.

  The visits were brief and the time between visits unbearable, and when they did finally meet, she wanted him to be quiet so that she could concentrate on the baby, but he saw her as a vessel into which he could pour information. Perhaps he was lonely. Perhaps no one ever listened to him.

  He was very simple and concrete when he spoke. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he worked in his shop tearing apart and repairing small gas engines. His doctor had suggested this. There were days when he managed to put an engine back together, and there were other days when he had extra parts that lay loosely on his worktable. On Wednesdays he washed clothes and he ironed. On Fridays his nurse arrived and they worked on memory exercises and then his hairdresser came and she washed and shampooed his hair and sometimes cut it. He also received a manicure and a pedicure. When he told Íso this he held out his hands and she saw the perfection of his cuticles and his soft hands that she used to adore. She thought now that his hands were too soft and too white and too perfect. She was repulsed. He told her that he was often alone, and that their girl, Laura, was in charge of Meja, though Laura allowed him to walk Meja for an hour. Susan worked every day downtown. She left early and then returned in the evening and came looking for Meja and took her away to a room upstairs. They sometimes ate supper together, but usually Susan wanted to be with Meja until she was down for the night, and even after, in the dark of the evening, Susan was elsewhere. She was tired from work. She loved Meja and wanted to spend time with Meja. Susan and Meja slept together.

  When she heard this, Íso was devastated, and she thought that she could not bear it, but she did. She took Eric’s hand and held it. She asked if he had hope for his life, and he said that he didn’t know exactly what hope was. She explained it to him. She said that hope was a wish, and of course hope couldn’t exist without the possibility that what you wished for might not come to be. He thought about this and nodded. He said that every day when he walked the path with Meja, he hoped to see her.

  Me too, she said.

  One thing was certain: even though he did not remember her, he still loved her in his limited way. One afternoon he asked if he could give her a hug, and she allowed this. He held her and held her until she had to break free. He wanted to kiss her. She said that there might be a time for that, but not now. She discovered that she felt nothing for him except pity. He was vacant and her heart no longer had room for him. She allowed him to hug her because she knew that this was the path she must take. He was like a child rooting at her. One time, after holding her, he touched the necklace at her throat and his face went soft and he said, This. He was looking into the past, briefly recognizing something. She held her breath. Here was danger. And then he shook his head and released the necklace.

  She left feeling dirty, and on the bus ride home she knew that what her uncle told her had come true: she had been attracted to an object that was beautiful, and she had become spellbound, and then its shape had changed, and what had appeared to be beautiful had turned ugly.

  ON Thursday she worked late, and as she left to catch her bus, she went away from the exit and walked down towards the river and the doctor’s house. It was close to 7 p.m. The sun fell onto the back of her head and left her with a sense of longing. She came to the bay where the doctor lived and she turned right, towards his house. She stepped off the sidewalk and stood behind a large tree and watched the house. She had no intent, just a desire to be close. She was about to leave when a car turned into the bay and pulled into the doctor’s driveway. The driver’s door opened and a woman appeared. The woman’s hair was blonde, but it was cut very short, and for a moment Íso didn’t recognize her. She wore a narrow white skirt and red high-heeled shoes and a grey flowing shirt and sunglasses. And then the woman swivelled her head just so, and she lifted a hand to touch her jaw, and in that movement of the woman’s hand, so refined and tentative and self-conscious, Íso knew that this was the doctor’s wife. Íso closed her eyes. Opened them. The doctor’s wife was still there. Íso leaned against the tree to save herself from falling. Her chest ached and she felt the ache and she knew for the first time what pure hatred was. It was entire and it moved sideways and forwards and backwards within her, and it was as if she contained the deep waters of an ocean that had been shaken by an earthquake and what resulted were mammoth waves, waves that could not be held back. The doctor’s wife bent into the back seat and reappeared, holding Meja. She was talking, moving her head close to Meja and then pulling back again. She did not remove her sunglasses as she spoke to the baby. Íso thought she heard Meja gurgle, though it was impossible at that distance, but still she was filled with despair. Of course Meja would adore Susan. And of course they were attached. And of course they had eyes only for each other. And of course Meja did not know Íso. And of course Íso did not know Meja. She tumbled into hopelessness, and then felt anger, and once again hatred, and of these three emotions, hatred gave her the most pleasure. She turned away and pressed her face against the bark of the tree. When she looked up again, Susan and Meja had disappeared.

  Íso sat at the base of the tree until the light faded, and the pale sky turned grey and then ochre and finally black. The birds stopped singing in the branches above. All was quiet. She inspected her heart. The hatred had been exhilarating. And welcome. And crippling. And exhausting. And very dangerous. For passion, anguish, jealousy, and anger would produce nothing but mistakes, and false steps, and failure.

  A cold heart was necessary.

  THE weekend came and lasted forever. She washed her clothes and sewed patches on her jeans. At night she was alone, and she heard Vitoria and Chaz talking and laughing in Chaz’s bedroom. And then she heard them make love. She cared for Sutt on Sunday morning. Vitoria and Chaz were sleeping, and Rita was out looking for food. Íso held Sutt and told him that she loved him. She pushed her forehead against his and she cried. He thought this was a game, and he punched at her and he laughed and then he pulled at her cheeks and her ears.

  On Monday, when she met Eric, he said that he had had a dream and in that dream she was his wife and they lived on a lake and they had a large family. He said that there were children crawling and running everywhere. It was quite the life, he said, and he shook his head in wonder. He asked if a dream might indicate hope.

  Oh, you stupid man, she thought. She knew that it was time. She held his hand. Oh, Eric, she said, that’s a beautiful dream. She asked if he would meet her again on Wednesday.

  Yes, he said.

  Meja sat in her lap, looking out. She was barefoot on this day and Íso saw the fat lines on her ankles, and she touched Meja’s toes, which were curled tightly with excitement. Her arms were strong, and her legs were strong, and she liked to stand on Íso’s legs and do squats and test out her strength. This excited her and she smiled and spit and flapped her arms. She had no teeth, though her cheeks were a bit rough and Íso knew that this was a precursor to teething.

  Of course she had great fear and doubts but then she pushed away her feelings and she went into that place inside of herself that was level and logical. She thought of Meja playing on the floor of the tienda, of Meja taking the boat across the lake to school, of Meja speaking Spanish, of Meja sitting across from her in their small kitchen. Meja’s last name was Perdido, there was no other. She too dreamed. Of her mother. And of her father, who was long dead. In the dream about her father they were riding down out of the highlands towards the city in his van, just the two of them, and he was saying that it was necessary to grow a garden. Even a small one. He pulled packets of seeds from his pocket and placed them on th
e bench seat between them. Lima beans and radishes and maize and herbs of every kind. He said that they were hers to plant. And harvest. And then she woke up.

  ON Tuesday evening, at the tenement, she washed all her clothes by hand and hung them on the balcony to dry. She wore one of Rita’s shirts and a pair of Rita’s pants, which were too large and made Chaz chuckle. Skinny as a dime, he said. She didn’t pay him any attention, though she wanted to say that she had managed to gain five pounds. The week before, Rita had come home with a large backpack that she’d salvaged and Íso had asked if she might have it. She cut out the sides of the backpack and sewed in a mesh so that now the backpack had airflow. She had taken Sutt and placed him in the backpack, to see if he would fit. He did, though he struggled and cried. She’d pulled him out and held him and said, Oh, Sutt.

  On her last night she was restless. She sat on the bed beside a sleeping Vitoria and she wrote a note to her, but when she reread it she realized that there was no explanation for who she was or for what she was about to do. And so she tore up the note. In the morning, when Vitoria left for Zone 7, Íso kissed her on both cheeks and said goodbye. She put on clean underwear and a clean button-down shirt and she wore jeans and socks and runners. She packed her bag. Formula and a few disposable diapers and baby wipes and a small blanket. Brushed her teeth and then packed her toiletries. The larger backpack was empty. She would carry that over one shoulder. She’d washed her hair the night before and it was shiny and clean and it smelled like lilacs. Chaz made mention of that. He liked to tell her sweet things, and she permitted him that. At noon, she told Rita and Chaz that she was taking a little trip, and she might be back, or she might not be. She gave them an envelope with her rent and food money. Chaz handed it back and said that she could use it more than they could. She hugged Rita, who cried a little. She buried Sutt’s head against her chest and rubbed his hair. She kissed Chaz on the cheek and he looked right at her and said, Be safe.

  She walked towards the city centre and took her regular buses to Zone 7. She arrived at Barbara and Chris’s and she sat in the kitchen and looked out at the plants in the backyard while Champ played at her feet. She did not think. At 2:30 she left the dog locked up in the house and she walked towards the river and down the path and sat on the bench and waited. He came. He sat beside her. He took her hand. She looked at him and he looked at her.

  You cut yourself shaving, she said. She touched the dried blood.

  She asked if they might walk.

  This was unusual and it made him anxious.

  Come, just for a bit. She pulled him up. Meja was still in the stroller. She was covered with a blanket.

  They stood and began to walk towards the footbridge, in the opposite direction from which he’d come.

  He had both hands on the stroller and he released one and held it out to her and she said, Not here.

  The stroller had a cover, a small awning that folded like an accordion, and she could not see the baby save for the blanket that covered her legs. Íso’s arms ached. She was shaking.

  He said that Meja was going for her inoculations today. Susan was taking her. His mind seemed clear.

  You’re having a good day, she said.

  He said that he had woken up without the cloud.

  He seemed wary, but he was also pleased to be with her. That she knew.

  Beyond the bridge was a path that moved north into a cover of trees and she guided him in that direction. When they were beneath the trees, she took his arm and he touched his head to hers. A few hundred yards down the path they came to a bench and she asked if they could sit. He was more than willing. He was interested in her, in holding her hands, and touching her. She permitted this and she permitted him to kiss her. When he finally released her she stood and bent over the stroller and pushed back the top. Meja was awake. Her eyes were dark and large. Íso said, You. Meja made a face and pumped her arms and looked left and then right and then back at Íso. She reached deep into the stroller and gathered Meja up and there was a slight noise that came from her mouth, and Íso took Meja and held her.

  She turned to Eric and clutched his elbow and squeezed it and she said that she was very happy. I’m in love, she said. She stood and laid Meja back in the stroller and took Eric’s arm to pull him up.

  He stopped her on the pathway and he held her. As always happened, he was unaware of time or space. He was also very strong, and if he had wanted, he could have squeezed the breath from her. She worked her hands up against his chest and pushed gently. He didn’t let go. She said, Eric, you’re hurting me.

  Still, he held her.

  She couldn’t breathe. She said his name, sharply, and with her one free hand she began to hit him, across the back, the shoulder, his head. She hit his ear with her fist, and he grunted and released her and put his hand to his head.

  I’m sorry, she said. Oh, Eric. And she took his head and she kissed the sore ear and she kissed his forehead and she smoothed his hair and she said again that she was sorry.

  She took his arm again and said they should walk and not talk. They should appreciate each other. The outside. Listen, she said. Do you hear the birds?

  He tilted his head and then shook it. He said that they should go back. It was time.

  Up the path, in a clearing alongside the river, there was the public bathroom, and beyond the bathroom was another footbridge that led to the other side of the river. She saw the bathroom and the footbridge. She stopped and released Eric’s arm and she bent over the stroller.

  Then she stood up and said that the baby was dirty. She had to be changed. Come, she said, and she pulled him in the direction of the bathroom. As he trudged along beside her she told him that she would clean up Meja and then they would go back. Okay? She sat him on a bench and she leaned into him and she kissed him on the mouth and she said that he was a good man. You are good, she said.

  HE watched her pick up the baby and walk towards the bathroom. He watched her walk around to the back of the building. He crossed his legs and listened. He thought he heard a bird. He turned his head to find the source of the bird sound but all he saw were leaves blowing in the wind. The wind was warm and the sun was hot on his head. He removed his scarf and folded it across his lap. The scarf was a burgundy colour and it went quite well with his grey slacks. His left shoe had a scuffmark, and so he took the burgundy scarf and he rubbed at the mark. The scuff had gone deep into the leather and any amount of rubbing was ineffectual. He had ruined a good pair of shoes. He laid the scarf again on his lap. He looked at his hands and thought he heard her voice. He looked up. She was still gone. He stood and walked towards the bathroom. He knocked on the women’s door and called out. He pushed the door open and called out again. When he stepped inside he saw that the room was empty. He returned to the stroller and looked under the cover, as if he might be surprised by the impossible. He did a little skip, for he was anxious now, and he hurried back to the bathroom and looked again. Outside he called out, Hey, hey. And then he said Meja’s name. He looked up at the trees and saw birds, and they were talking happily. He swivelled and saw the footbridge that led to the other side of the river. He walked halfway across the footbridge and then returned to the stroller. He walked in circles, calling out. He ran back to the bridge and called Meja’s name over and over, but she was gone.

  8.

  SOUTHWEST OF KANSAS CITY, NEAR LEBO ON I-35, THERE was a roadblock. From her seat, she saw the lights of the police cars and she felt the bus draw to a stop. They waited. People grumbled. Some stood to peer out into the darkness. The bus was not full. She was alone at the rear. The driver opened the front door and disembarked. He was talking. Someone else was talking. She gathered up her backpack and she gathered up her baby and she got up and stepped into the toilet and closed the door. She didn’t lock it. She sat down on the toilet lid and held her baby to her chest and she breathed onto the baby’s head and she whispered, It’s okay, it’s okay. She heard a voice. It was moving towards the back of the bus
and she heard passengers talking, some female, some male, and then it was quiet. She waited. Then a man’s voice was right in her ear, just outside the door, and he called out that he was going to use the john. He laughed. Then there was a crackle of radio and an indistinct and rapid voice and she heard footsteps moving away. A siren sounded. Much later, the bus jerked, and it began to move. She stayed where she was. She took out a bottle that she’d prepared and she fed Meja as she sat on the toilet in the back of the bus. Meja fell asleep. Íso gathered up her things, and crept from the bathroom back to her seat. The bus was dark. A single light shone five seats ahead. Then the light went out.

  THE day before, when she took Meja, she’d crossed the bridge at a fast walk, expecting Eric to call out immediately, but he hadn’t. And then, once across, she’d turned left, away from the river and up towards the streets of Zone 7. She heard Eric calling then, and she began to run, her backpack banging, and she was talking to herself as she ran, and then she was crying, and she held the baby like a basket of eggs. At some point, right out there on the open street, she sat Meja on the sidewalk and she opened her backpack and slid Meja in. She barely fit. The hardest part was keeping the pack open with one hand while sliding Meja inside. Her legs kicked, and if one leg went in, the other wouldn’t, and so Íso tried and tried again. Finally, Meja was inside. She thought it was a game. She chewed on the rim of the pack. She looked up at Íso and grinned. Íso whispered, It’s okay, and she covered Meja’s head and slipped on the backpack, heavier now, and as she walked, Meja seemed to calm down with the movement. It took her fifteen minutes to reach the gate and she passed through normally, even said good afternoon to the guard, and then she was out on the busy street. She stood at the bus stop and thought that she had five or ten minutes, and if a bus didn’t come, she would have to walk or disappear. Meja was quiet. She had fallen asleep. When the bus arrived she climbed on and sat and looked out to the entrance of Zone 7 but all was calm. The guard was leaning against the fence and yawning. She got off the bus as they neared the downtown and she crossed the street on a green. She was not running now. She tried to hail a taxi, but several passed before one pulled over. The driver was older and when she told him that she wanted to go as far south as two hundred dollars would take her, he didn’t seem surprised. He thought about this and he told her the name of a town. She asked if the bus, the Greyhound, stopped at that town. He didn’t know. She told him to go. Take me there, she said.