According to Cara, the dead really liked radios. They hated television and computers, and telephones just confused them for some reason. But they would listen to the radio all day long. And they’d broadcast too. The dead ran their own radio stations, playing funny music from a long time ago, and special messages from one group of dead people to another. Ester said once that living people could tune in to dead radio but were “too stupid” to understand what they were hearing and always switched it off again. Shocked at what Ester had said, Kate told her, “That’s a bad word.” Laurie-Mommy had told her never to call people that.
Laughing, Mother Night told Ester to apologize and to ask Kate to forgive her.
“But it’s true,” Ester said. “They are stupid.”
Godmother shook her head. “If Laurie has told her not to use that word, then we will not use it either.”
Ester shrugged. “Sorry, kid,” she said. When Kate told her, “You’re forgiven,” Ester bent down to kiss Kate on the cheek.
It was easy to recognize the dead. Some of them actually looked like the pictures—all bones, which clacked a little as they walked. These were the oldest, Amy told her. With the really, really oldest some of their bones were broken or had holes or brown spots. But even the newest dead, who still kept their regular bodies, looked different. Their skin hung loosely, like hand-me-downs that didn’t fit right. And when they spoke, their voices often came out funny, all slurred, or else the opposite, high and squeaky.
The real funny thing was, the dead could appear and sound normal if they really wanted to. Lillian called it “wearing flesh.” When the dead did look normal, living people could see them and talk with them. Kate wondered why they didn’t just do this all the time. “Why should they?” Cara said. As dead people they could do whatever they wanted, so why should they go to all the trouble of disguising themselves?
The dead liked parties. They would find some house where the owner had gone away and put up decorations—strings of dead flowers, flags full of holes, small piles of creatures who’d been dead so long they’d become stone (“settled down” as someone put it), and banners with dead jokes and slogans, like their favorite, “Better dead than red.” Then they’d play their radios and laugh and dance, sometimes for days. Kate wondered why no one ever complained. The strange thing was, Lillian told her, living people just didn’t hear it. They were just kept awake all night, turning about and making faces and wondering why they couldn’t sleep.
Once, when Kate was nine, Laurie took her to a party. She didn’t want to go, really. The grown-ups would just complain about things, or tell dumb jokes, or even dumber stories about their kids, and as for the kids themselves, well, Kate still didn’t really like other children all that much. But Laurie said it would be good for her, and Louise promised to take Kate to the museum (Kate loved to look at the old paintings) if Kate went along and didn’t make too much of a fuss.
The party turned out to be mostly adults, but there were several other kids, and some of the parents had brought balloons and games to keep the kids busy. Kate pretended to play with them (she didn’t want Laurie to accuse her of “brooding,” Laurie’s favorite word), but what really interested her was a tall skinny man in a white suit. Kate didn’t know what it was about this man, whose name was Matthew. He didn’t look that different from anyone else. He had long hands, which he waved about a little as he talked. He was very handsome, Kate thought. It looked like other people thought so, too, because people kept laughing at his jokes. He danced with both men and women, and when the dance ended he sometimes let the fingers of one hand slide across the person’s cheeks. The gesture made Kate shiver.
Toward the end of the party Matthew stepped out of the living room and walked down the hall. To her own surprise, Kate followed him. This was silly, she scolded herself; he was just going to the bathroom. But no, he walked past it to a little room at the end of the hall. He stepped inside and closed the door. Only, the door didn’t really shut all the way. Kate hesitated, then went up and peeked through the crack.
Matthew sighed, and stretched himself. The room seemed to be an office, but it was hard to tell, for Matthew hadn’t turned on any lights. He just stood there for a moment—and then he took off all his clothes. Now Kate thought for sure she should leave, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She wondered if he was going to do something awful as he took off his jacket and pants, and carefully folded them on a table, followed by his shirt and even his underwear. But instead of touching himself, or something else gross, Matthew kept taking things off. He stripped something from his arms and legs, and then his chest and back. Kate stared at it, not sure what she was seeing. And then she realized. It was his skin. He was taking off his skin, and with it everything else, so that he became just an old skeleton. When he had stripped everything and there was nothing left but bones, Matthew sat down on a straight-backed wooden chair. He sat with his legs together and his hands on his knees.
Kate stepped into the room. “You’re a dead,” she whispered, after she’d closed the door. “Wow. You’re a dead.”
Slowly the skull pivoted around to face her. He must have been a very old dead, because there were large gaps in the bone. For a long time, Matthew didn’t make a sound. And then, from somewhere, came a slow deep voice. “Yes,” it said. “Of course. But let’s just keep that our little secret. Will you do that for me?”
Kate clasped her hands in front of her. She smiled, happy for the first time since she’d arrived at the party. “Okay,” she said. “I really like secrets.”
Two
The Streetmarket of the Dead
As Kate got older she became more and more impatient with most of the people she knew and the things they expected her to do. Holidays, for instance. Laurie made such a fuss about Christmas, taking her to Grandpa and Grandma Lang’s house, putting stuff on trees, going places, even telling her dumb stories and singing songs. And of course, the presents. They all expected her to get so excited about the same things year after year. Dolls, books with little morals about tolerance, a kid’s camera, paint boxes and telescopes. She did like some of the clothes, especially when Laurie let her get the things she really wanted instead of the frilly dresses and things Laurie expected her to want (as if Laurie would ever wear stuff like that). Still, the only really cool presents she got came from Mother Night.
Like the half skull of a little girl who’d died when she was the same age as Kate on the day Godmother gave her the present. The girl had died so long ago that fossils of dead flowers were imprinted on the bone. And yet, when Kate held the mouth up against her ear she could hear the faint high-pitched squeal of a little girl, and beyond that the growl of some animal. And if she looked directly into what was left of the eye socket, she could see bright colors. Kate loved the skull—“Janie,” she called it for no reason—and kept it next to her pillow when she slept, imagining that Janie was sleeping alongside her and they could hug and kiss each other the whole night long.
But she couldn’t tell anyone, not the kids at school, not Laurie. In fact, when Laurie asked her about it she had to lie, as she lied about so many things, telling Laurie she’d found it in the park. Laurie had looked at her awhile, and Kate tried to keep her face blank as she waited for her mother to say, “That’s ridiculous. Where did you really get it?” Finally, as she had done so many times before, Laurie backed down. “It’s very nice,” she said, “but you better be careful. It looks fragile.” Then she turned to the stove, sighing as she checked the potatoes.
Once, Kate tried talking to Louise about holidays. Louise, at least, gave Kate presents that were different, that Louise herself cared about. Like the time she gave Kate a bow with real arrows, and a green tunic, and sandals that tied all the way up Kate’s legs, so that Kate could become a “goddess of the hunt.”
It was a Sunday afternoon in January, and they were sitting in a women’s coffee shop, drinking hot chocolate. Kate was ten. She wore a long blue sweater with a white cotton la
ce collar over pink tights and short shiny black boots with white fake fur. Her red hair, shoulder length, was held back by a gold barrette.
“What’s up, kid?” Louise said to her.
“Nothing,” Kate said, and sucked loudly on her straw.
“Beep,” Louise said. “Wrong answer. You have your weight-of-the-world look.”
Kate made a face. “I don’t understand Christmas,” she said grandly.
“Hmm, let’s see. We could talk about the great mystery of God becoming man, or maybe the Virgin Mary’s history as the great Mother Goddess, or maybe the consumer economy and its dependence on one month of the year. But somehow I’ll bet that’s not what you meant.”
“I just don’t understand Laurie,” Kate said.
“Ah. So it’s Laurie and Christmas. I should have guessed.”
“I just don’t understand why she has to make it such a big deal. It’s not like she believes it or anything. She’s even Jewish. And I don’t care. So why do we have to do all that stuff?”
“What about the presents?” Louise asked. “Don’t you care about them?”
Kate shrugged, a delicate lift of the shoulders. Watching her, Louise remembered how she used to practice elegant movements like that in the mirror, right about when she was Kate’s age. Somehow she suspected that Kate didn’t need to practice. Kate said, “I guess. Some of them. I like the ones you give me.” She had stopped drinking her hot chocolate and was looking out the window. Louise scanned the street, but if Kate was staring at anything in particular, Louise couldn’t see it.
Louise said, “I suppose it’s because of Jaqe.”
Kate turned around. “My mother Jaqe?”
“Uh-huh.” Louise found herself pleased to have gotten Kate’s attention back.
“Did Jaqe use to do all these Christmas things?”
“No. That’s not what I meant.” Louise took a breath. “Let me try to explain this. Laurie…Laurie worries all the time that she’s not good enough. That Jaqe would have done everything so much better than her. So she tries to do all the things she believes Jaqe would have done. Do you understand?”
Kate squinted, concentrating. “But you said that Jaqe didn’t care about Christmas.”
“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think she did. But it doesn’t matter what Jaqe actually would have done. All that matters is what Laurie thinks Jaqe would have done. And not even that really. I mean, it’s like—it’s like Laurie has some kind of ideal stuck in her head. The perfect mother. I don’t know where it comes from. It certainly doesn’t come from anything she would have liked as a child. Wherever it comes from, Laurie really believes in this perfect mother. And it’s everything Laurie isn’t. So she just fights and fights against herself all the time. And on top of that she’s convinced herself that Jaqe would have done all those perfect things. So she feels doubly guilty.”
“But that’s silly,” Kate said.
“So it is,” Louise told her. “Love is usually silly. And Laurie not only loves Jaqe. She loves you. She loves you very, very much.”
Kate shrugged. “I know,” she said. She glanced out the window again, and again Louise looked and saw nothing more unusual than a few people looking in the jewelry store across the street, or going in and out of the deli a couple of doors down. She turned back to look at Kate. What a beautiful child, she thought. No wonder Laurie would do anything, give up her whole life for her. It wasn’t just Jaqe, or doing the right thing.
Not the first time, Louise wondered how much Kate knew about the custody battle after Jaqe’s death. Did she remember anything of the weeks she’d spent living with her grandparents when that damn judge granted their petition for temporary custody? Or the afternoon Mark and Laurie had driven out to the Langs’ and Laurie had pleaded with them to let Kate stay with her until the judge had decided. Louise shook her head, thinking of the hours and hours she had spent with Laurie and that Gay Alliance lawyer, looking things up, practicing testimony—only to have the judge die the night before the trial. They were all set to start over when the Langs’ lawyer called and announced that his clients had called off their case. Two years later Laurie adopted Kate as her legal daughter. Louise had always wondered if Jaqe’s parents had simply come to their senses and realized how much work it would have been to raise another child when someone else was willing (she’d almost thought “dying”) to do the job for them.
So strange, Louise thought. All of heaven and hell can battle over a child, and the kid will bounce along without the faintest idea that anything unusual has happened.
Her eyes snapped back in focus when Kate asked her, “Did Jaqe love Laurie?”
“Oh yes.”
“Was Jaqe a perfect mother?”
“Of course not. No one is.” Kate looked about to say something, but didn’t. Louise said, “Or maybe Laurie is really the perfect mother. Maybe she just doesn’t know it.”
Kate seemed to think about that for a while. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Louise smiled. “No, I guess not. I just thought I would try out the idea.”
Louise jumped at the sound of someone knocking on the window. She hadn’t even noticed anyone across the street. Kate must have known, however, because she was waving and smiling and rapping back on the window. Louise looked curiously at the child on the other side of the glass. At first glance, she thought it was a girl, but that was only because of the loose dress and open red coat. If not for the clothes, however, the short blonde hair and, well, just the shape of the excited face suggested a boy. Louise scowled to herself. She of all people should…should be beyond such simple rules. She said to Kate, “Is that a friend of yours?”
“Yes, of course,” Kate said. “It’s D—It’s Jimmy.”
“Is Jimmy in your class?”
“Umm…sure.”
Louise wanted to ask if Jimmy wore dresses in class, but she decided it might be rude. Instead, she said, “You think he’d like to come in and have some hot chocolate?”
Kate giggled for some reason but she still jumped up. “I’ll go tell him,” she said. She looked at Jimmy and pointed to the door. He nodded and the two of them ran to meet at the entrance.
As soon as Jimmy came inside, Kate whispered something to him and they both began to giggle with their hands over their mouths. Louise noticed a number of the women looking up from their conversations or their magazines or their coffees to stare at the two children. A skinny child a couple of inches taller than Kate (who herself was tall for her age), Jimmy was wearing a yellow dress with red polka dots. Red tights covered his legs, but his thin coat and suede shoes with flower patterns cut out along the sides looked more appropriate for April or May than January. He didn’t look cold, though. Warm-blooded, Louise thought.
“This is Louise,” Kate said. “She’s my mom’s best friend. They’re not lovers, though. I think they should get married, but my mom says she’s not interested.”
Louise willed herself not to blush, determined she wouldn’t let Kate’s deliberate cuteness embarrass her. Jimmy dipped in a minute curtsy. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Come sit next to me,” Kate said as she slid into the wooden booth. Quickly Jimmy followed her. They sat very close, their shoulders touching. They seemed to be holding hands under the table.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Louise asked.
Kate began to giggle again, but Jimmy just said, “No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Louise said, “Where do you live, Jimmy?”
Kate really was in a mood, because she started snickering. Louise wasn’t sure, but she thought Jimmy kicked her under the table before he answered. “On Harrison Street,” he said. Now Louise wanted to ask if his parents knew he came downtown all by himself (and dressed like that). She wondered why it was so hard to talk to children without prying. Or without making moralistic judgments she never would have approved of from anyone else. “What do your parents do?” sh
e asked, thinking how she didn’t really care, but it was the best she could come up with.
“I don’t really have parents,” Jimmy said.
“Oh,” Louise said. “I’m sorry.” Did they die? Or disown him? Or maybe he was disowning them.
Kate said, “Jimmy’s an orphan. He…he lives with his grandmother.”
“I really am sorry,” Louise said.
Jimmy said, “That’s okay. I don’t really mind anymore. It did happen a long time ago, after all.”
Louise asked, “You were very young?” Jimmy nodded. Just like Kate, Louise thought to herself. Funny she never thought of Kate as an orphan, but in a way she was. Except that Laurie loved her more than most natural parents.
Louise glanced around. More and more of the women were staring at Jimmy, some with clear hostility. She said, “Um, kids, maybe we should move on.”
Kate shrugged. “Sure.”
Outside, they all stood a moment in the chill sunlight. “Well,” Louise said, “what would you like to do? Shall we go somewhere?”
Kate said, “Can we go to your house and play dress-up?” Louise stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Kate went on, “If we go to my house, Laurie doesn’t have any fun clothes, or any makeup. You’ve got really cool stuff.”
“Thanks,” Louise said. Then she smiled. “Laurie used to have good dress-up stuff. Do you remember?”
Kate grinned back at her. “Sure. But then she gave it all to you.” They laughed. Kate turned to Jimmy. “When I started school,” she said, lifting her voice at the end in that way girls did when talking to each other, “my mom used to think she had to dress properly, like a lady. It was real funny.”
Louise broke in, “That’s not entirely fair. She just didn’t have much clothes sense. At least not for those kinds of clothes.”
Kate went on, “And she wouldn’t wear any makeup, or even girls’ shoes. She was drawing a line, she said. Finally, Louise and Mark made her stop.”
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