Stone Woman

by Bianca Lakoseljac

  Anna props her hands on her hips and heaves a sigh: “Helena, why don’t you go home and rest for a while? Leave it with me to talk to Liza. I could phone you, and you could come back in a few days when Liza’s had some time . . .”

  Helena clutches Anna’s arm. “I have to tell her. I promised.”

  Gently, Anna places her other hand over Helena’s. “Do you know Liza’s expecting?”

  Helena stares blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “Expecting a baby. David’s baby.”

  Helena takes a few short breaths. “Oh, my God! David never said anything.”

  “He didn’t know. Liza was looking for the right moment to tell him. Worried how he’d take it. And then he was gone.”

  Helena looks panicky. “We can’t tell her, can we?”

  Anna sighs. “If only I knew. Perhaps I could’ve stopped him from going. I tried. But you know David when he gets something in his head.”

  “And what if she finds out? You said it was on last night’s news.”

  “They said a draft dodger. Didn’t say who.”

  “But they will. As soon as they confirm with the prison. They’ll probably announce it any time now. That’s why I dropped off the envelope last night. Then I realized, how awful. I need to tell her in person. I promised him. My big brother.”

  “Oh, Helena. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so blind. I never thought . . .”

  Helena waves her hand dismissively. “It’s all over now. It’s Liza I’m worried about. I’ve got to tell her. But how?”

  Anna pulls the wicker chair away from the railing and offers it to Helena. “We’ll do it together, you and I. Wait here a minute. I’ll go in and see what she’s up to.”

  “I’m glad she has you, Anna,” Helena whispers.

  A few minutes later Anna returns and asks Helena in.

  CHAPTER 25

  HELENA BRUSHES BACK the unruly lock of her washed out blond hair from her forehead.

  “The riot erupted at the end of the day. Protesters were carted off to prison. I found David in a prison cell, with a bruised and swollen head. I insisted that he get medical care. He was checked by prison medics and taken back to his cell. I hired an attorney who specializes in defending draft dodgers. But the process was slow. A few days later, David was feeling better. The swelling on his head subsided, and we hoped for a speedy recovery. But the next day when I came to visit, he was again bloodied and bruised. He refused to tell me how it happened. A guard said a Hells Angel had discerned the Dead Head logo in David’s tattoo and was offended by it being defaced. An inmate said David was defending another inmate, a draft dodger who was attacked by a Hells Angel, and a mob of prisoners descended on them. I insisted he be taken to the hospital. Instead, they took him to the prison infirmary again. The next day, I found him back in his cell, feverish and disoriented. I called the attorney and the local newspapers. A few days later, he was dead.”

  Liza listens in silence. Every so often, Helena unfolds her arms and smoothes the fabric over her knees, and Liza is reminded that this waif of a woman, who seemed to appear from nowhere, is real. That she is the same smart-mouthed Helena who had waitressed at the Mynah Bird.

  She recalls that Helena. But this woman, this ragdoll propped against the pillow, she does not relate to. And now she finds out that Helena is David’s sister? Who had spent the last month near him, with him? While Liza lived in torment of not knowing his whereabouts or his fate.

  Since David had vanished from her life, he had remained in the forefront of her thoughts. Her daily chores, her work, conversations with Anna, carried on outside of her, at a plane never as real and immediate as him. She had trained her mind to split itself into two parts where David resided in the more immediate one. And all else was relegated to a distant consciousness.

  She will not allow David to fade into a memory and lose him — lose the sound of his voice, the scent of his skin, the feel of his arms around her. No, she cannot lose him, no. And this horrifically fantastic conversation with this pale fairy-like woman with red-rimmed eyes is making her nauseous.

  Liza is outside of her own body, observing the three women sitting in her living room and chatting. There is Helena telling her fairy tales. The stone-faced Anna — dear reliable and trustworthy Anna. And there is Liza — it is me, has to be, for the anguish I feel could be no one else’s. Liza is now fascinated with this ability to view herself in conversation with the other two women. Anna gets up and brings a fresh pot of tea — dear Anna, always ready to offer advice and solve problems over a pot of tea.

  How strange it is to observe my own self, Liza thinks. She sees herself pouring tea into her cup. She is raising the cup to her lips. She hears Anna cautioning her that the tea is too hot and she should let it cool. Her lips are now burning, then her throat. The cup falls from her hand and breaks into two, then three segments that remind her of the shards David chipped away from the white stone block he had been carving into a sculpture, the one he had been working on the day she had surprised him in his makeshift studio in Parkdale, that abandoned shack overgrown with shrubbery, and chickens-and-hens thriving on the roof, and blooming goldenrod in the cracks of the foundation. Liza picks up the shard with a handle still attached and brings it to her lips, eager to taste the warm tea with honey that would soothe her and reassure her that the anguish lodged in her chest is a dream, a hallucination, and when she wakes up, David will be there, next to her, his arms around her. She presses her lips against the broken china, and the red drops of liquid drip down her white blouse.

  Anna crouches next to Liza. “Please give me that broken cup, Liza. Please let go of it. You’re cutting yourself; you’re bleeding.”

  Liza lays her hand on Anna’s and gently pushes it away. The touch she craves is David’s. She has the urge to caress him, to run her palm along his unshaven cheeks, to bring her lips to his. She passes her hand along the edge of the shard and the red liquid drips and pools in her palm. Then both women are kneeling next to Liza, unclenching her fingers from the broken china.

  Liza sees herself from some distant point above, shielded from the gut-wrenching anguish of missing David.

  Anna and Helena exchange looks of alarm. Anna dials the ambulance. Helena wraps her arm around Liza’s shoulders. “You’ve got your baby to think about.”

  After the phone call Anna wets a napkin and swabs the blood off Liza’s lips. She wipes the blood off her jeans. She heads for the washroom, picks up another towel, and resumes cleaning the blood off Liza’s clothing.

  Liza gazes into the red drops on her blue jeans resembling the purple flowers David had picked at the Center Island and placed on her lap.

  Looking into Anna’s kind brown eyes as large as ripe sunflower heads, Liza is suddenly grateful. She does not like the slippery feel of the purple stain on her jeans as if she would slide off it into an abyss, into the cold lonely prison cell where David is no longer. If she had only been there, could she have kept him safe? Could she have prevented the beatings?

  Helena’s silky voice recounting David’s death has smudged Liza’s reality into a slick red puddle where all is surreal. Why had he left without a word? Her head is spinning and she is drifting into his prison cell to be near him, to hold him and to free him and to escape back to the safety of home, back to Toronto and his great bed with the black wrought iron headboard and the Dutchman’s pipe blossoms among the green leaves above. Liza had paid the rent for his apartment so he would have it upon his return and it is as he had left it: his bread maker ready for a fresh loaf; his juicer waiting to concoct piña coladas, the elixirs of life as he called them; and the rattan basket still hanging from the rafter on the patio where she had magically turned into a sunray — the basket now glazed in frost. And it would all come to life upon his return, like the castle cursed by the evil spell and overgrown in thorns waiting to burst into bloom upon the return of the prince w
ho would plant his magic kiss on the charmed princess’ lips. And things would be back to the way they were. You and I, Liza, we’re for good. We’re real, his reassuring voice whispers in her thoughts. Liza nods in agreement. Yes, David will be back, yes.

  From her purse, Helena takes a small bundle loosely wrapped in a red bandana. She unwraps it slowly to reveal a round blue button with a white dove behind the black wire mesh — a Pentagon Peace Button. She pins it on Liza’s white blouse. “David wore this button. It’s a symbol of peace, a dove imprisoned in the Pentagon. I wear mine in memory of David. In honour of our soldiers who died in Vietnam. And the Vietnamese who died fighting for their freedom.”

  Liza caresses the button with her fingertips and feels the bird behind the wire mesh flapping its wings, trying to escape. She wills the dove to soar to freedom, but how? She is as helpless as the dove, her limbs flailing like the bird’s wings, red liquid painting the white feathers, and she sees a deputy’s baton hitting the dove, again and again, and the dove falls, and lays there on the cold prison floor trashing about, and is finally still.

  Anna and Helena exchange worried glances and Anna wishes she could ask Liza to get up from the sofa so she could check for haemorrhaging.

  “Best to leave her for now. The ambulance will be here any minute,” Helena says, as though some universal women’s intuition had kicked in. And the seconds tick on and fill the room with a fog of apprehension.

  The doorbell rings. Anna springs up. “Thank goodness they’re here.”

  She opens the door and guides the two paramedics toward Liza. “She’s pregnant, four-and-a-half months. She’s beside herself with grief. She’s cut herself on her hands and lips. Could be haemorrhaging as well.”

  The paramedics ask Liza a few routine questions to which she is able to answer clearly. When they return to the ambulance for a gurney, Anna helps her to sit up on the sofa — a small puddle of blood is on the cushion and a large wet blotch on Liza’s jeans. Anna’s jaws clench with fear that Liza could lose the baby.

  Anna picks up Liza’s purse from the hallway stand. “I’ll take your bag. To make sure you have everything on you. Your health card and all your things.” She turns to the paramedic. “Can we come with you?”

  “There is room for only one more in the ambulance.”

  Helena picks up her jacket. “You go, Anna. I’ll call a cab and be there in no time.”

  Anna pulls out a hair band from her jean pocket and, while tying Liza’s hair into a ponytail, says: “Won’t you stay here at the house, Helena? We’ll be back shortly. And it would be lovely to spend some time together.”

  Liza reaches for Helena’s hand. “Yes, Helena. If you could.”

  Helena nods. “I’ll find my way around the kitchen. Supper will be on the table.” They exchange glances of heartfelt kinship they know would be lifelong.

  The paramedics wheel the gurney to the ambulance and, while they make some last minute adjustments, Anna gently brushes Liza’s bangs off her forehead. “You’re in good hands.”

  * * *

  As the ambulance drives off, Helena follows it with her eyes until it turns around the curve and disappears from sight. The fear Liza could lose the baby is making her dizzy. She returns to the house, closes the door, and drops down on her knees. “God, I’ve been an atheist for as long as I remember, but if you keep Liza and David’s child safe, I’ll be as devout as a Baptist. Hell, I’ll even become a Baptist.”

  Why would the notion of being Baptist show ultimate devotion to God? She is not sure. But at this moment, it feels right.

  * * *

  In the ambulance, Liza is suddenly sleepy, as if she’d been on a long journey without rest. The siren’s wail is a distant lullaby. The paramedic’s repetition of the questions she’d already answered is an intrusion on her want of silence. David’s words, You and I, Liza, we’re for good, drift through her thoughts. And the more the paramedic persists on keeping her awake, the more she yearns to succumb to the lull of the siren-lullaby. But before she can submerge into that feathery softness of sleep where the allure of make-believe replaces the harshness of reality, she is slid onto a hospital bed and wheeled down the twisting corridors. Through the flurry of voices, Anna’s words — “Everything will be alright, Liza” — guide the way.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE RINGING OF the phone is a welcome relief from

  pacing the floor and worrying about Liza’s visit to emergency.

  “Liza’s doing well,” Anna says. “They cleaned the cuts and they’re not too deep. And the baby’s fine. But she’ll stay overnight for observation.”

  The glow of hopefulness in Anna’s voice is more telling than the words, and Helena feels it seeping into her core and illuminating her from within. She hangs up and clasps her face in her hands. “God, I’ll do anything. I’ll trade my life for Liza and the baby.” She makes the sign of the cross for the first time since she was a child.

  Helena is not accustomed to the ritual of crossing herself — it’s for church goers and old relatives, and it makes her feel ancient. She feels worn down. Every joint hurts as if grief has poisoned her blood and infected her flesh. The events of last summer and fall — her mother’s death and then David’s — this lifetime worth of sorrow weighs on her like a mountain.

  She stands by the stove, shoulders slumped, and slowly stirs the stew with a wooden spatula. She found a package of stewing beef in the fridge and is cooking a nourishing meal for Liza and Anna. Outside, the afternoon sun and the quick rise in temperature have melted the ice, and the only evidence of the storm are the shrivelled up impatiens and petunia. She picked a handful of sage in the herb garden just outside the kitchen door and chopped it into the stew. The few leaves left on the cutting board remind her how the suede foliage with pungent fragrance is resilient to early frost — the hardiness against the cold, this determination to survive.

  The sunshine is pouring through the window, and the kitchen is infused with the fragrance of stew and sage — and she wonders whether people have ever been able to truly appreciate the precious nature of their ephemeral existence. How simple acts, such as preparing meals or eating dinner, gain significance only when they can no longer be shared with those who matter, with those who give meaning to seemingly routine tasks.

  The many arguments she and David had over the years loom large and she regrets the tension they’d gone through — like an arrow pulled back waiting to be shot. She never expected the arrow to be pointed at David instead of her.

  Yet, what would David say if he saw her now, despairing in her grief? He would certainly lecture her, or at least she would take it as a lecture, using his authority of an older sibling — she would’ve seen it that way in the past.

  He had insisted that she complete her degree in visual arts. That she quit her menial jobs and focus on her studies. He was particularly cross about her waitressing at Yorkville bars. Money was not the issue. They had a generous inheritance at their disposal.

  David had always been the pillar she could lean on, but a strange man in many ways. A loner. He did not see that after their mother’s death she needed his support. Feeling abandoned, she drifted between waitressing jobs, took every “street” drug she could get her hands on, and threw herself into the arms of every man she felt even mildly attracted to.

  David was furious. She saw it as payback for not sharing the pain of their loss. Now she realizes, the only person she has been hurting is herself.

  And she finally sees how wrong she has been about Anna. For a long while, she felt that Anna acted as if she owned David. Helena felt pushed out of David’s life. She felt that Anna was possessive of Liza as well. But now Helena sees it differently. She is grateful that Liza has Anna’s friendship.

  She plugs in the kettle for a cup of tea. A billow of steam begins to rise, and Helena feels something changing in her. Shifting. Expanding. Rearranging. As if a water
balloon were rising from her stomach, swishing up through her diaphragm and lodging itself between her lungs. Her heart is pounding against this swelling in her chest. And with each heartbeat, the swelling grows, filling every crevice. Helena is elated about the new arrangement of organs inside of her, about the new life she feels part of her, the new life Liza is carrying, the miraculous new being that is David’s child. She is euphoric. Filled with love. Pure, miraculous, ecstatic love.

  Helena closes her eyes and in her mind’s eye gleans a meandering path, opening up and stretching into infinity. A sense of lightness washes over her as if she were carried on a warm wind high above, observing the future unfold. The insight that all will be well, supplants all else. She had forgotten what it was like to be at peace — and suddenly it happens. She is calm as if David were back in her life. Everything will be alright. You hear me, David? Listen carefully my bro. You’re gonna be a dad! That angel of yours, Liza, is carrying your child!

  * * *

  After visiting emergency, Liza is advised by the doctor to take some time off work as a precaution for her baby. For the first few days, she remains in bed and welcomes being pampered by Helena’s motherly care while Anna is at work. Helena has taken over David’s apartment and would stay until the baby’s birth.

  To Liza, Helena’s presence is prophetic, and her likeness to David at once comforting and painful. Comforting, when she glimpses a reflection of his smile in hers, that glimmer of determination in her eyes when she talks about the demonstrations, and the ironic smirk of the upper lip when she condemns the evils of war. Painful when Helena wraps her arms around her in a consoling embrace and Liza inhales a whiff of a cigarette, the same brand as David’s, or when Helena reads one of his letters to her.

  Unable to sleep and refusing to take the prescribed sedative for fear it might harm the baby, she finds consolation in Helena’s talk about David. Helena talks about the letters David had written to Liza while in prison. He had given the letters to a guard for mailing. But the guard had been pro war and resented the draft dodgers. Learning David had worked with the Canadian antiwar groups and had them transported to the demonstrations had inflamed the guard’s wounded patriotism. He saw David as a communist traitor, and instead of mailing the letters he threw them in the garbage bin.