by Sarah Lotz
I tell her that I am.
That will make Lund even madder when he reads what I have to say. I’m not. A feminist, I mean. I’m not anything. No labels on me, no causes. Oh, I know what those ridiculous women back in that godawful place think of me. Fifteen years I lived there. They thought I was stuck-up, had ideas above my station because of where I’d come from. They also thought I was weak; meek and weak. The meek shall inherit the earth. Len could set their pulses a-flutter, of course. I’m surprised he didn’t take up with one of them. But I suppose I should be grateful he chose not to foul in the back yard.
What a life! Stuck in a backwater county with a preacher for a husband. It was not what Daddy had envisaged for me. It was hardly what I had envisaged for myself. I had ambitions, not many. Thought about maybe teaching once. I have a college degree, you know. And those women tried to interest me in all their prepping nonsense. If there is a solar flare or a nuclear war, a thousand cans of pickled turnips aren’t going to save you.
Pamela was the best of the bunch. In another life we could have been friends. Well, maybe not friends, but she wasn’t as much of a bore as the others. Wasn’t as dull or gossipy. I felt for her, living with that husband. Mean as a junkyard dog, that Jim. I liked Joanie, the daughter, too. I was rejoicing inside when she made the break, went off to see the world.
She fusses with Snookie again.
I like to think that at least Pam will have some comfort knowing that Snookie’s being taken care of.
I ask her how she met Pastor Len.
Where else? At a Bible rally. A rally in Tennessee, which is where I went to college. We met across a crowded tent. (She laughs humourlessly.) Love at first sight–for me at least. Took me years to realise that Len only found me attractive because of my other assets. All he wanted was his own church, ‘That’s what I was put on the earth to do,’ he’d say. ‘Preach the Lord’s word and save souls.’
He was a Baptist back then, so was I. He’d gone to college late, been working his way around the South. All full of fire and Jesus, worked for a time as a deacon for Dr Samuel Keller. Doubt you’ll remember him. Low level, but it looked like he was on track to be another Hagee before he got caught with his pants down in the nineties. Shit will stick and ain’t that the truth, as my daddy used to say, and after Keller was discovered canoodling with that young boy in a public convenience, Len discovered that finding another position wasn’t going to be easy, least not till all the hoo-ha calmed down. His only choice was to start up on his own. We moved around a lot, looking for the right place. Then we came to Sannah County. Daddy had just died, left me my inheritance and we bought the ranch with that. I think Len had some idea of farming on the side, but what did he know about farming?
He was a beautiful man to look at. Still is, I suppose. Knew the benefits of good grooming. Daddy wasn’t happy when I brought him home. ‘Mark my words, that boy will break your heart,’ he said.
Daddy was wrong. Len didn’t break my heart, but he sure as hell tried.
Tears start running down her cheeks, but she appears not to notice. I hand her a tissue, and she wipes her eyes absentmindedly.
Don’t mind me. I wasn’t always like this. I did believe, oh I did. No. I lost my faith when God saw fit not to give me children. That’s all I wanted. It might have been different if I could have been given that. It’s not much to ask. And Len wouldn’t consider adopting. ‘Children aren’t part of Jesus’ plan for us, Kendra.’
But I’ve got a baby now, haven’t I? Oh yes. One that needs me. Who needs to be loved. Who deserves to be loved.
She pets Snookie again, but the dog barely stirs.
Len isn’t an evil man. No. I’ll never say that. He’s a disappointed man, poisoned by thwarted ambition. He wasn’t clever enough, or charismatic enough–not till he got fire and brimstone in his eyes–not till that woman mentioned him in that message.
Sound bitter, don’t I?
I shouldn’t be mad at Pamela. I don’t blame her really. Like I say, she was a good woman. Len and I… I guess we were stagnating, had been for years, and something had to change. He had his radio show and his Bible and healing groups, he’d spent years trying to get what he called ‘the big boys’ to take notice of him. And I’ve never seen him so excited as when he got invited to that goshdarn conference. There was a part of me–the part that hadn’t died by then–that thought it might really be the making of us. But he let it all go to his head. And he really did believe in that message. He does believe in that message. People are saying he’s a charlatan, no better than those alien people or those crazy cult leaders, but that part at least isn’t an act.
I couldn’t stand it when all those people started coming to the ranch. They upset Snookie. I reckon Len thought he’d make a fortune from all the tithes they’d bring. Did it to prove to Dr Lund that he could get a loyal following, too. But none of the ones who came had any money. That Monty, for starters. I could sense him watching me sometimes. There was something wrong with the way that man’s mind was wired. I spent a lot of time in my room, watching my shows. Len tried to get me out to church on Sundays, but by then I couldn’t face it. Other times me and Snookie would just get in the car and drive and drive, not caring where we ended up.
It was bound to go sour. I told Len not to do that radio show with that smart-mouth New York man. But Len wasn’t one to listen. He didn’t like it if you contradicted him.
I knew Dr Lund was out to pull one over him eventually, and that’s what he did. Took Len’s words and used them for his own ends. Len would rage up and down, trying to get Dr Lund or that Flexible Sandy on the phone, but eventually he couldn’t even get their publicists to speak to him. It was all over the news that more and more people were getting themselves saved, and Dr Lund was taking the lion’s share of the credit. He had the contacts, you see. And when he got behind that Mitch Reynard and didn’t invite Len to speak at that pro-Israel rally, well, I have never seen Len so upset. I didn’t stick around to see his face after the story in the Inquirer came out; I left the day it was published. He denied it, just like I knew he would. But being ousted out of the big boys’ club did more damage to his self-esteem than any news story–however sensationalist–could do. In fact, I don’t doubt that Lund’s dismissal hurt Len far more than me leaving him.
It was cruel. Dr Lund opened the door a crack, let Len see into the palace, and then slammed the door on him.
She sighs.
Snookie needs his nap now. It’s time for you to go. I’ve said my piece.
Before I leave, I ask her how she feels about Len now, and a spark of anger flares in her eyes.
I haven’t got room in my heart for Len any more. I haven’t got room for anyone.
She kisses the top of Snookie’s head and I get the impression she’s forgotten I’m still here.
You’d never hurt me, would you, Snookie? No. No, you wouldn’t.
PART SEVEN
SURVIVORS
APRIL
Lillian Small.
I was living a strange half-life. Some days Reuben could communicate as clearly as I’m talking to you now, but whenever I brought something up about our old house, or one of our old friends, or a book he’d particularly enjoyed, a worried expression would fill his eyes, and they’d dart about as if he was desperately trying to access the information and coming up empty. It was as if the time before he woke up was a blank. I decided not to push him. This is hard to talk about… but the fact that he didn’t seem to recall our past together or even get our ‘Paris Texas’ joke any more–that was almost as painful as the days when Al was back.
Because some days Al would be back. I knew immediately when he woke up if it would be a Reuben or an Al day; I could see it in his eyes when I brought him his morning coffee. Bobby took the whole thing in his stride, acted the same towards Reuben whether he was himself or Al, but it took its toll on me. That uncertainty; not knowing what I was going to be facing each morning. I only asked Betsy or called th
e care agency in to help when I was sure it was going to be an Al day. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Betsy, but I couldn’t forget the way Dr Lomeier had reacted when Reuben spoke to him. I couldn’t bear the thought of what those lunatics would say if they found out about Reuben. They still wouldn’t leave us in peace. I can’t count how many times I had to hang up the phone when I realised it was one of those religious putzes, begging me to let them talk to Bobby.
And… even when it was a Reuben day, he still wasn’t quite himself. For some reason he’d developed an addiction to The View, a show he loathed before he got sick, and he and Bobby would spend hours watching old movies, though Reuben was never much of a film buff. He’d also lost interest in the news channels, even though there were all those political debates going on.
One morning, I was in the kitchen, making Bobby’s breakfast and steeling myself to wake Reuben, when Bobby came rushing in. ‘Bubbe,’ he said. ‘Po Po wants to go for a walk today. He wants to go out.’
Bobby took my hand and led me into the bedroom. Reuben was sitting on the bed, attempting to pull on his socks. ‘Are you all right, Reuben?’ I said.
‘Can we go into the city, Rita?’
That’s what he’d started calling me: Rita. After Rita Hayworth! The red hair, you see.
‘Where would you like to go?’
Bobby and Reuben exchanged glances. ‘The museum, Bubbe!’ Bobby said.
The movie Night at the Museum had been on the night before, and Bobby had been fascinated by the scenes where all the exhibits came to life. It had been an Al day, so I doubted anything about the film had seeped into Reuben’s consciousness, which was a relief as halfway through it, Bobby said, ‘The dinosaur is like you, Po Po. It’s come to life just like you did!’
‘Reuben?’ I said. ‘You think you’re up to going out today?’
He nodded, as eager as a little child. ‘Yes please, Rita. Let’s go and see the dinosaurs.’
‘Yeah! Dinosaurs!’ Bobby joined in. ‘Bubbe? Do you think they really existed?’
‘Of course, Bobby,’ I said.
‘I like their teeth. One day I’ll bring them back to life.’
Bobby’s enthusiasm was infectious, and if anyone deserved a treat, it was him. Poor little boy had been inside for days, although he never complained, not once. But the more time we spent out and about, the more likely it was that something might happen. What if we were recognised? What if one of those religious fanatics followed us and tried to kidnap Bobby? And I worried that Reuben’s strength wouldn’t hold out. His mental faculties may have been improving, but physically he tired easily.
But I put all those fears aside, and before I could change my mind, I called a taxi.
We ran into Betsy as we were leaving, and I prayed that Reuben wouldn’t say anything. Of course I’d had a million close encounters of this type, and part of me longed to talk to someone about it–I hadn’t told a soul, other than the sterile Dr Lomeier, that is. I mouthed ‘doctor’ at Betsy and she nodded, but Betsy’s smart, and I could see she knew I was hiding something.
The taxi managed to find a spot right outside our door, a blessing as I could see a few of those meshugeners with their offensive billboards gathered around the park, even at nine in the morning.
Mercifully, the taxi driver–another one of those Indian immigrants–didn’t recognise us, or if he did, he didn’t let on. I asked the driver to take us over the Williamsburg Bridge so that Reuben could see the view and oh Elspeth, I did enjoy the journey! It was a lovely clear day, so the skyline looked like it was posing for a postcard and the sun bounced off the water. I pointed out all the sights to Bobby as we zipped through Manhattan, the Chrysler building, Rockefeller Plaza, the Trump Tower, and he sat glued to the window asking me question after question. That trip cost a fortune, almost forty dollars with the tip, but it was worth it. Before we went into the museum, I asked Bobby and Reuben if they wanted a hot dog each for breakfast, and we sat and ate them in Central Park like regular tourists. Lori had brought me and Bobby here once–not to the museum, but to the park. Bobby had been grumpy that day, and the weather was freezing, but I still remember it fondly. She hadn’t stopped talking about all the commissions she was getting; she was so excited about her future back then!
Even though it was a week day, the museum was full and we had to queue for quite a while. I started feeling anxious that we’d be recognised, but most of the people around us were tourists–a lot of Chinese and Europeans. And Reuben was starting to look tired; beads of sweat were popping on his brow. Bobby was full of energy; he couldn’t keep his eyes off the dinosaur skeleton in the foyer.
The man at the ticket counter, a chatty African American fellow, did one of those double-takes when I approached him. ‘Don’t I know you, ma’am?’
‘No,’ I said, probably a bit rudely. After I paid and turned away, I heard him call, ‘Wait!’
I hesitated; worried that he was going to point out who Bobby was to the whole museum. But instead he said, ‘Could I offer you a wheelchair for your husband, ma’am?’
I could have kissed him. Everyone always says that New Yorkers are brash and self-involved, but that’s just not true.
Bobby was tugging on my hand. ‘Bubbe! The dinosaurs.’
The vendor disappeared and came back with a wheelchair. Reuben sank into it immediately. By now I was really getting worried about him. He was beginning to look confused, and I was concerned that Al might have decided to sneak back to cause trouble for us.
The ticket man guided us towards the lifts. ‘Go on, son,’ he said to Bobby. ‘You show your grandparents the dinosaurs.’
‘Do you believe that the dinosaurs come to life at night, Mr Man?’ Bobby asked him.
‘Why not? Miracles do happen, don’t they?’ And then he winked at me, and I knew for sure that he knew who we were. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep quiet. You go on and enjoy yourselves.’
We went straight up to the floor that housed the dinosaur exhibits. I had it in my mind that we’d take a quick look for Bobby’s sake, and then head straight home.
I told Bobby to stick close to me, there were crowds everywhere, and it was quite a struggle pushing our way into the first room.
Reuben looked up at me and said, ‘What am I? I’m scared.’ And then he started crying, something that he hadn’t done since he ‘came to life’, as Bobby put it.
I did my best to settle him. A few people were staring at him and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to us. And when I looked up, Bobby was gone.
‘Bobby?’ I called. ‘Bobby?’
I looked for his Yankees baseball cap, but couldn’t see it anywhere.
The panic hit like a tidal wave. I left Reuben where he was and just ran.
I pushed past people, ignoring the grunts of ‘Hey, lady, watch it,’ icy sweat pouring down my sides. ‘Bobby!’ I shouted at the top of my lungs. Images kept flashing through my head. Bobby being taken away by one of those religious types, kidnapped and made to do all kinds of terrible things. Bobby lost in New York, wandering around and…
A woman guard came rushing up to me. ‘Calm down, ma’am,’ she said. ‘You can’t shout in here.’ I could tell she thought I was deranged, and I didn’t blame her. I felt like I was losing my mind.
‘My grandson! I can’t find my grandson.’
‘Okay, ma’am,’ she said. ‘What does he look like?’
It didn’t occur to me to tell her who Bobby actually was–that he was the Bobby Small, one of The Three, the miracle child, or any of that nonsense. All of that just went out of my head and I’m glad I didn’t–the cops would have been called immediately and no doubt the whole thing would have been front-page news the next day. The guard said that she would alert the staff at the entrances and exits, just in case, but then I heard the most beautiful word in the whole world. ‘Bubbe?’
I almost fainted with relief when I saw him skipping up to me. ‘Where you been, Bobby? You frig
htened me half to death.’
‘I was with the big one. He’s got huge teeth like a wolf! But come on, Bubbe, Po Po needs us.’
Can you believe it, I had forgotten about Reuben, and we hurried back to the exhibit hall where I’d left him. Mercifully, he’d fallen asleep in the chair.
I didn’t feel safe again until we were heading home in a taxi. Thankfully Reuben was calm when he woke from his nap, and while he wasn’t himself, at least I didn’t have to deal with a full-on Al panic on top of everything else.
‘They didn’t come to life, Bubbe,’ Bobby said. ‘The dinosaurs didn’t come to life.’
‘That’s because they only come alive at night,’ Reuben said. He was back. He took my hand and squeezed it. ‘You did good, Lily,’ he said. Lily–he’d called me Lily, and not Rita.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.
‘You didn’t give up. You didn’t give up on me.’
Then I did cry. I couldn’t help it, the tears just flowed.
‘Are you okay, Bubbe?’ Bobby asked. ‘Are you sad?’
‘I’m fine. I was just worried about you,’ I said. ‘I thought I’d lost you back in that museum.’
‘You can’t lose me,’ Bobby said. ‘You really can’t, Bubbe. It’s impossible.’
This is the last recorded IM conversation between Ryu and Chiyoko.
Message logged @ 20.46, 03/04/2012
CHIYOKO: I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!!!!! How could you do this to me?????????? www.hirotalksthroughandroid/tokyoherald I hope they paid you well. I hope it was worth it.
RYU: Chiyoko! I swear, I swear it wasn’t me.
CHIYOKO: MC is furious. Android Uncle is threatening to take Hiro back to Osaka. There are reporters everywhere. I will die if I lose him. How could you do it????
RYU: It wasn’t me!