by Joan Dempsey
They both fell silent. Ludka crossed the room, took his hand, and bit into the sausage. The spicy congealed fat coated the roof of her mouth, and for a moment she regretted her decision to eat it, but then the fat began to melt and the fennel seeds released their pungent licorice. She was suddenly ravenous and selected a whole sausage for herself. She leaned against the counter next to Izaac and settled into the relief that being home will bring after a long night in the emergency room.
“This violence is too familiar, kochanie, a harbinger. It’s one thing to take over school boards, quite another to …” He backhanded the air with a vicious jab, shook his head, and then noticed with surprise he was still holding the sausage. “And it’s certainly possible this goes beyond the school boards: town councils, state representatives, senators. This smacks of careful orchestration. Maybe they’re in office right now!”
“But already Lolek would know this. You would know this! This is some hooligans only, a coincidence.”
“Coincidence? You can’t be serious. They called him a Sodomite, Ludka. Not any of the other derogations they might have chosen. What does that tell you?”
They fell silent again, Ludka trying not to think about a harbinger, Izaac thinking with longing about synagogue, a bewildering notion after so many years of disbelief. They finished their sausages. Izaac licked his fingers and went to the sink to wash his hands.
“Those police officers were so respectful. The hospital staff, too. No different than they’d treat us. I was frankly a bit surprised.”
Ludka twisted her engagement and wedding rings, both thin and loose after so many years of wear.
“Do you maybe wonder, Izaac?”
Izaac glanced over at her as he shook the water off his hands. He took the dishtowel off the oven handle.
“Do you maybe wonder if Tommy has done something we do not know? If there was merit at all in dismissal?”
Izaac froze, holding the dishtowel.
“No, I do not, Ludka, and neither should you. Tommy is a fine lad. Period. We know him.”
“We are grandparents only. And gay man’s life can be … there is sin.”
Izaac frowned. “I hope you’re not seriously listening to Father Skurski. Or any other damned Catholics for that matter. This is Tommy we’re talking about.”
“Damned Catholics saved your life, old man! Do not belittle us! This homosexual issue is a conflict in the church. You know this. It is no trifle. Many believe it is a sin.”
“This homosexual issue? I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Next you’ll be quoting Leviticus! It’s late. I’m going to bed.”
Izaac walked out. Ludka covered the plate of sausages with the plastic and returned it to the fridge. It annoyed her when Izaac haughtily took the high road, as if he never had a doubt in his life, as if her own doubts were to be thoroughly dismissed without his usual scrutiny. He always walked away when he’d had enough, and more often than not she followed, despite the futility of pestering him. When Izaac was done, he was done, and no amount of cajoling could reengage him. She had to admit it was often a wise move; when she got wound up she could be brutally unreasonable. Still, she hurried out now, unwilling to let him have the last word. Izaac was kneeling, one knee on the hearth, a flowered throw pillow bunched between the stone and his knee. He reached carefully up into the fireplace to pull closed the damper. His cardigan hung loose on either side of his hips, brushing against the stone, and his spine poked a knobby ridge through the thin wool. The sight of the scrunched pillow protecting his bony knee took all the fight out of her. The damper swung shut with a thump and a sprinkling of creosote. Ludka climbed the stairs as Izaac went around to turn off the lights. On the fifth step, Ludka stopped. Gripping the handrail, she peered over her shoulder for a moment at the Musialowicz. At its base: the eye of providence, surrounded by golden rays of light. Always she was concerned about what she might not see.
It wasn’t until she was under the covers, working her feet across each other to warm them, eyes closed and mind finally settling as she listened to the hum of Izaac’s electric toothbrush, that she realized the bedroom door had been standing open. She was certain she had closed it behind Stanley. Her eyes flew open.
12
At Mercy
Lolek drove the speed limit along the dark and nearly deserted Mass Pike, his plush town car too quiet and smooth for his mood. Sand and salt had been strewn across the road, creating wet patches that threw up a fine white mist that gradually and repeatedly coated the windshield.
He felt around on the passenger seat for his cell phone and put it on speaker. Marta’s cell went straight to voice mail again, the tinny recording too loud in the car. He dialed their home phone and after six rings was about to hang up, but this time Marta answered, saying hello in a perfectly ordinary voice, as if it were the middle of the day and she was expecting a friend to phone.
“At least the ER doctor had the decency to call me back.”
“I just got home, Lolek.” She sounded tired. “I was about to call you, honestly. There was a lot going on. He’ll be fine, though, he’s okay.”
“I had to hear it from Wendy Chen at Channel 7, for Christ’s sake. She was already at the hospital, looking for a comment. What the hell happened? Abe called me earlier and said everything went as expected.”
“Tommy thinks they might have followed him home from the meeting. Thank God they didn’t have guns.”
“But Abe said they kept it under wraps, that no one knew.”
“Well somebody knew. Obviously!”
Lolek pressed the accelerator. He ran the wipers, flooded the windshield with fluid, and cleared off the salt.
“What about the media? I told Chen I’d get back to her.”
Marta sighed loudly enough that she could have been sitting in the passenger seat.
“If you must know, she’s not the only one camped outside emergency, waiting for the senate president to appear. I suppose that seals it for you. Get in your sound bite for the morning news.”
“It’s possible, you know, for me to care about our son and my job at the same time.”
Marta didn’t respond.
“How is he?”
“Terrified. Two broken ribs, a nasty laceration on his left cheek, another cut that narrowly missed his right eye, a concussion, and so far, thank God, no internal bleeding.”
Now he was pushing eighty-five, and the scored white lines on the highway flashed past like an old film at the end of its reel. He eased up on the gas. Getting pulled over wouldn’t help. When the car slowed to seventy-two, he engaged the cruise control.
“It’s advantageous for Tommy if I address the media, Marta, you know that. Can you talk me through what you know?”
Marta was quiet for a moment and then she said, “I am not going to talk you through anything, not this time. I am not your chief of staff. Besides, Maria Rose is on her way here from the hospital. I have to go make up her bed.”
“You called Maria Rose?”
“Tommy called her. He wanted his sister there.”
“But not his father, apparently.”
“He would have welcomed his father. He didn’t want the senate president, or his entourage.”
Lolek winced and rubbed his forehead, then smacked the steering wheel with the meat of his hands. He threw out his right arm and gestured angrily around at the empty car.
“There’s no entourage here, Marta, it’s just me. Just me, driving like a fucking maniac to get to the hospital to find out what’s going on because my wife wouldn’t return my calls!”
A semi gained on him from behind, and he flipped his rear-view mirror to redirect the glaring headlights that flooded the car. The truck pulled out into the passing lane, and Lolek gripped the wheel more tightly to fight against the undertow of rushing air. Marta started to say something else, but the oncoming truck roared.
“Hang on a minute,” he yelled. “I can’t hear you.”
With a slap of spr
ay from the tires, the truck was past, and in the sudden darkness from the deserted highway behind him, in the truck’s quieting wake, Lolek felt an immense sadness at the tone of the conversation with his wife. He imagined sitting at the kitchen table over cups of coffee, or maybe some Armagnac, hearing the whole story and talking late into the wee hours. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that. He tapped the brake to disengage the cruise control and took the exit to 91 North.
“Marta? Honey?”
“Maria Rose just pulled in. Go to Mercy. I’ll see you when you get back.”
She clicked off. His fingers ached and he let his hands drop to his lap, loosely held the bottom of the wheel. The cell phone beeped to indicate the dropped call. He picked it up and punched in the shortcut for Aggie’s number. She answered immediately.
“I’m about fifteen minutes from the hospital, Aggs. What’s next?”
Tommy and Robert had the lights turned low in the hospital room, the TV off, and were grateful no one was in the other bed. Tommy’s head had been pounding, but the Vicodin was finally taking hold, giving him a hopeful glimpse of a rest that might come. He touched the bandage covering his stitched left cheek, and Robert told him to leave it alone. A hematoma had spread beyond the borders of the bandage, filled his left eye, and leaked across to blend with the lesser bruise from the cut between his eyes, which the nurse had sealed with a Steri-Strip. Robert scooted his chair closer. He poured water into a paper cup from a mauve plastic pitcher on the nightstand and offered it to Tommy, who took a few sips and gave it back. Robert lowered his head to the bed and rested his forehead on the rough cotton sheet. He reached for Tommy’s hand and held on. Tommy wanted to lean over to stroke Robert’s hair, but pain from his ribs kicked him back. He held his breath against the pain, then closed his eyes and cautiously exhaled. Urgent energy had fueled him up to this point, but over the last hour it had finally started to wane; in its place was a growing dread.
“Robert?”
Tommy’s voice broke. Robert sat up, immediately alert, a muscle pulsing in his taut jaw.
“What is it, Tom, should I get a nurse?”
“No, no, it’s not that, I’m okay. It’s just …”
He swallowed hard.
“It’s just I can’t stop wondering about those kids.”
“What kids?”
“The superintendent said they didn’t feel safe, that they were ‘at risk.’ He said they felt like I shut them out.”
“Oh, Tom, don’t let them get to you.”
“But they are getting to me. They are. If those kids felt ostracized because of anything I did—”
The door opened. Lolek rushed in, bringing with him the smell of winter air and leather car seats and warm cashmere. In an instant, he took in the startled way Tommy and Robert had moved apart, and then, at the sight of Tommy sitting up in the bed, every bit of tension he’d been holding abruptly snapped loose and drained away in one grateful exhalation.
“Oh, Tommy, thank God.”
Robert moved aside, and Lolek laid a tentative hand on Tommy’s head and studied the wound beneath the Steri-Strip and his blood-filled eye.
“They did a number on you, didn’t they? What the hell happened? What did they say about the concussion? Your mother said they were worried about bleeding. Christ. What kind of bastards would do such a thing?”
“Calm down, Dad, it’s fine. I’m going to be fine.”
Lolek took a step back, his chest and shoulders lifting as he took a deep breath. He looked around the room as if to get his bearings.
“Hi, Robert. How you holding up?”
He shook Robert’s hand, then pulled off his overcoat, folded it carefully, and draped it over the back of the chair Robert had been sitting in. Robert and Tommy exchanged a glance.
“Can I get you some coffee, Senator? I was just about to go get some for myself.”
Tommy asked for a bottle of cold water.
“The stuff in this pitcher tastes like plastic. It’s giving me a headache.”
“Ha ha,” said Robert.
Lolek tried to decide whether Robert wanted an excuse to get away or was simply being kind, giving him some space to be alone with Tommy. He couldn’t tell. Robert had always been perfectly pleasant, but wasn’t what you’d call forthcoming. In truth, Lolek had learned more about Robert on the Web in the past week than he had in the six years Tommy and Robert had been together. He’d known Robert was a competent attorney, but he’d been surprised to see he’d argued a case in front of the state supreme court.
“Coffee would be great, Robert, thank you.”
Robert closed the door behind him, and Lolek leaned over and grasped the back of the chair, working his hips left to right.
“You okay, Dad?”
Lolek straightened up and nodded.
“So what happened? What did the doctor say?”
Tommy told him about the meeting and the attack, and when he got to the part about being clubbed with the Maglite, Lolek had to sit down.
“Even while it was happening, I had the clear thought they expected to kill me. I don’t know what would have happened if Robert hadn’t interrupted them. The police wanted to do a composite when they got here, but the doctor wouldn’t allow it because of the concussion, said there was no way could I sort through fifty sets of facial features. I’m sure they thought they’d blinded me with light, but I did see one of them. I think I could describe him—maybe if I saw him again, I’d recognize him, but it happened so fast I can’t be sure.”
While Tommy had been telling his story, Lolek had been taking mental notes, determining what to share with the media, what not to share. In his pocket, his cell phone had been vibrating every few minutes, but he studiously ignored it. While Lolek was brilliant at appearing completely attentive with his mind occupied backstage, and most people in the course of his day didn’t notice, Tommy had always been sensitive to anything that smacked of inauthenticity. He was staring at Lolek right now, in fact, expectantly, as if he’d asked a question, which he very well might have done. Lolek was about to confess that his mind had wandered when Tommy sighed and closed his eyes.
“Did you already address them on the way in?”
“I came straight here, truly.”
“Did you get the sound bite you came for?”
Lolek stood up and walked over to the door, peered out through the small reinforced window. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, unaware that he was copying Izaac’s posture. Across the hall, a man about his own age was being fitted with electrodes for an EKG.
“I’m right here, Tommy.”
“Are you, Dad? Did you catch the bit where they called me a Sodomite? That’s the one I’d recommend you use.”
Lolek turned around, but Tommy’s eyes were still closed.
“Good sound bites helped get you and your partner a whole lot of legal protections you wouldn’t otherwise have, so don’t give me that. I’ve championed every gay rights bill that’s come across my desk and you know it.”
“Husband.”
“What’s that?”
“Robert is my husband, Dad, not my partner. It’s about time you knew.”
Lolek stopped breathing. He frowned, his lips parted. Tommy opened his eyes but focused only on the ceiling. Lolek’s eyes roved rapidly back and forth over Tommy’s ruined face, from white bandage to bloody eye and back again.
“Your husband. You’re married?”
“Almost a year.”
Lolek took a deep breath and rubbed a finger hard over his lips, cleared some gummy spittle from the corners. Behind him he heard the thud of a soft kick on the door and there was Robert in the window. Lolek opened the door and Robert came in, a water bottle tucked under his arm, a cup of coffee in each hand.
Lolek felt a sudden pain in his jaw and realized how hard he was clenching his teeth. He massaged his jaw. Robert glanced from Tommy to Lolek and back to Tommy.
“Okay there, Tom?” Tommy nodde
d and closed his eyes again.
Lolek retrieved his coat, took the coffee from Robert, and, without another glance at either of them, walked out, carefully closing the door behind him. Across the hall, the man sat alone under fluorescent lights, electrodes snaking out the neck and sleeves of his johnny. Lolek strode down the hall and, just outside the waiting area, ducked into an oversized bathroom, locked the door behind him, and stood there, breathing audibly. Next to the toilet was a metal grab bar and a pull cord for summoning help. Lolek hung his coat on the back of the door. He tried to peel the sipping lid off the cup, but the whole thing popped off, sloshing hot coffee over his hand.
“For Christ’s sake,” he spat through clenched teeth.
He flung the lid into the open waste can and shook his hand over the low-slung sink. He took a drink of the coffee, grimaced, poured it down the drain, and filled the cup with cold water, which tasted like chlorine, damp paper, and cheap coffee. He crushed the cup and threw it hard into the garbage, then grabbed the sides of the sink and held on.
Lolek had learned a lot about Tommy and Robert over the past week, but not this news. He had hardly dared to consider what he might find by digging around in his son’s life, but what he’d found was mostly pedestrian: season tickets to the Amherst Theatre Company, a rented cottage in Provincetown last summer, and apparently two weeks in Guatemala three years ago, volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. The most disturbing thing Lolek had learned was that he hadn’t known about these ordinary things.
He turned on the hot water and let it run, pumped some liquid soap and washed his hands thoroughly, pumped some more and scrubbed a second time. His phone went off again and he let it go to voice mail. He left the water running while he dried his hands, then used the paper towels to shut off the faucets. He shrugged into his coat, put on his gloves, and stood there, holding the door handle. He closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to block out the image of a justice of the peace in some anonymous office, two friends standing in as witnesses. Or a wedding march, tuxedos, an intimate gathering sworn to secrecy.
How could he not have known his own son was married? How could Tommy have kept it from him, and for a whole year? Senator Zeilonka, champion of the successful effort to legalize same-sex marriage, son of a Massachusetts civil rights legend, favored MassEquality legislator for his perfect voting record …