Angel of Mercy

by Andrew Neiderman

  In his bedroom he stood before the dresser mirror staring at himself. He recalled standing before the mirror after he had hit thirty, searching his face for the telltale signs of age. It was terrifying then, but something happened when he reached forty and fifty: he started to think of himself as well-preserved, one of the lucky ones who didn’t show age. Even now, even after all that had happened, he didn’t look his age.

  But he had to live a different sort of life now, and he was afraid that it had been the work that had kept him looking and feeling young. As long as he remained around younger people, around activity, as long as he had to be sharp and strong and quick, he would be so, but like a wild animal in the zoo, he could lose that edge, forget how to hunt, forget all that had to be done to survive, and before long, he would look his age, look like a man who carried a pacemaker and then …

  That’s what growing old means, he suddenly thought. It means hating the truth. No wonder that old lady could understand Sam Murray committing suicide. The truth was too heavy a burden. Was he plodding along looking for some evil force, maybe just to give himself something to do? Perhaps the truth itself was the evil force and the truth could be hunted and cornered but never captured, never locked away. It was the one monster from which everyone wanted to flee at one time or another. He was fleeing it now, pretending the heart problem hadn’t occurred, wasn’t he?

  He sighed. Then he slipped into the Bermuda shorts and polo shirt and put on his sandals and his sunglasses. Maybe he would take up golf after all, he thought. He went out to wait for the arrival of his son and daughter-in-law.

  11

  Susie paused at the Kaufmans’ door and checked again to be sure the pills were in the left pocket of her uniform. Then she pressed the buzzer and waited.

  “Coming,” she heard Tillie call. The Kaufmans had just finished their early dinner and Tillie was still tidying up. She came to the door with a dish towel in her hand. “Oh, Susie, hello,” Tillie said. Susie eyed the towel.

  “Faye told me that you needed to have some cleaning done. You’re not doing it yourself, are you, Tillie?”

  “Oh no. Just finishing my dishes. I can’t do the heavy cleaning. It’s so hard for me now with Morris sick. He runs me ragged as it is and by the time …”

  “It’s okay. I have a little time now,” Susie said quickly as she stepped into the apartment. She had been in here before to clean. She knew where everything was kept and went directly to the closet in the kitchen, Tillie trailing behind.

  “I heard your sister go out last night. By the time I looked out, she was already in her car and backing away. Was it an emergency?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Susie said, not offering any more information.

  “I thought so. I told Morris, but he said I exaggerated. An accident? A heart attack?”

  “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, Tillie, I don’t discuss my sister’s patients. Medical information is personal. Some people don’t like other people knowing what’s wrong with them.”

  “Sickness makes you ashamed,” Tillie Kaufman agreed, nodding.

  Susie took out the sponge mop and pail and went to the sink.

  “You think the floor needs it?”

  “Of course it does,” Susie said. She paused and grimaced when she looked at the counter and saw the remnants of a pastrami on rye.

  “Who ate that?”

  Tillie looked away guiltily.

  “Morris?”

  “He ordered it and had it delivered before I even knew,” she confessed. “He ate so much, he had to go lie down a minute. Don’t tell your sister. She’ll yell.”

  “She might; she might not. I know she’s disgusted with him,” Susie began to do the floor. Twenty minutes later, she was out in the living room dusting and straightening up. Before she was finished, Morris came out of the bedroom and plopped himself down in the La-Z-Boy.

  “I can watch television while you work?”

  “I’m finished in here,” Susie said. “I’ll do your bedroom now.”

  “When I was a young man, I had beautiful girls like you do my bedroom all the time,” he said under his breath, and he laughed. Susie turned on him.

  “What kind of talk is that with your wife in the apartment,” she snapped, her face flushed.

  “Just talk,” he said, shrugging. “What do you think I can do now, more than talk?”

  “You’re incorrigible,” Susie said. Morris laughed.

  “When you’re my age, you can’t be anything else.”

  Susie left him and gazed in at Tillie, who was shining silverware in the kitchen.

  “I can do that for you when I’m finished with the bedroom and the bathroom,” Susie said.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got to keep busy,” Tillie said.

  Susie left her and went to the bedroom. She started to vacuum the rug and the windowsills and then paused when her gaze fell on Morris Kaufman’s pill bottle beside the bed. She listened for a moment and then took the pill bottle and went into the bathroom. She dumped the contents into the toilet and replaced it quickly with the pills in her pocket, pills that were too close in appearance for Morris or Tillie to note the difference. Then she returned the pill bottle to the table and went back to her work.

  Nearly two and a half hours later, she returned to her apartment to take a shower. Faye had gone out to do some errands, but Susie suspected she was making plans for them to leave Palm Springs. It saddened her. Just when she finally got used to a place, Faye would decide they had to pick up and go. And she always blamed it on her, blamed it on her good work. But then Faye had a way of making her feel guilty for anything that went wrong in their lives, even Mommy’s death, although she never had come right out and said it, exactly. She didn’t have to; Susie understood what Faye was implying all the time—that she was a big burden for their parents because of her handicap and her introverted personality.

  “All they did was worry and worry about you,” Faye once told her when she was angry. “It was like having a daughter who never grew past twelve.”

  She sighed and sat thinking about her life and all of the places they had been together. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was the main reason why Faye hadn’t ever found someone to love her and marry her. Her husband-to-be would have to be willing to marry Susie as well, take her into their lives, too. She thought it was going to happen years ago when Faye began dating that young doctor, Daniel Matthews. He didn’t even know she was around because she never interfered, never burst in on them when they were together. She kept herself in the background and gave Faye a chance. Faye admitted she was in love with him. She wanted to marry him.

  But then he found out about Susie and he started to retreat from Faye. Before he could actually come out and tell her he was no longer interested in her, he had that terrible automobile accident and they discovered he had taken too many amphetamines. That was just another thing Faye blamed on her.

  She sighed. It really wasn’t fair to Faye. One day, someday soon, I have to pick up and leave, Susie thought, so my sister can have a normal life.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Frankie suggested after dinner.

  “After what you ate, Frankie Samuels, you’d better take a walk,” Jennie said.

  Everyone got up and the family sauntered out, Frankie and Stevie in front, Jennie, Beth and Laurel holding up the rear. Frankie felt good with his family around him like this. Maybe Jennie was right; maybe he would grow used to a calmer, slower pace and in doing so begin to enjoy the things only civilians enjoyed.

  A pleasantly warm breeze enveloped them. Above, the desert twilight sky was painted with long strokes of pink and light blue. There was barely any traffic on their street and what there was moved at a relaxed pace. Occasionally they came upon other pedestrians walking their dogs or themselves as if they had eternity at their disposal.

  “Mom pulled me aside before,” Stevie said.

  “I saw. Another conspiracy.”

  “She�
��s very worried that you’re not taking all this well. She wanted me to tell you that a branch that doesn’t bend …”

  “Breaks, I know.” Frankie sighed. “You know what it’s like, Stevie? It’s like getting into a hot bath. You don’t just jump in. You ease yourself in. That’s all I want to do. She doesn’t have to worry.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Dad. We’re very proud of you.”

  “Even Beth?”

  “You’d be surprised at what she says behind your back.”

  Frankie laughed and paused to look back. He watched Beth and Laurel saunter along behind. Beth had put on one of her simple print dresses, but one piece still hung wide and loose, reminding him of something his grandmother used to wear. She wore no make-up, save a thin layer of lipstick, no earrings, no necklaces or bracelets. Her watch was one of those big-faced, masculine-looking timepieces, and she clumped along in a pair of thick-heeled black shoes. Could she possibly look at herself in the mirror and think she was attractive? he wondered.

  Beside her, Laurel strutted with a model’s elegance. Her shoulder-length blond hair lay softly over her shoulders. Its rich, thick strands were alluring, filling him, as he imagined it did most men, with an urge to run his fingers through the golden locks for what would definitely be a most pleasing tactile experience. Every once in a while, Laurel raised her cerulean eyes toward him and flashed that gentle smile that warmed his heart. Stylishly dressed in a close-fitting light-blue cotton-knit dress and matching shoes, she drew glances and gazes from nearly every driver and passenger in the cars cruising down the street, as well as from every other pedestrian. She wore a pair of pink and turquoise native American handcrafted earrings and a matching necklace. Her watch was a woman’s Rolex.

  Remarkably, despite the differences in their lifestyles, Beth and Laurel got along pretty well. Although Laurel never joined Beth in her protests, she sympathized and agreed with most everything Beth believed and said. Laurel was the one Beth had turned to when her marriage fell apart. Stevie handled the divorce, but Laurel handled Beth.

  Frankie and Stevie walked on.

  “So what’s this case you started the moment you got home from the hospital?” Stevie asked, quoting Jennie.

  “No big deal. A man in his sixties allegedly committed suicide.”

  “Allegedly?”

  “Everything’s allegedly to me until I’m positive beyond a doubt.”

  “What’s your supervisor think?”

  “You know what I think of him and what he thinks.”

  “Yeah, but?”

  “You don’t want to draw attention to suicides committed by older people, especially here in one of America’s prime retirement communities, but I told him I thought it warranted a more thorough investigation.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Looks odd to me,” Frankie said.

  “That old policeman’s instinct?”

  “Maybe. It’s rarely led me on a wild goose chase,” Frankie bragged.

  “Maybe you could become some sort of a consultant for the Palm Springs Police Department after you retire, Dad. Nothing heavy, just a little part-time.”

  “I don’t know. Your mother watches every move now.”

  Stevie laughed.

  “You’ll get used to retirement, Dad. Eventually.” Frankie nodded and looked back at the women again.

  “Actually, I’m worried about Beth,” Frankie confessed. “I wish she’d find someone soon.”

  “I know. I’m working on it subtly with Laurel. We hope to connect her with a few of our single friends.”

  “Make sure, whoever it is, he’s a lot more stable than the piece of work she married,” Frankie warned.

  “You never know who’s stable and who isn’t these days, Dad, but we’re being as selective as we can be. Only thing is, Beth considers our friends part of the power structure oppressing the poor and the downtrodden, as well as polluting the environment.”

  “Whoever it is, make sure he’s dressed in jeans and sneakers when he comes to take her on the first date.”

  Stevie roared.

  “What are you talking so much about?” Jennie asked.

  “Hey, can’t we have any secrets?”

  “No, because your secrets usually mean more problems for us women,” Jennie replied.

  “This is a taste of what retirement is going to mean,” Frankie said, nodding. “Twenty-four-hour abuse instead of four or five.”

  “Come on, Dad,” Laurel said scooping her arm through his and standing him up, “I’ll protect you.”

  “Are you sure you’re not embarrassed to walk with a stubborn old man?” He looked back at Jennie. She absolutely glistened with happiness. His gaze shifted to Beth, and for a moment he felt like rushing to her and wrapping his arms around her the way he used to when she was a little girl. She looked so lost now, so lonely and forgotten, and so afraid that he no longer cared for her.

  “Hey,” he said reaching for her hand, too. She widened her eyes with surprise. “Come on. I need protection on the left.” She took his hand and moved up alongside him.

  “Figures it would be on the left,” Stevie quipped.

  “Mr. Republican speaks again,” Beth returned.

  “Let’s turn back soon, Frankie. I don’t want them heading back to L.A. too late,” Jennie said.

  “Right, dear.”

  Bathed in laughter and smiles, Frankie and his family finished their walk.

  Later, soon after Steve and Laurel had departed for L.A., Frankie retired to the patio with the newspaper in hand. The sun had fallen behind the mountains and the temperature had dipped to a comfortable seventy-four. The long shadows cast by the San Jacinto mountain range changed the bright red of the bougainvillea blossoms into more of a ruby. He relaxed, admiring the setting. From inside the house, he could hear Jennie moving around the kitchen, still cleaning up from dinner. Beth worked with her, having decided to remain one more night in Palm Springs before returning to L.A. herself. A few minutes later, he sensed someone behind him and turned to see Beth standing there and staring at him.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just thought I’d come out a minute and see what you were doing. How are you really feeling, Dad?”

  “I’ll be okay. The doctor assures me once the pacemaker’s in, I won’t see any real difference.”

  “Mom’s afraid you’re going to find a way to do something strenuous anyway.”

  “I know. She insisted I get an electric toothbrush.”

  Beth surprised him by laughing.

  “What?”

  “It’s been a long time since you told me one of your jokes, Dad.” She flopped in the chair beside him and gazed up at the mountain. “It is pretty here.”

  “Yes.”

  “And meditative.”

  “That it is,” he said.

  “You’re not really going to take up golf, are you?”

  “Might not have a choice. Another fellow who resisted was found stuffed in his mailbox one morning.”

  “Stop,” Beth said laughing. Suddenly her smile evaporated and she sighed deeply. “I wish we could be friends,” she said.

  “Friends? We’re friends. How can we not be friends? We’re related.”

  “I mean it, Dad. I wish …”

  “I know,” he confessed. “It’s not all your fault. Oh, maybe ninety-five percent.”

  She smiled.

  “I can’t help believing strongly in the things I want to see happen and see corrected.”

  “I’m not against any of that. I just wish you …”

  “Were married and living in a house with a dozen kids. I know.”

  “Not everyone wants the same things. I realize that. I’m not pushing you into anything. It’s just that my experience tells me we’re sort of made to go through life in pairs.”

  “What frightens you the most, Dad? Is that it, being alone?”

  “Yep,” he confessed after a moment. “Always tho
ught it would be easier if I went first.”

  “Easier for whom? Not for Mom.”

  “Women are survivors,” he said, thinking about Mr. Murray’s apparent suicide.

  “She wouldn’t know what to do without you to look after. It’s nice to have someone to look after,” Beth admitted softly.

  “Don’t ever tell her I said so, but I like it,” he said. Beth smiled and looked at the mountains again.

  “Laurel is so perfect, isn’t she?”

  “She’s perfect at what she does, what she chooses to do, and I suppose you’re perfect at what you choose to do.”

  “She’s perfect,” Beth insisted. “She’s just what every man dreams a woman should be. I should hate her, but I don’t. I envy her because she’s happy.”

  “I thought you liked what you do.”

  “I don’t like it. I do it because it has to be done. I’m a lot like you … doing things you don’t like to do, but things you know have to be done.”

  “I suppose you are,” Frankie said, seeing it from that perspective for the first time. “It’s not a good thing to do forever, though, Beth. It consumes you, takes its toll. Maybe you paid enough dues and you can be a little more selfish now, huh?”

  She shrugged.

  “How about you, Dad? You think you’ll like being a little more selfish?”

  “I’ll get to like it,” he promised. She shook her head.

  “You know why we fight so much, Dad?”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t lie to each other as well as other people can lie to each other.”

  He nodded. There it was again, the lesson: truth was a hard burden to bear and when you were confronted with it, you often chose to ignore it or run from it.

  “Then let’s stop it,” he said.

  She smiled and he put out his hand. She seized it eagerly, stood up, and leaned over to hug him.

  In his arms she felt like his little girl again, and just for a moment, he thought all that had happened since, all the years, had been merely a dream.

  12

  When Faye returned to their apartment, she found Susie in her bathrobe still sitting on the sofa. She gave Faye a big smile and Faye closed the door softly.