Beyond Heaven and Earth

by Steven H. Propp

  Finally, the voice said, “OK; just wait there, and I’ll come down.” And Jobran could see the man carefully lowering himself back down the fence, toward the opening he had made. Once, he almost lost his grip again (his muscles must be nearly exhausted from holding on for so long, Jobran thought), but he managed to hang on, and he began to frantically speed up as he came near to the opening, that Jobran was holding open as wide as he could.

  Reaching the opening, the man pushed his feet in, and Jobran grabbed his legs. The man started to lose his grip again, and he wrapped his legs around Jobran’s neck in a panic, choking Jobran. He was nearly dragged over the safety railing himself, but Jobran managed to hold on to the railing, until the man regained his grip, and pulled himself inside the fence once again. The man let go suddenly, and they both fell crashing to the hard pavement, as a speeding by honked angrily at them.

  “Ouch!” Jobran said, examining himself as he gingerly sat up. He looked at the Caucasian man next to him, realizing that he couldn’t have been much more than in his early twenties.

  The young man said, in a shaky voice, “Geez, considering I was ready to jump from the overpass a minute ago, now I’m scared shitless.”

  “Me, too,” Jobran seconded, and thought, It’s amazing how tenaciously we cling to life. They settled themselves into leaning back against the concrete wall, catching their breath.

  The young man looked Jobran with respect and awe, and said, “Are you like, a professional? You know, someone who talks people out of suicide all the time, or something?”

  “Hardly,” Jobran laughed gently. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “Well, you’re very good at it,” the young man gushed. “Maybe you should work on a crisis line, or something.”

  Jobran replied, “My only experience with suicide—until now—was the one friend I mentioned who committed suicide, and who did it without giving any of us a chance to talk him out of it.”

  “That’s sad,” the young man said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Jobran said, “A lot of times we’re afraid of being a ‘burden’ to others; but he didn’t give us a chance to explain that we would have been glad to take care of him. Just seeing his face, or hearing his laugh one more time, would have been incredibly precious experiences to us. By taking his life so suddenly, we didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye’ to him, and now we all feel this void inside us—and there’s no way to fill it, because he’s gone for good.”

  They helped each other stand up, then leaned back against the fence.

  “I’m Jobran, by the way,” he said, offering his hand.

  “I’m Timmy,” the other replied, shaking Jobran’s hand. “Your friend; you said he had AIDS?” Jobran nodded. Tentatively, Timmy asked, “Was he…you know, more than a friend?”

  Jobran looked sharply at Timmy, then said, “No, he was just a friend; I was married, and my wife passed away last year, but I don’t want to even talk about that, OK? Let’s just say that I appreciate now—in a way I never did before—how infinitely precious are the times that you have with the woman you love. And once those times are gone, there’s no way to ever get them back, even if you spend your whole life trying to recapture them. So I think that you need to forget about what you don’t have, and concentrate on what you do have.” He looked at his watch, and thought for a moment. “Listen, it’s still Christmas Eve; I think the thing you need to do is go to that beautiful lady of yours, and your little pal, and spend the evening with them.”

  “But I don’t have any presents,” Timmy said, a sad expression coming to his face. “I’d be too embarrassed. I was hoping that my Mom might have sent me a check for my present, but…”

  “Where does Angel live? Is it within walking distance?”

  “Sure,” Timmy replied. “She lives in the apartments next to me.”

  Jobran pulled out his wallet, and removed all of the bills that were inside, saying, “Look, I don’t have much money either, but here’s seven dollars. I know that the Dollar Discount store in the shopping center down there will be open until

  10:00 tonight—I was shopping there just yesterday, and saw their sign—go in there and get a couple of toys for Pietro, something that you’ll have to play with him. Then get some kind of chocolate candy, and I think I saw a bunch of cases of some kind of cheap wine; get a bottle for you and your girlfriend. Then just turn some Christmas music on the radio or TV, and sit back and spend time with each other. If she’s religious, you might even want to go to a Midnight Mass with her, or something. But just be together, because that’s what holidays are for.”

  “Geez; thanks, man,” Timmy said, taking the money shyly.

  “And then be thankful for what you’ve got! Even if you were homeless and completely destitute—huddling together in an alleyway to try and keep warm from the wind and rain—you could at least tell each other that you still have the most precious thing in the world: each other.” Sadly, Jobran added, “And that’s something that no amount of money can buy, and no amount of money can bring back to you, once it’s gone.” He motioned for Timmy to follow him, and said, “Come on, let’s get going,” and they began walking down the overramp.

  Timmy suddenly had concern in his voice, and asked, “Say, what about you? Do you have someplace to go? If not, maybe…”

  Jobran shook his head, and said, “My sister’s picking me up at 9:00 tonight, and I’m spending the night at her place, so I’ll get to spend Christmas with my niece and nephew. She may even have her ex-husband there; she said that they’d started seeing each other again.”

  They reached the shopping center, which was surprisingly busy. “I’d better be careful walking home with my presents,” Timmy said. “Since I’m kind of skinny, I wouldn’t normally be walking on the streets at this time of night—especially the day before the holiday.”

  Jobran suddenly stopped walking, and faced Timmy directly, and said, “Hey, you should feel liberated. You were ready to kill yourself earlier, right? A man who was willing to commit suicide literally has nothing to lose; there’s nothing more that can be taken from him.” Jobran put his arms on the young man’s shoulders, and said, “So you should feel confident, invincible. You’ve already been ‘dead,’ so what more can happen to you? Treat every day as if it were a gift.”

  Tears came to Timmy’s eyes, and he said, “I will; thanks, Jobran.” And they shook hands, and started to go their separate ways.

  Suddenly Timmy called after Jobran, “Oh—and Merry Christmas!”

  “Right,” Jobran replied, with a laugh. “And ‘Joy to the World,’ and all that stuff.”

  With a grin, Timmy called out, “And who knows? Maybe I’ll see you again next year—because I know that next year’s going to be a better year than this one was!”

  Jobran gave him a “thumbs up” sign, and walked away.

  32

  OUT WITH THE BATHWATER

  The sun was just barely beginning to come up. Jobran stopped walking and looked at his watch: 5:47 AM. Happy New Years’ Eve, he thought, smiling to himself. Big deal; the only thing I care about is that I’ll have 56 hours to study before I have to go back to work.

  As he continued to trudge home wearily, he thought, At times like this, I really miss having a car; when they let you off early to be “nice” due to the holiday—but there are no buses running at that time because it’s Sunday—it kind of defeats the whole point of being let go home early.

  Deciding that it was light enough for him to take a shortcut, he cut through the alley. About halfway through the alley, he thought he heard a strange sound, and stopped. The sound occurred again: a muffled sound, kind of like a soft mewing. (Some animal that got hurt, maybe? he wondered.) He picked up a fairly large stick from the ground (just in case it might be rabid, or something like that), and began following the faint sounds to
their source. The suddenly familiar sounds were coming from a pile of trash that was heaped next to an overflowing garbage can. Carefully now, he gently moved aside the wadded-up newspapers and soiled paper towels, to reveal a newborn baby. It was wrapped carelessly in a towel that was stained with blood.

  It began crying in earnest now that Jobran had exposed it to the light. Oh my God, what should I do? He scanned the alley intently, in all directions, looking for some sign of who might have left it. Maybe the mother is lying unconscious somewhere? he wondered. But there were no signs of anyone else in sight, and the realization began to dawn on him: It’s been abandoned; just like you read about in the papers. Who could have done such a thing? Now he really began to panic. Should I go call 911? But then I’ll have to leave it here. What if I take it with me? But suppose the mother comes back, or someone sees me? They might think that I’m trying to kidnap it! Jobran stood staring helplessly at it for a minute.

  The baby’s pitiful whimpers snapped him out of his reverie. As gently as possible, he picked it up, and cradled it as carefully as he could in his arms. He began to say softly, “There, there…,” and rocked it very gently. It stopped crying. Jobran hadn’t held a baby in his arms since his niece and nephew were born, and that was years ago. He was amazed as he looked closely at the tiny pinkish-brown face. He put his index finger inside its palm, and it reflexively squeezed it. Jobran was amazed how tiny its little hand was: the entire hand seemed scarcely bigger than his thumb. He felt a sense of awe, of wonder, as he gazed at it, transfixed. Who could have done such a thing, as to abandon such a tiny, helpless thing in the garbage?

  Wake up! his mind suddenly screamed. You have to take it somewhere, you idiot. But where? How come there’s never a cop around, when you need one? Jobran wondered.

  Suddenly, he heard the sound of a siren in the distance. The hospital—it’s only about four blocks from here. So he wrapped up the little bundle as best he could (trying to conceal the blood on the towel), and set off quickly to the hospital, holding the precious bundle tightly to his chest. Thank God it’s not that cold out.

  There weren’t very many people on the streets at this hour on Sunday morning. One elderly couple (out for their morning walk, it appeared) looked at him suspiciously as he walked past with his bundle, but said nothing. Too late it occurred to him, Crap—I should have asked if they had a cell phone. Finally, he arrived at the hospital parking lot, only to see signs that indicated that the entrance to the Emergency Room was around on the other side of the grounds. The baby began to cry more persistently, and Jobran tried to rock it in his arms comfortingly, and he tried to walk as gently as possible, his face perspiring with the effort. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, little baby, he thought, walking as quickly as he dared. I’m being as gentle as I possibly can.

  Finally, he arrived at the Emergency Room with his bundle. The automatic doors opened swiftly, and he entered. Jobran was surprised to find the room almost two-thirds full, as he strode up to the window marked “SIGN IN.” Ahead of him was a thin, middle-aged woman, who kept deliberately coughing to try and illustrate something to the bored and impatient-looking young Latina woman at the window, who had already taken down the woman’s information, and was trying to convince her to take a seat and wait her turn. “But if you would just call Dr. Blake at home, I’m sure that he would authorize the refill over the phone; you can do that, can’t you?” the woman pleaded. Jobran wanted to scream, I’m holding a newborn baby that may be sick or dying—can’t you hurry it up, lady?

  Finally, the middle-aged women took her seat huffily, and the receptionist invited Jobran to step up. As he arrived at the window, she pushed a clipboard at him, and said, “I need to see your Coverage Card with your Account Number on it; then fill this out, return it to me, and…”

  “I’m not covered by your hospital,” Jobran interrupted. “This isn’t about me; I just found this baby abandoned in the alley.” He held the baby up to the window, so the receptionist could see the bloody blanket it was wrapped in.

  “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “Etta!” the receptionist called out behind her sharply. “Don’t leave yet—we’ve got a new baby that needs an immediate diagnostic!” Seconds later, the door next to the receptionist burst open, and a serious-looking black woman wearing a white coat over her green surgical smock came out swiftly, spied Jobran and his bundle, and strode purposefully to him, extending her hands for the baby.

  “Boy or girl?” she asked, curtly.

  “Uh…,” Jobran said, blushing, “I…I don’t know.”

  Ignoring him, the nurse examined the baby with professional swiftness, and said, “She’s a little girl.” Looking Jobran hard, directly in the eye, she said, “Is she yours?”

  “No!” Jobran said, suddenly aware that every eye in the room was on him. “I mean, no, she’s not mine; I just found her as I was walking through the alley five blocks away.”

  “Do you know who the mother is?” the nurse asked, motioning for Jobran to follow behind her into the door from which she came. She was examining the baby as she walked, with the skill of a practiced professional.

  “No,” Jobran said. “I looked around in the alley, but I didn’t see any signs of anyone.”

  “That’s bad news,” the nurse said grimly. “Under California’s ‘Safety Surrendered Baby Law,’ the mother could have just dropped her off here, and wouldn’t have even had to give us her name. But now, if she’s caught, she faces criminal prosecution.” Then, with a derisive snort, she added, “If she’s caught.”

  “Is the baby going to be OK?” Jobran asked in a worried voice. “There was so much blood on the blanket…”

  “It’s just from the birth; guess you’ve never seen a live birth, huh? It’s a pretty messy affair,” the nurse said, in a more reassuring voice. “Plus, the mother did a rather crude job of cutting the umbilical cord. But the baby looks fine, from the outside; a little hungry, perhaps.” Turning to look directly at Jobran, she smiled and said, “I didn’t mean to seem like I was giving you the third degree out there; but it’s part of my job to…”

  “It’s no problem,” Jobran cut her off. The nurse was finishing cleaning up the baby, who was crying in earnest from this unwanted attention. “Her voice is obviously fine, and she responds to sounds, so she looks like a beautiful, healthy baby girl.” Turning to Jobran, she said, “I’m Etta Strange—and yes, I know that’s a funny last name for a nurse,” and they both laughed. “Thanks so much for bringing her here, Mr….?”

  “Winter,” Jobran replied. “Jobran Winter.”

  “Look, the Police should be here soon, and they’ll need to talk with you,” Etta said. “Would you mind waiting in the next room until they get here? Go ahead and lock up your car if you need to….”

  “I walked,” Jobran said. “I’ll wait outside,” and he turned to leave; but then he stopped suddenly, and came back to take a last look at the baby. His voice soft, he said, “Poor little thing; what a terrible way to come into the world.” His face brightened slightly, he added, “At least she’s not crying any more.”

  “No,” the nurse said, in a cooing voice, “She’s a gooood girl,” and she ignored Jobran, busying herself with medical instruments as Jobran exited.

  As the door swung shut behind him, Jobran realized that both his hands and his shirt were stained with blood from the baby’s blanket. There was nothing he could do about his shirt, but he went to restroom, and washed his hands clean. There were no paper towels in the restroom—or even any toilet paper—so he wiped his dripping hands on his jeans, and returned to the Emergency Room and took a seat. By this time, everyone had forgotten him, so he sat down without being stared at. As he waited, he realized that he hadn’t been in a hospital since Sophia’s death, and the thought gave him an eerie feeling. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he suddenly felt spent—emotionally as well as physically—but he struggled to keep
his eyes open, until finally the struggle was too great…

  * * *

  He started, as he felt the light tap on his shoulder. He awoke to find Etta standing in front of him. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, apologetically.

  “I’m sorry; I fell asleep,” he replied, blushing. “I just got off work.”

  “Hey, me too,” she said, pleasantly. “The Police haven’t talked to you yet, have they?” Jobran shook his head. “Want to go wait for them outside?” she asked. “I’ve got to get some fresh air; I just finished almost a double shift.”

  “Sure,” Jobran said, following her through the automatic doors.

  When they were outside, Jobran asked in a worried tone, “Is…is she…?”

  “She’s fine,” Etta said, in a confident voice. “They’re feeding her, and then they’ll admit her to the newborn clinic.”

  With a relieved expression, Jobran said, “I’m really glad to hear that. I was afraid that I had done the wrong thing by carrying her all the way over here. But I don’t have a cell phone, and…”

  “Nah,” Etta said, shaking her head emphatically. “You did all the right things. You’re a hero, Jobran!”

  “I’m hardly a ‘hero,’” Jobran said, shaking his own head emphatically. “On the trip over, I was less worried about her, than that someone might think that I was kidnapping her. People were looking at me strangely.”

  Etta laughed good-naturedly. “Well, these days, you can’t be too careful—even when you’re a hero,” she said with a grin. “Say, I’ve only got thirty minutes before I go to my other job; can I treat you to a hero’s breakfast, or dinner, or whatever, at the Diner across the street? We can see the cops drive up from there—they know the way here very well.”