As Mama and I continue down the path away from our church, I can see that the Tower of Gilead is getting closer. The nice brownstone homes lining the street give way to a small supermarket, and then a school—Mama’s school. The school is three-stories high and faces out to an open courtyard. There is no playground like they have at my school. A wide, two-lane street separates the Gilead Houses and its apartments from the school and its courtyard. Not many cars flow this way, nor are there many cars parked along the street. At the near end of this two-lane street is a construction lot. Three brick buildings rise amid the rubble.
I tell Mama that I never knew they were building new homes out this way. Mama says it’s just the beginning. “They’ll be tearing down the Gilead Houses soon to make way for condos.”
“Where will all the people go,” I ask.
Mama says she doesn’t know. She says sadly, “When it comes to the poor of this world, nobody seems to really know or care.”
“We’re going to Gilead, aren’t we?”
Mama nods yes, and points to the Tower of Gilead at the far end of the street. I ride off slightly ahead of her. But she can see me. I have not ridden so far off that she has to be concerned. There’s long, narrow path that leads to the Tower of Gilead. The pathway leading to the building opens up into a roundabout, before it narrows again into a slender walkway leading to the apartments. In the center of the roundabout is a dirt-strewn garden. No flowers grow here. There’s just a limp, dead tree at its center. Wooden benches, many broken, circle the pathetic plot of land.
As I speed along this path, I hear a voice that is familiar. A voice that’s deep, almost harsh. It says to me, “Are you lost?”
I stop and look up. Fox is sitting on the backrest of one of the broken benches. I was so in my own little world that I hadn’t even noticed him.
“You look like you’re surprised to see me. I’m from Gilead, remember.”
“Shouldn’t you be at the candy shop?”
My question seems to hurt. It causes Fox to look away with a lost gaze. Fox answers quietly, almost to himself, “You won’t see me there no more.” But clarity comes back quickly, and he asks me, “But why are you here?”
“I’m with my mom.” I point to Mama, who’s making her way up the path towards us. Fox gives a knowing nod in Mama’s direction.
“Then it’s obvious why you’ve come.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know why she has come to Gilead.”
Mama walks up to us. She remembers Fox from the shop. They acknowledge each other with silent glances. But Fox tells Mama, “You’re looking for the little girl’s family. The little girl from your school.”
“Can I still find the family here?”
Fox points up towards the building. “Seventh floor.”
“Do you know the apartment number?”
Fox shrugs. The apartment number, he does not know.
“Don’t bother looking for a name in the lobby. It’s been taken down. People are moving out... being kicked out. But you won’t need it. You’ll know which apartment it is when you reach the floor.”
∏
The intercom to buzz us into the building is broken, as is the lock to the entrance door. Mama and I just walk right in. The lights in the hallway are dim. The lack of light obscures scarred blue walls of peeling paint and cracked plaster. The hallway is silent, too, with a quiet that is deep and unsettling. No voices can be heard. Nor do we hear the beat of music being played behind the doors of the ground floor apartments. The only sound is the echo that seems to come from the clicking gears and creaking wheels of my bike. A building that once housed so many people shouldn’t be so quiet.
Mama and I wait by the elevator. The hum of its motor breaks the silence as it begins its slow descent to us. When it arrives, the elevator is empty. Mama takes a peep inside before entering. I follow behind. Mama and I remain quiet as the elevator quivers back and forth on its way up. The elevator soon comes to a stop and the gate slides to the side. Mama pushes the door open and we walk out onto a seventh floor that is darker and bleaker than the lobby downstairs. Four lights, evenly spaced, run the length of the hallway. But only two lights, each at opposite ends, are working. The silence is troubling. I’m in the Dead Zone.
Fox is right. It is obvious which apartment belongs to the family of the little girl. A small bundle of dried dying flowers has been laid at the doorstep. Cards of sympathy have been taped to the door. I start to open up one of the cards to read. But before I can do so, Mama gently moves my hand away and closes the card. She shakes her head. “No”.
Mama knocks on the door.
There is no answer. But we can hear movement inside. Slow and lazy footsteps, the sound of slippers shuffling across the floor. As the steps grow nearer, I watch Mama nervously bite her bottom lip. Soon, I can feel someone on the opposite side of the door. I can feel the presence of someone on the other side of the peephole. A lock is unfastened. Then another. The door opens up slowly, so just a sliver and a ray of light sneaks out. The door opens no further. It’s held back by a thin, gold chain that looks like it could be cut by a pair of old rusty scissors. All Mama and I can see, is a lone, cold, gray eye staring at us.
“Hello,” Mama says nervously. “I’m...”
“I know who you are, Teacher.” The voice that slips through the crack in the door is weary. It sounds like the worn-down voice of an old woman. “You want to speak to the mother.”
“Yes.”
“The mother’s not here.”
“Where might I find her?”
“Who knows,” says the old lady. “She’s probably outside in the courtyard or whiling away on some bench in the school’s playground... drinking... and waiting on a miracle.”
Mama doesn’t seem to know how to respond. To say ‘thank you’, doesn’t seem appropriate.
The gaze from the eye watching us seems to soften for a moment. The old lady on the other side of the door says, “I’m not sure why you came to Gilead. There are no fairytale endings in this place.”
Then the old lady extends a wrinkled hand through the door. Mama takes the hand and brings it close to her cheek and holds it there for a moment. The door opens slightly. I can see, just barely, the old lady’s features. I notice a wisp of gray hair, and I can see—faintly—lips that are delicate, full, and soft. The old lady kisses Mama’s hand, and says, “Peace be with you.”
∏
Mama and I make our way outside again. It’s deathly quiet. I don’t see Fox anymore. I don’t know what shadow he has slipped off to hide in. I turn back and look up at the Tower of Gilead. It is clear to me now that hardly anybody lives here anymore. I can see through open windows without curtains or blinds. There is no one, just empty apartments staring back at me.
Mama tells me, “Come.”
We cross the street and head toward the school’s courtyard. There’s a woman sitting alone on a plastic bench close to the school. She sits beneath the shade of a newly planted tree, one of four that dot the corners of the school’s courtyard. To her side, are two large red doors. From the woman’s vantage point, she has a near panoramic view of a barren playground. The woman sees Mama and me coming.
Mama says, “I want to speak to her alone.” She tells me to stay put. “Don’t ride off. Stay right where I can see you. Don’t go beyond the park’s front fence.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
Hannah sees someone not unlike herself, a mother, sitting alone in a desolate schoolyard. Hannah imagines that, as with her, many people who pass by know this woman’s name. They know her story. Where the two women differ, Hannah looks upon the mother whose little child is lost.
Hannah glances over to check on the Boy. She sees that he is doing as told, riding his bike a safe distance away. So, Hannah makes her way towards Princess’ Mother. She ha
s a look that is familiar to Hannah—lost, vacant eyes that stare out into the distance. Hannah knows the feeling behind this look. It does little to mask feelings of shame and disappointment. It is a mask unable to hide pain and embarrassment. But Princess’ Mother is able to come out of her haze as Hannah approaches. There is a hint of recognition in her eyes. The mother offers Hannah a tired smile. She gestures for Hannah to have a seat on the bench alongside her.
“I knew it would be just a matter of time before I’d see you again,” says Princess’ Mother. There is neither anger nor belligerence in her voice, just weariness. The mother fixes her eyes back to the playground, and sees the Boy riding his bike. Without lifting her gaze away from him, she asks, “That’s your son?”
“Yes,” says Hannah.
“He’s a beautiful boy. You are blessed to have him.”
Hannah feels awkward but manages a nod of thanks. The moment seems to last forever as Princess’ Mother watches Hannah’s child ride his bike in circles. Hannah sees that he is trying to do wheelies. This makes Hannah smile. But the mother who stares out at Hannah’s son does so without expression. Never taking her eyes off the boy, Princess’ Mother tells Hannah, “You and your son should not have come to Gilead.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why... to say that you’re sorry? It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was the last person to see your child. I let her go away with him.”
“He always planned to take her.”
“I’m not sure I understand. You knew this would happen?”
“He would sometimes joke, ‘If I could only take one of you away from this godforsaken place. Who would it be?’”
Hannah feels light-headed and disoriented. She should not listen anymore. Be careful what you wish for. The closure you seek won’t be found in Gilead.
“He should have taken me. We were supposed to have a life together away from here. Just him and me. The little girl would have been safe with my mother.”
“So, that’s what hurts you? That you were left behind.”
The Princess’ Mother doesn’t seem to hear Hannah. “The girl shouldn’t have meant anything to him. She wasn’t his daughter. He was supposed to take me away from this place. I should have seen it coming, the buying of her affection with little gifts. I made the mistake of letting him hold her, of allowing him to rock her in his arms when she was a baby. She became his little girl... his little angel. I should have known better than to let that child come between us.”
“You’re not concerned about what has become of your daughter?”
“God watches over small children. The question is—‘when will He watch over me? When will I get what I desire?’”
Hannah lets silence fall in the space between them. The envelope that she had been holding, drops from her lap and onto the ground. Hannah picks it up. Princess’ Mother asks, “Is that for me?”
“No,” says Hannah, quietly. “It is mine.”
Hannah places the envelope back into her knapsack. She looks up and finds that Princess’ Mother has returned her lost gaze to the desolate schoolyard. The mother’s mind is elsewhere. When she speaks, it is almost as if to herself. “Every day, I come out here and I sit. People walk by and they stare. They watch me from their windows. They all know my story. They pity me. ‘There goes the mother of the little child lost.’ And they think they know why I sit here. They think it’s about the little girl. That I’m just waiting on her return. I don’t want their pity. I don’t need it. Because it’s not about the little girl. I just want him to come back and take me away from here, too.”
Hannah slips her knapsack back over her shoulders. She can’t bring herself to look at Princess’ Mother. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”
“A smart person like you should have known that there’s no healing in this place. Only Madness.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
Gilead is a place of nothingness. That’s the best way I can describe it. It’s like a Dead Zone. It’s a place of no life. The schoolyard has no swings, no slides, no sandpit—and no children. There are two rimless basketball backboards that hang battered and crooked on the wired fence that surrounds the yard. No one walks the streets here. It is a silent and lonely place.
But my eyes play tricks on me. I see a child on a bike in the distance, not far from the lot Mama and I passed by before. It’s a chubby boy staring my way. I know who it is. It’s Tum Tum. I shouldn’t be surprised that I see him. It figures he’d be the only kid around. There’s nobody to care or look after him. He’s usually always in a hurry to ride up to me whenever he sees me. But Tum Tum’s acting strange now. He seems to be waiting on me to go riding after him. He just sits there on his bike. I’m curious what’s going on with him.
Mama is still talking to the lady, so she is not really paying me any mind. It’s almost like me and Tum Tum are in the same boat. Two lost children out here all alone. So, I start to ride over to him. As I do, he starts to pedal away. I guess he wants me to follow him.
Tum Tum doesn’t wait for me. He crosses the street on his bike and heads for the open construction lot and its mounds of dirt. Knowing Tum Tum, he’s going to want to bet and see who has a better dirt bike. But Tum Tum is pedaling fast and doesn’t stop to ride up any of the mounds. Tum Tum turns around and motions for me to hurry and catch up. He rides up to one of the buildings and vanishes into the dark hole of an unfinished doorway.
I reach the entrance. But I turn to look back at the schoolyard. I’m far away and can’t see Mama. I look up to the sky and the gray clouds have grown near black. There’s a rumble of thunder somewhere not so far away. The heavens are going to open up any minute. Shoot. I need to go back. I need to be listening to Mama.
“Yo, kid, over here.”
I don’t get off my bike. I just stare into the empty hole that is this doorway. There is no sign of Tum Tum. There is just a voice echoing through a huge open space of pillars, coiled pipes, and wires that are hanging from an unfinished ceiling. I feel a drop of rain. Then another, and another.
“Yo, kid,” says a voice again. “You better get inside. You’re going to get rained on.”
The rain is starting to come down harder. There’s no turning back. I head inside for cover.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SIX
Hannah swears she had just seen the Boy doing as told, riding his bike right in front of her. But now the Boy is nowhere to be seen. And the sky is opening up. It is starting to rain.
Hannah feels a strange churning in the pit of her stomach, followed by a sharp and sudden chill in the blood that runs through her veins. Hannah begins to shiver, and she begins to feel light-headed. There’s a quick flash of white before her eyes. She regains sight but then has no sense of her surroundings. When her head clears, Hannah starts to walk but her first few steps are difficult, and she stumbles. Her heart begins to race. Hannah needs to take a seat, but there’s no time for that. “Oh, God. My child is gone.”
“Have you seen...” Hannah turns to Princess’ Mother. But she has vanished. And perhaps the Boy has too. But where?
Hannah tries to think clearly, but it’s a struggle. Is she even sure what the boy is wearing? Cargo shorts? An oversized blue T-shirt two sizes too big? Black high-top sneakers? Hannah cannot say. She runs over towards the Tower of Gilead. Perhaps the Boy is waiting out the rain over there. But she quickly sees that he is not underneath the stone overhang at the building’s entranceway. Hannah walks into the building to see if he is somewhere in the lobby. He is not. All she finds is a deep silence.
Hannah steps back outside into the rain and sets off along the narrow path leading away from the Tower. But Hannah feels paralyzed by the painful truth that her misguided quest to seek meaning in the troubled life of a child of Gilead may have come at the expense of losing her own child. What kind of a mot
her am I? Hannah stops at the feeble garden along this path and takes a seat on a battered bench beneath the limp branches of a dying tree. With no regard to the steady rain that falls down upon her, Hannah begins to weep.
∏
A young man stands in the shadows watching Hannah.
It is Fox. And he has been watching Hannah ever since he saw her come to Gilead with the Boy. He has kept his distance, making sure he has gone unnoticed. He watched from the darkness of a staircase when Hannah and the child spoke to the old lady. And Fox saw, too, how they were led back to the courtyard to find the little girl’s mother sitting alone. Now, from the shadows of an outer stairwell leading down to the Tower’s basement, Fox keeps a watchful eye on Hannah. But he doesn’t see the Boy. Fox only sees Hannah weeping.
Fox has never seen a mother cry for a child before. In his world, a mother abandons her child for a five-dollar high. In Fox’s world, a mother doesn’t tell her child to follow their dreams. To see a mother weep for a child seems unreal to Fox.
Fox emerges from the stairwell knowing the Boy could not have gone far. Fox looks out onto a deserted street. He sees a neighborhood rib shack, a small hut-sized building located on the other side of the street. Out in front of its dilapidated doorway, crimson colored lights from neon beer signs dance in the rain’s slowly forming puddles of water. Fox sees a shadow appear in the doorway. But it is the long and slender shadow of the shack’s gatekeeper. Fox figures there are only so many places the Boy can be—the boarded-up store next to the rib shack, and a construction lot across the street. Fox wonders, where can the boy be?
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
Child of Gilead Page 15