The Silents

22

CHAPTER 22 M y FATHER had made a brave attempt to make my mother belong. I thought it had gone well, but deep inside, I suspected her loneliness, and the thought ofit hung over me like a black cloud. I began to wonder how she perceived things-little things like the latest styles in clothes, the shape and design of new cars, changes in street corners, a new deli, or the disappearance of a gas station. Little things I didn't bother to tell her about (did Papa? I wondered). There were only her memories of how we all looked. As the years passed, the changes would be so dramatic that, ifher sight returned, she'd be shocked. And if her ears came back (that same old dream), how would singing sound to her? Or my voice? Depressed, I blundered through the following weeks, thinking I should have stuck by her side, demanding that Papa leave her alone. I wanted to wrap her in my cocoon ofsafety, protected from unseen changes. I would keep her with me. Mama didn't appear to be upset, but she had developed a new habit, patting the air as iftelling herselfit was okay to think whatever she was thinking. Internal thoughts like Papa's, only she didn't spell to herself, she patted the air. Then one week, months after the affair, it all came out, an avalanche of emotions. We were sitting at the kitchen table finishing the last of our coffee. Andy was asleep, and the air outside was blustery cold. There was nothing for us to do but fiddle with our danish and make small talk about tomorrow's menu. Aunt Selma and Aunt Marian were expected for lunch. 191 "Tuna salad is fine," she said in response to my question. "Something warm. Piping hot," I suggested. "It's so cold outside . Soup?" Yes, she nodded. There was a pause in the air, and she said, so matter offactly, "Who did he talk to at the dance?" "You know. I told you." She nodded. "Mrs. Zimmerman is getting old, Mama. She has wrinkles in her face. You don't." She nodded again. "He'd be better off without me." "That's silly." I shuddered at the thought. Perhaps she did, too. A look offear crossed her eyes as ifshe'd been caught in the woods, a frightened deer blinded by headlights. "And maybe apple pie," I offered. "Fine." "Don't think about such things, Mama. Papa would never leave you. Why should he? You're a beautiful woman." "Fine." "No. Listen to me!" "No. You listen to me. It's better that you keep out of this. I know you told Papa how I felt. Maybe I was wrong. He wanted to go. To be a sport. Maybe I was wrong. But it's not your business." "Then don't tell me what you think. Don't talk nonsense about Papa leaving you. He'd never do it." "Fine." "Are we finished with this talk? With your silly talk and your gloomy mood?" "I'm going downstairs. " "It's too cold." "Then I'm going to the bathroom to swallow some pills. What kind of pills do we have?" she asked. "Nothing that will kill you," I screamed. I shook her fingers until she pulled them away. She laughed as if what she had said seemed ridiculous now, and she patted the air. 192 "No, it's not enough, Mama, to pat the air. You can't talk like this and expect me to forget it." She swept the danish into the plate with a swift movement. She took the coffee cups, put them in the sink, and walked to her room. This was just crazy talk, I figured. But I walked to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. Aspirins, cough medicine . Nothing dangerous. Or was it dangerous? I pulled them out and stored them on a shelf in my closet. I slept badly that night, thinking I should have said something to Papa or at least to AI. EVERYTHING WAS on the table when Selma and Marian arrived. Mama waited on the sofa while Selma draped her coat over the corner chair, then took Selma by the arm as she bent over to kiss her. Marian bent over to kiss her, too, and guided her to the dining room table. We sat down to lunch. Aunt Marian made...