Читать книгу Claiming Her - Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen - Страница 5

CHAPTER 2

We drove up to Philadelphia in the little Volkswagen Richard purchased in the last year. It was used and had twice needed repairs. I remember worrying if it would break down on the way, but it didn’t. It rode us smoothly into Northeast Philadelphia, where my parents, sister and brother lived in a tall, single home shaped like a dutch windmill, on a sunny tree-lined street.

The whole area had once been farmland, but after World War I, developers had come in. They laid streets where dirt roads had connected the remaining older houses and stores and created a large residential and commercial section which flourished further after World War II. GIs brought their brides to newly purchased row homes there, and couples raised their children in an atmosphere both countrified and citified.

My father, Bill Elfman, had been among the lucky ones, able to purchase one of the fine old homes built around the beginning of the 20th century for less than $15,000. His GI benefits helped finance it and also helped him pay for vocational school, learning air-conditioning, heating and plumbing. He later concentrated on the latter, becoming a master plumber, and now served customers throughout Philadelphia and southern New Jersey.

My mother, Miriam Elfman, gave birth to me in 1948, two years into their marriage. She didn’t work, as was the fashion then, although raising children, house-cleaning, cooking and laundry could hardly be considered leisure time activities.

Heaven and Earth may have been spinning their celestial plans, but life went on quite mundanely in the mortal world.

Five years later, my sister Ginger was born, named not only for her curly red hair, but because Mother, an incurable movie fan, adored Ginger Rogers. My brother Fred was born five years after Ginnie. My own name was a curious combination of Vivian Leigh and Ann Miller, the former having mesmerized Mother in Gone With The Wind, the latter having thrilled her with her saucy dancing techniques. “Vivian Ann” would not have done, but Mother felt Leigh Ann sounded sophisticated.

Father picked out Ginger’s and Fred’s middle names (Melissa and Allen, respectively), but I was the only one who seemed destined to be called by both names, at least most of the time.

Ginnie, at least, was pleased with her name. Fred, now thirteen, had declared we were to call him Rick, from this point forward. All of his friends called him Rick now, frustrating Mother, who pointed out that Rick was short for Richard, not Frederick. My brother, she said, shrugged and told her that rules were meant to be changed. As we pulled up to the house, I thought of how funny it would seem to call my brother by a name I’d never used for him.

He was to be Bar Mitzvahed this year, and was feeling quite the young man. He had pointed out to Mother that, according to Jewish custom, children should be named after long-lived deceased relatives and not movie stars. But Mother, whose parents had died in the Holocaust, had no stomach for tradition. She herself had only survived the war because she had been a strong healthy teenager, capable of handling the rigors of slave labor in Auschwitz. After the war, she had immigrated to America, sponsored and welcomed by her Aunt Ida in south Philadelphia. She and Dad had met in 1946. Her defiant, inquisitive blue eyes, her fiery short hair curling impishly over her ears, and sturdy hourglass figure had captivated him. She in turn found his deepset brown eyes, dark brown hair, and strong trim build, hardened by his stint with the Marines, equally attractive. They had a whirlwind romance ending in marriage six months later.

Fred knew this, and so did the synagogue to which we belonged. He had already talked with the Rabbi with whom he studied Hebrew and Torah, who okayed the mention of his chosen nickname when he was called to the Torah during the ancient adulthood ceremony.

Father was more inured to tradition and deliberately had given Fred and Ginnie middle names in memory of his uncle and his aunt, who had also been murdered in the Holocaust. The rest of Father’s family had immigrated to America long before the war, escaping such a fate.

I had little idea what Richard, a lapsed Catholic, thought of all this. He commented little when we spoke of our family backgrounds, during the early days of our courtship, except to say that wars based on religion were a mark against a society, showing its spiritual ignorance.

We were both naive in those days.

Fred was coming out the front door as we got out of the car.

“Hey, Leigh!”

“Hi, Fred . . . I mean, Rick. Darn, I’m going to have to get used to this!”

He laughed. “It’s okay. Doesn’t matter. Let’s see the kid . . . will you look at that? He’s got my hair and eyes.” Fred winked at Richard, then bent down to smile at the baby in my arms. “Hey, Daniel! Hey! It’s your Uncle Rick.”

Daniel looked at him blankly, then at me, his expression almost asking for explanation. “That’s Rick, Danny. Rick.” The baby’s face dimpled, mouth widening to a grin, and he gave a little burst of laughter.

Fred made a face, and Daniel laughed again. “Listen, Sis, I’ve got to go. Basketball practice. See you tonight.” He kissed me on the cheek, then turned to Richard. “Good seeing you, Richard.” They shook hands briefly. “I’ll catch you all later.”

He smiled as he left, and I thought how similar his smile was to Daniel’s, a wistful upturning of the lips.

I knocked on the unlocked door as we went in, shouting, “Hello!”

A pause and then, “Leigh Ann?,” as Ginnie’s voice travelled loudly from the kitchen. She came bounding into the living room, a grin of welcome on her face, Mother following her, with her own pleased look. Her eldest had come home, and that look communicated that she knew I had a problem and needed her.

“Baby,” she said, her arms circling both me and Daniel, and kissed me on my cheek. “Oh, look at him!” She reached out and took Daniel’s right hand. He obligingly wrapped his small fingers around her forefinger and held tight.

“Oh, he’s beautiful!” Ginnie said, and to Richard, “You must be really proud.”

Richard nodded. “Of course.”

“Well,” Mother addressed him, “you must be tired and hungry from your drive. Let’s go into the kitchen and relax. I’ll fix us a snack.”

“Sounds good,” he answered.

“Just leave the suitcases by the chair. You can take them up later. I’ve got the girls’ old room fixed up for the three of you, even made a little cradle of sorts for Danny. I used an old large laundry basket, with soft blankets wrapped in a sheet. Of course, you’ll have to share the room with Ginnie, but she doesn’t mind. You and Leigh Ann can bunk in her old bed.” Mother chattered on as she led us to the kitchen. “Oh, I’m so glad you came. I’ve missed Leigh Ann terribly, and we haven’t seen you or Danny since our short visit to your apartment in Queens when he was, what? Two weeks old?”

“That was five weeks ago, Mother,” I said.

“I know. But my baby has a baby, and I missed you both!”

“Oh, Mother!”

“You, too, Richard.”

“Glad to be included,” he said, and let out a short jabbing laugh.

“Now let’s see what we have.” Mother opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got some chicken cutlets, and some fresh tossed salad, and some cola to drink, unless you’d like some apple juice. Your father should be back soon, Leigh Ann. I sent him to the supermarket to pick up extra groceries. I’m going to make a roast beef dinner for everyone. How does that sound?”

She bustled around, putting the cold platter lunch, beverages, and paper plates and cups on the table, masking an anxiety which she knew I felt emanating from her. Underlying her hidden stress was a strong antipathy seemingly directed at Richard, though I wondered if the true target was the dark spirit who had harassed me the past few days.

“So how have you been treating my little girl?” she asked.

“Oh, she’s been okay.” Richard leaned back in his chair, turning slightly to face me, a touch of a smile on his lips. “I don’t see any marks on her from the beating. Must have all cleared up.”

“Oh, Richard!” Ginnie exclaimed, rolling those blue eyes I’d been so envious of as a child.

“He’s joking,” I said with my own small smile.

“I hope so,” my sister said. “You’d probably beat him back up, and probably win. She’s a real meanie, Richard. Don’t mess with her.”

“I won’t,” he said, and helped himself to lunch.

* * * *

My father came home an hour later, and the greetings and small talk were repeated. It wasn’t until later that night that Mother and I could talk privately. After dinner, Fred went out, and my father went upstairs for his customary nap for an hour or two. Richard had called his parents in the nearby Burholme section of northeast Philadelphia, to arrange our stopping by there on Sunday on our way back to New York. He didn’t know I had no intention of returning to Queens. He also called two high school buddies and asked me if I’d mind his going off to see them for awhile. I didn’t mind.

Daniel fell asleep in his makeshift crib; Ginnie had a Saturday night date with her current beau, but promised to get back before midnight for late night sisterly talk.

Mother and I were finally alone. She washed the dinner dishes and I dried them. And the first words from her mouth were: “How bad is it?”

I hesitated, my feelings so repressed I hardly knew where to begin.

“Well?”

“It’s bad, Mom. He hasn’t found work, the rent’s due, and we barely have food. He doesn’t know I packed the last cans of baby formula we had.”

“You’re coming home?”

“I’d like to.”

“What about Richard?”

I sighed. “He can go back to Queens, settle our accounts and bring the remainder of our clothing and stuff back here. Thank God, it’s a furnished apartment, and we don’t have to haul large stuff.”

“And after he carts your belongings here? Do you want him to stay with you and Daniel?”

“He’s my husband, Mom. Unless you feel it would be too crowded. Then maybe he can stay with his parents until he gets a job, and we find a new home for us here. I want to be home, Mom, here in Philadelphia. Just in case of emergency.”

She handed me the last dish. Her blue eyes were hard with worry. “You think you can save your marriage.”

“I . . . I don’t know. He’s just going through a bad slump.”

“He hasn’t really laid hands on you?”

“No. We’ve just had some problems communicating.”

“Seems rather big ones, I’ll bet.”

I said nothing.

“Well, you’re welcome to come home, and Richard’s welcome, too. You can tell him it’s all right. You can bunk in your old room until he’s back on his feet. Ginnie might prefer him to sleep in Fred’s room, under these circumstances; you’ll have to work that out with her and Fred.”

“Uh, Mom? Richard doesn’t know yet.”

She stared at me incredulously.

“I haven’t told him yet. I only made up my mind to do this last Thursday.”

“Last Thursday? And what happened then that made you plot this escape behind Richard’s back?”

“Problems just piled up, and I knew we weren’t going to solve them in Queens. Or alone. Thursday, I just . . . finally got the courage to make a decision on it all.”

“But not enough courage to discuss it with Richard.”

“I just . . . just didn’t want to create more conflict.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

Again, I hesitated, considering exactly how I was reacting to Richard. “Not physically. Emotionally, though . . . emotionally, he shuts me out. Almost as if he has a do not disturb sign on with smaller writing under it that says proceed at your own risk.”

She was silent for a moment, wiping dry the sink area. Then, “Have you tried to probe him psychically?”

“Yes. It’s very disturbing. There’s a lot of anger. And that very definite warning to keep out.”

She turned, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Leigh Ann. Are you sure there isn’t another source, besides the two of you, causing his reaction?”

“Well . . . yes. The baby. Richard made it plain he wasn’t ready for fatherhood. And now, even though he seems to love Danny, he seems to resent me.”

“Leigh Ann.” She spoke quietly, as if to an idiot child. “You have a tendency to overlook the obvious—a tendency I wish you’d lose.”

“What do you mean?”

I suddenly felt a protective aura build around me, beyond the one I normally bathe myself in each morning upon awakening. It felt strong and heavy, an auric safety net over a lighter safety net over the normal psychic aura that surrounds each living thing, whether seen and understood by humanity or not. “Mom . . ?”

“Leigh Ann,” she repeated, saying my name three times, and an old folktale came to mind: that if someone said your name three times, the angels would reveal your heart’s most deeply hidden secret. And her tone dropped a notch or two as she said, “There’s a spirit standing directly behind you. He’s tall . . . with black hair and eyes and a ruddy complexion.”

I gaped and whirled around. Of course, I saw no one mortal, but I caught a fleeting glimpse of him, handsome and sensual, as he backed away from my sudden and unexpected turn. “He’s followed me from Queens. I’ve been calling him the dark presence. He’s pestered me since Thursday afternoon.”

In my mind’s eye, I saw him raise his hand and bring it toward my face. I froze, nearly flinching, thinking he would strike me, forgetting that Mom had reinforced my aura. I caught a clear impression of his face; he grinned, a perfect double line of teeth like a Cheshire Cat. Then his hand stroked my cheek, gently and deliberately, the touch in itself a message, a reminder: I would never hurt you nor your child. “He’s obviously attracted to me, though I don’t know why. He believes he knew me before.”

“And did he?”

“I haven’t searched. It’s been too hectic.” I noticed that he stood slightly off from us, listening to Mother and me, no longer blocking me from visually appraising him. “He’s very possessive and demanding, and has an aversion for some reason towards Richard. He wouldn’t identify himself when I asked him to repeatedly.”

“Well, where attraction exists, mortal spouses become rivals to them.” Mother moved a few steps toward where she sensed he stood, and looked toward him. It amazed me how closely she gauged his whereabouts to where I saw him. “Who are you?” she asked. “We mean you no harm, but you cannot interfere with Leigh Ann’s mortal life. If you need to communicate, to express some past life conflict and lay it to rest, we will be able to hear your spiritual voice through telepathy. But we need you to identify yourself, before we explore your presence and your relationship with Leigh Ann further. Do you understand?”

He had been standing there quietly, listening to us, a small closed smile on his lips. Now the smile widened again into that Cheshire grin and opened up into spasms of laughter.

We waited, wondering what in Mother’s words had proven such a source of amusement. His spasms subsided into chuckles, and he studied us with a glint in his eyes, sizing up both us and his answer.

—My name is Bael,— he said with a cryptic glance at me. He pronounced the name as if it conjoined the words “bay” and “eel.”

Mother tried a different tack. “Ba-hel. That’s Hebrew for Barry. Are you Jewish?”

The slightest touch of irritation crossed his thin face. —With all due respect to your mortal mother, Leigh Ann, she should leave detective work to Mr. Holmes. I pose no mystery; I give my name simply and truly. Bael.—

I said nothing, allowing Mother to continue her own probe. I saw her glance toward the clock, knowing my father might awaken and come downstairs, abruptly ending our search for answers, and Mother blocking the spirit from further interference with the proper mentally-spoken prayer or two.

“Where are you from?” Mother asked.

—A place where Leigh Ann and I were to be, and a place where I could not let her follow me.—

“A riddle. He’s evading our questions. What year did you and Leigh Ann know each other?”

No answer. That question seemed to upset him, bristling his cool, composed demeanor.

“What year do you claim to have known Leigh Ann?” Mother repeated, emphasizing her distrust of his veracity.

—No year known to mortalkind, and every year since, when angels were forced to live among mortals to save those pale imitations. And every year thereafter, she was kept well-hidden from me, but now I mean to win her back!—

The violent force of his words was like a potent spell paralyzing us. We reeled; I felt Mother’s dizziness along with my own, nearly fainting. And then I felt his hand. It reached out and steadied me. In that instant, the powerful emanation broke, but I could feel his anger, coiled and contained.

Mother seized the moment, holding onto the counter to brace herself, her own fiery maternal anger lashing out to him. “I command you in the name of God and all that’s Holy, to reveal your true self and true purpose here!”

I saw him suck in breath, his teeth clamping, and then he was gone.

Mother and I stood there, breathing heavily, regaining our composure. “The name of God disturbed him,” she said finally. “He could be demonic in origin. Not good.”

I wanted to dispute her, shaken as I was. “He said he would never hurt me or Daniel.”

“Be careful how you define hurt,” she said. “You know the expression about the road to Hell. I would be less concerned about his intentions and more concerned with how in God’s name you’re connected to him. I’ll reinforce protection around the entire household to try to keep him out. If he hasn’t the good sense to stay away, we’ll mentally recite the 23rd psalm.” She turned her head toward the arch leading to the dining and living rooms. “Hush now. I hear your father coming.”

I nodded.

“In the meantime, we have enough to handle with your financial and marital problems. Oh, hello, dear.”

My father came into the kitchen and stopped, staring from my mother to me. “I know that look on your faces. All right.” He wearily pulled out a kitchen chair. “So tell me what’s wrong.”

Mother sat opposite him. “Bill, Leigh Ann feels they’re on the brink of disaster in Queens. She hasn’t told Richard yet, but she wants to stay here, for us to put them up until they get resituated. I told her they could.”

Father sat quietly, contemplating it. I could tell he didn’t like it. “There goes my peace and quiet.” He sighed. “Well, first, I think we ought to tell Richard this great plan of yours, Leigh Ann. It’ll be crowded, but if you think it’s that bad, and your mother wants you to stay, okay. But you’ll have to tell him and hope he takes it well.”

Mother got up from her chair. “I’m going upstairs to use the bathroom and check on the baby. I’ll be back.”

I slid into the chair. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to impose on you and Mom.”

“We’re your parents,” he said. “We’re not going to turn you down. But men have their pride, and he may not take this well at all.” He lowered his gaze to avoid looking at me, and said, “I told you not to marry him. But you wouldn’t listen,” then shook his head at the stubbornness of children. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a cup of instant coffee?” I got up and began searching for it. “Bottom right-hand drawer. And by the way, Leigh Ann—don’t tell your mother this—but if that bum of a husband of yours doesn’t get a job and earn his keep within a reasonable amount of time, I’m kicking him out. You and the baby can stay, but I’ll kick him the hell out!”

When Richard came back that night, Dad led the conversation, telling him I didn’t want to return to Queens, and that he would drive his truck back to the apartment on Sunday, following Richard in the Volkswagen, to collect our belongings and bring them back to Philadelphia.

Richard reacted oddly, chiding me with more than a hint of disgruntlement for not discussing this with him beforehand, but he also seemed relieved. He agreed that this would give us a chance to start anew, and he returned to Queens with Dad that Sunday, packing and loading our personal belongings in the truck, then insisted on staying in Queens to settle affairs and say goodbye to friends, since we had one week of paid rent left on the apartment. I later discovered, rather rudely, that one affair he stayed to settle had been with a woman I’d never met, and only found out about due to a dangerous legacy she had passed on to Richard, who had then passed it on to me.

If Richard had played his adulterous games in the 1990s, the news he brought back the following Sunday might have been my death sentence. But the AIDS virus had not begun to spread rampantly among heterosexuals in the early 1970s, and at least Richard had the common sense to tell me he had syphilis. Early diagnosis allowed him to cure it with penicillin. He strongly advised me—his departmental words exactly—to see a doctor and get some penicillin for myself.

I immediately called a Planned Parenthood clinic, let them take a blood test, and was also put on penicillin. The doctor said he would call if there were further complications, but I had apparently escaped Richard’s foolhardiness, as no further problems surfaced medically.

Emotionally, I had to confront the truth, two truths to be exact: that Richard had been unfaithful to me, and that the dark spirit calling himself Bael had good cause to ask me to refuse Richard’s sexual advances.

I needn’t have worried about Richard making further moves on me. He knew how deeply upset I had been about his cheating and the syphilis. He told me he’d be staying with his own folks until we resolved our marital problems. I won’t deny that I was vastly relieved to hear this. But I never believed he was simply being considerate of my feelings and my family’s comfort. It seemed to me he really wanted his freedom. He even told my father that he’d done a foolish thing and felt I’d need time away from him before I could forgive him. My father didn’t respond to that, already furious with him, for Father was a man who held steadfast grudges. But he did tell Richard to find a job and act like a good husband to me, and then perhaps his wife might forgive, if not forget, the bad marital beginning.

I neither forgave him nor forgot, and from that moment on, I no longer loved Richard.