After Silence Read online

  “Did I kill him? I didn’t do anything! I only hit the ball!”

  The worst moments. He is alive but hurt so badly and there’s nothing on earth you know to do. Only watch and pray and clench your fists at how stupid and inept you are. Why didn’t you ever go to a first-aid class? What if he dies and you did nothing but watch? What will his mother say? What will the rest of life be like? Everything in your head is terror. Everything in your heart is dread.

  There was a mobile telephone in the ambulance but I was too busy watching the attendants work on Lincoln. I didn’t think to call Lily until we’d already arrived at the hospital and they were wheeling him into the emergency ward. A doctor strode into the room and brusquely told me to leave.

  “He’s my son, Doctor.”

  “Good. I’ll treat him like he’s mine. Now please go. I’ll tell you what I can in a few minutes.”

  At the reception desk I filled out the necessary papers and called Crowds and Power. Lily wasn’t there but I told one of the waitresses what had happened and she said she would find her.

  What do You want? A few years of my life? Let him live. What can I do to save him? Let him live. I felt ten years old. I wanted to get down on my hands and knees. Oh, God, please help him out of this and I’ll be good forever. I swear to You. Just let this kid live and I’ll do whatever You want. I’ll go to church. I’ll stop drawing. I’ll leave Lily. Let him be all right. Oh, please.

  The look on people’s faces in a hospital emergency ward is both broken and yearning at once. Part of them is prepared for the worst, the other part shows the sneaking hopefulness of a dog you’ve hit but which sidles up to your leg to see if their coast is clear.

  One man leaned against a wall chewing his finger like it was a spare rib. He looked only at that hand. A child in a beautifully ironed yellow dress tried to play peekaboo with a woman who rocked back and forth with closed eyes. The child hid her face behind an arm, then popped it up again, looking delighted. Peekaboo. She saw me looking and quickly hid at the woman’s side.

  “Stop it! Stop it, will you?” She grabbed the astonished girl by the arm and shook her hard. I wanted to go over and stop her but knew I’d caused enough damage. “Just stand here and sit still. Please! Will you just please stand still, for God’s sake!”

  The child’s face was all shock and fear. Nothing that happened in this hospital, nothing that happened to the hurt person she was waiting for, would be worse than this scold from her guardian. They’d tell her, “Daddy is dead” or “Mommy’s very sick,” but it would touch her far less than the other’s scared fury. That was the end of the world as far as she understood it. Standing still, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and looked at me with absolute hatred.

  A hand touched my shoulder, and before I turned, a man’s voice said, “Mr. Aaron?” For an instant I knew they’d mistaken me for someone else. Aaron? Then a weird unnatural rustle, like leaves before a storm, went across me when I realized they thought I was Rick Aaron.

  Turning, I was about to correct them when it came to me they thought that because I’d brought the boy in and said I was his father.

  The doctor’s name was Casey. William Casey. Faced with the moment of truth, I looked at his name tag too long. William Casey.

  “Mr. Aaron, everything is going to be all right. You’ve got one lucky boy. The ball hit him on the temple and knocked him out. We’ve got a large hematoma there and he’s going to have a hell of a sore head for a while, but other than that he’s okay. No fracture or serious concussion. He regained consciousness right after you left.”

  “YES!” I punched both fists straight up into the air and closed my eyes. “YES!”

  “We’d like to keep him here for observation overnight, but that’s only standard procedure. I’m sure nothing is wrong.”

  I shook and shook and shook Dr. Casey’s hand until he gently pried himself loose and told me to sit down, take a breather.

  “But his head will be all right? There’ll be no aftereffects or—”

  “Not from what I can see, and we checked him thoroughly. He’s going to have a bad headache and won’t be able to wear his baseball cap for a while. That’s it. He’s going to be okay.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so very much—”

  “Mr. Aaron, when I was a young doctor and very pleased with myself, a patient would say thank you and I’d accept it as my due. In twenty-five years of medicine I’ve learned to stop taking credit for only doing my best. I’m happy for you. Happy I could give you good news. I must go now.”

  I sat down and inadvertently looked directly into the eyes of the woman with the child. She smiled and gestured toward the other room. “They’re okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, a very bad hit on the head but he’s going to be okay. It’s my son.” Tears came to my eyes. My son.

  “I’m glad it worked out.”

  “Thank you. I hope… I hope yours is well too.”

  “It’s my daughter in there. This one’s mother. Know why we’re here? Because that Miss Smartso daughter of mine got her fat tongue stuck in a Coca-Cola bottle! It’s the truth. Don’t ask me how. We’re all sittin’ around comfortable and happy at the girl’s birthday party. Her mama’s drinking a Coke and the next thing we know, she’s wavin’ her arms like she’s drowning or something. But no, it’s not that, it’s she can’t get her tongue out of the damned bottle. Can you believe it? We had to take a cab here because my car’s broke and the cabdriver laughed at us the whole way down. What the hell, I was laughing too.”

  Whether it was because of the relief I felt, knowing Lincoln was going to be all right, or the way the woman was smiling at the end of her story, whatever, I smiled, then hee-heed, then cackled openly. She did too. Each time we looked at each other we laughed harder.

  “How do you get your tongue stuck in a Coke bottle? The opening’s so small!”

  “Don’t ask me. My daughter’s always had special talents.”

  A doctor bustled by but stopped abruptly when she looked in and saw all of us laughing so hard. Even the finger chewer was going by then. How strange we must have looked. Who laughs in the emergency room? Were we ghouls or madmen? The little girl didn’t understand why we were having such a good time but it was fine with her. She started skipping around the room singing, “Coca-Cola. Coca-Cola.”

  And that’s what Lily saw when she flew around the corner with Ibrahim right behind: everyone laughing, skipping child, Party Time.

  “Max! Where is he? What’s going on?”

  Between the laughter, the surprise at seeing her, and relief still rolling around in my stomach, I only waved and smiled, which was appalling behavior. She didn’t know her son was out of danger. As far as she knew, he might have been dead.

  “Max, for Christ’s sake, where’s Lincoln?”

  I stood up, still smiling. “Lily, he’s all right. You don’t have to worry.”

  “What do you mean? Where is he?”

  “In the other room. But the doctor was just here and said he’s all right. He got hit and was knocked out—”

  “Knocked out? They didn’t tell me that. They only said he was hit. Knocked out? Oh Christ—”

  I took her by both arms. “Lily, listen to me. He was hit on the head and knocked out. But he’s all right. He’ll have a big bruise there and his head’ll hurt for some time, but they did all the tests and he’s all right. He’s all right.”

  “Why did you bring him here? Why didn’t you call and tell me?”

  “Wait, calm down. He got hit and was knocked out. We were afraid, so we brought him to the hospital. We had to: it could have been very bad.”

  “Jesus Christ, you shouldn’t have brought him here.” She broke off angrily and shook her head. “Did you have to fill out papers? What did they make you fill out?”

  Ibrahim was standing right behind her. He shrugged as if he didn’t understand what she was ranting about.

  “What did you fill out, Max?”

  �
��Papers, Lily. You have to give them general information. It’s normal in a hospital, honey.”

  “Normal for who? What did you say on there? What kind of information did you give?”

  She was very angry. I slid it off to the pressure of what had happened. I spoke as calmly as I could. “His name, how old he is, our address. And whether he’s allergic to anything.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing. Just the standard form.”

  “Standard form, huh? Shit on the standard form.”

  “Lily, calm down. That’s what you do in the hospital. You gotta give them certain information—”

  She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me to her very roughly. “You don’t give them anything, Max. Nothing ever.” Her voice shrank down to a gravelly growl.

  Ibrahim had his hands on her then, pulling her back, talking quietly, pulling her away from me. It was bizarre and very disturbing. She had every right to be capsized by her son’s accident, but her facial expression, voice, what she was saying all had to do with something else. Something way far away from this situation. What she said next confirmed that.

  “Do you think they take fingerprints?”

  “Of Lincoln? No! He’s a patient, not a prisoner.”

  She listened, then turned to hear what Ibrahim thought.

  “Lily, come on, please. Don’t get cuckoo now. They don’t take fingerprints in the hospital!”

  “We don’t know for sure, but all right. Now I only want to get him out of here. When can we take him home?”

  “Tomorrow. The doctor said they’ll keep him here overnight for observation. He can go home tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Where’s this doctor? I have to talk to him. We’re leaving here.”

  What she meant by “we” was she wanted her son out of there that instant. We found Dr. Casey, who first tried to calm her, but grew insistent and coldly professional on realizing this distraught woman wanted to take her child home now. He said it was unwise, then not a good idea, then dangerous. There had been cases where—

  “I don’t care, Doctor. We’re leaving. I’m his mother and I want to take him home. If there are any problems we’ll come back.”

  Nothing he said could dissuade her. Nothing, that is, until they’d ended their face-off and he’d lost and was leaving to go arrange the necessary papers to release Lincoln.

  “You are very peculiar, Mrs. Aaron. I don’t know why you’re so set on this. It’s certainly against the better interests of your son and what you’re doing makes me extremely suspicious.”

  Because he was scanning his clipboard, he didn’t see her face change. In seconds it went from Fuck you! aggressive to “uh-oh” to cringe. Before speaking again she looked at me. Behind the cringe was something awful at work—rats under her floor, a hidden knife in the palm of her hand.

  “Dr. Casey, I’m so sorry. I just—I can’t… It’s how this happened… Yes, let him stay here. You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

  Doctors know the tone of the confused and desperate. It is part of their human agenda. When he spoke again, Casey was all sympathy and quiet power. “I fully understand, Mrs. Aaron. But it really is the best thing to do. Let us keep him here tonight, and if you want, you can stay in the room with him. But it’s best if he’s here overnight.”

  “Right. Absolutely. I’m sorry.”

  “You needn’t apologize. I’ll tell the nurse you’ll be staying with him.”

  I watched her throughout this weird exchange. What the hell was going on? Which Lily was real here? Which Lily was the truth? Like the doctor, I might have fallen for her line if I hadn’t seen her face working, or the fear and loathing in her eyes, the wriggle and pull of her mouth fighting against itself. She was a good liar if you didn’t watch closely.

  How could this be her? The woman who was so helpful and generous to others, so good in emergencies, the first one to run and help strangers out of trouble. Part of it was the fact it was her trouble now, her son. But not all of it, not all.

  “Lily?”

  Her eyes stayed on the doctor as he strode down the corridor.

  “Lily?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What’s the matter? What is the problem?”

  She looked at me as if I’d slapped her face. “Big mistake, Max. You made a very big mistake. Very stupid.”

  “What? What did I do wrong?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now.” She walked away.

  “Ibrahim, what is going on?” Besides being upset, I felt like such a fool: I lived with the woman, but now that our first crisis was here, I had to ask her boss why she was behaving so oddly.

  “I don’t know. She is very strange about the boy. It is more than protective. Gus thinks that she is—” He pointed to his head and gave the universal sign for loony.

  “Have you seen her like this before?”

  “Yes, but only when it is about Lincoln. She is a good woman, but with him she is a little crazy.”

  The shock of the accident, the confusion events like that can cause, emotion pulled and released like rubber bands… any of those were good reasons for her outbursts and contradictions. But none of them were satisfying because I had seen that terrible sneak in her eyes. There was no other way to say it. Sneaking. Lying. Not to be trusted.

  “Ib, can you stay with her for a while? I’d like to go get a cup of coffee and cool out.”

  “Yes, sure, go. But, Max, don’t be hard on her. Remember, before you, she had only this child.”

  “I know. I understand. It’s only… Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

  I sat in the hospital coffee shop five minutes. Long enough to buy coffee, but once a cup was in front of me I knew what I really wanted was air, some space. I paid and left. There was a park a few blocks away and I gratefully went in. Late-afternoon people strolled around. Women with baby carriages, old couples in bright clothes, kids on skateboards and bicycles. A few feet from where I was sitting, a woman played on the grass with a young Boston terrier. They’re sweet little dogs and this one was having the time of its life chasing after a bright green ball the woman had brought along. I concentrated on its funny play because I needed mental space from Lily and what had been happening that day. The dog dropped the ball and barked at the woman to throw it again. I never had a dog do that. The ones I’d known, you threw the ball, they fetched, then ran with it in the opposite direction.

  This ball flew, the puppy scampered off, snatched it up while it was still rolling, ran back. This went on until the pigeons arrived. A large flock of them dropped down out of nowhere and landed nearby. It was unusual: fifty birds suddenly there, preening and fussing, flapping their wings. People looked and pointed. The dog was staggered by it. He stood a moment in shocked surprise. Then, classic canine, lowered his head into attack position and tiptoed toward them. There’s nothing dogs like more than charging birds. Slink-slink-slink POUNCE. They rarely catch one but who cares? What must feel good is having all those scared lives leaping off the earth because of you.

  Slink-slink-slink. The terrier got to within a few feet of the flock, stopped, poised to jump, one paw hanging in the air. I was ready for its triumphant spring when an odd thing happened. Almost as one, the birds turned. Lots of cooing and fluttering wings, but they moved in a grayish-pink wave at the same time. As if understanding he was outnumbered, or that something was wrong when so many things moved the same at the same time, the little dog slowly relaxed its body and, watching them closely, lay down on the ground. Maybe next time.

  The world is full of mysterious connections, especially when we’re going through strong times in our lives. The puppy’s reaction to the birds made people laugh. Isn’t that cute? It made me shudder. Frisky and sure of himself, he walked up to what he knew by all rights was his. Done it before and had great fun. This time, though, these fifty heads, one hundred wings, sudden same movement… All said Stop! It isn’t the same, doggie. Don’t even try.


  It isn’t the same, doggie. What was happening with Lily? Her behavior at the hospital stopped me hard. Birds are birds until they turn as one small army. Lily’s familiar face gone bad, her words, this strange mistrust and paranoia that had surfaced for the first time since we’d been together. It stopped me. What was happening here?

  I am not a trusting soul. I don’t even trust myself. Often I have no idea what I’ll do in certain situations. Who does? If one cannot say I trust myself, how can one say I trust you and genuinely mean or feel it? Because of that, people hurt but rarely wound me. When Norah Silver admitted she was sleeping with another man it was a brutal blow to my spirit, but was neither crippling nor unexpected. Somewhere in my soul is a two-foot-thick door with a giant sumo wrestler standing guard outside, not letting anyone in. It’s the door to Command Center, Mission Control, the heart of the matter. Whatever your credentials, the sentry keeps you out. I am not sorry it is like this. My parents are trusting people who raised my brother and me to be that way too, but we aren’t. Saul is a finagler in business, a libertine, and an all-around truth stretcher. He likes scoundrels because he is one himself. Between us, we have enough trust to fill another person three-quarters. It is one of the few things we agree on.

  The night Lily spent at the hospital with Lincoln I went through our house like a burglar. I had never had any reason to question what she had told me about herself and her life, but I felt I did now. Snooping around your own home looking for clues about the person you love is perverse, but I felt totally detached doing it. I thought only that this is her place, this is where her life is, so this must be where it is—a sign, a lead, the key. I knew what I was looking for might be so obscure and indecipherable that even on finding it there was the distinct possibility I wouldn’t recognize what I had. A photograph or a ticket stub, a letter from a friend with one unimportant sentence that, once deciphered, told all.

  I began in Lincoln’s room. Through his closet, through his dresser, his desk, toy trunk, books. Flip through the pages of each one, turn them upside down and shake. The clue could be there—a bookmark, something written on a piece of scratch paper. Under his bed, in all of his boxes, the obscure corners of his room where things could be hidden or taped. I kept a pad of paper nearby. Anything that said something to me I either noted or put in the middle of the floor to be considered later when I was sifting the information through my mind.