Carry Me Like Water (31 page)

“I liked it—it made me want to cook.”

“That’s it? That’s your answer?”

“Yeah, that’s my answer. You want some coffee?”

“Are you nuts?”

“Completely.”

“You just walk into strange people’s houses and cook dinner?”

She looked at him, shook her head, then shrugged. “I’m sorry, I should leave. I really don’t know what I’m doing here. I just wanted to see how you two were doing. It was perfectly innocent—and perfectly pushy. I’m sorry.” She tugged at her earring, then popped her knuckles. “I talked to Tom. He said he’d be by this evening. I don’t think—” She stopped herself. She started toward the living room. “Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing here.” She looked at his face. It was a hard face, though she sensed he could be very soft. “I’ll just get my coat and purse.” She walked out of the kitchen toward the living room where she’d left her things.

Jake said nothing. He found himself following her into the next room. Lizzie looked up at him and smiled as she walked out the door. He watched the door shut behind her. It bothered him that her smile seemed so sad. He threw himself on the couch, then undid his tie. “What am I doing?” He kept staring at the door. He thought a moment, thought how it would be nice to eat dinner with her, to talk to her, to have company instead of just waiting for something to happen. She didn’t actually feel like a stranger, though he wondered why. He found himself running out the front door of his apartment. He looked down the dark hallway, but there was no
sign that she’d even been there. He ran downstairs and looked down the street frantically, afraid she had disappeared from his life forever.
Why am I so afraid of losing someone I don’t know?
He was relieved when he spotted her walking down the street. “Hey!” he yelled, “Lizzie!” She was too far down the street to hear him. He ran toward her yelling, “Hey! Hey, Lizzie!” By the time she heard her name being called and turned in the direction of his voice, he was standing next to her. “You might as well stay for dinner,” he said. He was a little out of breath.

She thought a moment, then played with her dangling earring again. “We don’t know each other. Sometimes I do stupid things—”

“Please,” he said, “I’d like you stay. I mean, you’re not really a stranger.”

She thought a moment, then smiled. “What are we having?”

“Pasta,” he said.

“I love pasta—how did you know?”

“I’ve always had great instincts.” They both smiled.

As they walked back up to the apartment, she had the feeling she had talked to him many times before. She thought of the dream. He had been in her dream before Salvador had given her his gift.
How strange. How strange and lovely.
As she made the final preparations for dinner in the kitchen, she listened to him talk about the past few weeks—what his life had become. He talked to her as if he had been living alone, as if he had been separated from every human being in the world. She knew immediately he was letting things out because he was more hungry for human contact than for food. He was like an overinflated lire—if he didn’t let some of the air out, he was going to explode. She listened, sometimes asked questions, but was happy just to let him talk. She could detect the rage in his voice, the frustration of being unable to find his way out of his own apartment—but there was something else, too—a kindness, a kindness in his voice that was strong and familiar and intimate. His voice sounded very much like someone else’s—she’d heard this voice before—she was certain. She kept thinking of the picture of the little boy. She was about to ask him about that boy when he excused himself to check on Joaquin. He was gone for a long time.
As she set the table, the doorbell rang. She waited to hear if Jake would answer it. It rang again. She heard Jake’s voice from another room. “Will you get that, Lizzie?”

“Sure,” she yelled. She opened the door and smiled at the man standing in the dark hallway. “As
I
live and breathe, it’s Doc Holiday.”

“Still here, huh?”

“I made dinner.”

“How did you know
I
hadn’t eaten?”

“Well, while you go check on your patient, Doctor,
I
’ll go and put more water in the soup.”

“Where’d a city girl come up with a country saying like that?”

“Lots of country boys up in my ward.”

“That a fact?”

“Yup,” she said as she walked back toward the kitchen.

He followed her. “I didn’t know you knew these guys so well.”

“I don’t.
I
told you—I had a dream.”

“You had a dream? And in the dream you came over to this apartment and made dinner?”

“Actually, in the dream, I was sitting with Jake—and he was dying.”

“It’s not Jake whose sick—better inform your dream maker.”

“Some day he will be—and I’m going to be there.”

“Well, you certainly are sure about your future.”

“Tom, please don’t make fun.
I
’m taking some time off—and I’d like to make myself useful.”

“You want to come work for me? I could use you. Jesus Christ, could
I
ever use you.”

“I don’t particularly care for doctors—why would I work for one?”

“All doctors are evil?”

“OK, you’re fishing for a compliment. Yes, you’re a good doctor, and yes,
I
’ve always liked working with you. And you don’t treat nurses like shit, which is saying something when it comes to members of your profession. I even like you, Tom. There, I’ve said it. Are you happy now?”

“Yes. So why won’t you come and work with me?”

“The word ‘with’ is better than ‘for’—I like that.”

“Well?”

“We’d kill each other.”

“Maybe—but what a way to go, huh?”

“Thanks for the offer, Tom, but—”

“Don’t say no—just think about it. I don’t need an answer right this minute. Consider yourself to have a standing offer.”

She nodded as she filled a pot with water and placed it on the burner. “Make yourself useful and put another plate on the table.”

“Well, well, the medical profession shows up in force—and just in time for dinner.”

Tom looked up at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Hi,” he said. “Lizzie here invited me to dinner.”

He grinned at her. “She takes a lot of liberties.” He’d changed into a pair of jeans and a deep blue T-shirt; he looked relaxed and somehow more vulnerable than when he was wearing a starched shirt and a tie.

“You look nicer,” she said.

“Hey, you don’t like white guys in ties?”

“I like ties,” Tom said.

“Yes,” Lizzie laughed, “I know, but won’t you take yours off while we eat?”

There was a sudden quiet between them, almost as if they all remembered at the same time that there was a man in the other room, a man who could not eat, a man who would never again enjoy the kind of affectionate small talk they were all enjoying in that warm room that smelled of olive oil, garlic, and tomato. No one made an attempt to say anything. They looked at each other knowingly. It was as if Jake could allow himself to be vulnerable so long as words were not involved. He could allow Tom and Lizzie to comfort him so long as they did not speak. At that moment they shared something that resembled intimacy. A recognition passed between them, a sense of belonging. Elizabeth kept herself from weeping as she sensed the depth of compassion in Tom’s body, the great sense of sorrow in Jacob’s face. Their emotions were overwhelming to her. Her lips trembled, and she placed her hand on her chin to calm herself. Jake poured his two guests a glass of wine
without asking if they wanted any. He poured himself a glass of mineral water. He sat down at the table as Lizzie rinsed the pasta shells. “I’ll step in and take a look at him,” Tom finally said.

“He’s sleeping,” Jake said. “He’s peaceful right now. He didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Did you?” Tom looked at him sternly. “You have to rest, too.”

“I can’t sleep. I have no right to sleep when he can’t.”

Tom nodded. He rubbed his neck and looked up at the ceiling. There were tears in his eyes, then suddenly they poured down his cheeks. He tried to calm himself, but found he could not make himself stop. He placed his open hands over his face and sobbed into them. He took a few deep breaths, then moved his hands away. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jake said.

“I’m a doctor.”

“You’re just a man.”

Tom was surprised at the softness in Jake’s voice. They caught each other’s glances, then looked away. Elizabeth watched them and wanted to weep until her tears washed away the smell of sickness in Joaquin’s room. Tom looked up at her. “You’re awfully quiet.”

She smiled at him. “I’m going to sit down now, and you’re going to serve us.”

“But you’re up already.”

She sat down on the chair. “Now I’m down.” Tom rose from his chair obediently and began to serve them ail dinner.

Jake laughed. “Where did you come from, Lizzie?” She could tell by the tone in his voice that he liked her, that he was grateful she was there. This was not a man who laughed often. She was glad she could bring something of value into this house. It occurred to her that she had been much too self-absorbed for most of her life. She thought of her dream, how she had held the healthy man sitting next to her as he broke in her arms. Maybe her dream would not come to pass. Maybe this man would be spared.

13

O
NE DAY
, feeling restless and a little bored with his routine, Mundo showed up at Diego’s apartment and waited for him to come home from work. He sat on the concrete steps, smoked cigarettes, and wondered what the hell he was doing here. He wanted to do something for Diego, but he was at a loss.
What the fuck can I do for anyone?
He rose from the steps, put out his fourth cigarette, and decided to leave. I
should stick to playing pool.
But just as he started to leave, he noticed Diego walking up the hill to his house. He sat back down and lit another cigarette.
Too late to leave.
He erased the doubts from his face, and leaned on the steps as if he owned them.

Diego noticed someone sitting at the top of the steps to his apartment house. Even from far away he knew it was Mundo. His posture and jet black hair attracted the light around him. He waved. Mundo cocked his head and smiled.

Diego walked faster up the hill to his house. Mundo tossed him a pack of cigarettes as he reached the steps. “Merry Christmas from one of the barrio elves.”

Diego caught the cigarettes and put them in his shirt pocket. He took out his pad as Mundo moved down the steps. “So what brings you to Sunset Heights? Did you miss the mountains?”

Mundo read Diego’s note and laughed. “Yeah, man, I liked the pinche view.”

“Really?”

“Look, Diego, I’m not into looking at the scenery. If it doesn’t have a woman in the picture, you can just forget it.”

Diego shook his head. He noticed Mundo was dressed up. He was wearing a dark red shirt and some well-pressed khakis. A gold chain on his wrist showed off his thick veiny arms. “Do you have a date or something?”

“Nah, man, no date tonight. Got in a fight with my woman. I’m laying low for a while.”

“What’s her name?”

“Rosario.”

“Is she like her name?”

“Like how?”

“Like a prayer?”

“She makes love like a prayer, I’ll tell you that.” He puckered his lips and whistled.

Diego laughed. “You love her?”

Mundo shrugged his shoulders. “La Rosie?” He nodded. “She wants me to go to college. After that, she says maybe we’ll get married.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Diego wrote firmly.

“You been reading too many stories in the library about houses with picket fences, you know that? In El Segundo we ain’t got no picket fences. We got kids, concrete, policemen, and the migra—that’s what we got.”

“So move somewhere else.”

“There ain’t no place else. What the fuck am I gonna do where
I
don’t belong? What am I gonna do in gringoland?” He lit a cigarette. “I thought you and me would go out. You know, drink a few brews and shoot the breeze. We got time and we got money.”

Diego looked down at himself, and looked at Mundo’s nice clothes. “I don’t go out much.”

“I figured that out already, see? That’s why
I
’m here.” He stretched out his arms and lifted them up. “I’m here to save you from your fuckin’ boredom.”

“I didn’t know I was bored,” Diego wrote, “and I didn’t know I needed saving.”

“That’s the problem, man. You’re pretty smart—you got yourself a good head—but you’re a pendejo, got that? There’s more to life than thinkin’ about things—you gotta do things—all kinds of things. Just call me your guardian angel who’s gonna show you some things about living.”

Diego smiled and wrote: “You’re not my idea of an angel.”

Mundo looked down at the bold letters and shrugged his shoulders. “My old lady says the same thing.”

“How come you’re not out with your friends instead? Am I a project or something?”

“No, man, you got it all wrong. It’s not like that. Look, Diego, all I want to do is buy you a few beers. You did me a favor, Mundo doesn’t forget.” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward Diego. “C’mon, let’s do some serious drinking. Get drunk and be somebody. You can talk to me about your pendejo boss at Vicky’s, and I can tell you about how I caught up with one of those bastards that threw me in the garbage. You should have seen the look on that motherfucker’s face when he saw me. That sonofabitch is gonna walk crooked for a year. Maybe he’s never gonna have sex ever again.” He smiled.

“How come you fight so much?”

“Gotta make up for people like you, see? I bet you never got into a fight a day in your life.”

“Nobody bothers me.”

“That’s bullshit, Diego. That asshole you work for, he bothers you. I bet that sonofabitch treats you like a fuckin’ dog. Pigs like that think they own people.”

Diego could see Mundo’s anger. “Why does it bother you? It’s me who works for him.”

“It bothers me because the world is full of motherfuckers like that pinche—and it’s not just you who works for people like that—it’s everybody in the fuckin’ barrio.”