Forgotten (17 page)

“Remembered where you’ve seen that statue?”
Saul said.

Of course, I
hadn’t and told him so. “It’s a weird feeling. I know it but I
can’t recall anything else about it.”

“Do you remember any part of those seven
years?”

“Not a single thing.”

“Didn’t you ever find that a little
odd?”

I shook my head. “I thought it was normal. I
mean, when were your first memories?”

Saul shrugged. “Perhaps three years old…
definitely at four.”

I felt baffled; I’m sure I looked it.

“What about baby photos?”

Again, I
shook my head. “My parents said they got destroyed in a flood or
some such story. Now I know that was all a lie.” My blood was
cooking. I could feel it, feel it sear my already hot skin. “So
many bloody lies. And for so long.”

I stared
ahead at the outside world, at the blue, cloudless skyline, at the
uniform stream of mid-afternoon traffic. It appeared so normal, so
in control. And I wondered how that was possible, when my own world
was crumbling and with such heartless speed.

“
You
know, I actually entertained the thought that
Alice Polinski could have been, dare I say it, my mother? But it’s
not possible. The resemblance between Mama and me is too great. Not
to mention that my brother, Nate, and I are almost identical.” I
stopped and took breath. “Besides,” I continued between clenched
teeth, “‘blood is thicker than water and the Cabriati blood is
thicker than that’. What a crock of shit!”

I sounded like a ranting lunatic. I was also
mindful that I wasn’t alone. Saul wore a smirk so huge it stressed
his dimples. “What are you grinning at?” I asked, a little too
gruffly.

“You,” he replied.

“I’m glad I amuse you.”

“Hmmm… not so much amuse. It’s just when
you’re angry, your face changes to a bright crimson shade and your
eyes sparkle more than usual. You have a very telling face.”

“So I’ve been told.” I looked away from
him.

“I like telling faces.”

I didn’t
know how to respond and decided to leave it alone.

A large Mobil service station and a
relatively new Hungry Jacks signaled our arrival into Nankari. As
we drove into its bustling heart, I began describing the directions
to my parents’ house.

Saul threw
me a brief look. “I already know where they live.”

“
Why doesn’t
that surprise me? Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Quite a few things. But I try not to make
it a habit.” He was as usual, calm and controlled, in complete
contrast to me.

“
Are you
always so bloody composed?” I guessed my rising irritation was
visible in my probably
telling
voice.

In what appeared to be an act of annoyance,
Saul jerked his car to the roadside. I caught hold of the armrest.
Even the engine’s stationary purr sounded more like a fractious
growl.

Saul turned his impassive face to me. “I
understand that what you’ve discovered today, combined with what
you’re about to do, is extremely difficult,” he said. “You have
every reason to be as angry as hell, but please don’t take your
anger out on me.”

Shame hit me
fast as I realized he was right. I apologized at once.

“Just remember who you’re angry with,” he
concluded.

For a second
time that day, his eyes stilled and that dark thing re-surfaced.
Something was truly disturbing him. Not knowing what to do, I just
waited. And as quickly as the puzzling incident had begun, it
ended. Saul grabbed the steering wheel, and drove the Jeep back
onto the road.

Soon after, we pulled up outside my parents’
house. The tree-lined street was devoid of any unwanted vehicles.
“No reporters,” I said, frowning.

“Why, do you want some?” Saul had reverted
to his old self again.

I felt
relieved.
“Course not, but I get the
feeling you could arrange it.” I threw him a cheeky
glance.

He threw me a knowing grin.

As I ran a studious look over my family’s
humble abode, I sensed a fresh rumble of anxiety.

“Do you want to do this alone?” Saul
asked.

My answer
was an instant no. It signified a weakness. I knew that. But it
also wasn’t the time to indulge in some petty self-analysis. Saul
provided a momentary strength that I needed but severely lacked. I
grabbed my bag and the first photo album.

And then we
both slipped out of the car.

***

My
ever-predictable brother was fumbling in the kitchen for anything
edible. I called out his name and before I knew it, I was in his
arms. He smelt of spices, warm and rich, so like my Nate, and his
heartbeat was solid and comforting. “Damn it
, Clauds,” he whispered, “been so worried. You haven’t
answered any of my messages.”

“
Sorry, but
couldn’t bear to turn on my phone, not after the last time.” I was
referring to the non-stop calls after Alice.

Nate pulled away and began scanning me. “You
look like shit.”

“So you keep telling me.”

He grabbed my hands. For the first time, I
noticed how abnormally grubby they were and the black, gritty dirt
caking my semi-long nails. Nate flipped them over once, twice.
“What have you been doing? Digging your way into a hiding
spot?”

I pulled my
fingers away. “Very funny.”

It was then
that Nate noticed Saul standing by the kitchen’s entrance. He
instantly stiffened. “Who is
he
?” His manner was oddly
unsociable.

Saul stepped
forward, introduced himself and then held out his hand. My brother
narrowed his eyes, his only response.

“Please, Nate,” I said, “Saul is just trying
to help. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Nate paused, then took Saul’s hand and gave
it two brisk shakes. “I’m not sure how you can help, but just look
after her.”

“She does a pretty good job of looking after
herself.” There was something different, something undetectable in
Saul’s voice as he said it.

Turning to Nate, I was aware of his curious
expression. I ignored it and instead asked him where our parents
were.

“
Out the
back. Why?”

For once, I
actually
felt
the older sibling. “I have to talk to them about
something important.” I gave Nate a small, apologetic grin. “But
it’s not going to be pleasant.”

Nate glanced at Saul then back at me.
“What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” I then
took my brother’s hand and walked out of the house.

My
parents
were lounging in their thickly
padded chairs around a smoky glass table. The smell of traditional
Turkish coffee was strong, wafting from two tiny, white cups. Not a
single breeze relieved the hot, dank air.

Papa saw me
first, slowly mouthed each syllable of my name as if it were
something to savor. I then stared into the face that I had
cherished for my entire existence, or at least the existence I
remembered, the same face that had forever cherished me back with
such love, such unequivocal support. It was difficult to imagine
that he had lied to me, not just once, but possibly many times. The
immense sorrow I felt almost split me in two.

This was my Papa and I, his Carino.

It’s a funny
thing whenever I try to do something unpleasant, when I actually
face that particular situation instead of
running and hiding.
Any
rehearsed plan I had, automatically seems to wither amongst my fear
of hurting someone, of falsely blaming them….

Of losing their love.

It was
happening
now. My flagging legs began to
falter and I seriously questioned what I’d come to do. As if on
cue, Saul’s hand pressed against the small of my back. I felt his
strength shoot through me like a concrete dose of adrenalin. I
soaked it up, took in a solid breath and laid the pink book,
containing the first year of my life, between my
parents.

I then waited.

My mother
was the first to respond. Her gasp was loud, loud with terror, as
were her murky, stretched out eyes.

And she hadn
’t even
opened the album.

My father’s reaction was the opposite. He
slumped back into his chair soundless, resigned, as if he had
expected it. “Where did you get this?” he murmured.

As if it mattered.

My anger
awakened, reinforced by my father’s cool, hard stare and
unexpectedly, gave me all the strength I needed to continue. “Look
at the pictures, Papa. There are so many.” I turned a few pages and
pointed to one where a jubilant Alice was encouraging me to take my
first steps. “Look at this one. I look so cute, don’t you think?
Your little Carino….”

I picked up the album and shoved it closer
to his grim, hardened face. In one sharp movement, he turned away.
“What about you, Mama,” I hissed. To her credit, she at least
skimmed over several of the photos. Tears welled as she did.

“Stop it,” my father demanded with a fury I
had rarely seen.

Nate grabbed the album and began sifting
through it. He grimaced. “I thought all your photos were….”

“Destroyed? You and me both, brother.”

“Who is this woman with you?”

I was holding nothing back and told him.

My brother froze, instantly dropping the
album as if it was somehow diseased. Perhaps it was. “Why would
Alice Polinski be with you? And where are Mama and Papa?”

I turned to my parents. My mother’s behavior
was all about sad, anxious eyes and trickling tears. My father’s,
however, was all about cold, hard, analytical control. So opposite
to how each of them would normally react.

I pushed away the peculiar incongruence,
took another deep breath and said, “I want the truth, Papa….

…
Today, I want the absolute truth.
”

December 26, 2010

5:25 pm

MY PAPA
AVOIDED
me, instead looked at my mother.
“Adeline,” he mouthed, stretching out his hand to her.

She tapped
his hand briefly, then scraped back her chair and stood, pained and
jerky-like. Her eyes were dark and cheerless; her hands trembled as
they barely cupped my face. “Whatever you find out, Claudia,” she
said in a soft, frail voice, “remember I love you.” She then walked
away and into the house, soundless, except for the sharp, rusty
squeak of the old, screen door closing behind her.

I turned to
Saul. He was leaning against a nearby patio post, his arms crossed,
quiet, watchful, his expression unreadable. As if just aware of his
presence, my father beckoned him to sit down. Saul refused. I, on
the other hand, collapsed into the nearest seat. Nate sat next to
Papa.

“I presume you’re Saul Reardon,” my father
said, narrowing his eyes. “Under normal circumstances, it would be
a pleasure to meet you.”

“Under normal circumstances, there’d be no
need for you to meet me.”

My father bobbed his head. “You are
absolutely right.” But it was devoid of any respectable cordiality.
“Are you looking after my daughter?”

“
She’s
looking after herself just fine.” I noticed it again, that slight,
discernible tone in Saul’s voice. “What your daughter really needs
are some honest answers.”

My father fingered through the first few
pages of the album and then slammed it shut. “Alice Polinski,” he
began. “What do you want to know?”

That seemed a wasted question. “Everything,”
I said.

“Ah… everything. Sometimes the truth can do
more harm than good.”

He was
kidding, right? Two dead people and a host of family
skeleton-revealing photos? And he’s talking about harm being done?
“Sometimes, Papa, the truth is the only thing that’s
left.”

My father glanced at the album with visible
disdain. He then took a huge breath, stared at me with wide,
emotionless eyes and whispered, “Alice Polinski became obsessed
with you, Carino.”

And there it was, just like that.

The final acknowledgement from my Papa’s own
mouth.

And at that
precise moment, I
realized something
more. I realized that a small part of me still foolishly hoped that
my suspicions about Alice were wrong, hoped that Sister Iglesias -
heaven bless her - was right and all this was nothing more than
my
febrile
imagination.

Time to grow up, Claudia.

I swallowed hard and steeled myself. “Why,
Papa?”

Darkness settled upon him. His wide
shoulders rounded, his head drooped and his dark, thick brows
melded together, creating dim shadows over his already muddy eyes.
It was as if he was aging right before me. My heart bore the
customary ache it always did when I felt accountable for his
anguish.

“This is difficult to talk about. It was all
so long ago and we chose to forget it as best as we could.”

I said nothing and waited.

Papa flicked
a saddened, sorrowful look at Nate and then he began. “There was a
period of time before you were born, Carino, when your Mama and I
had, well… difficulties.”

“What difficulties?”

For a small
moment, Papa’s shoulders straightened. “Please, for your Mama’s
sake, there are some things I
will
not share with you.” His
voice was harsh and I recoiled. “It is enough to say that we had
personal troubles.”