Some Possible Solutions (7 page)

I have no appetite here.

It smells like pee. My hair smells like pee.

It could happen to us.

We wish to bestow upon my parents a possible night from three decades ago. Make them young again. Put them on our cheap sun-stained couch. Wrap them around each other. Interweave their fingers. On TV, a black-and-white movie. In mugs, thick hot chocolate. October darkness beyond the window. The warm weight of an Indian blanket.

Her favorite movie:
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
.

Her age: 29 years, 26 days.

Number of calories consumed today: 225.

Description of solid waste produced today: One marble-sized, green-brown.

Description of liquid waste produced today: Two diaperfuls of dark yellow urine.

*   *   *

At the Vietnamese
restaurant, ravenous, the four of us raise our water glasses.

Gloriously we celebrate minuscule miracles: the consumption of over 200 calories, the emergence of a tiny turd, the upturn of half the mouth in a ghost of a smile.

A spring roll. A vegetable pot. A peanut curry. Brown rice. All so easy to eat. We have no trouble chewing anything and no trouble swallowing it either.

Then my father says: “No parent should have to prepare for the death of a child.”

His head heavy in his hand, his elbows at odd angles on the table.

A glass of beer, close to empty. The beer flat, ungolden, mostly saliva.

My mother misplaces her expensive sunglasses at the Vietnamese restaurant. At a time like this, such a loss should be a matter of indifference, yet instead it contributes to the sensation that soon absolutely everything will be lost.

*   *   *

My husband and
I insist on spending the night. My parents must be relieved; this is why we have come, to relieve them. The nurses wheel in a small bed. It has a pink polyester coverlet. We have to wear long sleeves to protect ourselves from the scratchiness of this coverlet. We have to sleep on top of each other. Every two hours they come in. They check the IV. They make sure she hasn't fallen out of bed. Not that she could. It affords her a certain dignity, that they treat her as though she might be capable of propelling herself out of bed.

Help
: the lady across the hall stays up all night just to say it.

My husband whispering: The sound of your sister's limbs rustling against the sheet. That's the same sound as anyone's limbs rustling against a sheet. In the dark there's no difference between her and you.

This should be called the Death Care Center.

God it's hot in here isn't it?

Actually I'm cold.

*   *   *

The morning nurse
says the night nurse said she'd never seen two such beautiful young people sleeping.

*   *   *

My husband and
I escape to the grocery store across the highway, where we stand at the magazine rack flipping through shiny magazines, entranced by the glimmering faces. We have to rip ourselves away.

*   *   *

Upon our return
we pass through the gauntlet of old people lined up in the hallway after breakfast.

There go the young ones, the dead man says.

The others nod; or perhaps they don't. God it smells like urine.

Maybe it is not that they are a gauntlet but rather that we are a parade.

In my sister's room, the sunflowers have blown over in a midmorning wind. Water all over everything. The floor treacherous. In bed, my sister kind of smiles.

On the TV, the climax of
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
.
Come on, everyone! Milly—Milly's havin' her baby!

*   *   *

Helen! someone is
saying out in the hallway. Helen! But this person, thank god, is not talking to me. Helen! Come back! This way! Your room is this way, not that way! Helen glides slowly past the doorway with her walker. Her head stooped over to rest atop her low breasts. She is wearing a tracksuit of forest green velveteen, a material that belongs in a fairy tale. This way, Helen! This way! I am comforted by the kindly, persistent nurse who keeps repeating my name. Bless that nurse, and bless Helen.

*   *   *

My father's exhaustion
expresses itself as a bony lump on each shoulder, his skeleton beginning to show.

My mother's exhaustion expresses itself via the capillaries in her eyes, which are, quite literally, bloodred.

I wish they were my own two children. I would bake them pies, put them to bed.

And the boredom. A half-teaspoon bite, wait forty-five seconds, watch for the swallow. A half-teaspoon bite, wait forty-five seconds, watch for the swallow. An hour and a half for the consumption of 200 calories. Don't underestimate the tedium.

Walking around the nearby lake we see two boys throwing rocks at ducks. We see lake grasses that are red, purple, orange. We see a man torturing three fish. There's nothing wondrous in life.

An error in the feeding process could be fatal. The pathways inside her are frequently confused, the muscles of the throat slow to react. Food slips easily into her lungs, where it rots.

*   *   *

Across the highway,
a National Historic Landmark. A covered wagon, a homestead. Our shy tour guide barely dares speak a word. In the main room we run our hands over the huge logs. We learn that originally mud and honey were used to seal the cracks—replaced now, of course, by concrete. There are many large stone fireplaces, and an entire room devoted to the craft of spinning wool. I attempt this, a girl in a fairy tale, gingerly, my foot on the pump and my fingers on the wheel, trying to please the softly smiling tour guide, trying to please my father, my husband, trying to make this day feel normal, delightful, this tour something more than a distraction.

Back at the Life Care Center, my mother gets bored.

In the old-fashioned print shop we come upon thousands of small metal letters with which any book at all could be written.

*   *   *

Once upon a
time, there was a magical building where the very oldest people lived. The final ritual in every wedding ceremony consisted of the young couple walking down the hallway of this building, which was lined with all the old people sitting in their special chairs. Each old person would bestow upon them a blessing, and the newlyweds would emerge into the dusk stronger, richer, and happier than before. During the wedding night their skin and hair would be redolent of ancient urine, and in the morning they would walk together to the gleaming river where they would wash each other. For the rest of their lives, the fragrance of urine would always remind them of abundance, ecstasy.

*   *   *

Do we make
the old folks envious or joyous? Did Helen ever find her room?

We're not supposed to help them, you know.

They once had jobs and friends. It sounds miraculous, but it must be true. They once wore clothing that wasn't soft and forgiving.

*   *   *

Back at the
beginning of
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
, the eldest brother has just convinced Milly to marry him. He convinced her while she was milking the cow, leaning her cheek up against the warm barrel of its stomach.

My mother says: I've watched the first fifteen minutes of this movie twenty times in the last week.

Our grief is about ourselves. Our own regrets. Our own shortcomings.

As kids, we watched this movie uncountable times. Soon they will get married; they will ride the wagon up into the mountains; Milly will learn that he has six filthy brothers; Milly will teach those brothers some manners. I know every sentence in this movie yet I am not sick of it. In fact, I feel curious about what will happen next.

But we must leave. Plane to catch, et cetera.

Across the hall:
Help
.

A desire to watch
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
in its entirety—regret about not being able to do so—we linger until Milly forces the brothers to remove their long underwear—until she trains them to court girls—until the barn-raising scene, again. The smiley girl may not see me again before she goes, but she will see this movie many times. Suddenly she looks away from the TV screen and stares straight into my eyes.

*   *   *

Suddenly you look
away from the TV screen and stare straight into my eyes, absolving or interrogating or thanking or begging or parting. Why are you doing this? You never do this.

A confession: When we were kids and people asked how much you understood, I said “Everything,” as I had been trained, but when I became an adult and people asked how much you understood, I said “Nothing.”

Don't worry; I saw the recognition in your eyes when you stared at me. The unmistakable recognition. It left me shaking.

*   *   *

Now you will
be stuck here forever watching
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
in a darkening room,
Help
across the hall, eternally contemplating the scene just after the barn-raising scene, the scene from which I must tear myself away, regret for leaving you manifesting itself as regret for not watching the rest of the movie.

*   *   *

What can she
do? my husband asked long before he was my husband.

She can smile.

Anything else?

She can cry.

Anything else?

*   *   *

Making it to
the doorway, the golden threshold, rushing back.

An immobile girl alone in a darkened room.
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
in a darkened room. Cheerful song, cheerful song, cheerful song.

*   *   *

Out walking on
a faraway dirt road. He and I, side by side. Night coming, yet the sky still white, the air still pink. Colors somehow brighter as the world begins to dim. An aster, a horse. A fistful of grass. The expectation of constellations, wood smoke. Hollow and weary.

In the distance, an incredible creature. As large as a baby elephant, with tan fur like a wooly mammoth. Some kind of magical beast moving through the twilight. Surprise, followed by terror. But this—this thing turns out just to be two people, a man and a woman, walking several paces apart in the darkening world.

 

THE JOINED

The pretty astronaut strolls in a landscape reminiscent of Earth, except the dirt is purple, the sky yellow, and the grass red. Aside from these details, we are reminded of the medieval hamlets we once learned about in our textbooks. She winds through a meadow, approaching a cluster of thatched cottages. Her movements are stiffened by the space suit, but still we can tell she is graceful. When she reaches the village, she finds a small crowd of aliens gathered in the central square. These aliens are much more like humans than anyone would have expected. Their skin comes in various shades of tan and brown. They wear dresses and pants. There are old ones, babies, children, couples, as on Earth. In fact, they resemble humans almost exactly, except that—well, how to say it? They're somehow vaguer around the edges. A bit blurry. It's hard to feel entirely confident about where their bodies end.

They seem to be gentle creatures. They smile at the astronaut with lips no different from our own. It's clear they would like to touch her, but they are polite and hold back. The mothers restrain their children. The old people hang on to one another's trembling hands. A strong young girl lowers a bucket into the well and carries it, overflowing, to the astronaut, who does not take it. Perhaps she wants to maintain the seal of her helmet. Perhaps she fears the substance offered may not be water. The girl isn't offended. She simply carries the bucket back to the well and dumps the unused fluid.

The astronaut seems touched. She gestures toward her heart. No one knew they would be so capable of charming us. She gazes at them, attempting to make eye contact with each. Her eyes meet those of a tall alien man on the outskirts of the group. He's as handsome as she is pretty. His stare is intense and tender.

She begins to wobble. He begins to wobble. She is elevated a few inches off the ground and her feet are dragged across the dry purple dirt, raising a cloud of lavender dust. The invisible force propelling her rapidly toward him also propels him toward her. The aliens step out of the way. A great black flash obscures the moment of encounter. The camera must have shattered, because this is all we have.

It's an amazing sight.

*   *   *

It is somewhat
less amazing on the fiftieth viewing.

The TV networks become addicted to this footage for the week following the incident. At first, we're addicted too.

“Look! Right there! In the middle of the black flash!”

“How can there be a black flash? Isn't a flash always white?”

“Did you see it this time?”

“See what? You're getting crumbs everywhere, by the way.”

“What I told you to look for!”

“What?”

“In the middle of the black flash
there's a naked woman
! And a naked man too, but he's harder to spot. He's sort of—I don't know—misty.”

“A naked woman? Scoot over.”

“How can she be
naked
? She was wearing her space suit a millisecond ago.”

“I don't know. I didn't see it.”

“I
told
you to watch for it! Why do you never listen to me?”

“Mind if I have the last gingersnap?”

“Look, they're showing it again.”

“Big surprise.”

“
Look
for it this time, okay?
Look
for the naked woman. And next time round you can look for the naked man. You're not looking!”

“You're funny.”

“Look really close. It's up there for like one-billionth of a second.”