The Memory of Running (30 page)

For a few years after the honeymoon, whenever we needed anything that Jeffs store carried,
wed drive out on a Saturday and visit and buy. Then one day Jeff told us that his feelings
wouldnt be hurt if we wanted to buy from somewhere else. It all just got too hard for
Jeff. He met another woman. It was very difficult, I know, with the Ides around, even
though it was only out of our concern for him that we came to the store. So Jeff Greene
drifted out of our lives, and Pop became a Bethany detective, and Mom sat by the phone,
and I be- came a mountain. People separated by grief. Sharing the unshareable. But in the
first days following her leaving of the Level Wind Lodge, what was shared was a hope.

Jeff was on the porch when we pulled up. He was sitting with a young Conway policeman and
was angry. He met us at the steps.

You will not believe what this guy is asking me, Jeff said, thumbing in the direction of
the cop.

Sir, I was only He asked me if wed been fighting. God! Sir, often in a domestic Domestic!
God! Pop went past Jeff and took the officer aside. She just walked away, Jeff continued.
She just said good rid-

dance and walked away. We were having a great time. The food . . . I mean . . . well, she
planned it. Jesus! God!

Its the voice. Well find her. She just walked away. Its not her, Jeff. I know that sounds
stupid, but its not Bethany.

Its the voice. The Thatchers have a room for you and your father. Well find her. I dont
know. God.

I put our stuff in the room. Pop got all the dope from the cop. Shed been missing now for
twenty-four hours. The Mountain Club had done a thorough search of White Horse Trail,
which was con- nected up to the small path she must have taken off the porch. They had
fanned out and covered Red Bridge Link Trail, White Horse Ledge Summit, Bryce Path
Junction, Bryce Path Link Trail, and the Echo Lake parking area. The police were going to
get their drag boat into the lake in the morning, but there were a lot of people around
and nobody had seen anyone in the lake or even heard any splashing or anything, so Pop was
assured that this was only precautionary.

The next morning we drove slowly for three or four hours, in and out of North Conway and
Conway and the small, hilly roads around the town. In the afternoon we moved through
Freyburg, over the viaduct at Moosepond, and into Bridgton, Maine, on Highland Lake, where
the Ides vacationed until the car accident.

New buds came out late in Maine. New leaves were only now be- ginning to unravel. The lake
looked ice cold. We untied the rope strung across the dirt road down to the cabin. The
?? ???????????
sign clanged on the ground. Pop, I dont know.

See, she could have gotten a ride or something. You just dont know. We dont know.

We always came in August. Pops friend rented it out June to Au- gust in two-week blocks.
It looked sad and cold and lonely coming out of the winter. We got out of the car.

Bethany! Pop called. Bethany! I called, too. Honey, its me. Its Jeff. We stood still and
quiet and listened. It seemed very cold. Heavy,

gray clouds passed over us. Pop walked down to the waterfront. Jeff followed him, and I
walked around the cabin to the side door. It was open. Someone had smashed the bolt lock
that was secured with a combination lock.

Bethany?

I walked into the kitchen and then the small living room.

Hooks here, I said like a stupe, and walked into the first bed- room where Mom and Pop
slept. The bed had a clear plastic cover- ing to help keep out the moisture, and it
smelled musty. I lit a smoke and looked into the bunk room.

Smithy? In here, Pop. Somebody banged off that lock. Nothing down at the waterfront.
Nothing here either. We closed the door behind us. Jeff found a sturdy stick that he

propped under the knob, and we walked up the path to the car. When we heard the engine
turn over, it froze us in our tracks. It revved loud and hot in the spring woods. High in
the new branches, birds squawked.

We ran in a line onto the dirt road directly behind the wagon. It jerked forward. The
driver scrunched down in the seat and revved hotter and hotter. We stepped to it, and it
jerked forward again. We moved faster, its jerk faster and longer. Finally Jeff and I
broke into a full run behind Pops station wagon and were engulfed in a storm of
tire-thrown rocks and dirt. The car roared up the camp road, past the rope fence and
beyond. We stood again in our line, hearing Pops car slice through the cold.

Was that her, son?

Bethany? Jeff asked. My Bethany? Stealing a goddamn car? God! No!

Was it? I dont think so, Pop, I said. But I had heard it, if only between the revs, heard
that scratch of a

voice I had heard all my life. In the cold. Under the dangerous clouds.

The Cheng Ho Funeral Home was a two-story, square white stucco house with an orange tile
roof. The front door faced a parking lot, which was chained off and empty. Lights were on
in the second floor even though it wasnt dark yet. I stepped over the chain and walked up
to the front door. There was a sign with an arrow taped under the bell that read
?????? ?? ????
. I walked around to the back of the building where the driveway was curved and where two
limousines and a white hearse were parked. On the other side of an open garage, I could
hear the crowd from the bike road. I listened for a second, and then I knocked on the
office door.

A voice came over the intercom box. Hello. Hello, I said, and waited. Yes? Oh, uh, . . .
Im Smithy . . . Smithson Ide, and youve got my

sister. One moment, please. A balding, middle-aged Chinese man unlocked the door and let

me in. Im very sorry. Mr. Ide. Yes? Yes, Im Smithson Ide. Yes, yes. We have the Linn
funeral at six, and I thought the

family might have arrived early. Sorry. Im Larry Ho. Please follow me. Larry Ho wore blue
suit slacks, a white shirt, and a deep ma- roon tie. I followed him down a narrow corridor
into a bright, cheerful office.

Sit, please.

He walked behind his desk. Before he sat, he took the blue suit jacket that hung behind
his desk chair and slipped it on. He had a file on top of his desk.

We received a call that you would be coming perhaps today, he said as he opened the folder.

I felt achy in my stomach. I tried to be calm myself.

My brother Al, Larry said, my partner, made the transfer quite a while ago. I think its a
lovely thing that you have made this jour- ney. Often

Somebody stole my bike, I said. Stupidness never lets up. Your bike? See, Im not a bum or
anything. Ive just been riding. I mean . . . We never judge anyone, he said, with a
serious smile that I

could believe. Often people make very general suppositions about Al and myself.
Undertakers? Funeral directors? Ghoulish supposi- tions. We cannot live lives and worry
what others think. Our father taught us that.

Cheng Ho? I asked. Archie. Oh. Cheng Ho was our granddad. Judge not, lest ye be judged.
Good

advice. Yes, sir.

Larrys smile left, and his eyes became pensive and even more seri- ous. He stood and
walked around the corner of his desk. His eyes narrowed on me. Will you allow me to offer
a thought?

Sure. I understand your sister was a street person. I had never heard it. I had known it
and dreamed it, but I had

never heard another human say it. That it is a hard and unforgiving life is clear to you,
Im sure, but

the aspect of physical deterioration is often alarming. Al has worked quite hard on
Bethany, but I must tell you, Mr. Ide, the life of a street person is difficult.

I took a deep breath. The office smelled flowery and nice. I know. Im very thankful that
you and your brother took care of my sister.

The things that have driven her, he said, we will probably never know.

I know. It was a voice. It was a fucking voice that I would have liked to kill if it wasnt
inside her.

He nodded. Weve moved her to a display coffin. The room is cold, of course. May I add
something else?

Sure. Have you considered interment? Where Im going to bury her? Yes. Im going to put
Bethany with my mom and pop. May I suggest, then, cremation. We could then forward the re-

mains to your funeral home. I dont know. I mean . . . cremation. Well, I felt the option
had to be extended. More and more

people are embracing the return of the loved one to the elements. Can I think about it? Of
course. And now lets go downstairs. I followed Larry to an elevator, and we rode one floor
to the base-

ment. It opened onto another pleasant corridor, similar to the one upstairs. We walked
down to a locked heavy wooden door. Larry opened it and switched on several lights. The
room was icy, and goose bumps jumped over my bare legs and arms. There were several
stainless-steel tables on wheels, long and narrow, arranged in a neat row against the far
wall. Opposite them a bank of eight sliding body vaults, closed and locked. The ceiling of
the room was new, white perforated tiles. The floor and walls that were not stainless
steel were also white. On a cart in a corner of the room rested a coffin with the half top
raised, so that in order to see my sister, I would have to walk to it and around it. A
folding chair was set up next to it.

Larry stood behind me and placed his hand on my shoulder. Will you be too cold?

I shook my head.

Then I shall leave you. If you simply pick up this phone on the wall, I will return to you.

I nodded, and then I was alone in the room.

I stood very still. I could hear nothing. After a while I could hear the quiet itself. I
walked on weary legs to the upturned coffin lid and stood again, quietly, looking at the
wood and at the grain. I won- dered if I had come close enough. On the other side of this
wood was my sister. I had come this close. Was this close enough? And this is what I truly
understand, now. You have to go all the way through. Its too hard any other way. I stepped
around to my sister.

Not even her eyes. Not even the few patches of hair. Or the curve of her lips or the bones
of her chin. Nothing linked to my memory. A tiny thing in death and sadness, and not at
all my Bethany, except of course the few teeth that corresponded to the dental records Pop
sent out. Is that all that ever remains, then? Teeth? Cavities and despair?

Oh, Bethany, I whispered, brushing a few wisps of hair onto her pillow like Id done with
Mom in the hospital.

Larry and Al Ho had laid her in a pretty blue polka-dot dress that I knew couldnt have
been hers. They had rouged her and arranged the weak hair to fall over the space where
part of an ear was missing. Her eyebrows were penciled on. They didnt insult her with a
smile. My sister looked stunned.

I put my face down close to hers, then laid my cheek against hers. She smelled like Moms
lilac soap. I was crying into her pillow, and it was a good cry, and it was for Mom and
Pop and Norma, too.

Im so sorry I never came over, Norma, I said into the pillow. I could spend the rest of my
life being sorry for everything. But I was not sorry that Mom was not here. I was not
sorry my pop was not. I heard a voice. A soft call.

Smithy.

I thought I dreamed the voice, and I kept my face on Bethanys pillow.

Smithy Ide, it said again. I raised myself up and looked over the lid to the open doorway.
Larry Ho had brought Norma down to this room. She sat tall and

alone in the corridor light. Across the cold room, I noticed that the white concrete floor
glistened as if it were wet. We looked over the space at each other. She wore blue jeans
and a green sweater. Her hair was short again. Her eyes glistened, too, only not hard like
the floor. I tried to say her name, but I couldnt.

Finally she said, Im coming there, Smithy. Im coming to you. I looked at Bethany again and
then at Norma. No. Please, Norma. Norma took her hands off the wheels of her chair and put
them

in her lap. Then she said with all her defiance, Im staying. Im stay- ing right here.

Im not sure about my face. What it does, I mean. Sometimes I feel a smile flip across it,
but in a lot of ways it doesnt seem like a smile. I looked at her, then bent down to my
sister.

I love you, Bethany. Hook will always be here.

I kissed the stranger with my sisters teeth and closed the coffin lid. I walked slowly
across the room to Norma, on unsteady legs. She didnt seem surprised that so much of me
was gone or that I had a beard and beads hung off my head. I walked behind her and pulled
her from the room. Larry Ho was waiting in the corridor. He switched off the lights,
locked the door, and took us back in the elevator.

Cremation is okay, I said. Yes, he said. I can call you with the information. Yes. I
pushed Norma out of the office and down a ramp. I pushed her

back across the circular roadway and onto the bike path. I pushed her past the jugglers,
and the vendors, and the muscle builders, and the basketball players, and the one-man
bands. I pushed her fast, and then I was running. Over the beach, kites rose and soared
side to side, and Bethany did, too, held only by string to the earth, and she dove and
dipped and finally broke free of us, trailing the string be- hind. I stopped running and
watched as my sister drifted up into a clear evening sky. Norma looked straight ahead, but
her left hand flew over her right shoulder and held tight to my wrist. I looked down at
the top of her head.

I . . . love . . . you, she said.

I knelt on the bike road between Venice and Santa Monica, and I was not going to be sorry
anymore. I turned her face to me and kissed her lips.

I . . . love . . . you . . . too, I said. And I said it again. And I did.