Murder At The Mikvah (7 page)

 Nine

A man in a white lab coat met Yehuda at the emergency room door. He was older, about sixty or so, with a thick head of white hair, tall, but about thirty pounds overweight with a double chin. The photo on his hospital ID tag showed a younger and much slimmer looking version of himself under the words
B. Anthony Jarvis, M.D., Director of Emergency Services
.

The doctor grabbed a clipboard from an intake area and led Yehuda down a long corridor. They passed patients on stretchers—most in street clothes, some in quite a bit of pain—and finally entered a small dimly lit room. The pale blue walls were accented by framed watercolor paintings, free style swirls in muted shades of pink, yellow and orange. Tranquil, wordless music floated in through flat speakers on the ceiling, and tall leafy plants in ceramic pots softened the room’s corner spaces.

Yehuda sat down on a stiff black armchair, the lack of cushioning striking him as odd in a room obviously designed with relaxation in mind. Doctor Jarvis took a seat across from him on a soft yellow couch. Hannah, he said, had just come out of surgery and was resting comfortably in the intensive care unit. He would take Yehuda to see her after they attended to some hospital business. Dr. Jarvis then handed Yehuda a clipboard with several medical forms attached. Yehuda patted his jacket pocket in search of a pen. It was empty. He stood up and checked his pants. Also empty. It dawned on him that he must have left everything on the bench outside his home—keys, cell phone, wallet. Normally this discovery would be disconcerting to him, but now he felt only a pang of annoyance at not having something to write with. Getting through the paperwork quickly would bring him one step closer to seeing Hannah. The doctor reached into his lab coat and pulled out a pen just as his beeper went off. He stood up and checked the number. “Rabbi Orenstein, if you’ll excuse me. I need to step out for a moment.” He handed him the pen before asking, “Can I bring you back something? Coffee, water, something to eat, perhaps?”

The offer made Yehuda realize he was quite thirsty. “Water would be nice. Thank you.”

Yehuda returned to his seat and flipped through the papers in front of him.
Insurance Information. Pre-Admission. Medical History. Privacy Statement.
His head was spinning; he couldn’t do this right now. Even if he
could
think straight, his insurance card was at home in his wallet, and there was no way he was going call the house; he had disturbed Saul enough for one night. He placed the clipboard on the table in front of him, and leaned over, hugging his arms around his stomach like he was going to be sick. His body felt weak. Maybe he was dehydrated. In the distance, he could hear the sound of approaching sirens. Curious, he walked over to a large double window draped in a heavy lavender curtain. He poked his head, childlike, through the middle divide of the fabric as if peeking at something he wasn’t supposed to see. Here the light of the room was completely blocked out. He inhaled deeply and felt a wave of calm pour over his body.

Yehuda had a sudden sense of deja vu at that moment. It was strange; he hadn't thought of it in a long, long time, but now, the memory was so precise, the pictures so vivid…

He was eleven when his mom had surprised him and his eight-year-old sister Sunny with a trip to Disney World. They would be staying at one of the most beautiful hotels she said—
The Polynesian
—and it would
be just the three of them. Their father had things he had to take care of at home.

Neither Yehuda nor his sister had ever been on a plane before. Prior to takeoff, the pretty stewardess gave each of them a wing pin and even took them up to the cockpit to meet the pilot. Yehuda clutched his pack of
Razzles
as the plane took off and ascended high above the clouds. His friend Douglas had been only half right about the chewing gum—it unpopped only one of his ears.

Disney World, Yehuda thought, was the most magical place he had ever seen. Each day was jam-packed with rides, shows, parades and of course the nightly fireworks. He was having the time of his life, until the second to last day that is, when his mom decided to break the news to them. Years later, Yehuda would thank her for having the wherewithal not to ruin the
entire
vacation. Even after all these years, the events of that morning remained etched perfectly in his memory: He and Sunny were dressed in their shorts and t-shirts, ready to go down for breakfast. Their mom was taking longer than unusual in the bathroom so he and his sister passed the time by leaping back and forth, in tandem, between the two double beds. When their mom finally emerged, she looked angry. There were crease lines along her forehead, and her lips were pursed tight like she was trying to hold in her fury. At first Yehuda thought they had been too loud, or that she was mad at the mess they had made of the beds, but when he examined her face more closely, he noted that it wasn’t anger he saw, but despair. Her eyes were puffy and her makeup smeared. At home, she never wore makeup, but all this week she had been trying out different colors on her eyes and mouth. Now there were streaks of blue running from the outer corner of her left eye all the way down her cheek. It wasn’t until she gripped a wad of tissues that Yehuda realized the makeup wasn’t supposed to look like that. With a crumbled ball of tissues in her fist, she motioned for them to sit down. Yehuda and Sunny looked at each other, not knowing what to expect. Sunny’s arms were crossed defensively, but her bottom lip trembled the way it always did when she was scared, but trying not to cry. Their mom took a deep breath and finally spoke. There was something difficult she needed to tell them.
There was no easy way to do this, she said, so she would just go ahead and say it. She swallowed and licked her lips. She and their dad had split up. There would be a divorce and the three of them would not be returning home to New Mexico. That's when it occurred to Yehuda. Why had they flown across the entire country when Disneyland on the
west coast
was so much closer?

Everything would be okay, their mom assured them, wiping her eyes and forming her mouth into a strange, contorted smile. There were some special people they would be meeting soon.

How could this be happening? Yehuda stared at the red lipstick smear on his mom’s front tooth. It was all messed up. Seconds ago it was perfect and now she had gone and messed it up! Somehow she was still blathering on, telling them some nonsense about this trip being some kind of “kick off” to all the new and exciting changes in their lives. Yehuda was stunned. What had his mom just said? A kick off? Like this was some kind of game? Who was she kidding? Games were supposed to be fun.

Yehuda stayed behind in the room while his mom and Sunny went down to the Coral Isle coffee shop. Most likely his mom would sip a glass of orange juice while Sunny proceeded to eat a full breakfast of cereal, eggs, potatoes and toast. Sunny had an unusually hearty appetite that was oddly unaffected by emotional turmoil. Yehuda on the other hand lost his appetite completely when he was upset, so his mom knew he was being truthful when he said he couldn’t eat a
crumb
right now. Couldn’t eat a
crumb of a crumb
. He might even be sick; suddenly he had begun to feel nauseous. Maybe their mom would give in and let Sunny order bacon today. At home she served strictly vegetarian meals, but all this week she had eased up, permitting the kids to eat burgers, hot dogs, and barbecued chicken. They had even eaten poi at the luau on the beach their second night, and neither he nor Sunny had gotten a stomachache like their mom predicted.

Yehuda lay on his bed—he had enjoyed having such a big bed all to himself—and stared up at the crackly stucco ceiling. It still looked like someone had done a sloppy job painting it, but his mom said, no, it was supposed to look like that. He listened to the steady flow of sounds outside the room—babies crying, doors slamming—and felt pangs of jealousy each time he heard shrills of laughter and the patter of little feet pass through the hallway. He was certain they were evidence of happy, intact families beginning another perfect day at the Magic Kingdom.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Excited, he jumped up, ran over to the dresser and scooped up a handful of change from a glass ashtray. He would call his dad! Maybe this was all a mistake! Maybe his mom misunderstood. His dad would clear up the confusion and everything would be back to normal. He shoved the fist of change into his pocket, grabbed the extra room key and slipped out. Downstairs in the lobby, he jogged past a cluster of wheelchairs toward the phone booth area. There weren't any phones available so he would have to wait. Businessmen with long sideburns and name badges milled around in leisure suits puffing on cigarettes. Yehuda knew there were a couple of conventions going on in the hotel. He turned around at the sound of a parrot squawking from a high perch, one of many exotic birds enhancing the hotel’s island theme. Then he looked back at the wheelchairs. Children his age and younger were sitting in them and most appeared to have some kind of limb deformity. One girl's right arm stopped at the elbow. Another was missing one hand and one foot. Others with bodies seemingly intact, had limited or no use of their arms or legs. Some of the wheelchairs were equipped with ventilators or other medical equipment; the kids sitting in them had flat facial expressions. Yehuda felt sorry for them, but more annoyed with the adults hovering around them. What were they doing bringing their kids to a place like this?
Do any of them even know where they are? Do they know what’s going on?
The parents were selfish, Yehuda thought, trying to make themselves feel better—purge their own guilt—after creating such sick children in the first place.

“Damn shame is what it is.”

Yehuda looked up. One of the conventioneers stood there, taking a long drawl of his cigarette. “Thalidomide is what done that to those kids,” he said, tilting his chin. Smoke funneled out of his nostrils. “Some say it's God's will. I say God has nothing to do with it. It's man's arrogance thinking he knows better.”

Yehuda looked again at the kids, not having a clue what the man was talking about, or whether or not a response was expected. Fortunately, at that moment, a phone became available. Yehuda nodded politely at the man, then tucked himself into the booth, pulling the hinged door closed behind him. He stretched up on his toes and shoved every coin he had into the slot, quickly dialed, and held his breath as it rang.

“Hellooo…”

“Uh… Larry?”

Yehuda always felt funny calling his dad by his first name, but what choice did he have? Whenever he said “Dad” his father ignored him. Sometimes he stared at him like he was speaking Martian.
You watch
, his dad told his mom who made it clear that she was opposed to such a thing,
they'll grow up faster if you stop coddling them
.

“Ira?”

“Uh huh.”

“Where’s Judy?” He sounded more annoyed than concerned.

“She’s eating breakfast with Sunny,” Yehuda said, realizing his father was not used to handling the affairs of his children. Their mom was the one who managed every detail of his and Sunny’s lives.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Outside the booth, there were shrills of bursting excitement followed by applause. Yehuda turned to see Goofy and Minnie Mouse pop out from behind some tropical plants. Both characters were dressed in island attire: Minnie in a grass skirt, Goofy in a flowery Hawaiian shirt. The kids’ faces lit up as Minnie and Goofy handed out flower lays. A couple of the kids were so excited they looked as though they might jump out of their skins.

“I said, what's the problem, Ira?”

“I…” Yehuda was beginning to regret making this call.

“You what?”

There was a sound of a woman giggling in the background. It sounded like Marigold, his mom's friend. “Uh, Mom told us that you…”

His dad said something in a hushed tone to the woman, then spoke directly into the phone. “I can barely hear you Ira!… Speak up! What did your mom tell you?”

Minnie was dancing the hula with four performers from the nightly luau show.

Yehuda swallowed and tried to speak louder. “Mom said we… she said we weren’t coming home.”

“That's right.” He said it like he was confirming directions.
That's right, make a left at the corner. You can't miss it.

“So is it… is it true?”

Now Goofy was down on one knee, strumming a ukulele, in a serenade to one of the wheelchair bound girls. She squealed with joy as her dad snapped a couple of photos.

“I’m afraid that’s the way it has to be.”

“I…”

“Look, life’s complicated Ira. When you get older, you’ll understand… People grow apart. It's just the way it is. We only live once… We owe it to ourselves to be happy.”

Yehuda cupped his mouth, trying to hold in the wail that was inching it’s way past the lump in his throat. There was no way he would let his dad hear him cry.

“Be a good boy and help your mother.”

Then there was a click and the sound of a dial tone.

Dazed, Yehuda returned back to the room. His mom and Sunny were still at breakfast, but the maid had come and gone, leaving washcloths folded into animal shapes near the bathroom sink. He pulled off his sneakers and hurled them against the wall, narrowly missing the mirror. Then he threw himself on the bed and sobbed like a baby into the bedspread. So it was true. They wouldn’t be returning home. But then, where
would
they go? How would they live? His mom didn’t even have a job. How would they buy food? Yehuda’s mind drifted to the image of Minnie Mouse dancing the hula in the lobby. If only they could stay right here at the Polynesian. Everyone was friendly, and the Hawaiian women were so pretty, especially the way they tucked those big flowers in their hair. His mom was just as pretty, so maybe she could get a job as one of the performers! She would have to dye her hair black, but that wouldn’t be a big deal now that she was using all that other makeup stuff. Yehuda rolled over and sighed; he knew she would never go for it. But that didn’t mean
he
couldn't. Maybe he could find somewhere to hide in the park! It shouldn’t be that difficult since the place was so massive. He even heard a rumor that there were underground tunnels. And earlier in the year he had read a book about a boy and his sister hiding in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.