Prayers for the Dead (49 page)

The minutes crawled along with the fear of the unknown.

Michael regarded Decker. “You should…” His voice cracked. “Your arm… you should take care of it.”

Paul turned his glazed eyes toward Decker, as if looking at him for the first time. No doubt that was the case.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Mom…” Michael cleared his throat. “Mom did it.”

“Oh God!” Paul sank into a chair. “Will this nightmare ever end?”

Pink-eyed, Angela said, “Do you want more water, Paul?”

“Nothing.” He lowered his head between his knees. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

But he remained hunched over, arms wrapped around his head.

Angela kneaded her hands. She had bitten a couple of her nails past the quick, trickles of blood oozing over the fingertips. To Decker, she said, “Is your arm okay?”

“It’ll keep.”

She said, “Mama’s really not an evil person…”

Angela stopped talking, waiting for someone to corroborate her position. When no one rose to Mom’s defense, Decker said, “Somebody should be paying attention to her needs… go down to the jail, talk to her and to her representation. Right now, they’ve assigned someone from the PD’s office. Eventually, you might want to hire your own lawyer.”

Nobody said anything, nobody moved.

Eva’s husband, David, tapped his foot. Dark, Semitic-looking. Sleepy brown eyes, thick black hair, a long face, and a prominent nose. Handsome though, because his features were strong. He was wearing an untucked linen shirt over a pair of old jeans. “You want me to go?”

Nobody answered him. He looked to Decker for help.

“It would be a good idea,” Decker answered.

Eva had curled herself into a ball and pressed herself against the corner of the couch. Maggie was next to her, head on her shoulder, eyes closed, mouth open, snoring slightly.

“Then I should go, Eva?”

Eva glanced at him, looked away. Her eyes held no emotion, dead to the world. “Do whatever you want.”

Paul raised his head, looked at his watch. “You said they brought him here around ten, Michael?”

“About,” Michael answered by rote.

“So it’s been four hours,” Paul said. “Don’t they say the longer the better?”

He had addressed his question to Michael. But the med student didn’t answer.

Paul said, “Did anyone hear me?”

Luke said, “I don’t know, Paul. I guess no news is good news.”

Paul surveyed his brother’s face. “You’re gray, Luke. You need to drink.”

“I’m too nauseated,” Luke said. “Goddamn room feels like a boat in a storm.”

“I’ve got a crashing headache,” Paul said. “Anyone have an aspirin?”

Michael said, “Paul, you just gave blood. You can’t take aspirin for at least a week. It makes you bleed.”

“I’ve got a Tylenol,” David said.

“Tylenol doesn’t work on me.”

Michael said, “No aspirin, no ibuprofen — Advil, Motrin, Ecotrin. Didn’t you read the handout they gave you?”

Paul said, “No, Michael, I didn’t
read
the handout.”

“
Please
don’t fight,” Dana said.

“No one’s fighting,” Paul said. “Last thing I want to do is fight. I’m sorry, Michael.”

Michael smiled weakly, tried to speak but couldn’t. Instead, he paced. A minute later, he turned to Decker with wet eyes. “I never did thank—”

“Not necessary,” Decker said.

“Some people can think on their feet.” He shook his head. “Others just stand around like stunned idiots.”

“Michael, I was a medic in the army. I didn’t think, I just did.”

“You saw action then?” Paul asked.

Decker nodded.

“Vietnam?”

“Yes.”

“A survivor,” Paul whispered. “More power to you. That’d been me, I would have shriveled up and died.”

Decker said, “Self-preservation kicks in, Paul.”

Again, the room fell quiet.

To Decker, Luke said, “He talk to you at all, Lieutenant?”

“A little.”

“What’d he say?”

Michael said, “He prayed, Luke.”

Luke said, “Say anything to you in the ambulance?”

Decker shook his head.

“Unconscious?”

Decker nodded.

“So, he wasn’t in pain, right?”

“No,” Decker lied. Because he really didn’t know one way or the other.

Tears fell down Eva’s cheeks. “You should go see Mother, David. The sooner the better. You should leave now.”

David rocked on his feet. “If that’s what you—”

“Yes. Go.”

He threw his wife a surprised glance. Decker gave them the address of the jail as well as the name of a contact person. David thanked him and left. As soon as David was gone, Eva uncoiled an arm, placed it around her sister’s shoulder.

Maggie sat up abruptly, rubbed her eyes. “Oh my God! I dozed off.”

Eva said, “That’s good.”

“No, it’s not,” Maggie cried. “It’s horrible! How could I sleep when… I’m so
terrible
!”

She burst into tears. Eva hugged her. “You’re not terrible. I’m terrible.”

“No one’s terrible,” Luke said.

Eva blurted out, “I was always
yelling
at him.”

“Eva, everyone was always yelling at him,” Paul said. “That’s what we did. We yelled at Bram. Do this! Do that! Get this! Go here! Take care of Mom! Fix up my life!” He lowered his head into his hands. “You want regrets? I’ve got enough to fill a bank vault.”

Dana said, “You know, everything might be okay… I mean, he… we…”

Her voice faded to nothing.

Maggie said, “How could I fall asleep at a time like this?”

Luke said, “Maggie, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong. If Bram were here, he’d tell you to sleep.”

“We’d all sleep if we could,” Paul said.

Luke said, “Only reason why you can sleep and we can’t is your conscience is clean.”

“Amen,” Paul said.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Maggie said.

“It means, like Paul and Eva, I’m wracked with guilt and filled with ‘I should haves.’” Luke’s eyes watered. “You know, I don’t want or expect miracles. I don’t need the Red Sea to split or to walk on water or to see Lazarus rising from the dead. All I want is a chance to
talk
to him again. Is that asking too fucking much?”

“Amen,” Paul answered.

Dana said, “You came to his rescue, Lucas—”

“No, Dana, he came to my rescue—”

“You know, he’s not…” Dana held back tears. “Stop talking like it’s… final!”

Luke’s eyes shifted upward, over Decker’s shoulder, across the empty lobby. Decker turned around.

Rina.

She wore the same maroon cotton dress she had on for last night’s dinner. Light years ago.

He started toward her, meeting her in the middle of the room. She stared at her husband, lip quivering. The hospital had given him a clean top, but he still had on blood-stained pants. He expected her to explode into tears.

Instead, she said, “What happened to your arm?”

“It’s nothing—”

“Peter—”

“I got shot—”

“Oh my
God—
”

“Rina, I’m—”

“Can you move it?”

“The arm? Yeah, no problem.” He lowered his voice. “They just have to take the bullet out.”

“They haven’t taken the bullet
out
?”

Decker sighed. “I was waiting for some news first.”

Rina was quiet, regarded her husband. “Nothing?”

Decker shook his head.

Rina kneaded her hands, remained silent.

“You tell the boys?” Decker asked.

“Nothing specific. I told them I had an emergency and to listen for Hannah on the rare chance that she might wake up.”

“What’d they say?”

“They were half-asleep. I told them to go back to bed. I left their door open.”

Abruptly, Rina embraced her husband.

“Oh, Peter, I can’t
take
this anymore! Learn in a
kol-lel
all day. Start your own dog kennel or riding stable. Do anything except what you’re doing. Find another
job
! I need to sleep at night.”

“This is very unusual—”

“Once burned, twice shy. Twice burned, you pick up your cards and go home.”

“Rina—”

“I’m
serious
! I can’t take it! I can’t take…” Rina sighed, whispered, “Is he going pull through?”

“I don’t know, Rina.”

“What do you think?”

“Honey, I wouldn’t even attempt a guess.” He kissed his wife’s head, looked intently into her puffy blue eyes. “He appreciated the faith you had in him. He also asked if you could say
Tehillim
for him.”

“He actually said that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my, my…” Rina gazed upon her husband with faraway eyes. Her hands reached into her purse, pulled out a thin Hebrew book. She held it up. “I don’t know why I bothered bringing it.” Her eyes spilled tears. “I practically know all of Psalms by heart.”

Decker’s eyes watered. “I’m sorry, Rina. I did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. The sad part was I felt it coming. As soon as I saw Dolores Sparks’s hand disappear into her robe, I jumped her. But it wasn’t soon enough. If I had only gotten to her a second earlier—”

“If you had gotten to her a second earlier, it might have been you instead of him.”

Decker paused, realizing the gravity of her statement.

Without a word, she opened her book, wondering whether or not gentiles said
Tehillim
for one another like the Jews did. And if they did, how did they choose which psalms to say? Tradition had it that Jews recited the psalms that corresponded to the letters of the Torah-given name of the person in need. Obviously, Bram didn’t have a Torah name. But since Abram Matthew had a Hebrew equivalent —
Avram Matisyahu
— she plowed ahead.

She hadn’t gotten very far when Myron Berger walked into the waiting room. From the look on his face, it was clear she needn’t have bothered to start.

She closed the book and recited, “
Baruch atah adonai elohenu melech haolam dayan haemet
.”

“Blessed are you, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, the true judge.”

The Jewish blessing upon hearing distressing news.

Decker closed his eyes and opened them, dread in his stomach. Berger’s blue gown was soaked with blood, his mask dangling over his scrubs like a pinafore. His eyes skittered across the sea of beaten faces as he tried to find the right words.

“I’m sorry…” The surgeon averted his eyes. “I did what I could… but he was too far gone…”

The silence was crashing.

Berger said, “Maybe, if I had been your father… with his skills, I could have… I’m terribly sorry.”

Paul got up, walked over to Berger, and placed his hand on the surgeon’s shoulder. He retreated a few steps, then erupted into silent tears. Michael reached out to him, the two brothers fell upon each other’s necks, choking back sobs. The sisters embraced and cried out loud.

Luke remained by himself. Bram’s twin, covering his face with his hands, wails emanating from the heart, deep moans of despair. His wife held him in her arms, rocking him while he wept. But Dana was ill-equipped to console his bitter misery.

And so it was that Decker saw the sorrow — the unbridled grief he had expected to find when he had originally come to them announcing Azor’s death. For all their professed love and respect of their parents, their honest love and true despair came out in Bram’s death.

Because, in fact, with Azor being a punitive, unapproachable figure in their lives, and Dolores, a fragile, imbalanced mother, they had turned to Bram for nurturance and guidance.

Abram Sparks — the golden boy.

Decker looked at Rina.

Stoically, she took his hand. “We need to take care of your arm, Peter.”

Decker nodded, leaving the family alone to grieve. Out of deference to their needs for privacy and more than a little of his own fear. Because witnessing such abject pain was a very hard thing to do.

“Are you sure
you want to be here?” Marge asked.

Decker flexed his elbow, wriggled his fingers, and winced. “I’m not saying I feel great. But since I can write, I might as well work.” He shook his head. “Better here than being at home. It’s been hell this past week.”

“How’s Rina?”

Decker thought about the question. “She’s… functioning.”

“Should I send her a condolence card or something?”

“I think she’d appreciate a call. You go to Polinski’s arraignment yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t go. Tom and Bert went. Scott and I spent the day going over Waterson’s confession tape.”

“Everything okay?”

“Seems to be pretty clean,” Marge said. “I think he’ll be a very credible witness for the state. I think the DA’s going for the death penalty for Polinski.”

“Fine.”

“My opinion? Waterson and Dolores deserve it as much as Polinski does. Maybe even more.”

“Maybe.”

“They might not have pulled the trigger physically, but they arranged the murder… murders. At least, Waterson did. Calling up Polinski, telling him to meet Azor in the back alley of Tracadero’s. Asshole set the whole thing up.”

“True.”

“And Dolores…” Marge shook her head. “What a cold-blooded bitch. Sets up her husband and his colleague, then literally shoots her own son.
Two
guns on her, mind you. An extra in case the first one jams, the psycho. The kids have hired some hotshot psychiatrist to the tune of God knows how much money…” She paused. “I guess they can afford it. Anyway, the court sends her to a
hospital
. I say, in lieu of electroshock, how about the electric chair.”

Decker ran his left hand through his hair. “She might agree with you.”

“Bullshit. They all start off remorseful. Within a very short period of time, it’s ‘I don’t want to die. Save my fucking ass!’ I wouldn’t lose any sleep if they fried her.”

Decker nodded.

“Fried her big time.”

“Whatever.”

Marge paused. “You’re being rather mysterious.”

“I’m in pain.”

No one spoke for a moment.

“Why don’t you call it a day?” Marge said.

“No, I’ll slug it out. I’m a man. I can’t admit weakness.”

Marge smiled.