She was angry about my being unhappy, though, and did complain to him again and again about my moods,
"I know enough about manic-depression, thanks to you, to know she's a prime candidate. Claude. Don't think I'm going to tolerate any of that in this house." she warned.
He assured her I was just experiencing what all young girls experience as they move into adolescence,
"I never acted like that," she told him.
He didn't answer, which was an answer she missed.
I spent most of my time trying to avoid her, and then doing my best to put on an act she would accept.
How different our
-
homeis from Scott's
,
I
remember thinking. Here, truth is rare; lies are the coin we use to buy peace and toleration of each other.
Sometimes it felt as if the floor were trembling beneath my feet. The whale structure would come down around us in a grand collapse, and the Doctor could do nothing to stop it. I imagined the seams pulling apart, the very walls severing.
I was sixteen by then, and we were all living separate lives. As a kind of negotiated settlement between my adoptive mother and the Doctor. I was permitted to refer to her as 'Mother' only when we were out or amongst people, so that there could be at least the semblance of a normal home life. In the house, however, she began to insist I call her Alberta.
"Since I'm not your mother," she told me. it makes more sense."
It was just another in a series of sour balls for me to swallow.
One day I heard a little girl tell her mother she had to go to the bathroom.
I
was in the lobby of the movie theater with two of my friends from school. Her mother made a pained expression and groaned so loudly, people stopped talking around her.
"What?" she demanded, tugging the little girl's arm.
"A BM," she replied, and the mother went charging off to the ladies' room.
I
couldn't help recalling so many times when my adoptive mother treated me that insensitively, and suddenly it occurred to me.
I
wouldn't think of her or refer to her as my adoptive mother anymore.
I
would call her my AM. Just never to her face.... "Why are you smiling?" one of my girlfriends asked.
"Am
I
smiling?
I
must be happy," I replied.
The two of them shook their heads and laughed at my glee. It was not important why one of us was happy. actually. The mood was catching. All giggles, we hurried into the theater, taking jay in our youth without ever really appreciating how precious and how short-lived it was.
4
Heartbreak and Fate
.
Perhaps no day in my life was as dark and as
sad for me as the day Amou told me she was going to leave. She told me before she told my AM or even the Doctor. Somehow.
I
never thought of her as leaving our home. Of course. I knew she and her older sister Marisa had left their family behind in Brazil. Two years before. Marisa had returned to Brazil. I suspected from reading between the lines that the Doctor had prevented Amou from going by raising her salary significantly and by paying far her vacation trip to Rio. I didn't really understand why he was so determined to keep her in our family. I assumed it was because of the many things she was still doing far my AM.
I was at my desk, doing my homework, when she came to my room. Even though
I
could sense when she was near. I suspected she had been standing in my doorway watching me for a good half minute or so before bringing herself to my attention.
Muito lindo."
My face flushed crimson and I laughed. Once. when
I
was about fourteen. my AM had
come into my room, stood there looking at me, shaking her head, and then said. "Your real mother must have been a chunky woman with a double chin. Probably with oversized, sagging breasts and
a
waist you could tie an ocean liner to when it was in port. She was probably short and squatty with ballooned cheeks and tiny eyes. Medicine, especially the medicine they give mentally ill people, can do that to a person, you know, and then their offspring inherit it."
I
had run to Amou immediately after and told her, Now I reminded her of that.
"Remember? She said
I
would be forever bloatfaced."
Amou waved at the air as if she were waving away annoying flies and came into my room. For a moment she just stood there, looking at everything, just the way someone would who wanted to commit it all to memory forever. It started a small alarm in my heart that confused me.
"What's wrong. Amou?" I asked.
She smiled and sat on my bed. I turned my chair around.
"My sister is a lonely woman now that both our parents are gone." she began. "and there is something in my heart that cries not only for her, but for my youth. It is time for me to go home,
Amou Una
."
"Go home?"
In my mind, this had always been Amou's home, How could she think of anywhere else as her home?
"Back to my roots, my people, my uncles and aunts and cousins. I have so many nieces and nephews. I can't remember all their names." she added.
"Oh,"
I
said. It was like all my insides were crumbling.
"You must not be upset. Willow. You really are a grown woman now. You do not need someone like me trailing after you all the time. Soon, you will be serious with some young man. I'm sure, and you would forget me. anyway."
"I could never forget you. Amou. Don't say such a terrible thing!" I cried.
She laughed. "When
a
girl becomes a woman, she forgets a lot more than she ever thought she would, but that's not something bad. It is what should be. It's only natural. Do not be upset at yourself for that," she insisted,
"When are you going?"
"In a week, Dr. De Beers doesn't know exactly, but he has been anticipating it for some time. I'm sure," she said. "Of course, I will miss him very much. too."
I
could feel the tears flawing over my lids and starting down my cheeks.
"I'll never see you again,"
I
moaned.
"Of course you will see me again. I will come back often, and maybe someday, when you are able. you will travel to Brazil and
I
will be able to show you my beautiful county."
My throat closed.
I
turned away,
"I'll hate living here without you," I threatened, "I'll run away."
I
turned back to her.
"Maybe I'll run away to Brazil."
"The Doctor would be very upset, Willow. You don't want to hurt him so much, do you?"
"He's never here. He hardly sees me these days. I almost agree with my AM about it." I said, dabbing my eyes with a tissue, "He's married to the clinic. It's his whole life."
"No," she insisted. You are his whole life." "Oh, sure," I said.
"Maybe no one should be anyone's whole life." she added, for more thoughtful and philosophical than
I
had ever seen her. "It's good to be a little selfish. So You can survive." she added. "You look at me like you don't understand. but I'm sure, some day, you will," she said. smiling.
"Oh, Amou."
I rose and threw my arms around her. We held each other for a long moment. rocking just the way I used to when I was very little and afraid or had just been hurt. Then she let go of me and I let go of her.
She stood up. and I saw she had tears welling in her eves, too.
You have been my
filha
," she said, which was Portuguese for "'daughter."
"And you have been my
mae
," I told her. which was Portuguese for "mother."
How well those words fit the both of us.
I cried myself to sleep that night. The next day I could easily tell she had informed both my AM and the Doctor. My AM was even more nasty and sarcastic than ever, which I didn't think possible.
"Normal people give their employers a month's notice," she said at breakfast when Amou brought in the coffee.
It
was as if she had been holding the sentence an her lips all night.
Amou poured her and the Doctor their coffee without speaking.
"To be fair." the Doctor said after
a
moment. "I would have to admit Isabella has been saying she intended on leaving very soon for some time now."
He smiled at Amou. "None of us wanted to believe it. Isabella, but we all understand."
"I don't understand," my AM snapped. "How can you want to return to the Third World and live in squalor when you can enjoy living in upper-class America?"
"My family does not live in squalor. Mrs. De Beers."
"Umph," my AM muttered.
"I wouldn't exactly call Brazil Third World, Alberta," the Doctor said softly.
"Right. It's paradise on earth."
"Paradise is wherever you are most happy," Amou said.
Since she rarely, if ever, even approached or hinted at contradicting my AM, her remark raised all our eyebrows at once.
"Oh, and you're not happy here, making a queen's salary for maid's work?"
"I have come to an end here. Mrs, De Beers, You will find someone else very quickly, I'm sure."
"I'm sure. too. Especially if we offer half of what we give you."
Amou sewed her mouth closed and finished serving our breakfast. I said nothing, The Doctor returned to his magazine and my AM sat smoldering. I imagined the smoke pouring out of her ears.
It was a very hard week for me. In school. I would suddenly break out in tears. My friends were confused. I never wanted anyone to know just how close I was to Amou. None of them would understand how
I
could be so emotionally tied to a house servant and care more about her than
I
did my mother.
The day Amou left.
I
went with her to the airport, The Doctor drove her. My AM didn't so much as say goodbye. I heard her threaten the Doctor, however, should he go and give "that woman" any sort of bonus.
You should charge back what it will cost us to have the house managed until we find a decent replacement," she told him.
I smiled to myself about that when I saw the Doctor hand Amou an envelope at the airport. He said goodbye to her and then went out to the car to wait for me. I stayed with her until they called for her plane to be boarded.
"You must not think of this as a goodbye," she told me. "It's just a little space between us that we will close often.
Amou Una
."
"I know," I said.
"I can give you no more than you can give to yourself now. You will be a wonderful woman, and I know, when your time comes, you will be a wonderful mother and a wonderful wife. Take care of Dr. De Beers," she concluded.
I thought it was a strange thing for her to tell me to do. How could
I
ever be the one to take care of the Doctor? He was the one who took care of everyone else.
"He needs your understanding." she added.
She hugged and kissed me and then she started for the gate door. I waited until she turned, waved, and threw me a kiss. Moments later she was gone.
When I got back into our car. the Doctor reached across to squeeze my hand gently.
"I know you're sad. Willow. but Isabella is going home to her family, to people she loves and who love her and who miss her deeply. Don't you think you should be happy for Isabella?"
"Yes," I said in a small, reluctant voice.
"It's not like you will never see her again, is it?" "No."
"You know you have a lot to do during the next two years. You will be graduating high school and thinking about a college education. You will be thinking about what you want to do with yourself. Have you given it any consideration?"
"Yes,"
"What ideas do you have?"
"I think
I
want to go into psychology. too." I said "I think I want to help people."
"That's very nice. Willow. I think you could be very successful at that. If you ever have any questions you want answered, please come to me. okay?"
"Yes." I said.
"I'm already very proud of your
accomplishments at school," he said.
"When did you know what you wanted to be?" I asked him.
"Oh, not until my first year of college, really. For a while.
I
thought I might go into teaching, and then I thought I would like to do something about the so-called unteachable, those troubled souls who are too often forgotten or discarded. Bringing someone back from that is like..."
"
-
What?"
"Bringing someone back from the dead," he replied. He smiled. "We don't have that sort of success all that often, but when we do, it makes you feel it's all been worth it.
I
know I should be spending more time with you, but that's been what's kept me from doing it. Maybe now, I will he suddenly decided. "I will."
"I'd like that," I said.
He nodded and we drove on in silence, my eyes and my ears filled with Amou's last moments with me.
I had no idea what his were filled with, but when I looked at him, he seemed just as sad, if not sadder than I was.
And
I
wondered why, what it could be that would have such an effect on him.
It wasn't going to be for a while yet before I would find out, but when I did. I fully understood every dark moment I had ever caught him having.
.
Postcards from Brazil began arriving within two weeks of Amou's departure. I wrote her long letters, sometimes spending more time on them than I did on my homework. I wanted to get every little detail of our lives in the letters. I knew she would enjoy hearing about the three new maids my AM hired and fired within weeks of each other. If one cooked well, she didn't clean well: if she cleaned well, she couldn't cook: and if she could do both well, she had no idea how to brush out a wig,
"I guess Isabella was worth what we paid her after all." the Doctor said one night.
Finally my AM had no reply. Her silence was her admittance of being wrong. What she did instead was turn to me and say, "You should be doing more around here until we find someone suitable. Apparently, you're smart enough to be on the honor roll at school all the time. Nothing here should be a challenge."
It was almost a compliment. The Doctor looked at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"I'll do whatever I can to help. Alberta."
She said nothing, but when we were between maids.
I
prepared one of Amou's favorite dishes:
peixe oporto
, which was baked white fish with a port wine sauce. I had stood beside her and watched and helped her do it many times. She always welcomed me in the kitchen, teaching me all sorts of little culinary secrets. I knew my AM loved this dish. When I brought it out and she and the Doctor began to eat it. I could see the pleasure and surprise in both their faces, especially hers.
"Brains, looks, and this, too," the Doctor said,
It wasn't that often that he gave me such compliments in front of my AM.
I
blushed with pride. and
I
saw her turn to me and look at me with an expression I had not seen before.
It
was as if she finally had taken a good look at me and at who I was.
I
could almost hear something click in her head.
I
did some more cooking for us after that, but a week later my AM did find a cook and a maid who satisfied her. She was in her late fifties. Her name was Molly Williams, and she appeared to have the sort of personality my AM appreciated: a private person who was efficient and wasted few words. At times I thought she was robotic, but by now, as Amou predicted, my interests were developing in things outside our home. I participated in more school activities, was in a school play, and was even on the girls' field hockey team. The Doctor attended some of the games, and to my surprise. my AM accompanied him to the school play. I didn't have that big of a role, but it was enough for me to make an impression.
Whatever had clicked in my AM's mind that night I made my first dinner had an effect afterward on the way she behaved toward me. It began in little ways. She would make a comment about my hair and then, to my surprise this time, suggest some product she was using that would improve my texture, bring out the color, and keep it softer. She began to do the same with makeup, and especially her miraculous skin creams and facial treatments. She even invited me to join her at her spa one weekend. I began to have the feeling I had become a project for her. On a few occasions I heard her brag about how much of an improvement in my appearance she had made.
The Doctor seemed amused by all this, but also quite happy. Our once quite estranged little family began to take on the semblance of a unit. My Al was always quite involved in a variety of charity functions and always as a cosponsor or co-chair, always someone important. She surprised me again by inviting me to volunteer to help with some of these events.
Perhaps time and the inevitability of my continuing existence in her life finally had a positive influence on her. I did not know the reason. but I was grateful for the little truces between us. This didn't make a significantly dramatic change in her personality. She was still hard and cold more often than not, and her suggestions for my improvements always came on the heels of some nasty remark.
Nor did any of this make a significant dent in the wall I sensed had grown in height and thickness between her and the Doctor. His work at the clinic still dominated his day and his life, and she never eased up on her complaints about it. To be sure, there were isolated moments when they seemed to be softer toward each other. I sensed the Doctor still liked to dress up and be seen with her. She had. whether it be because of her constant pampering of herself ar not, an enduring beauty and made a striking figure, especially when she wore one of her expensive gowns.
Despite the way she often belittled and disparaged the Doctor's profession, she was an orthodox believer in the theory that stress degenerated and eventually killed someone. Whenever something made her alloy, she would go right to one of her pampering processes-- whether it be a facial, a massage, a mud bath, a herbal bath, whatever-- to counter the negative effects.
I
had seen her do that time and time again when I was little and she was barking at me for one thing or another.
Perhaps that belief in the importance of contentment and its significant influence on the aging process had the most to do with the changes that I saw in her behavior toward me and toward the Doctor. She was getting older: she knew she had to put a lid an the pot of rage that boiled over too often in her chest.
Now, more than ever. "Do what you want. I don't care," was her mantra. especially after complaining about something the Doctor was going to do. She devoted much more time to her pet charities and her elaborate luncheons and gala affairs. To give the devil her due, she was at least raising funds for important causes.