Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (27 page)

On Mother’s Day Frank brought Darlene to say good-bye to her mother. It was a bright, sunny day. Darlene tiptoed into her mother’s room. Magda smiled and nodded for her to approach. Darlene laid her head on Magda’s chest, while Magda stroked her daughter’s hair. Darlene sobbed and tears ran down Magda’s face.

Frank stood, not wanting to interrupt them. This was their moment, theirs alone. He watched for a minute. When it became too much for him to bear, he left the room, silently closing the door behind him. Darlene emerged from her mother’s room with red, puffy eyes.

Frank held his nine-year-old daughter close to his heart.

Twilight. The time when the sun offers its final long kiss to the sky and the sky kisses it back. Frank watched as clouds shifted shapes and colors, embracing yellows, purples, and splashes of orange. Halfway up the horizon the silvery moon played peek-a-boo with a rhubarb-colored playmate, a cumulous cloud that was finely etched and clearly defined. The cloud slowly morphed, its outer edges fringed in gold. It was a spectacular interlude, the closing curtain before the sun marched to its bloody demise.

The coral-washed firmament faded to gray as Frank entered Magda’s room, knowing this might be the last time he’d ever be with her. He looked at her with hungry eyes. Her hair was thin and brittle yet it decorated the white pillowcase like calligraphy on parchment, gracefully curling and turning. Her face was pale—almost translucent—her forehead smooth. Her molasses-colored eyes rested beneath her lids.

He approached her bed and sat quietly in the chair at her bedside. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled slightly when she saw him. He took her hand in his, wanting to say so many things but not knowing where to begin. He sighed and looked at her. How could such a remarkable creature be granted only twenty-eight years on this earth? How could this be the end?

“I’m so sorry, Magda.” he managed. “I’m sorry nothing worked. I never thought it would come to this.”

Magda looked at Frank with such tenderness he thought his heart would buckle under her gaze. “Don’t, Frank,” she said softly.

Frank stopped talking and regarded her closely. She appeared peaceful, resigned, almost ethereal.

“You mustn’t speak that way,” she said. “We did everything we could. There’s nothing to regret.”

She sighed and glanced at the crucifix on the far side of the room. She moved her lips slightly, like she was reciting a prayer beneath her breath. A long moment elapsed, pregnant with memories.

Magda started to speak and then stopped.

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“I will miss everyone.” Tears swam in her eyes and she looked at Frank with all the love they had bestowed on each other over the years. “I will miss you more than you know,” she said in a voice choked with emotion. She hesitated while Frank folded her hands in his. “I will miss my parents, my brother. But most of all, I will miss—” Her lips quivered. Quiet filled the room like a vulture.

“I know, I know,” Frank soothed.

“I can’t even bear to think about Darlene,” she said, and started to cry.

“She’ll be okay,” Frank said, with as much conviction as he could muster. There was nothing he could say that would mitigate Magda’s pain. “She loves you, and she knows how much you love her. You’ve been a good mother. She’ll always carry you in her heart.”

“It will be so hard on her.”

She stopped speaking, and Frank nodded his understanding. He didn’t know what else to say. Magda pulled her right hand from his and pointed a frail finger at the dresser. Frank followed her gesture with his eyes and saw her gold locket sitting in a pottery dish. “Put a picture of me in my locket and give it to Darlene,” she said, her moist eyes signaling grave concern. “It’s important for my child to remember her mother’s face.”

“Of course,” Frank said, sucking in his breath at her words. As he did, he glimpsed the trinket ring he had given Magda years ago nestled next to the locket. An explosion of pain ripped at his stomach, demanding release. He struggled to control it.

He ran the back of his hand along Magda’s cheek and said, “And
we will miss you. Darlene will miss you.
I
will miss you—” He stopped, aware of the words’ pathetic inadequacy.

Magda nodded then hesitated a moment, contemplating.

“We have always been honest with each other. And I need to be honest with you now. We’ve touched on this subject, but I want to be very clear about how I feel.”

Frank looked at Magda, conscious of her chest rising and falling with each breath.

“There’s not much time,” she said.

“Shhh, Magda.”

“No, let me speak.” She pulled herself up in the bed. Her eyes assumed a somber cast, but her feisty spirit was still evident in the muscles around her mouth. The delicate chain that held her gold cross was wrinkled at her collarbone and stuck to her skin, displaying the cross at an oblique angle. She leaned back on her pillow and offered Frank a small smile.

He nodded. “Whatever you want.”

Magda’s shoulders relaxed, and she said, “You are the kind of man who needs a woman, to love, to care for, to cherish.”

Frank made a sound that indicated he didn’t want to pursue this conversation, but Magda held up her hand to silence him. “You are too young not to remarry. Promise me you’ll find someone else and make another life for yourself.”

“I can’t,” Frank said. “I’m sorry, I can’t even think about that now.”

Magda set her lips in a stern line. “But in time you will, Frank, and I want you to know that you have my blessing. Just make sure to choose someone who will be good for you and kind to Darlene.”

Grief constricted Frank’s throat. He couldn’t respond. He sat immobile, thinking about his soon-to-be motherless daughter. How would he care for her? How would he manage his grief while assuaging hers? How could he ever begin to teach her the things that only a woman can impart to a daughter? She would need the help of Magda’s mother and aunt. Frank wanted Darlene to have the comfort of his own mother, but she was far away, in a land of no return.

Banishing the thought, he studied Magda’s hands sitting lightly on the sheets. They looked fragile, like ice crystals ready to dissolve under the sun’s steady gaze. The couple sat in silence for a moment. Magda was the first to speak. “Frank,” she whispered, “will you do something for me?”

Frank looked at her with tears in his eyes. He brushed her hair away from her face. “Of course, darling,” he said. “Anything.”

“Will you make love to me one last time?”

Frank sucked in his breath and studied her. “Oh, Magda, is that what you really want? Or would you rather I just hold you? You are so frail, so fragile. Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

Frank looked at her thin, bruised body, wondering how to do this. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “You’ve been through so much—”

“You won’t hurt me, Frank. You have never hurt me. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. I won’t be in this body much longer.”

Frank shook his head. “Dear God, Magda, I don’t think I can.”

“Why?” she asked in a voice that was thin and papery. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and landed on her upper lip. Her tongue darted out and quickly retrieved it. At that moment, Frank realized he had hurt her, the last thing he wanted to do.

“Because if I make love to you now, I will remember every detail for the rest of my life,” he said. “I will never be able to get it out of my mind. It will be too painful—”

Magda sighed and turned her head to face the window. Her eyes assumed a faraway look. She knew he had spoken the truth.

“It’s ‘Now or Never,’ Frank.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I keep hearing it in my head.”

Frank’s eyes opened wide, expelling a line of warm, salty tears. It was their song, the one Magda sang to Frank when he was thinking about leaving Cuba.

She turned her face toward him and said, “Sing it with me, Frank.”
Frank opened his mouth, but no sound sprang forth. Magda started to hum, then to sing in a tremulous voice. Her words were soft at first, almost imperceptible.
“It’s now or never, come hold me tight. Kiss me my darling, be mine tonight—g”

Her tongue tripped over consonants, dropped an octave, and then grew stronger, as if the notes were bells, iron bells, injecting the tensile strength of metal into her bloodstream, providing her with one final surge of energy.

Frank stared at the white cotton bedspread that floated lightly over her body, hoping his voice would find its wings. He thought of things long since forgotten—the color of the ribbon in her hair the first time he met her. The way she smiled at him, shyly. The way her body looked stretched out on a beach blanket. The small geysers she created when she skipped into the waves, kicking the sparkling spray waist high.

His breath caught in his throat as he listened to her. It was clear what she wanted. For months she had been too mired in the work of survival to allow the vibration of song to sweeten the air. Now it refused to be silenced. Her voice was raspy, weak, but it grew clearer, brighter, stronger, as she picked up the tempo.

He turned his face to the window. Tears streamed down his cheeks like condensation on a water glass. They sequined his hands, sparkling in the light. He did not bother to brush them away. They were as right as sun on a summer’s day, essential to their parting, a testament to their love.

“Please,” she said. Frank cleared his throat, afraid no sound would exit his larynx. Then his love for her eased the kink in his throat. He took Magda’s hand and finished the lyrics to the song with her:
“Tomorrow will be too late. It’s now or never, my love can’t wait”
.

The words drifted from her lips like wisps of smoke drawn through an airshaft. Then silence. Magda lifted her chin slightly, offering Frank her lips. She took his hand in hers and drew it to her breast. He looked at her, trying to memorize her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her profile. “Please,” she said.

He held her face in his hands, bracketing her cheeks with his palms, leaned down and kissed her. Her face was warm. Too warm. Feverish. Her lips were dry. Chapped. She made a small forlorn sound, almost a whimper and parted her lips. His tongue darted for hers, hungrily, instinctively. His chest was heavy with grief, yet he managed to run his hands over her legs, her arms, her belly. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I love you so much. I always have,” he said.

He nibbled Magda’s lower lip, softly at first and then with a sudden urgency that surprised him. She responded, kissing him back. He pulled away and looked at her. “Oh, Magda, Magda—”

“Yes, Frank.”

“How will I live without you? I don’t know if I can go on.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t even conceive of it.”

Magda expelled a breath and a tear found its way to her pillowcase, leaving a small circle the color of clouds. “You will, you will go on—”

“Dear God—” Frank shook his head and gripped his thighs to steady himself.

Magda took his hands in hers. “I love you, Frank,” she said in a voice filled with enough conviction to fill an ocean. He knew it would be the last time she would utter these words, and his ears scrambled to save them, to retrieve them like a lioness rescuing a cub from beneath a falling tree.

He knew what he had to do. He stood and disrobed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor. He looked at Magda, his heart aching with the loss of all that could have been, with all he believed was meant to be.

He slipped into bed and drew his body along the length of hers, feeling her silky skin against his own. Even now, after all she had been through, she was still lovely. He wrapped her in his arms, brushed her hair from her face, and buried his nose in her tresses.

When he looked at her again, Magda said, “Please remember me.”

“How could I ever forget you?” he responded.

A moment elapsed. “It’s time,” she said. “I can’t fight it any longer.”

“Don’t,” Frank pleaded.

“No, Frank. Hear me out. You’ve been very brave. You’ve done everything that could’ve been done. It’s God’s will that I go now. I don’t want you feeling guilty over this.”

“God’s will,” Frank repeated numbly, not knowing how that could possibly be. Did God need her more than him? Could anyone? Any being? Was there not enough pain and suffering in the world to spare Magda?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It makes no sense. Why would He take you now?”

“Perhaps it was meant to be,” said Magda. “Perhaps I was meant to be the catalyst that brought you to America so our daughter could be born in freedom.”

Frank shook his head, not knowing how to respond. “Perhaps,” he said. “It’s the only explanation that begins to make sense.”

“Then believe it. Hold on to it.”

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

“All right,” Frank said, attempting to please her but finding little solace in the idea.

“Good. Now let’s make love.”

Magda leaned back against the pillow and made a movement with her eyes for Frank to begin. Slowly, button-by-button, he opened her nightgown to reveal her body. Pink rosebuds dotted the cotton fabric. He shivered, thinking he could almost feel their thorns prick his fingers. Not even the thought of roses offered him comfort now.

Magda’s skin was as soft as dandelion fluff. He ran his hand down the full length of her body, tracing her clavicle, her breasts, her nipples, her belly. His palms sought the silkiness of her inner thighs, and she heaved a sigh.

Suddenly, the aroma of orange blossoms scented the air. Or perhaps he had imagined it. His thoughts turned to their wedding night, the first time he made love to Magda. She had worn such a fragrance then. His heavy heart began to flutter.

Magda sighed and opened her legs, signaling she was ready to receive him one last time. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t. Not with you like this. Let me just hold you and look at you.”

Magda nodded. He held her close and smoothed her forehead, not knowing whether she wanted to make love for her sake or his. It didn’t matter. They would make love with their eyes, their lips, and their hands. That was enough, more than enough. He gazed at his wife, wanting to look deep into her soul, to savor every precious moment left to them.