"Didn't she speak to him on the phone?"
"He doesn't do well on the phone. Hannah. In fact, he always complains about it." She smiled. "He says he's an artist. He has to look at the people he speaks to." She shrugged. "It makes sense to me," she said, smiling at Heyden.
"Mt, too," he replied, and
I
introduced them. "Where's my uncle now?"
"Just sitting in his room.
I
tried to get him to sit outside today, but he wouldn't budge from his rocking chair. Maybe you will be able to get him out for some fresh air. Take him for a walk."
"Yes."
I
said.
She stepped aside. and
I
led Heyden down the ball to Uncle Linden's room.
I
let
-
tacked and waited, but he didn't respond.
"Uncle Linden? It's Hannah." I said.
"Hannah? Come in, come in." we heard, and
I
opened the door.
He was sitting in the rocker. His hair looked more disheveled than usual, and he was wearing a thin short-sleeved shirt and a Fair of dungarees with his usual sandals. He looked as if he hadn't shaven far nearly
a
week.
It
took that long for his blond beard to show itself. He sat forward.
"Close the door." he leaned toward us to whisper as soon as we had entered.
I
did so and glanced at Heyden, who looked more concerned than curious. Before I could introduce Heyden. Uncle Linden sat back and said. "Okay. Now that you are here, tell me exactly what happened."
'Happened? You mean with Mommy?'
"Of course. I spoke with her on the phone, and when I asked her about Thatcher, she said she didn't want to talk about him anymore. So?" he said.
"She doesn't like to talk about him. Uncle Linden. She says it's over and done with and that's that. It's been years and years anyway, so why bother?"
I
smiled and stepped aside.
"I want you to meet a friend of mine, Uncle Linden, This is Heyden."
He glanced at Heyden and nodded quickly, barely acknowledging him.
"Why is it over and done with. Hannah? What happened?"
"When, Uncle Linden?"
"I don't know when." He thought for a moment. It could have happened anytime, I suppose.
I
warned her about that."
"Uncle Linden, you're just confused. I just told you. Mommy and Daddy have been apart for years and years. They rarely see each other and rarely speak to each other anymore. Everything they want to say to each other, they say through me. I'm the messenger and I hate it. In any case, nothing new has happened."
He smirked. "Sure. That's just Eaton
propaganda you're hearing. Nothing new. It's not new, but its not nothing, either," he said. He leaned back. "I knew when she wasn't coming around that something had happened. She's too trusting, too vulnerable. I tried to show her that in a picture I painted once, but she just didn't understand."
"Speaking of your pictures,"
I
said, jumping on the opportunity to change the subject, "Heyden would love to see what you're working on now, Uncle Linden.
I
told him all about you, how many of your pictures have been in galleries and sold. Can we see your latest work? Mrs. Robinson told me you were at hard work on something new."
"I sold it," he replied quickly.
"Sold it?" I smiled at Heyden.
"Yes, yes, yes, sold it. Mrs. Valby's mother bought it. Mrs. Robinson put the check in the bank for me the other day." he said. He leaned over, opened a dresser drawer, and produced a deposit slip.
I
took it and read it and nodded.
"Five hundred dollars."
I
told Heyden. "That's wonderful Uncle Linden."
"It's not the first I've sold while I've been living here," he said proudly.
"How many have you sold all told?" Heyden asked. "Here and in the galleries?"
"I don't know. Quite a few, I suppose." His looked up at me quickly, his eyes narrowed, "He's not telling you that it's because of him again, is he? It's not, you know. He never did me any favors.'
"Who?"
"Thatcher Eaton. Bragging
to
Willow about
how
he got my pictures into galleries. I got my pictures into galleries, People wanted them because of the pictures, not because of what Thatcher Eaton told them."
"I'm sure that's true. Uncle Linden."
"Yes," he said. He put the deposit slip back in the drawer, closed it, and looked at Heyden. "Who are you again?"
"Heyden Reynolds," Heyden said. smiling. "I go to school with Hannah,"
"He writes songs and plays the guitar. Uncle Linden. We're singing together,"
"Writes songs. That's good," Uncle Linden said.
"Do you want to go outside, take a walk with us? It's a cool enough afternoon. Nice breeze."
"Yes," he said and stood up without hesitation.
Heyden smiled at me. "I was hoping to see some of your work. Mr. Montgomery," Heyden said. He looked about the stark room. but there was nothing.
"I have a few in the room next door," Uncle Linden said. "We can see them on the way out." He paused and looked at me. "I want you to pose for me. Did I ask you?"
"Yes. Uncle Linden. As soon as school is finished. I'll have more time," I said and winked at Heyden.
"Right. Where's Willow? Why didn't she come with you?" he demanded.
"I told you. Uncle Linden. Mommy gave birth recently. She'll be here soon and with the new baby."
"Yes." he said. smiling. The baby." He laughed, "Won't that set their tongues wagging on Worth Avenue?"
"What?" Heyden asked. Uncle Linden didn't answer.
"We're going for a walk," he said instead and headed for the door.
Heyden looked at me and
I
shook my head.
"He's all right," he said. "Just a little confused. I like him,' he added, and we walked out after Uncle Linden, who was already down the hallway, marching to his rambling thoughts. He didn't stop at any room to show Heyden his paintings, and I didn't think
I
should mention it We were getting him outside and that was goad.
We took a nice walk. The fresh air, being outside the residency, had a good effect on Uncle Linden and reinforced my belief that he should be living with us by now. Almost as soon as we started away from the house, he asked Heyden questions about his song citing and wanted to hear something.
"Well. I usually sing to a guitar," Heyden said.
"I can sing one." I offered and sang the song we had been working on the past two days. Heyden had obviously written it about us. It was a modern day Romeo and Juliet story with
a
refrain that went
Nothing
-
anyone can do will ever take my love array from you. It's bigger than the bright blue sea. It keeps the life inside of you.
Uncle Linden stopped walking and looked at us.
"I like that. I like that a lot," he said. "In fact." he said, walking on. it gives me an idea for a new painting."
Heyden smiled at me. Uncle Linden's walk became more energized. He couldn't wait to get back to the house and to work.
"It's good being around creative people." he told us. "Creative people feed each other's
imaginations."
Heyden looked proud, his chest swelling.
"Thanks for coming with me," I told him afterward. "You made the visit very beneficial."
"I'm glad
I
did. I don't know anything about psychology really, but
I
agree with you. I don't see why he has to be kept in any residency. So he gets a little confused once in a while. Who doesn't? Especially someone who is so isolated from the people he loves."
"That's it," I said excitedly. "That's what I have been tying to tell my mother for some time."
"I wish we had mountains of money and we could just run off together and set up a home with a studio for him." Heyden fantasized.
"Sounds good to me." I said.
"I'm not kidding. Hannah." he said, his face screwed tightly in a serious expression.
"I'm not kidding, either."
I
told him, kissed him goodbye, and headed back to Java del Mar.
The moment
I
opened the front door. I sensed a major change. Our maid Lila was hurrying up the stairs, carrying a tray of food. She didn't even pause to look my way. Miguel came charging down the hallway toward the stairs. too.
"He's home!" he cried. "Claude is here!" he announced. I could almost hear the fanfare. However, his excitement was infecting.
"That's wonderful!" I cried.
"Come on." he urged. "Before he falls asleep. You won't believe how alert he is for an infant so small. There's no doubt he knows your mother's voice and touch. You can see the pleasure in his face."
I followed him up to their bedroom. Mommy was sitting up in bed, and little Claude was in his bassinet beside her. Her face was lit with such happiness, it could have illuminated the room. I thought.
"Hannah, where have you been? The doctors just decided it would be all right to take him home. You can't imagine how surprised and overjoyed we were to hear it. I'm so happy I had everything prepared in anticipation."
"For months, she means," Miguel kidded,
I approached the bassinet and gazed down at my little brother. He waved his arms vigorously and then paused for a moment when my shadow moved over him.
"You can hold him if you like," Mommy said. "Just be sure you give his head good support."
"I'm afraid to." I admitted. "He's so tiny. He looks even smaller than he did behind the window."
"He's not, He's two pounds heavier." Miguel said with a boasting that made it seem he had done it all himself.
"Pick him up, Miguel, and let her hold him." Mommy insisted. Miguel did with expert care.
-
Hold out your arms, put your hand here," he instructed, then gave me little Claude.
I
felt his squirming and the warmth in his body; however, he sensed my tension, too, and that made him uneasy. Almost immediately he started to cry. I looked up with panic.
He doesn't like me holding him." I said.
"It's all right." Mommy said. "He just has to get used to you and you to him. Once you relax, he will, too." she assured me.
I
held him a little longer, and then Miguel mercifully took him from me. In a moment little Claude stopped crying and looked relaxed again.
Miguel's face blossomed with just as much happiness as Mommy's. The two of them never looked as radiant nor as blissful. I couldn't think of a time when they were as contented with me or with something I had done. All little Claude had to do was wiggle his nose and they would break into ecstatic delight.
"He's already developed your thoughtful expression." Miguel told Mommy.
"That's not thoughtful, that's plotting." she replied. "I can see you in those eyes."
"Look at these fingers." Miguel continued gently holding little Claude's tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger. "He'll be a pianist or a brain surgeon, for sure."
"Maybe he'll be an artist like Uncle Linden," I inserted, and they both looked at me as though they had forgotten I was in the room. too.
"Yes," Miguel said, but without any sense of conviction.
Mommy said. "I know that twist of his lips. He's getting hungry."
She put her tray to the side and held up her arms. Miguel placed little Claude gently in them and stepped back as Mommy lowered her nightgown to begin breast-feeding.
I
turned to leave.
"You don't have to go. Hannah." she called.
"I've got a lot of homework and two tests tomorrow," I told her. It wasn't so. but I felt a need to leave,
"Okay. Come see me after dinner," she said. "You can hold little Claude again then."
I
nodded, forced a smile, and left. I had no idea why, but my stomach felt full of bees buzzing angrily like bees who had been misinformed as to where the nectar would be found. Soon they would head for the hive in my heart and chastise the worker who had made the error.
After dinner I returned to Mommy's bedroom and, at her insistence, held little Claude again. This time I was more relaxed, and he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
"See how easy it is?" Mommy said.
Miguel came in and stood by watching. It intrigued me as to just how fascinated he and my mother were with little Claude. It was truly as though every new move he made, every sound he uttered, was a remarkable, earth-shattering new achievement.
"Look at those lips twitching when he sleeps." Miguel said. "he must be having a real Freudian dream. Willow."
Mommy laughed.
"Right," she said. "He was promised better lodging outside the womb, and it isn't exactly as comfortable out here."
"Can't blame him for complaining." Miguel said. "Can you, Hannah?"
"I don't think he's complaining,"
I
said "He's just nervous." They both laughed.
"Well, he is,"
I
insisted. I returned him to Mommy's arms. "Babies don't dream anyway, do they? They can't have nightmares."
"Maybe not with as much sophistication as they will after they learn language," Mommy said. 'out there is most certainly a flood of images under the thin layer of sleep he experiences," she said gazing down at him.
"Who knows how often he relives the trauma of birth?" Miguel added. "Same psychiatrists and psychologists think we never forget it. right. Dr. Fuentes?" he asked Mommy.
"I don't want to think of anything unpleasant in relation to him. Miguel. His life is not going to have anything like the turmoil mine had." she vowed.
Did she make the same vow when I was born?
I wondered, She never told me she had.
It's because of my father, I thought. It will always be because of him.
I
left when I heard my phone ringing. It was Heyden calling to sing me the first stanza of his new song.
"I got the idea from visiting your uncle." he said. "It's about a painter who falls in love with his own painting."
"Pygmalion," I said.
"What?
"The Greek myth. remember? The sculptor prayed to Aphrodite to find him a wife like his statue, and she brought it to life."
"Yes," he said excited. "I remember. I'll use that. Thanks. I knew we'd make a great team. Hannah."
He was so up and excited, he boosted my morale.
"I may be late for school tomorrow," he said, "I'm going to work on this until I pass out."
"Don't get in trouble with your attendance. Heyden,"
I
advised.
"I don't care about that. This is what I care about: my music and you," he said with conviction. In fact,
I
envied him for his determination and his strong sense of purpose. I felt like a ribbon in the wind, tossed from one place to another, but he didn't hear any longing, any sadness, any emptiness in my voice. He was flying too high. And he had so much more weighing him down and bringing him back to earth.