Memorial

XXXVI.Marjorie

“YOU look so thin. Have you been eating enough?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t make it last week. I had to go up north — the Memorial. How was the desert?”

“The desert?”

“You left a message. La Quinta.”

“Oh! No — I didn’t feel like driving.”

Joan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t like the idea of you driving to Palm Springs, Mom.”

“Cora’s dog got sick. That’s why we couldn’t go.”

“The little King Charles? What happened?”

“I think he has cancer.”

“Poor thing!”

“She said leukemia but her son said a tumor. Joanie, I didn’t think dogs got leukemia.”

“They can. But promise you’ll never drive to the desert, OK? It’s too far.”

“I promise. He’s being treated by some pretty good doctors though.”

“What’s his name again? The dog?”

“Pahrump. I hope I get that kind of treatment!”

“God forbid. So how ya doing, Mom?”

“Oh! Not too badly. Not too badly. A little lonely but pretty well. Pretty well.”

“I wish we could see more of each other.”

“Oh! We can! I know how busy you are. We had a terrible thing happen here.”

“What?”

“An Indian gentleman — a lovely man — someone shot him in his liquor store.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Just around the corner.”

“Where you buy your lottery tickets?”

“Such a ghastly thing. A wonderful, wonderful man. The neighborhood was really shaken.”

“Mom, maybe we should move you elsewhere.”

“Oh, that’s silly, Joan!”

“Maybe Century City — that gated place. It’s close to the mall. You wouldn’t even have to drive.”

“That place? Oh, it’s like a prison! This sort of thing can happen anywhere. The police had a meeting with all the neighbors. They said it was unusual. I don’t think we have much of a gang problem, and there hasn’t been a burglary in any of these houses for as long as I can remember. Except maybe kid stuff. Vandalism.”

“That is so scary. I mean, just a block away.”

“Oh! I clipped something from the paper that I thought was cute.”

“What is it?”

She handed her daughter the article. Joan scanned it.

“Well,” said the old woman. “The CEO of Domino’s Pizza went to India for the opening of their hundredth store. I didn’t even know they had pizza shops in India! They landed in Delhi then chartered a helicopter to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Just like something Hamilton would have done! And when they got there, a whole herd of elephants was waiting with ‘Domino’s Pizza’ painted on them in red and blue.”

“How disgusting.”

Marj ignored the remark. “The elephants were a big help in the tsunami — they have a 6th sense like you wouldn’t believe. Maybe you could use them as part of your design.”

“That’s a good idea, Mom, but I think the client wants something a little less representational. I don’t think he’s an ‘elephant’ kinda guy.”

“Well, I thought you’d be tickled.”

“It’s very funny. Those CEOs really know how to live.”

“Joanie — I was thinking that when — if you have the time — when you finish your project — I was thinking we could maybe go see it.”

“I don’t know if we’re going to be chosen, Mom. But if we are, of course we’ll go up. It’ll be a pretty big deal.”

“No, no — I meant the Taj Mahal. Do you remember how I used to read you the captions from that picturebook? So did your father. I always thought you became an architect because of that building. Was I wrong?”

“I think that probably had something to do with it,” said Joan, with generosity.

“You used to talk about how beautiful it was. You called it a cream puff. Or a Foster’s Freeze. I can’t remember which.”

Marj brought out Mumtaz of the Taj Mahal, which she had stashed nearby in anticipation of the visit, a worn portfolio of paperdoll cutouts — the ornate costumes of Shah Jahan and his favorite wife. The pages were well scissored, each clipped getup stored between bindings with a curator’s fastidiousness. Joan was touched that her mother had treasured the childish keepsake.

“I haven’t seen this in 30 years.”

“One Halloween, Raymond dressed you like Mumtaz.”

“Kinda morbid!”

“You were darling, absolutely darling. You had a little sequin stuck on your forehead. A bindi.”

“You never got India out of your system, did you?”

“Oh! I don’t see how one can! The hotel we stayed at in Bombay was like a palace. In fact, it is called the Taj Mahal Palace to this day.”

“Yes, Mother, I know. I’ve been hearing about it since before I could walk.” She saw that the stupid remark had wounded her. “You know,” said Joan, “now that you have the time and the money, I think you should go. I really do! You’re in great physical shape — probably better than I am! — and a trip like that would do wonders.”

“Well…I did stop off at the travel agency.”

“You’re kidding!” Joan got morbidly excited by the idea of being let off the hook. She didn’t want her mother driving to the desert but somehow it was all right for her to go to India on her own. “Mom, I think it’s an amazing idea.”

“But do you want to go?” said Marj, eyes sadly glinting. “You’ve worked so hard, Joanie. And I have plenty of money…we could use Bombay as our base! I have all the brochures Nigel gave me — he knows everything about it. We could ride elephants! I’ve always been frightened of that, same as I am of horses. When Ham and I went to Israel and Egypt — long ago, when it was safe — you couldn’t get me on a camel for my life. But when I saw that little girl being saved by the baby elephant—”

“What little girl?”

“The one I was telling you about — I saw it on CNN.”

“You didn’t tell me…”

“She was going for a ride on the beach. On the morning of the tsunami. Was it Thailand? On a baby elephant. What is that place called where the tourists — you know, that in all the newsreels…”

“Phuket.”

“Phuket! She was going for a ride — her parents were still sleeping. And suddenly, the elephant turns and races to the hills. It knew a big wave was coming. Sensed it. The dearest thing. And ever since I saw that, I’ve had the picture of both of us atop an elephant! The Kipling Girls!”

“It’s a really lovely idea, Mom, truly, but I’m not sure how practical it would be for me to go on a big trip like that. It’s like 24 hours just to get there, no?”

“Nigel said you can stop in England or Germany to rest.”

“Not 2 of my favorite places.”

“Or Tokyo — we could stay in Tokyo, if we go the other way. A 3-day lay-under!”

“Layover. I don’t know, Ma. It’s kind of mega.”

Marj didn’t know what she meant.

Her mother smiled and grew quiet. Joan handed her the book. Marj tucked the colorful illustrations — Mumtaz in an orange sari, carrying a rifle to assist the shah during a tiger hunt — back inside.

“Are you hungry?” asked Joan. “There’s a great Indian restaurant I read about in the Weekly. Gitanjali, on Crescent Heights. Do you feel like Indian, Mother?”