Memorial

LXXXII.Ray

HE showed BG the deposit slip from the account, with both their names: Raymond Rausch or Ghulpa Ksemankari. After attorney fees and sundry expenses, the balance was $488,383.51. Ray joked that “it would buy a lot of Pampers.”

Ghulpa was glad, but having bad dreams again.

A tiger was killing her Raj, her Bapu bled in fields of thousand-foot mangroves, searching for honey in forests of Sundarbans, from his blood and plasma sprang ordinary demons whom Durga and black Kali (jumping from their puja pandal as Little Gulp’s schoolfriends led them to the Hooghly River) lapped up like thirsty whores, then shook as did palm fronds in a storm, quivering with delight while they decapitated and quartered the old man, stuffing him down their gullets. The honey, redolent of oak and lavender, poured like ice wine; amber at dusk but saffron-colored in the day, and so very sweet — yet human flesh was sweeter! A single drop on a newborn’s tongue would keep it healthy for years. BG wanted that drop for her child, even if the price (how it wrenched her heart!) was to be paid with the death of her husband — she’d finally acceded to his proposal though they hadn’t set a date; there was talk of a consecration of conch shells, knotted scarves and ghee, of how the darker the hand-henna wedding day designs grew (and the longer they remained), the better the augury — but the raucous cats from Bangladesh showed no mercy, and would not let her near the nectar.

The cousins selflessly, cheerfully, efficiently, assiduously, comically rushed to and fro, as their Ghulpa became engorged with a sleepwalker’s dread. She called out Bapu! it seemed every few minutes or so, asking him to enter the room so she could see him in the flesh. The human flesh!

The old man couldn’t ride the shuttle with the Friar anymore (the dog was down to twice-a-week visits to the Center), couldn’t even leave the house because BG was afraid that something terrible would happen and he wouldn’t return.

The tigers.

That is what her dreams kept telling her.

She stopped watching television because the news frightened her, nor did she watch the DVDs that Ray and the others procured. Tech-savvy cousins brought a thin black Nano jukebox but she only listened to radio. One night, Ghulpa closed the door and lowered her voice in great secrecy to ask Ray if he’d pick up a “golden oldie” that mesmerized her (weirdly, a song he had wooed his ex with) and her enjoyment of it sorely perplexed; his mind stammered. Might Joan have told her about it? No — Joan and Ghulpa hadn’t actually met. Where had she heard it? The radio, of course…but still, so strange.

— don’t fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight.

AFTER BG fell asleep, he called his daughter’s cellphone.

She sounded a little frantic.

“Did I catch you in the middle, Joanie?”

“No — it’s fine. It’s just — I have — there is so much stuff going on right now.”

It sounded like she was outside, and out of breath.

She had a busy life. And wasn’t used to getting calls from her daddy.

“Hi, Ray!” she said, as if starting over. “It’s really nice to hear from you.”

“I’m sorry if I got you at a bad time.”

“No, no! It’s cool — it’s fine—go ahead.”

“Well, it’s been a little rough but I think we might have seen the worst of it. The City of Industry came through, and I wanted to ask”—could he need money? no no no could he be asking—“and I wanted to know if there was anything that you or your brother Chester…may I inquire how you’re ‘fixed’?”

“Oh! I’m — no, I’m fine!”

“Because I’d like to give you — both — a little gift.”

“You don’t have to. It’s so not necessary.”

She saw him in her head, envelope ready, like a wedding guest in The Godfather.

“I know that. I know that. But I figure there’s a lot of gift-giving opportunities I missed along the years, and I didn’t want to miss one again.” He heard her softly crying. “So let’s say this is an opportunity for an old guy to feel good, and for a young gal and her brother to make an old guy feel good.” He cut her some slack. “You don’t have to tell me just now, Joanie, but think about it. Won’t you? And won’t you tell your brother Chester about my offer, and y’all can put your heads together? Now, as long as it isn’t a private plane,” he said, with country-club bonhomie, “then I’m pretty sure I can swing it. Tie it up with a red ribbon.”

“That’s — that is…very sweet, Dad”—both realized it was the 1st time she had called him that—“but I’m fine. We both are. But it’s — I can’t believe how thoughtful that is.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to tell me now.” Pause. “Joanie — Joan — do you think that Chester…when you’ve discussed — did he say — do you think he might want to see me?”

“Yes,” she lied.

She lied because she hadn’t mentioned Ray’s existence, and now she never would. She didn’t want her brother touching a cent of the old man’s hard-earned settlement, and was unconflicted about her decision.

“What does he do, Joan?”

“He’s…in the movie business. He finds the places directors need — the locations—for their films. You know, if they’re looking for an interesting-looking building, or a big house with a pool—or bowling lanes…”

She spoke to him as she would to a child, without knowing why. It was the way she talked to Marj.

“Important job,” he said, like his daughter had just told him Chess was a virologist at the CDC. “I was thinking it would be nice for the 3 of us to have dinner. There’s a helluva place downtown, near MacArthur Park — the Pacific Dining Car.”

“Yes, it’s a wonderful restaurant.”

“You been there?”

“With clients. It’s still open 24 hours a day, isn’t it?”

“That’s what they say. I don’t know how they do it — must be a wealthy family owns it.”

“It looks amazing. It’s really ‘old Los Angeles.’ ”

“Just like me!”

“It’s been in lots of movies.”

“I blew some detectives to steak and lobster there the other night, and I thought it might be quite a thing for us to have a meal — just the 3 of us. You, me, and Chesterfield. My treat! You could even tell your mother; I’d love to have her — if she’s back from India and all, and feeling up to it. Probably unlikely. Did you say you were joining up with her? I wouldn’t tell Ghulpa, hell, that’s one I’d mark ‘Top Secret’! Have you told your mother we’ve been in touch, Joanie? Have you told Marjorie you’ve seen me?”

“You know, I haven’t had the chance,” she said, smiling thinly through the phone. “The only reason is, she’s been away. It’s kind of a heavy thing to drop on her while she’s traveling. She’s a fairly independent woman, Ray—”

“Oh yes, I do remember!”

“And when she goes to India, she’s not so easy to reach. She’s got a cellphone but I’m not so sure she knows how to use it! She stays at the Taj Mahal Palace, in Bombay, kind of her homebase. But it would take a search-and-rescue team to track her down.”

Joan started at her own words, the pathos of it — tears streaming down her face again.

“She goes there a lot?”

“Couple times a year.”

Where was she where was her mother why haven’t they—

“Well, I’m glad she finally realized her dream. She was gung ho on that place ever since I knew her. Went there with her dad, but you already know that. Ghulpa’s from Calcutta, did I tell you? Mother Teresa country. I’ve always wanted to go — not necessarily to Calcutta — but India itself. Marj would find that a surprise, but people change. Ghulpa isn’t very keen on the place just now! That’s how it is sometimes with ‘natives.’ They’ve had enough. But maybe things’ll be different once the baby comes. Boy, she’s been on a tear talking about ‘man-eaters’—the Bengal tigers. The doctor says it’s more to do with hormones, but that should go away soon enough. Sure would be nice to travel. I’m a little tired of this scenery. I think LA does that to you. Any city with a hundred freeways and a concrete river is gonna do it to you. Now the Ganges—there’s a river! Do you have any children, Joan?”

Why is he doing this? Why is he doing this now—

“I — no. Not yet.”

She wanted to get off.

She needed to get back to Barbet.

She needed to get an update from the PI.

She wanted to call Pradeep—

“I don’t mean to get personal, but there’s just so much to ask, to catch up on—my fault, not yours. Guess I’m feeling chatty tonight; the pills they give me for my heart put my jaw on overdrive. Either make me dopey or make me into a ‘talkaholic.’ I suppose it’s easier for me over the phone. I don’t mean this in the wrong way, Joanie, but it’s a little hard to look at you. But that’ll pass. That’ll pass. In time. We can talk at a later date, darling daughter.”

She surely thought he was going to sign off.

“It’s just — I don’t really know anything about you! Would you…would you like to have children?”

“I — well, sure! Yes. Yes, I think I would.”

“You’re 34?”

“I’m 38.”

Today, Dad. Today’s my birthday.

“Does Chester have any?”

“No. Um no, he doesn’t.”

“Did your mom have any more?”

“No. He — her husband — had 2 from another marriage, but they were somewhat estranged.”

“Everybody’s ‘estranged.’ Why does everybody have to be estranged, Joanie? I have no business talking. I guess I was pretty much the worst example. Worst of the worst. I could understand if you decided not to have any kids. I was a pisspoor role model.”

“No—”

“I meant, I could understand. I’m nervous about having this one myself, let me tell you! But I’d like to do it differently this time. And I don’t mean — I don’t mean it to sound any other way than it sounds.”

“I understand, Dad.”

“It makes me so happy and so sad to hear you call me that! Mostly happy though. I–I would truly like to get to know you, Joanie — you and your brother — just a little more, if that’d be all right. Life isn’t short — what I mean is, life is short! You really feel that — when you’re my age, and you find yourself in the hospital like I was. But I think the Lord might have blessed us with a period of grace to get to know each other a little better. That we know each other at all is some kind of miracle! Big Gulp (that’s what I call her, cause in the summer that’s all she drinks) has this wonderful saying: ‘When you’re born, you cry, and everyone around you is laughing; when you die, you laugh, and everyone around you cries.’ ”

Joan held a hand over the phone so he wouldn’t hear her weep; Raymond did the same. The crying game.

“Marjorie and I had a song—‘Save the Last Dance for Me.’ She ever tell you that? We used to go dancing at the Biltmore. ‘Darling, Save the Last Dance for Me’ was our song. But we loved the one about the lion—

“Do you know what? She’s — Ghulpa’s singing it right now! Now isn’t that funny. And you know I just can’t get her to