Tomorrow's Vengeance

NINE

‘Regardless of a nursing home resident’s age or mental capacity, they need touch and affection. Residents of all U.S. facilities have a right to romance – as long as it’s consensual. “We try to keep residents as independent as possible,” said Suzanne Garside, executive director of Emeritus at Federal Way. Residents find love and get remarried at the assisted living facility. Caregivers have also walked in on couples by accident, but unless safety is compromised, they let the fireworks continue.’

FederalWayMirror.com, July 3, 2012.

As was quickly becoming our habit, Naddie and I lingered over our coffee for so long that the wait staff had begun to loom like vultures, preparing to pounce on our dishes the instant we finished with them. ‘Guess it’s time to go,’ I said, laying my napkin down and rising from my chair.

Naddie grinned at the bus boy. ‘We can take a hint, Michael!’

When Naddie and I entered the lobby a crowd had gathered around the fish tank, so we wandered over to see what all the fuss was about. ‘The fishkeeper’s here,’ Colonel Greene explained when we asked. ‘They’ve added a cownose ray.’

During our years of sailing the Chesapeake Bay on my sister-in-law’s sailboat, Sea Song, we’d encountered schools of rays from time to time, particularly in the fall when they were migrating south. Brown, kite-shaped creatures, they swam by flapping their ‘wings,’ often being mistaken for sharks when their triangular wing tips broke the water. I peered into the tank where a woman in full scuba gear – wetsuit, tank, facemask and all – appeared to be adjusting some filtering equipment.

‘She’s from the National Aquarium,’ the colonel added helpfully. ‘They do the maintenance.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Would I kid you, Little Lady?’ he drawled. He favored me with a thousand-watt grin. ‘The fish tank was a gift and it came with an endowment. Eventually they’ll get around to putting a plaque up about it somewhere.’

As he spoke, the new ray swam into view, and I remembered what Naddie had told me about the arrangement with the National Aquarium. The ray was just a pup, with a wing span of about twelve inches.

‘They’ve taken the stinger out,’ the colonel informed us. ‘Not that it’d do any more damage than getting stung by a bee.’

‘Let’s not and say we did,’ Naddie muttered.

‘There’s a contest to name the little guy,’ the colonel informed us. ‘Drop your suggestion into the box on the reception desk. I just did. What do you think of “Ray”? You can call me Ray, or you can call me Jay, or you can call me RJ…’

‘Must go,’ I told Naddie, feeling a desperate need to blow the joint before the colonel trotted out the whole of his Ray J. Johnson routine. I gave her a hasty kiss on the cheek. ‘See you tomorrow? I’m scheduled to be with Nancy in the morning. Jerry has some medical appointments so she’ll be on her own. She’s made so much progress lately and they want to keep her engaged.’

Naddie gave my arm a gentle squeeze. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your time here, Hannah. Maybe I’m just being selfish, but I’m glad of the excuse to be back in touch with you.’

‘The feeling is mutual,’ I said and, with a nod of farewell to the colonel, who was still muttering to himself, I aimed myself in the direction of the door.

I paused on the porch to check my iPhone for messages – Emily wanted me to run the soccer carpool for my grandson, Jake, that afternoon. I texted back that I would, then headed to the parking lot where I’d left my car. As I rounded the corner of the building I heard raised voices. Déjà vu all over again, I thought. This time, though, there were three people clustered outside the service entrance door. One of them was Safa, a standout even from a distance in her black outfit and brilliant saffron-colored hijab.

Sue me, but curiosity took over. Keeping as much of the ornamental hedge as I could between me and the kitchen door, I eased as close as I dared.

When I was about thirty feet away I separated the branches a bit and peeked through. Masud loomed tall, leaning forward, inches from Safa’s face. ‘What are you doing to incite him, Safa?’

Safa shrank back, her lower lip quivered. ‘Nothing, Masud.’ She extended her arms, palms up. ‘I am as you see me.’

Masud threw his arm back, his palm flat and stiff, while Safa flinched and covered her face protectively with her hands.

‘Sir!’ Raniero took a step toward the couple.

As if suddenly realizing where he was and what he was about to do, Masud let his arm fall to his side. ‘Go home, wife. I will have a few words with the chef.’

Safa bowed her head, backed up a few steps then spun and fled down the sidewalk, rapidly closing the distance between us. When she got even with me I reached out and pulled her into the shrubbery.

Safa sucked in air. ‘What are you doing, Hannah?’

I kept my voice low. ‘Are you OK?’

Safa brushed imaginary dust off her clothing and her face stiffened. ‘Of course I’m OK! Masud is having a little discussion with Raniero, that’s all.’

‘So I see.’

‘I need to go.’

‘Shhhh,’ I said, still keeping a light hold on her arm, as the two men raised their voices.

‘I must speak to you,’ Masud snarled. ‘You have been disrespectful to my wife.’

Raniero wiped a hand down the front of his white jacket. He looked genuinely perplexed. ‘Sir, you are mistaken.’

‘I am not. You are too friendly.’

‘I am friendly to all of the residents,’ Raniero countered. ‘It is my nature to be friendly. It is my job to be so.’

‘You talk, you laugh, you touch her arm. This is not showing respect to a devout Muslim woman.’

‘Your wife is a beautiful woman, Mr Abaza. Only a dead man would not notice. I meant no disrespect, I assure you, and I’m sorry if my friendliness is being misinterpreted.’

‘I have spoken to you about this before, Mr Buccho. Perhaps I did not make myself clear at that time. You must cease this unacceptable behavior.’ His hands began to tremble. Was it from rage, or his Parkinsons?

Raniero stood his ground. ‘I’ll keep my distance in future, sir. But you should know that in America, touching another person in a friendly way is not considered unacceptable. No court of law…’ he began, but Masud stiffened, silencing the chef with a laser gaze that could have sliced through steel.

‘I don’t care how well you cook, Mr Buccho, I can see to it that you lose your job.’

‘Sharia is not the law of this land, sir,’ Raniero continued, taking a brave step forward. ‘You choose to live here.’

Next to me, Safa tensed. ‘I have got to go! A jealous husband is a problem, but a jealous Muslim husband…’

Before I could stop her, she fled.

I started to follow, but decided it might only exacerbate the situation if Masud found me in their home when he returned. Instead, I hung back and waited to see what would happen next.

Suddenly, it hit me. I realized that it had been Masud I’d seen arguing with Raniero in the same spot the previous day. In his white shirt and black pants I’d mistaken Masud for one of the wait staff. And, clearly, the disagreement between the two men was far from resolved. Masud made a fist then drew his right arm back, while Raniero raised his own fists protectively. Still cowering in the bushes, I waited, wincing, expecting the inevitable.

Masud didn’t disappoint. His fist shot out, catching Raniero on the chin. Raniero staggered, momentarily stunned. He shook his head as if to clear it, then drew his own arm back and landed a solid blow to the older man’s midsection.

Masud doubled over. Raniero watched him heave for a few seconds, then spun on his heel and stalked off toward the loading dock.

Quickly, I scurried in the opposite direction, not stopping to breathe until I was safely in the driver’s seat of my car in the visitor’s parking lot with the door locked. Raniero’s goose is cooked, I thought as I started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. What were the chances of Masud not reporting the wayward chef to Tyson Bennett?

Slim to none.

As I waited in a long line of cars for a cluster of sailboats to pass under the Eastport drawbridge, I was mentally bidding farewell to Raniero’s amazing bruschetta with sautéed mushrooms and mourning the loss of his sweet peas with prosciutto. I prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Happily, I ran into Safa the following day when we both reported for duty at the memory unit. She was bent over, squinting at the lock, punching in the combination when I came up behind her.

‘Safa! I’m so glad to see you. Is everything all right?’

Safa straightened and smiled. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’

Was the woman in denial? I was far from convinced that all was well in the Abaza household. I stood in silence for a moment, my head cocked, checking my friend out for red marks or bruises, but it was an exercise in futility. Any signs of physical abuse would have been well-hidden beneath the clothing she wore.

‘After yesterday…’ I shrugged. ‘I was worried, that’s all.’

This time Safa’s smile seemed to genuinely light up her face. ‘No need, Hannah. Masud overreacted, that’s all. He’s already apologized to Raniero, so the matter is settled.’

‘Good,’ I said, doing a mental fist pump and awash with relief. I wouldn’t have to live without the mushroom bruschetta after all.

We stepped into the memory unit and closed the door firmly behind us. ‘I’m supposed to be walking with Nancy today,’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘They asked me to set up a playlist for the iPods. Big band music, mostly, folk songs, spirituals, a bit of Mozart.’

‘Eine Kleine Nachtmusik is always soothing, or Bach’s Goldberg Variations,’ I suggested. ‘Sounds like fun. Catch you later, then.’

Safa slipped through the door that led to Elaine Broering’s office and the cabinets where the technical equipment was stored while I headed down the hallway to keep my date with Nancy.

Nancy’s door was slightly ajar. Through the crack I could see the brilliant plaid of her bedspread on the floor. Although it was only ten in the morning, I wondered if she were napping.

Then I heard moans. Oh, uh, ah.

Worried that Nancy had fallen and couldn’t get up, I pushed the door open and barreled on in.

Nancy wasn’t lying on the floor. She was on her bed, her arms outstretched, grasping the top of the headboard with both hands. ‘Oh, Frank,’ she moaned. ‘Oh, oh!’

Lying on top of her, with only the soles of his feet and naked butt visible, was a man doing pushups. Jerry. I recognized the tattoo on the forearm that propelled him up and down on the mattress.

As I stood there, gaping, rendered speechless, Nancy arched her back and cried, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!’

Jerry collapsed on top of her, spent, his cheek resting against her naked breasts. Nancy wrapped her arms around him and began to giggle, as breathless and giddy as a schoolgirl. ‘Darling, Frank,’ she cooed, running her fingers through Jerry’s silver curls. ‘You are a tiger! My little furry tiger!’

Apparently the ‘furry little tiger’ hadn’t gone to the doctor’s office after all.

Feeling like a creepy voyeur, I took a step backwards, preparing to sneak quietly away before the couple noticed me. I took a second cautious step and backed into someone.

‘Ya Allah!’ It had to be Safa.

I spun around to face her.

‘I came to fetch Nancy’s iPod,’ Safa stammered.

I grabbed my friend’s arm and dragged her into the hallway, closing Nancy’s door quietly behind us.

Safa flattened herself against the chair rail, looked left and right down the hallway, then whispered, ‘What do we do?’

‘Do? Nothing. Give them a little privacy, I suppose.’

‘Privacy? Are you nuts, Hannah? That man was raping her!’

I gaped. ‘That man is Jerry, Safa, and I’ve never seen two people more crazy for one another. Rape? No way. What we saw going on in there wasn’t rape. Nancy and Jerry were making love.’

Safa shook her arm free. ‘We have to report this.’

‘Why? Haven’t you seen the two of them in the lounge? They’re like teenagers. Boyfriend and girlfriend, totally besotted with one another. Who are we to deny them a little pleasure?’

Safa’s eyes grew wide. ‘But they aren’t married!’

‘I know that, but…’

Safa didn’t let me finish. ‘And who on earth is “Frank?”’

‘Frank is Nancy’s husband.’

‘So, she’s married?’

I nodded. ‘But she has dementia, Safa. She’s completely forgotten who Frank is. As far as Nancy’s concerned, Jerry is Frank.’

‘So, she just thinks that Jerry’s her husband. But he’s not!’

‘No, but…’

Safa flapped her hands in front of her face. ‘This is too much. I can’t take it all in.’

‘It’s complicated, I know, but Elaine Broering told me that Nancy’s husband is aware of the friendship his wife has with Jerry and he’s OK with it.’

‘Friendship is one thing, but that… that…’ She gestured at the closed door then dropped her hand to her side. ‘We must report this, Hannah.’

As we stood there, staring each other down, Jerry’s rich laugh rolled out into the hallway. It broke my heart to turn the lovebirds in, but I had to admit that Safa was right. The unit staff needed to know that Nancy and Jerry’s ‘friendship’ had matured into something a little more serious than holding hands and cuddling, assuming that they weren’t aware of the situation already and were turning a blind eye, as I would have done.

I caved. ‘OK. We need to let the nurse on duty know. Then it’ll be up to the memory unit staff to decide what needs to be done.’

Safa puffed air out through her lips. ‘Thank you.’

I waited while Safa straightened her hijab. During all the excitement it had slipped to one side, just enough so I could see she was a strawberry blonde. Together we walked to the glassed-in cubicle near the entrance where a nurse named Heather was on duty, tapping something into an iPad using a stylus.

‘Nancy and Jerry are having sex in her room,’ Safa blurted before I had a chance to say anything.

Heather glanced up from the screen, one eyebrow raised. ‘Intercourse?’

‘Well, yes!’

‘Thanks for letting us know, Safa.’

When Heather made no move to put down her stylus, Safa raised her voice. ‘Aren’t you going to do something? He’s still in there!’

Clearly, the fact that Nancy and Jerry were engaged in a little chitty-chitty-bang-bang wasn’t news to Heather. ‘Jerry isn’t hurting Nancy,’ she explained. ‘Sex is a basic human need, staff feels, no matter how old one might happen to be. I’m sure you’ve noticed how much pleasure they derive out of one another’s company.’

‘But it’s just plain wrong!’ Safa insisted. ‘The Quran teaches that extramarital sex is an outrage, an evil path.’ She paused, then drew a quick breath. ‘Even your Bible says it’s wrong. “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled; for God will judge the immoral and adulterous.” That’s from the book of Hebrews.’

From the look on her face, I figured Heather was thinking that God should be the judge of it then, and not Safa Abaza, but it must have occurred to her that arguing with Safa would be counterproductive. With elaborate patience, she smiled, pocketed her stylus, hopped off her stool and said, ‘I’ll go down and make sure Nancy’s all right, OK? Then I’ll see to it that Jerry gets back to his own room.’

‘Do you need help?’ I asked.

Safa shot daggers at me.

‘No, no, that’s not in your job description! Elaine and I can handle it.’ Heather slipped a cell phone out of the holster attached to her belt and tapped a few keys. ‘Why don’t you two call it a day? Come back tomorrow.’

‘What a good idea!’ I said, laying a hand on Safa’s back and gently propelling her toward the door that led into the lobby.

‘Rape must be reported!’ Safa hissed as I punched in the combination that would open the security door that led out into the lobby.

‘We just did,’ I said as the door shushed shut behind us. ‘It’s in capable hands.’

‘Just the sight of that wrinkly, hairy butt… oh, Hannah, I am going to have nightmares!’

I didn’t know how I’d ever unsee that either. I decided the best course of action was to distract her. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I suggested. ‘It’s a beautiful day. It might take your mind off things.’

‘You know what I’d really like?’ Safa said as we wandered past the beauty parlor where two women were installed under hair dryers, one smiling beatifically, the other dozing.

‘Just name it, and I’ll see how I can help.’

She stopped in her tracks. ‘An ice-cream sundae. I haven’t had a sundae in ages.’

‘And I know just the place,’ I said, turning into the Sweet Tooth. ‘Häagen-dazs. Pure. Absolutely no additives.’

When Safa seemed to hesitate, I said, ‘Chocolate ice cream with caramel sauce has been known to cure cancer.’

‘But only with sprinkles,’ she said, following me in.