Behind the pantry door Ahn was thinking the same thing. She feared that something terrible was about to happen.
“No,” Eric said.
“It’s just that,” Minas continued as if his son had not spoken at all, “you’ve never seemed to need help. All we ever had to do was contain you, hold you back from eating all the Christmas fruitcake or from jumping off the roof to fly with the sparrows.
“You never complained about anything. If I told you something, you just listened to me. Children are supposed to fight with their parents. Sons are supposed to want to push their fathers aside. But I always felt that you were trying to protect me instead of the other way around.
“But now that you’re asking about your mothers, I see that I haven’t been there for you.”
Eric was staring at his father’s face, imagining that he had his sketch pad before him. He would paint the portrait of his father many years later, but this was the sitting for that canvas. The drained blue eyes and graying blond hair, the gaunt jowls and dry lips.
Mothers, Eric thought. Mothers. Other children only had one mother, but he had two and both of them had died for him to survive.
“Would you like to go down to Malibu this morning, son?” Minas asked.
“I have to do something, Dad.”
“What’s that?”
“Christie’s going to the doctor. I told her that I’d go with.”
“You’re still with her?”
Eric had seen Christie almost every day for a year. “Yeah, Dad.”
It was 7:05, and Minas dawdled at the table.
“I could come home early,” the doctor offered.
“Sure, Dad.”
Ahn came out of the storeroom moments after Minas left. She stood near the door staring at Eric.
“Hi, Ahn,” the young man said.
She came up to the table and sat in the doctor’s chair.
Ahn was the only person that Eric had ever been afraid of. It was long ago that he’d first felt this fear, before he was twelve and after Thomas had been taken away. He would find Ahn standing somewhere, staring at him. When he’d ask her why, she wouldn’t say anything, just wander away only to return later, still staring silently.
“The only thing I remember,” she began, “before I ran to the refugee camp, was a story that a very old man said to me. I don’t know who he was. Maybe my grandfather, maybe some elder in the village where we work in rice paddies.
“He told me the story about a young woman who fell in love with a tiger. The woman go to her mother and tell her that she is in love with the tiger that lived in the north jungle.
“At night he calls outside my window and asks me to come away with him, the girl said. And when I look out I see him in moonlight. Mother, he is so beautiful and handsome, and his deep voice makes me tremble inside.
“But, my daughter, the mother said. He is a tiger, a man-eater, a monster.
“For you, Mother, I know that he is a beast. But for me he has nothing but love. He takes me riding on his back through the jungle under golden moonlight, and all the creatures there bow down to me as consort to their king.
“It is true, the mother said, that the tiger is a king. He is better than any man you would find in our poor village. But he is still a tiger, something apart. And even if he believes that he loves you, sooner or later you will answer to his claws.
“The girl said nothing more to her mother about her love. That night she disappeared from the house of her parents, taking with her a yellow robe that many generations of her family’s women had worn on their wedding day. Three years passed and nothing was heard about the girl until one morning an infant boy was found in the middle of the village swaddled in a bloody yellow cloth. A beautiful boy with tiger’s eyes and a roar instead of crying. The grandmother took in the child, and he became a great king. But he was always heartbroken and sad because he had no true mother or any father at all.
“And one day, while he was on a crusade to unite all his people, he was beset by a tiger. His retainers mortally wounded the beast, but before the tiger died the young king looked deeply into his eyes. There he saw the truth: that his father, the tiger, had devoured his mother, but she lived on inside of him. The boy had found both his mother and his father, but in finding them they were slain.”
Ahn stood up and walked from the room. Eric felt the warning in her words. He even understood the general meaning of the tale. But he didn’t know what role she saw him in. Was he the tiger or the boy? Was Christie the village girl? Was Ahn the powerless mother? He sat there for over an hour considering the parable. He went over it again and again.
He imagined the stately tiger walking through the jungle with the golden apparition of the village girl astride his back. In his jaws the tiger carried a bloodied yellow cloth in which the royal baby was wrapped. The image made his breath come fast. It was beautiful and very sad.
“The tiger and the village girl had no choice,” Eric declared to an empty kitchen. “They were meant to be. And the boy, the boy can’t help himself either. They’re all just waiting for their parts to play.”
He took the bus down to Santa Monica, seeing himself as a pawn and satisfied to release himself to fate.
10
For most of those first three years away from the Nolan household, Thomas was more or less happy. He hadn’t seen the inside of a classroom since the first week, but he could hear the school bell from the clubhouse / apartment building that he shared with the morose Pedro. Every day at the lunch bell he went to talk to May. She’d make him a hot lunch and talk about her life. May didn’t need any response from the boy, and he loved to hear her talk because she seemed happy to be getting things off her chest. That happiness filled Thomas’s own heart.
Not that May lived a happy life. Elton was very jealous of her. Sometimes at night he would come home and want to know where she’d been and who she’d been with. He’d slapped her on a few occasions; once he’d even blackened her eye.
But May, by her own account, never cheated on Elton. Twice she had to “do things” with Mr. Sanders, the landlord, because they were short on the rent for more than two months. But she did that to help Elton, even though she could never tell him because he would kill both her and Sanders if he knew. But she didn’t like it with Sanders like she did with Thomas’s father.
The only times that she had ever been bad were when she was either drunk or high.
“You should never do any drugs, Lucky,” May had said. “It’s the devil in them.”
That was what had happened one day when Thomas came home to find May and a man called Wolf wrestling in the nude on the living room floor. When Thomas opened the door, Wolf jumped up and stood there with his big erection standing stiff and straight. The man was breathing hard, and his eyes were wild and very white against his black skin.
“That’s just Lucky, Wolf,” May said in a deep voice. “Go wait in the kitchen, Tommy. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”
But she didn’t come in. She and Wolf made noises for a long time, and finally Thomas went out through the back porch to his alley valley.
The next day when Thomas mentioned the man May was with the day before, she said, “How you know about Wolf?”
Somehow she had forgotten even seeing Thomas. He told her about them being naked and wrestling, and asked if his peeny was going to get like Wolf’s.
“You can’t ever tell Elton about Wolf,” she said. And then she told him that he should never do drugs.