“So she’ll call you — when?”
“May I speak to the kids?”
“Which one?”
“Whoever is near.”
“Hold on. I’ll see if they want to talk.” She lowers the phone to her hip, in part to keep from having to talk to me, but also to muffle whatever she’s saying to the children — what they’re saying back to her. “No, I don’t feel like talking.” Getting kids to talk on the phone is second in difficulty to getting them to perform in public — it’s mood based. Edith is censoring my children’s response for me. She’s not all bad — perhaps not bad at all. Second Avenue, the pale sun is like a yellow bruise, pain spreads dimly from the center. Light on the sky, on the six-story tenement walk-ups. The East Village has changed — Mercedes southbound on the avenue, jackets and ties. Upscale eateries. Strollers and well-groomed young mothers. Where are the squeegee men and the junkies? Where is the shopping cart brigade? The stolen-goods sidewalk sales? Where are the flamboyantly gay boys walking alongside the old Ukrainian women pulling their pushcarts, the bag of rugalach on top? Maybe it’s just in this moment that I’ve chosen to look up that they are gone. The sky is like a fading contusion on white skin; the sun, the center of the blow.
“Daddy,” lisps X. His voice dispels the sky. His face fills the void.
“Hey, kid.”
“I’m not kid. My name is X!”
“Sorry, X.”
“Oh, it’s okay, Dad.”
“What are you doing?”
“Playing.”
“Are you playing dinosaur?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m playing ancient sea creature.”
“Do you like sea creatures now?”
“Ancient sea creatures, Dad.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yes!” I hear the jump in his voice and then the thump of his landing.
“Which ancient sea creatures?”
“Oh, I love Archelon.”
“Archelon, who’s that?”
“He’s a giant sea turtle.”
“Wow.”
“I also love Hybodeth.”
“Hybodus?”
“Yeah, Hybodeth.”
“Who’s that?”
“He was one of the first sharks. I love sharks, Dad.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yes. They’re cartilaginous.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. But Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who my favorite ancient sea creature is?”
“Who?”
“Megalodon!”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, yes, Dad. His name means giant toof.”
“Giant tooth?”
“Yes!”
“What is he?”
“He’s a giant shark. He’s like a giant great white shark — as big as a whale.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah.”
His focus drifts for a moment — Edith.
“Okay, may I have the phone back, please?”
“But I’m talking to my dad.”
“Yes, and you’ve talked to him for a long time.”
“But I need to tell him something.” His voice starts to bleed into a whine.
“What do you need to tell him?” she asks. The phone wants more money. I dump a dollar in. Edith tries to talk over the robot voice and X’s protests.
“Hello, what’s wrong with your phone?”
“Can he finish?” Edith goes silent but doesn’t do anything. “Can you put my son back on, please?”
“Oh, yes, sorry. Of course.” She fumbles, regroups, then holds the phone away, but I can still hear. “Your father wants to say good-bye.”
“Bitch,” I mouth.
“Sorry?” She’s still there.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, hold on.”
“Dad,” he’s calm again. My first thought is to tell him not to yell at his grandmother, that he needs to be polite. Fuck it.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Dad, I’m worried.” My guts crash down into my bowels, explode, reform, and spring back up again, but not in their proper places. I fight off the urge to howl.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m worried about Megalodon.”
“Why, it sounds like he can take care of himself.”
“No, Dad — he’s dead. All of them are extinct.” Even his breathing is lispy.
“What about the others?”
“They’re extinct, too.” His breathing grows heavier, faster, the pitch rising. He’s about to crack. “Dad,” he whimpers, as though he’s been punched in the gut. He waits, takes a deep breath, exhales. I know Edith’s standing over him, looking down, puzzled, annoyed. Whatever it is, he somehow knows that he can’t break in front of her. “I wish they were back.” He squeaks the last word out, then comes the first breath of a sob. He bites down on it, holds it, refuses to let it go. And I can see him — man-jaw clenched, squaring it even more, every muscle flexed, and those eyes, searching around and around for an answer to this rush of feeling.
I hate the telephone.
“I wish they were here, too.”
He exhales again — I didn’t think he had any more breath in him. “Do you love those guys, too?”
“Oh yes, of course. Megalodon must have been so big.”
“Oh yes — he was so big!”
“You’re so big, too.”
“Oh yes, and I’m a good swimmer, too.” He chuckles. I can see him, ready to jump again.
“Okay, kid, I’ll see you soon.”
“X!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“I love you, X.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Bye.”
“Bye-eye, Daddy.” He hands the phone to Edith and goes thumping away.
“Hello?” she’s ready to hang up.
“Hi. Where’s everyone else?”
“Well, I sent Cecil to the beach with the Crumwells and their boys — they’re nice boys. And Edith, little Edy, is taking a nap.”
“The Crumwells?”
“Yes. You know them.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re having fun, I’m sure.”
“I thought you were away.”
“Well, I was supposed to be, but I’m not.”
“When are they bringing him back?”
“We’re meeting them for supper at the farm.”
“Really?”
She ignores that. “Now, I’m supposed to get information from you — your arrival.” For a moment I don’t know what she’s talking about. She takes the opportunity to be condescending with me, too. “Tomorrow night, are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
I lie. “Nine.”
“Nine p.m. sharp?”
“Nine. .” I pretend to consult a schedule. “Nine-fourteen.”
“Oh, nine-fourteen. That doesn’t fit well with bedtime. Is there another?”
“No.”
“No more trains?”
“It’s a bus.”
“Oh.”
“Providence. Smithfield Road. Nine-fourteen.”
“Well, we can arrange something with the kids. . perhaps. . Nick Weed’s son is coming for the weekend from Brown. . Perhaps. .”
“Claire can come. She can bring the kids.”
“It’s late for them.”
“They can sleep in the car.”
“Well, fine then,” she breathes coldly. “Nine-fourteen. Friday. The bus. Someone will be there.” She hangs up before I can counter.
Ben is back in front of the shop, cleaning the door with Windex and paper towels. I almost call out to him from across the street as if he’s an old friend, but I stop myself and watch him work while I wait for the light to change.