The Willow Tree: A Novel Read online

  Moishe leaned against the counter and smiled at Bobby, So….You eat, good. How you feel? Sheeit, ah feel like every muthafucka in the Bronx been kickin mah ass…but my belly be comin out mah ears. Thas some fine soup an braid. Ya…is good for everything. Moishe continued smiling at Bobby, then moved away from the counter, So…first we took care of the belly, now the rest already. Jacuzzi make you feel good, all over. What the fuck be that? Jacuzzi???—shrugging—is like a whirlpool…a bath tub where the water spins around—suddenly lifting his head and shoulders in recognition—like in baseball and football…they get hurt they sit in the whirlpool, ya? O yeah, I can dig it. Far out. You got yourself onea those suckers down here? Moishe grinned, Ya.

  Moishe took Bobby to a room with a whirlpool bath and a large shower stall with a dozen nozzles. Bobby looked around at everything and shook his head, Man they aint even got things like this in the movies. This be far fuckin out—walking around and looking and shaking his head….

  So, Im filling the tub and youre getting undressed. What you mean, undressed? What do I mean undressed, you take a bath with your clothes on already? what do I mean? Hey man, I dont go around nakid in front of no strangers. Stranger….Im a stranger already. So youre afraid maybe Im grabbing your schwarzer schlung, its so gorgeous I cant stay away???? Man, sometimes you be runnin off at the mouth an I caint understan nothin. Achh, so sit in the tub with your clothes on—shrugging, shaking his head—naked…stranger—and he turned on the nozzles and the heat, You see this button, it gets too hot you push, the lights going off…so, Im helping you in so you shouldnt slip—extending his hand, Bobby looking at him for a minute, then shrugging, Damn, you got your feelings hurt Mush….I still dont know what I be doin here, but you seem to be a righteous dude—shrugging and looking around as he started unbuttoning his shirt—Where I put these things? Give to me—taking the clothes—Bobby standing awkwardly, self consciously, looking around, almost covering his crotch with his hands—hanging them on hooks across the room. Im helping you in, Bobby letting him hold his hand as he stepped over the side of the tub. Sit…there—nodding toward the seat, Bobby lowering himself slowly, a smile changing his expression, the smile growing into a large open-mouthed grin, Damn, this be far fuckin out Mush…damn—moving his arms slightly, looking at them, his hands, his feet, the whirling water with wonder and amazement—far fuckin out Mush…damn, those muthas get to sit in one a these jus for playin baseball…sheeit, an they gettin paid too—Bobby giggled then laughed loud, Hey baby, this be crazy Mush…damn….

  Moishe grinned and just watched Bobby for a moment….Theres a railing….

  Yeah, I see it man.

  Good. Dont slip. You need me push this already…rings a bell. This turns off heat.

  Yeah, I got that one baby, but this be fine. Sheeit, can ya dig havin one a these muthas when your ass be freezin…damn…damn Mushie you be livin in a muthafuckin palace. Aint even no dope dealers be livin this good—and Bobby giggled and laughed and pretended his hand was a boat and skimmed it along the surface of the water.

  Moishe continued watching for a moment, then stepped back from the tub, Im doing some work.

  Okay my man. I be here gettin my skinny little ass unbruised, Hey Mush, I sit here long enough I get rid of all the black n blue—an he laughed so loud and hard he almost slipped off the ledge—Damn, this muthafucka gonna make a gauddamn honky outta me—and he roared again with laughter, shaking his head, tears rolling from his eyes, Caint be the muthafuckin Bronx man—and the laughter continued roaring from him as he sat back, held onto the railing, and allowed himself to almost float around the tub, feeling the warm swirling water relaxing not only his muscles, but his mind, and suddenly all of life…all of the past, and all of the future, and the present was a bright sunny day, and everything was cool and he didnt have to hassle anything, and no one or no things hassled him, and he jus be alone with the warm sun and the fine music he be hearing in his mine, Damn, this be far fuckin out man…far fuckin out….

  Bobby was leaning back in the tub, his eyes closed, and smiling through his cuts and bruises when Moishe returned to get him out. He stood by the side with a thick terry cloth robe and turned off the jets.

  Hey man, whach you doin?

  For today is over.

  Ova? I was jus startin to groove behin this thing man.

  Too much is not good. Now you have a cold shower and relax. Tomorrow we/ll do it again. Moishe helped Bobby out of the tub, and helped him into the shower stall and turned on the cold water. Bobby almost jumped out of his skin and yelled, Hey, what the fuck you doin man—and Moishe chuckled, Thats how youre getting rid of all the black and blue—and he kept the door closed as Bobby continued yelling and calling him a crazy mutha fucka as all 12 nozzles directed cold water at every part of Bobbys body, and when he thought Bobby had enough he turned off the water and helped him put on the robe, then gently put the hood on his head, So….You tryin to kill me Mush? Damn!

  Moishe laughed, You feel good, no? all alive all over, ya?

  Yeah man, that be—Moishe laughed loud, Far fucking out, ya?—and he laughed louder and louder and Bobby looked at him and started laughing so hard and loud it hurt but he couldnt stop and both of them were shaking their heads, tears rolling from their eyes, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls, the ceiling, the floor and back up through their feet and into their ears and through their bodies coming out again in bursts of joyous sound, and as they continued laughing they slowly started leaning more and more toward each other and soon Bobby was leaning on Moishe who held him gently until there just wasnt any energy left for laughter but the joy was still there and they tapered off and down with short bursts of laughter and periods of chuckling, snorting and giggling until they were relatively silent and wiping their eyes with their fingers and their noses with the backs of their hands. Bobby was leaning heavily on Moishe and shaking his head, You a crazy muthafucka, I doan even know why Im laughin—which started a new round of laugher which quickly tapered to silence and they sat on the bench, eventually Bobby raising his head and looking around, his awe and wonder obvious, I wish my girl Maria could be here, man she sure be diggin this. Sheeit, I should be lettin her know Im cool, she mus be wonderin where I at and whats happenin.

  Soon. You be stronger later. And you not looking so good yet.

  Sheeit, that be true. Anyways, sometime I gotta see her.

  Moishe smiled tenderly, Ya….

  Marias mother and grandmother walked the streets, rode the bus, then climbed the stairs to their apartment. The grandmother collapsed in a chair, O, mother of God, my bones feel like dough, my legs dont want to hold me up—the mother going directly to the kitchen to start cooking food for everyone…herself, the old one, and her children who had stayed with friends, and to start the soup to take to Maria the next day, a strong soup with a good bone and beans, a soup to strengthen her daughter. The grandmother relaxed more and more until she felt as though she were disappearing into the inner parts of the chair, inwardly shaking her head and trying to understand a life that brought her from a small village quietness to the madness of millions of people and tenements, and exhaust fumes that smell like death and burned her eyes and nose. Perhaps tomorrow she would stay home with the children, such a long journey to the hospital…but three little children were even worse than the walking and the ugly monsters breathing smoke in the streets. There seemed to be so few choices left…or it might be that there are none…anywhere. She would walk with ease down the stairs tomorrow, ride the bus and walk through endless roads in the hospital, but sitting all day with the pain….O dear Jesus, Blessed savior Jesus, that is too heavy a burden for these old bones….I am not like you, I cannot bear the sorrows of the world on my shoulders….I do not wear your robe, but sometimes I feel like it is the crown of thorns that sits on my head. You are God and what am I???? I am only an old woman in a strange land filled with much sorrow and pain. O…mother of God, what am I to do? Am I to sit at the foot of the cross and tr
y to take Marias pain??? and my daughters??? is Isabellas pain mine too? I am just old…only old and weary, I am not the mother of God and need to find some rest for bones so much older than those smoking demons. Take my sorrow, dear mother of God, dear Mary, take my sorrow, and that of all of us….

  Here mother—she slowly raised her head and looked at her daughter as she put a cup of coffee on her lap, carefully placing the saucer first, then making certain her mothers hand was steadying the cup—A cup of real coffee will lift your spirits. Raise my spirits?

  Yes. You look sad and worn—looking at her mother for a moment then smiling at her and kissing her on the top of her head—It is such a tiring day. You need rest and food. But first—broadening her smile—a cup of real coffee, not the machine.

  The old woman almost smiled and bent over as much as possible and carefully lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, licked her lips then took a small mouthful and closed her eyes as she swallowed, then took a larger mouthful and raised her head and leaned back in the chair and sighed, Ohhh, what a blessing—smiling up at her daughter, the sadness still clearly etched on her face, momentarily obscured by her smile. Isabella returned her mothers smile, Rest. Soon we will eat and then we will talk—smiling—when the children are sleeping.

  The old woman nodded her head and finished her coffee and held out the cup to her daughter.

  Good….Another cup…good.

  Her mother leaned against the back of the chair and smiled up at her.

  Maria lay quietly on the bed. Unmoving. A dull pain in her right hip slowly radiating out. Getting worse. Thinking move to stop the pain. Mommy gone. Grandmother gone. Bobby gone…somewhere. Still sounds…noises. From time to time opens eyes…lights. More pain. Eyes sting, leg hurts. Cant move. Cant will to move. Cant force movement away from pain. Crack in ceiling moving….Ceiling falling, eyes shut, body tense, waiting…waiting for impact…to be crushed…the clock lost its hands…mommy…mommy…alone alone alone O mommy mommy…

  darkness sudden, safe from ceiling….It hurts. Really bad. Mommy it hurts. Mommy move me. Stop the pain. Terror freezes body, stiff, rigid, cracking and splintering and little pieces falling off and rolling from bed to hungry demon mouth devouring, grinding, laughing, moaning, moaning, moaning, MOANING, MOANING

  Maria. Maria. You in pain?

  Tears soak bandage, body shatters in million pieces, a million demon shattered pieces, bones, flesh, the sunrise, all swallowed, swallowed and disappearing into whatever is beyond darkness

  mommy…. mommy

  I have the nurse bring you somethin—o mommy—tears of terror soaking gauze and sheets—o mommy—a tiny plea from a small mouth and a huge pain, a tiny plea in an infinite threat, a thin, frail body pleading, reaching, reaching, reaching beyond itself to the unknown for something to touch, something to hold it, to comfort it, trying to force the darkness to give up a little glimmer of light as the darkness continues to consume and rend and torture and devour and torment and twist and grind and grind and spit the powdered bones of the tiny body into its crying eyes—mommy, mommy—the fires of fear and pain burning the tiny shell, the tears hot and red—o mommy, mommmmmmmy please…o please….

  The nurse gave her an injection, and left the room…and planes of soft gray slowly wrapped itself around the demon and absorbed its venom…and Maria was gently lowered into the peace of sleep where the handless clock of pain would begin once more to tick away godless hours and would, hopefully, keep its hands and their movement, until the night was once again turned away with the coming of light.

  Isabella sat with her mother at the table. The children were in bed, the dishes washed, and they sat, with their coffee, a breeze coming in the kitchen window along with the sounds, noise and smells of the street.

  You look very tired momma.

  I am worried…I am tired—shrugging—I am sad. I do not know why we are here, why we—

  Please momma. We have talked so many times. We are here. This is where we are. There was no place to go when Roberto died. We are here momma.

  Yes, yes—nodding her head—We are here, in this land of noise and smoke—turning toward the window—it comes in, smell it? Listen—

  Please momma. No more. My heart too is filled with pain. I too live in this same strange land as you with a language that is like mumblings to my ears. Everything sounds so bad so terrible, but we are here and—

  But we should not be here. We should be where the sun does not have to fight with smoke to reach your face.

  Isabella took a drink of coffee, looked at the light reflecting in the coffee and the sides of the cup for a moment, then looked at her mother, seeing the age in the lines on her face and the tiredness in her eyes, Perhaps you should stay home tomorrow momma. It is such a long trip, it tires you.

  The trip is long. True—nodding her head—but to be here all the day with the children and the noise is also very tiring. Even more.

  The children will not be here. They can go as today to the homes of friends. They are kind.

  Yes, yes, I know, I thank God for the kindness of our friends. But what would you have me do, sit under a palm tree? Should I walk to the beach and stick my feet in the wet sand and listen to the water. Should I collect shells from the beach?—Isabella stared at her coffee cup wishing she could wish all this away…all the pain all the unhappiness, but what could she do? Can she wake up in the morning and find a pot of gold on the table and take the family home? Is this a childs fairy tale where she can rub something and angels bring pieces of heaven on velvet pillows?—Should I wade out into the water and smell the fresh breeze that moves over the water and through the tree tops? Should I bake a chicken? Sh—

  Momma—Isabellas eyes and voice heavy with sadness—no more momma. It is enough. I am filled with the same sadness. Maria is my flesh…my blood—And mine—Yes momma, and yours, and we will do whatever we need to do to make her better. I too worry. I too try to understand the mysteries of what they say to us and leave in fear and ignorance. I hear words…sounds…and see my babys face wrapped in bandages, only little slits to look into to see her eyes, a little slit to feed food to her body. All the pain and sadness is the same for me momma.

  The old woman stared at her folded hands on her lap for many silent moments, then nodded her head, Yes….Yes….she sighed and lifted her head and looked with great sadness at her daughter, Tomorrow we will go and see her and we will bring the soup and we will sit endlessly at the side of her bed and we will struggle with her pain and their language and feed her the soup, and milk, and hold her and pray to the Blessed Virgin to protect her and send her safe to her home with us—she sighed again and turned over her hands—We know we will do this…what else can we do?

  Nothing else momma. God will see us through. And we will again ride the bus and find our way through all those hallways to her bed. She will be safe as long as we can see her…touch her—she looked at her mother and almost smiled—and feed her soup.

  Isabella continued to look at her mother, her smile slowly absorbed by her feeling of concern, hearing the voices of children playing on the street, running up and down the stairs of their building, the sudden screeching after a ball, the yelling of arguments, the sudden burst of laughing, from time to time all the sounds blending into a vague and familiar noise that filled the background of her life that was so familiar it offered a degree of comfort, and she toyed with her coffee cup and looked out the window at the buildings across the street, the clothes lines stretched across the alley, the fire escapes—heavily loaded with plants, rugs, boxes, crates, children, adults, cats, dogs and god only knows how many unidentifiable objects, sipping her now cool coffee and continuing to hold the cup with both hands after replacing it on the table, unable to avoid acknowledging the worm of fear crawling around within her and she blinked her eyes several times until she was able to turn her eyes from the window back to her mother and look at the lines of age etched in her face but seeing years of sadness rather than simply years of l
iving as her mother rubbed her fingertips around the edge of her cup, feeling it as she would her beads, hearing the painful screeching of brakes, the grinding of motors, the crunch of wheels, frowning as she tasted the smoke and fumes, her coffee no longer able to penetrate the foulness they created in her mouth, foulness that burned her throat and chewed her tongue, one that she wanted to spit out, to spit into the dirt of the streets to be free of its venom but even if she did, actually, spit the poison into the streets the foulness remained always in her mouth, as the monsters screaming never left her ears, and they too ached from the smoke and shadows of this terrible place, and everyday she tried to think of some way to shut out the noises that attacked her, but even hiding her ears behind cupped hands was useless and futile, so she sat rubbing the edge of her coffee cup with her fingertips, wondering how she ever ended up living so high off the ground, and if she would ever sit in clear sunshine again