Getting the Message
The five of us have just returned from seeing Children of the Damned. Andy rouses Valerie, who has fallen asleep. How can she sleep after that film’s shocking end? My heart is still thumping. She rests her head on Andy’s shoulder while they walk up to the house. Roger hotfoots ahead of them to unlock the front door, and Danny and I lag behind, discussing what we’ve just seen.
“Did you like the movie, Aunt Dee?”
“I can’t say I liked it. It disturbed me to watch those children be killed. The message was chilling.”
“I guess I try not to look for messages in sci-fi. What did you think it meant?”
“That people kill what they can’t accept.”
“Hmmm. Why do you think they couldn’t accept that the children might not be bad, just different?”
“I don’t know, Danny. Why did we kill Christ? He offered us something good, but we couldn’t get past the challenge to be different. If I understood why people are so dead set against what looks different, I might understand what’s behind our neighbors’ opposition to everything we do.”
My teeth are chattering now. Either the temperature is dropping fast or a part of me is still on screen, huddled in a church with the children, divining what is about to happen next. Danny throws a wool-coated arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick hug.
“You think too much, Aunt Dee.”
We walk into the house in a sleepy group. A full moon glows through the atrium glass. The accent pieces Valerie has placed around the house receive a lunar blessing that unites them in a common purpose. The ceramic container of ornamental grass where Puffy pots herself when she’s sleepy; the acrylic landscape of the Bay of Biscay hanging over the fireplace; the Murano chandelier of teal-tipped, amber glass flowers. All these grace us and fill us with peace.
Danny walks into his room and flips on the light. I hear his voice echo down the hall. “Guys, you better come see this.”
One by one, we gather in the doorway of the front bedroom. Someone has shot a bullet into our front window! We gawk at the shattered glass.
“How could this have happened?”
Valerie is fully awake now. She starts toward the window, but Andy moves to block her approach. As he does so, I flash back to the moment I knew that the shadow I saw in Laura’s Sycamore was Fred and the similar movement to stop Laura, to protect her from seeing what I saw.
Roger goes straight to the window and puts a finger on the angry hole in the center of the cracked glass. His head swivels from wall to wall. Seeing nothing, he returns his attention to the window.
“This was done with a pellet gun, I’d say.”
Valerie sits down on the bed and Andy joins Roger in front of the window.
“Best not to touch it, Roger. We’ll ask the police to dust for fingerprints when they come out to make a report.”
“I don’t think they’ll find any.” Roger removes his finger from the bullet hole.
“Do you think whoever did this was inside the house?” Valerie clutches her stomach. “Did someone try to shoot out the window from the inside?”
“No, honey.” Andy moves to her side. “The shooter most likely stood at the top of the driveway, or maybe in the middle, and took a shot at the window from outside. I don’t think he went anywhere near the house. If he had been closer, the pellet probably would have gone through the window. We’d find it lodged somewhere in the wall.”
Roger nods in agreement. “We might be able to find the pellet on the ground in the morning to confirm that’s what it was. Or, we might never find it.”
As Roger and Andy discuss all the possibilities, Danny slips out of the room. The front door squeals in the cold and, soon after, light flashes back and forth outside the window. Before I have time to put together what Danny is doing, Valerie grabs my attention. With a hand over her mouth, she lurches toward the bathroom. I am right behind her when she falls to her knees in front of the toilet and throws up the contents of what she’d snacked on in the movies. The smell of stomach acid and cola fill the small bathroom. I grab a washcloth, wet it and give it to her to wipe her mouth. Then I hand her a glass of water.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
As we head for the kitchen, where Andy is on the phone with the police, I stop to turn up the thermostat. Danny slips back into the house carrying a flashlight.
“I looked around outside. I didn’t see anything out of place, Aunt Dee. It doesn’t look like anybody has been around back. I went clear around the house and checked all the windows and doors. I didn’t see any other broken windows.”
One is all it takes to deliver a message.
R
The phone rings a couple of times as the report makes its way down the line. The last call is from the detective on the night desk who agrees with Andy that a midnight visit from the police department isn’t necessary.
“We’ll send Detective Ramos out in the morning to look around and get your statement. You’re probably right, Mr. Ibarra. Probably some kid shooting off his dad’s gun. Probably an accident it hit your window. But we’ll investigate.”
“Is that really what you think, Andy?” I can’t believe an attorney couldn’t put it together. “What about the threat Walter made to Roger?”
“Dee, all Walter said was that the neighbors were upset. He made no specific threat.”
Having a son-in-law who is an attorney is frustrating. I have to choose my words very carefully when I talk to him.
“Okay, then, he said that they were ’bugged,’ and he intimated they might be prepared to do more about it than just file grievances at city hall and smear my morning newspaper with dog shit.”
Roger laughs and pats my knee as if he were admonishing a potty-mouthed child whose antics he finds amusing. Valerie has gone to bed, and Danny is making noises like he is about to do the same. Nobody wants to talk about who might have done this and how far that person might be willing to go.
Why am I the only one who is so worked up? When Roger tries to put his arms around me after we go to bed, I turn away. He lays on his back staring at the ceiling for a minute. Then he whispers to me.
“Dee, I know you’re upset about this, but we have to keep cool heads. Let’s just wait until we talk to Detective Ramos tomorrow and see what he says. Do you think you can sleep now?”
I pretend to be asleep.
R
Late Saturday morning we are having coffee in the family room when Detective Ramos pulls up in our driveway. I’m glad he didn’t park on the street; I want to minimize any speculation about why the police have been called. The strain of this situation is starting to make me paranoid. Most of all, I don’t want Carlo, or whoever did this, to think we’re rattled.
The men troop outside, leaving Valerie and me to stare at each other across the table. Valerie has dark circles under her eyes and the same greenish tinge to her complexion I saw last night. Her hair hangs in her face like a limp curtain she’s hiding behind.
“Go back to bed sweetie. I’ll let you know what the detective says.”
“I think I will, Mom. I don’t feel very good.” She makes a face at her coffee cup and heads for her room, scooping up Puffy on her way.
The troops return, and Detective Ramos gives me a bright smile.
“Good morning Mrs. Russell.” He consults his report and launches into a speech that sounds memorized. All I get out of it is yes, it was a pellet gun; no, there is no way of identifying who did it; yes, of course he and his partner will interview the neighbors to see if anyone saw anything. He doesn’t ask the question I’m waiting for, so I volunteer the answer anyway.
“Carlo Santorini next door owns a pellet gun, and he hates us.”
“Mrs. Russell, I imagine all your neighbors own pellet guns. They use them to shoot the gophers and scare the deer away. It’s entirely possible this was just an accident. Whoever did this may not even be aware they hit your window.”
Detective Manuel Ramos should run for city council.
“You don’t think the sound of glass shattering would have given them a clue?”
“Mrs. Russell, believe me, I know this is upsetting. We are going to beef up the patrol in your neighborhood for a few days. If it was intentional, and that’s a big if, that should stop it. When the uniforms start going door to door, it will send a message.”
Roger and Andy do nothing to help me hold up my end of this argument, so I stop. Fine. We’ll just wait until they bring out the big guns, line us all up against the garage door, and...
KABOOMBA, BOOMB! A loud staccato thumping comes from the garage.
I jump in my seat and Roger and Andy burst into laughter. The detective covers his mouth with his hand, but his eyes are laughing.
“Dee, that’s Scott testing his drums. He’s out in the garage waiting for Danny to come home so they can play some music.”
“Mrs. Russell, the best thing you can do is just go on with your life like normal.” Detective Ramos folds up his notebook.
There is nothing about my life that is normal.
R
Things do return to normal, though. My life is just one long conversation after another. I fill Laura and Ivy in on what has happened and set up a long overdue appointment to talk to Mike. Valerie rallies, although her energy doesn’t seem to be what it used to. She takes long naps after work.
There’s another conversation I’ve been meaning to have. It’s time for me to do an end run around Roger, sit down with my nephew, and get him to talk.
The men went golfing this morning and Valerie hasn’t come home yet, a perfect time to ambush Danny when he stops home for lunch. I make two sandwiches and position myself on a stool at the kitchen counter at noon, knowing he will come into the kitchen from the garage. Sure enough, he appears right on schedule.
“I’m glad you’re here, Aunt Dee. I need to talk to you.”
Finally; and Danny is initiating the conversation. Good. I can’t believe I have let so much time go by without asking about the trouble Domeka is in. Roger keeps telling me to be patient. I haven’t been patient, I’ve just been busy. That’s not really it. I haven’t wanted to face how frustrated I feel not to be able to talk to Alaya. Letters won’t do. I need to see her face.
“It’s about Scott.”
“Scott? What about Scott?” I don’t want to talk about Scott.
I don’t like Scott. He reminds me of Eddie Haskell on Leave It To Beaver, all charm and innocence on the surface but he’s probably pushing drugs to schoolchildren in the park. Roger confirmed that the weedy smell that lingers in the air after Scott goes home, or wherever he goes, is in fact marijuana. He assures me that he has told Scott not to have any drugs on him when he comes to our house, and I believe him. Roger is pretty direct with people.
“I don’t like Scott very much Aunt Dee, but I feel sorry for the guy so I let him hang around. I just wanted to check with you and make sure you’re okay with that.”
“I don’t like him either Danny, but I don’t have any real reason to tell him he can’t come to the house when we’ve welcomed all the other boys. So yes, for now I’m okay with it. Danny, tell me what’s going on with your brother.”
A cloud of pain passes across Danny’s eyes, settles into sadness and stays there. He looks down at his hands folded in his lap.
“When we were at University it was the first time in our lives that we didn’t play the same sports, take the same classes, and have the same friends. We talked about it, and we decided that being away at school would give us an opportunity to fly solo.”
I remember from visits to the farmhouse how the twins were constantly at each other’s heels. They bickered, but more in the teasing way that children do for amusement.
“I took math classes. I got into music. I thought about going to seminary, but I like girls too much.” He looks up at me I see a sparkle of sunshine break through the clouds.
“Domeka continued to play Jai Alai tournaments. He was always better than I was, but he reached a level of play where he wasn’t winning anymore, so he quit. I know our Dad was cool with that, but I’m not sure Dom believed him. Dad was also cool with Dom running the family businesses, but the truth is he enjoys tinkering with farm equipment and making improvements to the production process. He doesn’t have a head for the marketing end of it, and that’s what we really need. We need someone who makes good decisions about distribution and pricing and that kind of stuff.
“I can’t really tell you how he got hooked up with the ETA. It’s not that popular a movement in Navarra. I think he was just at loose ends. He wasn’t playing sports any more. He stopped going home on weekends to work on the farm. He was studying history and politics and starting to get interested the greater Basque community. But you know what I think happened? He’s a big guy with muscles and a passion for tinkering. I think they came after him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Aunt Dee, Domeka was making bombs for the Euskadi Ta Askatasuna. They are an armed group of Basque nationalists who want independence. They believe that violence is the only way they will get it.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. I had no idea he was involved with the ETA until he got arrested after a street riot. My brother isn’t violent. He didn’t participate in the riot, but he supported it.”
“And now he’s in jail.”
“Yes.”
“Danny, I have to ask. Were you in any way involved in this?”
“Not in any way.”
“Why was your mother so afraid for you to stay in Navarra?”
“She thought people would not believe I had nothing to do with Domeka’s activities. Like I said, it’s not a popular cause in Navarra.”
This must be killing my sister and her husband. To fear for your son’s life, to fear retribution from your neighbors; what we are going through is kids’ stuff compared to what my sister is facing.
I’ve only ever thought of my sister as an American, one who moved back to our homeland with our father when she was a toddler. Our conversations over the years have focused on our cultural differences, never our politics. I know nothing about this issue.
“Well.” For now I need to think about Danny’s best interests. “Of course you can stay with us as long as you like. We’ll need to talk some more about your future.”
“Thank you, Aunt Dee.” A tear runs down his cheek. He turns his head away and wipes his eyes. To spare him embarrassment I pretend not to notice his tears. This makes me feel worse. The truth is that I’m uncomfortable with raw emotion. I don’t like that about myself.
In a broken voice Danny says, “I’m not worried about my future. It’s my brother’s future I’m worried about.”