THE MINUTE I LEFT the arctic zone of the airport, the heavy tropical air hit me. It brought back all my earlier visits to Miami, especially that extended one right after my father died. Lying under the palm trees then, during those burning days and sluggish nights, made me forget about winter back in New York. What reality did snow have in all that summery green, that golden sunlight? And along with winter, I managed to lose sight of Paulie and the children, too, for a while. Oh, I knew they were there, all right, waiting for me to get over my craziness and come home. I spoke to them daily, but their disembodied voices were changed by distance, became thinner and less familiar. The connection between us was stretched too far for them to reel me back in. Paulie said much later that it must have been an enchantment, and I suppose she was right. But how long had I known where Jason was? Longer, maybe, than I’d ever care to admit. There were clear enough clues all along. The fact that nobody had run across him anywhere in town. Those tens and twenties he’d sent Sara through the mail, just the way my mother had always sent them to him. And she hadn’t called for several weeks—her way, I realized now, of avoiding uncomfortable questions. When I got worried and finally called her, she didn’t ask about either of the children, for the first time in memory. She doted on them both, but she had always favored Jason, much the way she’d favored me when I was a kid. My sister used to complain about it. “He gets away with everything,” she’d say, and that was a pretty fair assessment. The wonder is that I ever got away at all.
I rented a van and drove out to my mother’s place without calling first. Jason might have taken off again if he knew I was coming, and I think she would have warned him. As it was, I took them both by surprise. It was late morning when I got there. She was in the kitchen making breakfast and Jason was taking a shower. I heard the boom of the plumbing as soon as she opened the door. Her jaw fell open in shock when she saw me, and then it just hung there, as if the hinges had come loose. I looked around and the setup was familiar—two place mats and two coffee cups on the dinette table, the pair of Barca-loungers positioned to face the TV, The only major difference was the set of drums in front of the picture window. When the shower stopped, I could hear the air-conditioner’s siren song. “Jesus, Ma,” I said. “How could you do this?”
Jason came out then, barefoot, in a kind of sarong-towel. He had a terrific tan—even the beads of water on his torso looked golden. I don’t think he recognized me for an instant, but when he did he put his hands up, as if to show me he wasn’t armed.
“You have a son, you son-of-a-bitch,” I said. All the way here from New York, I’d wondered what I would say when I saw him, and nothing that abrupt or crude had come to mind. But everything I had thought to say was just as awkward and off the mark. The thing was, I’d never talked to him, really, so how could I begin now? Could I describe the way I’d felt when Paulie brought the baby out to me? It was like a wonderful dream of restored youth, and like pitching headlong into eternity at the same time. The baby, who was all lopsided, and red as a peeled tomato, was howling his head off. I saw his naked gums, his tonsils, his old age and mine in that wrinkled, toothless face. Paulie pulled back the blanket to show me it was a boy. I think I knew that right away, but I looked with amazement at that stub of a penis, the scrotum too big for the rest of him. The down on his head and shoulders was standing straight up from static or surprise, and I could actually see his heart beating, so fast it scared me. I thought he was probably going to resemble Jason, and me, too, once his face straightened out and his color came in. Poor kid, with that mashed nose and his eyes swollen shut, he looked like he’d gone down for the count, his fists still swinging. But I was thrilled, as if I’d just met someone I’d been admiring from a distance for a long time. I thought I might cry, but I didn’t—I laughed instead, and I reached out and touched the baby’s waving hands, his funny-looking feet. I said something stupid to Paulie that had nothing to do with what I was feeling, and she said, “Here,” and put his featherweight into my arms.
Jason’s hands had come down slowly until they hung helplessly at his sides. “Is Sara okay?” he asked at last.
“A hell of a lot better than you,” I said, and imagined Paulie saying: Talk to him, Howard. Why can’t you ever just talk to him? “She’s doing fine,” I added grudgingly. “And so is the kid.”
“Dad, listen, I’m sorry—” Jason began, but I didn’t let him finish.
“Don’t tell me about it, mister,” I said. “Save it for Sara. Just pack up your goddamn stuff now. We’ve got a flight out of here at three.”
My mother, who had been fluttering around us in her apron, swore to me that she’d never meant any harm. She had only been giving Jason time to think, to straighten himself out. He’d come to her for refuge, what could she do? “Sit down for a minute, Howard,” she said. “Let the boy have his breakfast at least. And tell me about the baby.”
Jason fell asleep on the plane. He was sitting in the middle, between me and the elderly woman in the aisle seat, who was reading a Bible. He began to slump in her direction and I pulled him over toward me. His head dropped onto my shoulder. It was heavy as lead, and smelled of sunlight and perspiration. I remembered the baby’s sweet, yeasty smell, Paulie’s face when she handed him to me.
On the way to the airport, Jason had tried to explain what had happened, how he’d suddenly seen his life as a big black net dropping over him. And how he’d panicked and run. He swore he’d been planning to go back on his own, as soon as he got himself together again. No matter how it looked, he did love Sara, he did care about her and the baby. He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as me. I let him talk this time, but I didn’t say anything. I knew I was bringing him back like some sporting trophy, like a slain deer tied to the roof of my car. Except, of course, I was bringing him back alive. I was using him in one sense, but it was for his own good, too. And eventually he’d see that.
The woman looked up from her Bible and smiled at us. “He’s all knocked out,” I whispered, over Jason’s head. “He’s just become a father.” Her mouth opened in surprise—he probably looked too young to her—and then she blessed him with a beatific smile. When he woke up, she’d be sure to congratulate him, to ask him a few embarrassing questions. Well, he’d just have to start getting used to it.
At La Guardia, we collected his gear from the belt and finally found a taxi big enough to handle it all. I dozed off on the way to Larchmont, and when I woke up, it was dark out. We were on the Hutchinson and Jason was looking out the window. It was easier to say something conciliatory to him then, in the darkness, and on our own home ground. “We’re going to help you, Jase,” I said. “You really screwed up, but it’s never too late to start over. Everything will work out, wait and see.”