I punched the wall periodically as I raced down the hospital stairs until my knuckles were bleeding.
I was right. My godfather’s goons had beaten Kato nearly to death because he refused to tell them where I was. He had only been conscious for a few minutes when I first entered, waiting for the nurse to look down at her chart before I snuck into his room. It hurt just to look at his bandaged and swollen face and all the tubes hooking him to an assortment of machines.
He basically saw me, mumbled, “I didn’t tell them where you were, Gia-san,” and fell back unconscious or asleep. I didn’t know which.
The fury inside me sent me flying out his door, ready to scream or explode, I wasn’t sure which. How dare someone beat up my best friend in an effort to find me. My godfather must have lost his mind.
I spent the night pacing the rooftop of my building, wrapped in a blanket from my bed, searching the misty skies of San Francisco trying to figure out where I should turn next. It looked like a visit to Geneva was in order. I wanted to talk to the widow of the forensic pathologist who falsified my parents’ autopsy results, the woman who had written me the letter. Maybe she would have some clue who paid off her husband. I wanted a little more proof before I confronted my godfather. I couldn’t live with killing him unless I knew for sure he was behind all the death and tragedy in my life. A part of me still loved him desperately. The soft part of the me. The part that wanted to curl up and die instead of fight. I pushed that part of me deep down inside.
The warrior may be shattered in mind, body, and spirit and yet will not give up. The warrior knows that one’s strength lies in many areas, spiritual as well as physical and the melding of the two creates true power.
The next morning, Ethel was back in her regular spot.
I slung my backpack onto my shoulder. I had a concealed money belt under my jeans that contained cash, my fake passport, driver’s license, and photocopies of the Italian property deeds. I’d given Thanh-Thanh an extra key and mimed that I was getting on an airplane and would be gone for a few days. She figured out through my sign language, pointing to Django’s leash and food bowl and holding up my fingers, that I needed her to walk and feed Django while I was gone. She thudded her chest and nodded so fiercely, I figured she got the point. At least I hoped so. My plane left in two hours. I crouched down by Ethel.
“Sorry, Gia. I tried to deliver your message,” she said.
“I know. You did good. It’s not your fault,” I said. Her eyes were bloodshot and her speech a bit slurred even though it was only ten in the morning. She must have used some of my money for that bottle of vodka I saw peeking out of her backpack. I leaned closer. “Ethel, look at me, this is important.” Her eyes rolled over to mine. “When you went to the dojo. Did anyone see you come back here? Did anyone follow you?”
“No, no, Gia. I did just what you told me. I took two buses, that one to North Beach and then another one to get back here. I made sure nobody got off at my stop and no cars were following the bus. I watched. I done just like you told me.”
“Good job,” I said, standing. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. You want to stay in my place?”
“I got a place to stay. I’m good.”
“You sure? My place will just be sitting there empty.”
“No, no I’m fine.” I wondered if she was going to tell me she slept at Saint Boniface or whether she liked keeping that secret. I didn’t want to intrude on her privacy so I didn’t mention seeing her there the night before. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what would happen if I paid for her to go to rehab. Was there any hope? Could I help her? I remembered something Dante told me once “You can’t save someone from themselves.”
But I wondered if I needed to try.
“Ethel?” I paused and waited.
“Yes?” She looked up and gave me a sweet smile.
“You ever think about kicking?”
Her eyebrows creased together.
“You know,” I said. “Maybe go somewhere where they can help you stop drinking and stuff?” I looked away. I waited a few seconds and looked back at her. She was staring right at me.
“Nah. Gia. I want to drink. I want to do what I want to do and what I want to do is drink.”
“I like booze too, Ethel.” I said. “Maybe if you stopped drinking, maybe you could be my roommate and we could find you a job at my friend’s salon or something. She’s awfully nice. We could …”
I was trying to figure out a way to tell her that her life could be better. But how could I say that without insulting everything she was right now?
“Gia,” she waited for me to look her in the eye. “I may be homeless, but I’m free.”
I thought about that for a second. There was nothing I could say. I pressed my lips together tightly and nodded.
“Okay. You let me know if you change your mind. I know some people.”
She looked away but I saw her acknowledge what I said with a slight nod.
I gave her one last look before I walked toward Market Street so I could hail a cab to the airport.