THE FINAL ARRANGEMENT
Nan Fink Gefen |
 |
SONYA DEFIANTLY THREW OPEN THE BEDROOM DRAPES, LETTING IN THE
afternoon sunlight. For the past week her daughter Elizabeth had been tiptoeing around her bed, acting like a nurse, and now she'd darkened the room, urging her to rest. Elizabeth's vigilance annoyed her and she wished, as always, that she had produced a daughter more like herself.
Standing by the window in her bare feet, Sonya surveyed the city below. The maple trees were just beginning to leaf on this warm spring day and the sidewalk filled with people heading toward Riverside Park. She sighed with satisfaction, drawing strength from the sight of so much activity. This was what she needed, not imposed isolation.
The bedroom door opened, Elizabeth peeking in to check on her. "Why are you up?" she whispered. "You should be sleeping."
"On this beautiful day?" Sonya couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice.
"You won't get well unless you rest."
"I'm tired of resting."
Elizabeth's arms hung uselessly at her side. What was the use of sacrificing her vacation time to come to New York to nurse such an uncooperative patient? It seemed that no matter what she suggested, her mother scooted out from under her direction like a wayward child. "You need to take care of yourself," she tried.
"Have I ever?" Sonya answered. This was a rhetorical question: They both knew that she'd always been oblivious to the demands of her body, driving herself to succeed, working extra hours at the university, staying out late into the night.
"It scares me," Elizabeth said, voicing a truth she seldom acknowledged. As a child she'd worried that her mother would collapse under the strain of obligations and that she, the burdensome daughter, would be sent away to strangers.
Sonya glanced over at her, faintly touched. "I have a strong constitution. Don't forget that," she replied. Drawing her flowered silk robe around her slight body, she managed to smile at her daughter: "Let's have a glass of sherry together and toast the springtime."
"Alcohol and antibiotics don't mix," Elizabeth answered flatly.
Sonya was ready to argue, but the phone rang and she reached for it. When she became ill with pneumonia three weeks before, there had been daily calls from her many friends, reminding her that she was missed, but since Elizabeth arrived, those calls had been screened, people told to call back another time. That had been one more annoyance.
Elizabeth watched her mother carefully as she answered the phone. Although Sonya's face was gaunt, the elegant cheekbones and the dark, expressive eyes remained. Elizabeth always felt lacking next to her, the ungainly offspring who had to flee to California to find her own value. In the future she'd have a proper vacation, she decided. She'd travel to Europe like everyone else she knew at the lab, and she would visit museums and art shows, her greatest love. Nobody there would compare her to her beautiful mother.
Suddenly Sonya drew in her breath, a shocked look on her face. "It's you?" she gasped. Listening to the caller for another minute, she scribbled something down on a notepad. "I'll phone you back," she said weakly, collapsing onto her bed.
Elizabeth had never seen her mother so unnerved. "What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. Staring into the distance, Sonya did not answer. "Who was that?" Elizabeth pressed.
Sonya began to cough, a spasm that shook her whole body. "I'll tell you later," she managed to say. "Leave me alone."
As Elizabeth slipped out of the room, Sonya closed her eyes. She'd never expected to hear from her son. She had seen him only once, over fifty years ago after a long, painful labor. He had been a little brown lump of warm flesh, something she had to get rid of to please her parents. Even now it was painful to think of that time: The baby's birth at the home for unwed mothers, the return to college as though nothing had happened, and the sorrow and betrayal she had felt. All that had been something to try to forget, but the phone call from her son--Michael Green, he called himself--had brought it back.
How much she had loved Lucas, the baby's father. He was a visiting musician from Nigeria, brilliant and charming, a man she met soon after she started college. Her parents now were dead, but Sonya had never forgiven them for insisting on the adoption and making her break off with Lucas. They had claimed they were protecting her and her aspiring career as a violinist, that they weren't prejudiced against him. But a few years later, when she brought home a Jewish man she'd met, they fully approved. She'd married this man to satisfy them, even though she found him disappointing and dull, not at all like Lucas. When he died unexpectedly in a car accident, leaving her to raise Elizabeth alone, she had felt secretly relieved.
After that, she'd never married again. There were strong reviews for her violin concerts, a position teaching at the university, more men than she'd ever wanted. A successful life on the surface, but she had to admit that there had been precious little love. It seemed that something had died within her in that home for unwed mothers.
Michael's voice had reminded her of what had been lost. Suddenly she was filled with longing to see him. Rising unsteadily, she rang the number he had given her. "Hello, this is Sonya Rosen," she said, when he answered. "Will you come?" He seemed comfortable with her urgency, as though he expected it, and immediately agreed to stop by her apartment that night.
Now Elizabeth would have to be told about her brother's existence. She wouldn't like it, but there was nothing Sonya could do about that. "Elizabeth," she called to the other room, "Come here."
Elizabeth had been waiting close by the door. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.
"Sit next to me. I need to tell you something," Sonya said. "That was your brother who called." After so many years of keeping the secret of Michael's existence, the words came out amazingly easily.
"My brother?" Elizabeth's small eyes blinked rapidly.
"Yes."
"I have a brother?" As far as Elizabeth knew, she'd been an only child, raised by this mother who had treated her with more disdain than love. They had been a poorly matched twosome, yet they belonged to each other and she had always felt comfort in this arrangement.
"His name is Michael Green."
"Why didn't you tell me about him before?"
"There was no reason to."
"But I'm your daughter," Elizabeth said angrily. "You should have said something."
"Everyone has secrets," Sonya answered, feeling a familiar impatience. "Michael was born five years before you. From an affair I had when I was seventeen. I gave him up for adoption and never expected to see him again. I didn't tell you or anyone else about it because I wanted to put that whole episode behind me."
Elizabeth tried to digest this news. "He just called you out of the blue today?"
"He said he traced me down through an agency. He lives in Toronto, but he's in New York at a conference and decided to call." Sonya coughed. "He's coming here tonight."
"Tonight?" Elizabeth repeated, alarmed. "That's not a good idea."
"Of course it is."
"You're too ill for company," Elizabeth said, knowing already that she'd lost this argument.
"Michael's not company," Sonya answered firmly. "He's family."
The sun had set, day shifting into night. Riverside Park now was empty except for homeless people sleeping on benches and under the shrubs. Looking out from her bedroom window, Sonya saw the lights in the tall brick apartment buildings up and down the city street. Her apartment, where she had lived for forty-two years, was on the third floor, high enough to have a wide view, but not so high that she couldn't recognize people on the street. When she expected visitors, she always stood by this window, glancing downward, awaiting their arrival. Just as she was doing tonight.
"I've defrosted the chocolate cake," Elizabeth said, interrupting her mother's vigil. "We can offer him coffee and desert."
"Good," Sonya answered, although she herself would not have thought of it. Elizabeth had been straightening the apartment for the last hour, setting up the dining room table. Sonya did not care about such things, but if it made Elizabeth less anxious about the visit, so much the better.
"What do you think he'll be like?" Elizabeth asked her. "Do you think he'll look like you?" Since learning about Michael, she had wavered between concern about his existence and curiosity about who he was. Her mother had had many affairs, but she'd always said that she didn't want more children. This had reassured Elizabeth, who felt that she had fared poorly enough in her mother's affections without any competition. Would the appearance of Michael upset the delicate balance between them? Still, the idea of a brother was tantalizing. She'd been lonely growing up with Sonya, left alone to fend for herself. This loneliness had clung to her even in California, despite her efforts to surround herself with friends, and she'd always wished she had a larger family.
"He'll be black," Sonya told Elizabeth. How had she forgotten about this? Lucas had had radiant dark skin, so their son's color must be somewhere between.
"Black?" Elizabeth asked, her voice rising. "How can that be?
"Sex, you know," Sonya couldn't help but answer. "His father was African."
Elizabeth silently digested this news. "What happened to the man?" she finally asked, drawn into the mystery despite herself.
"I don't know," Sonya said, remembering how painfully she had missed Lucas. When she returned to college after giving birth, it was a new semester and he had disappeared. Despite her efforts, she had failed to find him. Finally, it seemed the only thing left to do was to plunge into her music studies.
The sharp ring of the doorbell broke into their conversation. "I didn't see him on the street below," Sonya said, suddenly nervous. "I wanted a glimpse of him first."
Elizabeth scurried to the loudspeaker. "Who is it?" she asked primly.
"It's Michael Green," a soft voice answered. "Do I have the right apartment? I'm looking for Sonya Rosen."
"I'll ring you in," Elizabeth answered, smoothing down her sweater, wanting to look her best.
A firm knock on the door, and Elizabeth opened it to see a tall, brown-skinned man with close-cropped black hair and a trimmed beard. He had her mother's smile, amused and wry, his lips curving upward. When Elizabeth introduced herself, he shook her hand warmly. She looked down, seeing that his fingers were long and tapered like Sonya's.
It took a moment for Michael to grasp that the woman in front of him was his half-sister. Sonya had said nothing about her on the phone although it was no surprise that she had other children. He'd found his birth mother more easily than he had expected. With the encouragement of his wife Dede, he'd met with the intake worker at the adoption investigation agency and six weeks later he'd received a call telling him who and where Sonya was.
The results of the search for his birth mother had come almost too quickly. Michael considered dropping the matter: He wasn't sure he wanted to open a door that had been closed all his life. But since he was going to New York for a history conference, Dede pressed him to take the opportunity to meet Sonya, arguing that it was only fair that their children know something about his biological heritage. He'd agreed that she had a point. But once this evening was over, he'd leave this birth mother behind and get back as quickly as possible to the family he loved.
"Mother, this is Michael," Elizabeth said, leading him inside. Sonya rose from the couch, coming toward him, looking him over over. So this was the child she'd abandoned so long ago. She felt a rush of guilt and sadness, but also pride. He was beautiful, as his father had been, and she could see the intelligence in his face.
"Hello," she said, extending her hand. Michael took it in his, and mother and son stared at each other for a long moment. "I'm glad to finally meet you," she said, with intensity.
"Me, too," he answered.
"I didn't forget you." Her voice was thick with emotion.
Unexpectedly Michael felt like weeping. The connection of blood was stronger than he had imagined. But he reminded himself that he had come here only to get information and that he didn't want or need anything else from this woman. Letting his hand drop away, he smiled at her. "How are you doing?" he asked, making his voice loose and easy.
Sonya didn't answer. She continued to stare at him, remembering Lucas and his many charms. Here in this room was the product of their union; she had given him up, but it seemed in this moment that he was more the child she wanted than Elizabeth ever had been. Her eyes filmed with tears as she realized what she had missed by letting him go.
Elizabeth observed this connection and inwardly winced, guessing what was going through her mother's mind. "I've made coffee and dessert," she said to Michael. "Are you hungry?"
"Sure," he replied, relieved for the interruption.
As they went into the dining room, Sonya took Michael's arm. It felt just right to lean on her son. He matched his stride to hers, making her comfortable, giving her support. His body radiated warmth, and the scent of his spicy aftershave seemed familiar.
Elizabeth had put out her mother's best silver and china and rearranged the bouquet of spring flowers in the center of the mahogany table. The dining room was elegantly appointed, Michael noticed, unlike the simple kitchen where he had eaten every meal of his childhood with his adoptive parents. He'd been the much-loved baby, fussed over by them, and there had been abundant warmth expressed in that kitchen.
"Tell us about you," Elizabeth said.
Michael started by describing his appointment as a history professor in Toronto and the classes he taught. He proudly pulled a bundle of photographs from his sport jacket pocket and showed them pictures of Dede and their three teenaged boys. "What a beautiful family," Sonya said longingly.
"Yes," Elizabeth said. Michael's life sounded idyllic to her, successful way beyond what she had achieved. She'd always wanted children but they hadn't materialized; now it was too late. "What was it like when you were growing up?" she asked to change the subject.
"I was an only kid. We lived in Chicago in a poor black neighborhood," he answered. "My family was church-going. We went to services three times a week."
"But you're Jewish," Sonya interrupted. "At least by birth."
Michael sat back, bemused. Sonya might be Jewish, but she had given him away and her religion had no claim on him. "That's not how it turned out," he replied calmly.
"Of course," Sonya retreated.
"Anyhow, I had a good childhood." He'd always felt grateful that he'd ended up with the parents he had. His life could have turned out so much worse. From the beginning he'd known he was adopted and different from them, but that didn't matter because they had been a great strength, sticking by him, encouraging him to get more education and make something of himself.
"And you've accomplished so much," Sonya added.
"I've had a lot of breaks," he smiled.
"But there must have been some hard times," Elizabeth said.
"A few. The worst was when I couldn't get a job with a symphony orchestra. That was a great disappointment."
"You're a musician?" Sonya asked eagerly.
"A cellist. I trained for years and thought I'd make it a career. When it didn't work out, I went back to graduate school. I still play, mostly jazz."
Sonya's eyes took on new light. "Imagine, a musician just like your father and me."
"Really?" Michael said, pleased with this unexpected news. "That's something."
He began to ask Sonya about her career, and the conversation spun off to the music they loved, musicians they admired, names, places, gossip. She went on to tell him about his father Lucas and his great talent. "Now you know you come from a musical family," Sonya mused, when they came to a resting place.
"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth asked. "I'm not musical."
"I mean Lucas, Michael, and me."
Elizabeth felt stung by her mother casting her aside so easily. Michael, seeing her distress, turned his attention to her. "What about you?" he asked. "What do you like?"
"Art," she answered, relieved that he was interested. "I could spend hours wandering through a museum."
"I'm that way, too," he said. "I teach my students that art tells the truth about culture. We just need to take the time to look."
Elizabeth sighed with satisfaction. Here was something she and this new brother could talk about, a shared interest that her mother did not have. "Have you been to the Met?" she asked excitedly. "There's a great Monet exhibition there now. I read a review of it in the Times ."
"I haven't had the opportunity."
"Maybe we could go tomorrow, before you leave for Toronto? I could meet you there."
As Elizabeth looked at him with great eagerness, Michael began to feel wary. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the two women. It was clear they wanted to absorb him into their lives and make him one of theirs. This could happen easily, but it was not his desire. He reminded himself that Sonya had rejected him long ago, and he owed her nothing. Feeling an unexpected bitterness, he realized that he would never open his heart to her and her daughter, despite their evident need. "No, I'm sorry, it won't work out for tomorrow," he said to Elizabeth, his voice firmer. "I have other things to do."
"Too bad," she said, disappointed.
Drinking the last of his coffee, Michael looked at his watch. "Well, it's getting late," he said. "I'd better get back to the hotel." He didn't want to be ungracious, but he'd had enough. His curiosity now was satisfied, and he'd have plenty to tell Dede and the kids. They'd like learning about Sonya and how he'd followed unknowingly in her musical footsteps, and they'd be interested in his father's Nigerian origins. Maybe someday they'd find out where he lived and visit him.
"Don't you want more coffee?" Elizabeth asked.
Sonya could see that Michael was slipping away, moving beyond their reach. "He has to go," she said with great sadness.
"It was good meeting you," Michael said, rising from the table. "Take care, both of you. And Sonya, I hope you get over that pneumonia quickly."
"Yes," she tried to smile. "You can't keep me down for long."
"Do you have a business card?" Elizabeth asked. "Something with your address?"
"Oh, sure." Michael pulled a card out of his jacket pocket and gave it to her. He smiled gently at the two women. "No need to walk me to the door. I'll let myself out."
"Goodbye," Elizabeth said. She wanted to hug him, but before she had the chance, he had left the room.
They heard the apartment door close softly behind him. "That was strange," she said to Sonya. "He didn't ask us to keep in touch."
"He doesn't want it," Sonya answered wearily.
"I suppose you're right."
Sonya could barely move. Her body felt as though it had been pummeled, her strength completely sucked out of her. This love child--a reality for such a short time--was lost again. But now it was because he did not want to belong to her, a worse reason than him being taken from her at birth. Without realizing it, she had always kept him in her heart as a possibility, but now she could do that no longer.
"Mother, you're exhausted," Elizabeth said, seeing her slumped at the table.
Burying her head in her hands, Sonya began to weep loudly, and her body shook with emotion. Elizabeth slid into the chair next to her, wrapping her arms around her, cautious at first, not wanting to do the wrong thing. But when her mother didn't push her away, she became more certain, claiming her right to comfort her. "It's okay, Mother," she murmured. "It's okay."
Sonya felt the presence of her daughter beside her. "I won't leave you," she heard her say. "I'm here."
Slowly opening her eyes, Sonya saw a look of love and tenderness on Elizabeth's face. This daughter was all she had now. In that moment the finality of their arrangement settled into her in a way it never had before. "That's how it is," she said softly. Her words expressed resignation--but there was something else, the beginning of acceptance.
"Yes," Elizabeth said.
Sonya sniffed back her tears, trying to regain her balance. "Well, then," she said, "I'd better get back to bed." Rising weakly from the chair, barely able to stand, she reached out to Elizabeth. "Let me take your arm."
CC