The Late Child

  “But somebody could catch him, he’s a very small dog,” Eddie said, to reassure himself, as they were hurrying down. The only person who wasn’t crying was G., the driver, who had only known Iggy for an hour. Everyone else was trying to think of what they might do to console Eddie, who, though he had tears on his cheeks, was still trying to think of optimistic outcomes.

  “A tourist could catch him,” he said, in the elevator. “A professional football player might be standing there—Iggy is shaped like a football. I’m sure a professional football player could catch Iggy if he was standing in the right spot.”

  It seemed a forlorn hope, to everyone else in the crowd.

  “That would be a long shot, Bright,” Sheba said. “It ain’t even football season.”

  “Don’t say sad words to me,” Eddie said. “I don’t want to hear sad words right now.”

  But there was not much energy in his complaint; the force of his optimism was waning.

  “We bit off more than we can chew, coming up here to New York,” Neddie said. “We should have gone straight to Oklahoma, where we belong.”

  “What do you want us to do, turn back the clock?” Pat asked. She was annoyed with Neddie anyway, because of G., who was still peering at Neddie with big soulful eyes.

  Harmony was thinking that she was cursed. Probably she should never have attempted motherhood. Her son had had to wait many months to get a puppy, because of Jimmy Bangor’s conservative views on the upkeep of wall-to-wall carpet, and then the little puppy Eddie finally got had to fall off the Statue of Liberty. What could be more like a curse?

  Then the miracle that soon captured the hearts of America: Iggy was alive. Before they even got out of the Statue of Liberty they heard Iggy barking, just outside.

  “Iggy!” Eddie said, wiggling out of Sheba’s arms. “See! I told you someone could catch him.”

  Iggy was outside, yipping at some tourists. An old man with freckles on his bald head was attempting to feed him a cookie.

  “No thank you, he’s not allowed sweets,” Eddie said, politely grabbing Iggy’s leash. “Besides, he just fell off the Statue of Liberty and his stomach might be upset.”

  Iggy was a little muddy, but otherwise seemed to be entirely unharmed. He had fallen into some mud at a construction site behind the statue. Several tourists, who had seen a small dog plummeting downward, were muttering and shaking their heads.

  “It’s a miracle, God done it, that puppy ain’t got a scratch on him,” an old lady from somewhere said. “Where’s the TV cameras when you need them?”

  “I’ve heard that more than three hundred people have fallen out of airplanes and lived,” the old man with the cookie said. “I guess there’s no reason it couldn’t happen to a pup.”

  “He was an orphan, I found him in Arizona,” Eddie said, happily holding Iggy in his arms.

  Pat burst into tears. “It’s just relief,” she said. “I couldn’t have stood another tragedy right now.”

  Soon little disposable cameras began to flash their flashes. In no time more than a hundred tourists were trying to take pictures of Eddie and his dog. Eddie giggled and smiled, as he explained that for some reason Iggy had a strong dislike of sea gulls.

  “He was after one when he jumped off,” he said. “It’s very lucky that he isn’t deaded.”

  “Is that kid happy, or what?” Laurie said. She came close to Harmony and put her arm around her. Harmony leaned close to Laurie. She didn’t want to reveal her shameful secret, which was that she had felt only a kind of distant flicker of sadness when it seemed certain that her son’s puppy had been killed. The sadness had flickered, but it had only been like a quick flare of lightning on the far horizon. If Iggy really had been dead, she wouldn’t have known how to comfort Eddie. Sheba or Laurie or her sisters would have had to do it.

  “We were very lucky, weren’t we?” Laurie said. “Most of all Iggy.”

  Harmony didn’t answer. Something in her felt stilled, so stilled that she knew she had to leave her son to the care of others, for a bit. Fortunately, others were there: Laurie and Sheba. Otis was helpful too. Soon nearly a thousand tourists had heard of the miraculous event. Otis persuaded the officials that they had a major media event on their hands: a small American dog had fallen off the Statue of Liberty and lived; besides that, the dog belonged to a cute, curly-haired five-year-old from Las Vegas.

  Before they even left the Statue of Liberty the Mayor called—he had heard a news flash on the radio and wanted to meet Eddie and Iggy himself, ASAP.

  “Yep, ASAP, the boss man said,” Otis informed them.

  “ASAP, is that a medal or a drug?” Neddie asked.

  “It just means as soon as possible,” Laurie said. “Everybody in New York always wants everything ASAP.”

  “Oh, like Pat wants sex,” Neddie said, “ASAP.”

  “Shut up, Neddie, you don’t have to kick me when I’m down,” Pat said.

  Harmony too was bothered that Neddie wouldn’t let up about Pat’s sex addiction.

  “Neddie, none of us are perfect,” she said.

  “I know, but it’s a matter of degree,” Neddie said. She didn’t seem inclined to yield much ground.

  Harmony found herself wishing Gary had come with them. Nobody would have enjoyed Eddie’s new celebrity as much as Gary. Two TV crews had already arrived, by helicopter, and were filming Eddie and Iggy—maybe Gary would get to see them on national TV.

  The thing that surprised Harmony a little was how thrilled all the tourists were that Iggy had fallen off the statue and lived. Particularly the older tourists were thrilled. Some of them who had been at the top with their group, just before Iggy fell off, had been pretty apathetic. Some had even been quarrelsome; being at the top of the Statue of Liberty didn’t thrill them as much as they hoped it would. It wasn’t that different from just being alive, or being in the marriages they were in, or whatever. They had come to the Statue of Liberty because they thought it was their duty as Americans, or their duty as tourists, or something. But they had been vaguely disappointed, and Gary would have been the perfect person to sympathize with them, because Gary was always getting his hopes up about little trips to places he hadn’t been; then he would take the little trips and come back vaguely disappointed; either a boyfriend had been uncooperative or the place he had taken the little trip to hadn’t been as beautiful as it looked in the travel brochures. It hadn’t made life different enough, and the same seemed to apply to the tourists who trudged into the Statue of Liberty. They weren’t fired up about it, as Eddie had been—and Eddie hadn’t been a bit disappointed, either. He loved the Statue of Liberty, right up until the moment when his dog had fallen off it.

  The tourists, particularly the older ones, didn’t love it that much, but they did love the fact that Iggy had fallen off it and lived. Their faces were all lit up, and they were chattering with one another, excited by the fact that the little boy and his dog had not been separated by a tragic happening. Seeing Eddie and Iggy miraculously reunited didn’t just make their day; it made their whole trip. Perhaps it even lifted up a whole part of their lives.

  Harmony wanted to be lifted up by it too, but the lifting feeling—usually a common feeling with her—just wouldn’t come.

  More and more helicopters came though, bearing more and more camera crews. The pressures of celebrity proved too much for Iggy. Despite all the lights and flashing flashbulbs, Iggy went to sleep in Eddie’s lap. Eddie himself was holding up fine—he seemed to be fully in command of the situation, as he usually was of most situations.

  Laurie and Sheba had both become protective of Eddie—they watched the newsmen and the tourists like hawks, to see that no one got too pushy, or asked questions that were inappropriate. Otis drifted over to where Harmony stood.

  “Ed got Broadway written all over him,” he said. “Plus he got two tough women looking after him. Anybody try to do anything bad to Ed, Sheba rip his head off.”

  “I’m glad you came, Ot
is,” Harmony said—it was all she could think of to say. Otis seemed sweet, if a little frail. Harmony wondered if he had sniffed a little too much glue.

  Of course the newspeople wanted to get the mom of the little boy whose dog had fallen off the Statue of Liberty into their stories, but Harmony just shook her head, she wasn’t in any mood to be making comments on TV. The turban men, including G., who looked very formidable with his full black beard, stood in front of Harmony and hid her from the cameras. The turban men definitely enjoyed being on camera themselves, though. They all brought out their best smiles. One roly-poly assistant on one of the camera crews grew a little annoyed by the fact that the turban men kept popping up every time his camera swung Harmony’s way.

  “Come on, ragheads, move it,” he said. “This isn’t a story about Islamic fanaticism, it’s a story about a boy and his dog.”

  “Boy and his dog over that way,” Omar said, unimpressed. “Point camera that way if you want to show boy and his dog.”

  Then a giant black helicopter, bigger than all the little TV helicopters put together, came whirling across from Manhattan. The big black helicopter had CITY OF NEW YORK written on the side.

  “My God,” Laurie said. “I think it’s Mayor Dinkins himself.”

  “Boss Dinkins, that’s who it is,” Otis said. “Sheba gonna flip out. She thinks Boss Dinkins is one cute dude.”

  In a moment a dapper-looking black man, surrounded by aides with walkie-talkies, stepped out of the helicopter and headed for the cluster of tourists and news crews surrounding Eddie and Iggy. Harmony knew she ought to be excited; after all, the Mayor of New York had come in a helicopter to see her son. It was undoubtedly an honor, but it still didn’t produce the lifting feeling inside that would have made it possible for her to be thrilled by it, or something.

  She drifted away and sat down on the steps near the Statue of Liberty. Neddie wandered over. Then Pat came; all three sisters sat on the steps, watching the sea gulls wheel and cry above the crowd of reporters and the Mayor’s aides.

  “I thought that stocky fellow over there in the cowboy hat was Randall Yard, but he ain’t,” Pat said. “He could win a Randall Yard look-alike contest any day, though.”

  “Why would there be a Randall Yard look-alike contest?” Neddie asked. “Randall Yard ain’t famous and he ain’t good-looking, either.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Pat said. “He was good-looking enough to me that I broke up his marriage. I don’t usually break up a marriage if the guy’s ugly.”

  “You don’t seem like yourself today, honey,” Neddie said, to Harmony.

  “That’s an understatement,” Pat said. “Harmony’s sad as shit.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Neddie said. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sad most of the time, but I’m still myself, sad or not. Harmony just seems like she’s draining away. She’s not gonna have no self at all unless she can get a grip.”

  “I don’t know how,” Harmony said. “I would get a grip if I knew how.”

  They sat for a while, just looking across the harbor, watching the big boats cut through the water. Across the way they saw the great skyscrapers.

  “What if Iggy has internal injuries?” Pat asked. “What if he just keels over, after a while?”

  “You ought to be in therapy, Pat,” Neddie said. “If you was a healthy woman you wouldn’t have such thoughts. That little dog is fine.”

  Actually, Harmony had been having the same foreboding as Pat. What if, just as Iggy got to be a national hero, he fell over dead? She looked up, at the top of the statue. It was so high it made her dizzy, just to look up. Harmony tried to imagine what Iggy felt as he plummeted downward—it occurred to her that maybe he didn’t feel anything, maybe he just thought it was a dream he was having. Perhaps it just felt like floating, to Iggy.

  Harmony shut her eyes—a few tears squeezed out. She tried to imagine what it would be like not to have any ties, not even a tie to gravity. If she could manage to avoid gravity she would never have to hit ground anywhere, she could just float on toward the heavens.

  “Harmony’s having suicidal fantasies again, I can feel her having them,” Neddie said.

  “Neddie, I was just hoping Iggy didn’t have internal injuries,” Harmony said, dishonestly. She knew her fantasy of floating was mostly a fantasy of giving up.

  They sat for a while; Eddie was still in the thick of the camera crews.

  “Don’t either of you talk to me about it, anymore,” Harmony said. “You’re making it like a pressure, and I don’t want any more pressures, right now.”

  “Okay,” both sisters said.

  The last thing Harmony remembered about their visit to the Statue of Liberty was Laurie and Sheba coming over, herding Eddie and Iggy between them. Iggy was awake again, he was straining at his leash; Eddie wasn’t taking a chance on any more accidents happening.

  “Mom, I’m going to be on TV, is it okay?” Eddie asked.

  “Sure, honey—go be on TV,” Harmony said.

  “Oh boy, is this a circus,” Laurie said. “What if Sheba and I and Otis go with Eddie, to look after him? You girls look tired. Why don’t we have Omar and his friends take you to my apartment. You can rest.”

  “We’ll take care of Bright,” Sheba assured her. “Rate things going right now, Bright might be a millionaire before the day is over.”

  “What if these turbanheads can’t find your apartment?” Pat asked.

  “Don’t worry, I told G. where I live, and gave him the key,” Laurie said. “Sikhs are pretty reliable. He’ll take you there.”

  “Mom, are you sadded again?” Eddie asked, looking at her. “If I give you a thousand hugs, will you not be sadded?”

  “Even one hug might do it,” Harmony said.

  Eddie gave her the hug. A man in a suit came while he was giving it.

  “Hi, could you hurry it, please?” he said. “The Mayor’s on a tight schedule.”

  “Mom, we’re going to be in a big black helicopter,” Eddie said. “I’ll hold Iggy very tightly, so he won’t see a sea gull and jump out.”

  Eddie blew her five or six kisses, for good measure; soon he was whirling high, in the black helicopter with CITY OF NEW YORK written on it. Just for a moment, as the helicopter took off, Harmony saw his tiny face in the window, and Iggy’s even tinier face beside it.

  As Harmony sat on the steps, watching the big helicopter whirl her son away, an elderly woman who had spilled powder on the front of her blue suit came walking up.

  “That’s a cute boy you got,” the old lady said. “Bright too. You got a lot to be proud of, having a boy that bright. Our boy had that dyslexia but they never figured it out until he was in the service.”

  An old man in a suit the same color as his wife’s came up beside her.

  “Yes, that’s the truth,” he said. “Our boy never learned to read until he was nearly twenty-five years old.”

  The old couple walked on into the Statue of Liberty.

  “Why do people tell me things like that?” Harmony asked. “Even at the recycling plant they told me things like that. They even tell me about their sex lives. Why would I want to know about their sex lives?”

  “You ought to listen, you might learn something,” Pat said. “It’s never too late to learn a new trick or two.”

  “Pat, just because I don’t have a boyfriend right now doesn’t mean I don’t know about sex,” Harmony said.

  “Use it or lose it, that’s what they say,” Pat said.

  “You’ll be the last to lose it, then,” Neddie said.

  “I hope I am,” Pat said.

  19.

  “I’d feel better if I had a shotgun,” Pat said, looking out the window of Laurie’s apartment on East Ninth Street, just off Second Avenue.

  “Pat, the door has double dead bolts,” Harmony reminded her. They were watching Bob Newhart reruns, waiting for Eddie to come home from his TV appearances. They had watched a couple of his TV appearances them
selves, but then the mere sight of Eddie made Harmony miss him so much that they switched to cable. Neddie had fallen asleep in a chair, but Pat was looking down at the street, watching the action on Second Avenue.

  “You’re no judge of what’s safe and what isn’t,” Pat said. “Anyway, you’re so sad you wouldn’t care if you got murdered.”

  Bob Newhart reminded Harmony of Ross, Pepper’s father; the memory made her feel guilty, because she had not yet made an effort to find Ross and tell him the tragic news.

  “The problem I have with this show is that I can’t believe a woman as attractive as Suzanne Pleshette would marry a drip like Bob Newhart,” Pat said.

  “Pat, he’s sweet,” Harmony said. She had a sense of déjà vu—sometime, long ago, she had had the same argument about Bob Newhart and Suzanne Pleshette. The argument had taken place on one of her sisters’ visits to Las Vegas. While she and Pat argued Neddie had made Pepper corn bread, which she loved.

  “You didn’t answer my question about Ross,” she said.

  “No, even Bob Newhart is a whole lot cuter than Ross,” Pat said. “Ross is one of those guys who wouldn’t know how to get laid if he was in a whorehouse.”

  “Pat, he was Pepper’s father,” Harmony reminded her. “He did know how to get laid.”

  Just then the double dead bolts began to click and Laurie and Sheba and Otis returned with Eddie, who was sound asleep. Harmony took him in her arms and smelled him, and was reassured that he smelled like her own little boy, her Eddie. He didn’t smell like a celebrity, or anything. Sheba carried Iggy, who was also asleep. They had to step over Omar, Abdul, and Salah, all of whom were asleep on the floor, wrapped up in rugs.

  “Did Eddie have supper?” Harmony asked. “It’s very important that he get his meals regularly.”

  Actually, she felt guilty for sort of having dropped her maternal responsibilities for a while. The guilt hit her the moment she saw Eddie’s little face in the Mayor’s helicopter. Her son’s dog had fallen off the Statue of Liberty, but she herself had been almost no help. It was as if the accident had occurred at a moment when her maternal emotions were unavailable. For all of her five and a half years with Eddie she had been pretty much always on call; the emotions required to handle this problem or that had been right there where they needed to be, in her heart.