The Memory of Light

  For the first time since I met him, E.M. actually looks scared. But I leave him alone to face his fears while I head over to the poetry section. I pull out a small volume with a red cover. The book’s title is simply Emily Dickinson. I remember one of her poems from English class and I look for it until I find it.

  “Hope” is the thing with feathers —

  That perches in the soul —

  And sings the tune without the words —

  And never stops — at all —

  And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —

  And sore must be the storm —

  That could abash the little Bird

  That kept so many warm —

  I’ve heard it in the chillest land —

  And on the strangest Sea —

  Yet — never — in Extremity,

  It asked a crumb — of Me.

  I like that poem. What would it be like to have the “thing with feathers” perch on my soul? Can you hope for hope?

  I put the book back where it was, go to the porch, and wait for E.M. When he comes out, he shows me the book he bought for Margarita: The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis. “What you think?” he asks, nervous.

  I take it from him, open it, and read the table of contents out loud: “‘Affection, Friendship, Eros, Charity.’ It’s perfect. Why did you pick this one?”

  “It looked good,” he says, putting it back in the bag. Then, after we start walking, he says, “The old lady who owns the place said I couldn’t go wrong with a book that talks about friendship.”

  I nod. I can’t really add anything to that.

  We stop at a drugstore and buy an envelope and a postcard with a picture of a buffalo, of all things, which E.M simply signs with his full name and sticks in the middle of the book. Then after we find the post office and mail the package, we buy chocolate ice-cream cones and sit on a bench, waiting for Pepe and the crew.

  E.M. displays total childlike concentration, licking around and around the ice cream, catching brown drops before they slide down the cone. The sunlight is on my face and it is soft, caressing. The chocolate ice cream is rich, smooth, cold. Sitting on that bench, not wishing for tomorrow, or being afraid of it, feels a lot like the little bird in the poem by Emily Dickinson. It’s come out of nowhere, perched on my soul, and begun to sing a tune.

  Sunday morning — about fifteen minutes after Mona finally falls asleep, or so it seems — Fritz knocks on our door and tells us it is time to milk the cows. I don’t know how I manage to make it through the next hour. No matter what I do, I can’t get any milk to come out, and Rosie the cow keeps looking back at me with growing annoyance. Pepe kneels beside me and shows me again how to hold the udder between my thumb and index finger and how to tug gently but with strength.

  After breakfast, which includes two mugs of black coffee, we head to the river, wearing swimsuits we borrowed from a trunk in the big house. We drag a big rubber raft to the shore and are about to climb in, when Gabriel says, “Wait, we need to put on life jackets.”

  “We’re not going far, are we?” Mona says. “I just want to go where we can jump in. Besides, it’s not that deep. I can see the bottom.”

  Gabriel walks over to the wooden shed and comes back with four life jackets. “According to Fritz, the river is twelve feet at its deepest part,” he says. “That’s plenty deep to drown for someone who doesn’t know how to swim.”

  “Who doesn’t know how to swim?” asks Mona.

  “I don’t, for one,” says Gabriel. “E.M. doesn’t either.”

  “How you know I don’t?” E.M. says.

  “Because I grew up in the same kind of neighborhood you did. The only deep water we saw was in the kitchen sink.”

  Mona reluctantly puts on her life jacket, and E.M. slips his on without buckling the front. The life jackets are bulky and discolored. I can barely breathe with mine on.

  Mona and I climb into the raft, and Gabriel and E.M. push us into the water. The rubber raft has three seats: One up front facing the back of the boat, a middle slab for two people, and a rear seat. Mona takes the one up front. Gabriel settles into the middle seat next to me and hands me an oar. E.M. makes himself comfortable in the back. I peer in the water and see hundreds of baby sunfish.

  “Why we going upstream?” Mona asks. “Let’s float down the river.”

  “The rapids are downstream,” Gabriel answers. “Fritz said we should go upstream and then we can float back to where we started. It’s been raining hard and the rapids are strong. We’re not experienced enough to handle them.”

  “Oh, phooey!” Mona says. “Fritz is a worrywart. I’ve been locked up in a room all week painting walls almond cream. I need a little excitement. Enjoy life while you can ’cause you never know what’s gonna happen. Let’s just go down a little ways, and when we see the rapids, we can turn back.”

  “What do you think?” Gabriel says, looking at me.

  I look downriver. It seems calm enough, and I can see unusual rock formations not too far from where we are. “We can go down to those rocks. Mona and E.M. can paddle back.” The caffeine from the coffee is finally kicking in.

  “Very funny,” says E.M. “I’m gonna sit back here and work on my tan.”

  “Okay, but only to the rocks,” says Gabriel. “We might have to carry the raft on land on the way back.”

  “I didn’t bring any shoes!” Mona protests.

  “I didn’t bring any shoes!” E.M. mimics her.

  “You shut up,” Mona says.

  Gabriel begins paddling to the middle of the river and I try to do the same. Soon we are moving slowly downstream.

  Mona lies back in her red bikini to soak up the sun. A few minutes later, she says, “Stop ogling me. Why get yourself all worked up? It’s not going to do you any good.”

  “Are you talking to me?” E.M. asks.

  “Yeah, you. Why do you always ask me that? Stop ogling my body.”

  “What the hell is ogling?” E.M. says, unperturbed. “Why can’t you speak a language people understand? Anyways, you’re not as hot as you think you are.”

  “Ogling is when you stare at somebody’s body parts with your tongue hanging out and slobber dripping, like you’ve been doing.”

  “Children, children, let’s be harmonious,” says Gabriel. We have caught a gentle current, so we are steering more than paddling.

  “Harmonious? Don’t anybody speak normal in this group?” E.M. says.

  “Just ’cause your vocabulary matches your mental age,” Mona answers.

  “Maybe we should put the oars in the oarlocks.” Gabriel points to the plastic hooks on each side of the raft.

  Mona turns sideways on her seat and rests her head on the side of the raft. She unbuckles her life jacket and sighs. “Wish I had sunglasses,” she says.

  We float in silence, the only sound the murmur of the river and the gentle splash of the oars. On the banks, trees dip their branches as if to drink from the water. I think about the day before: helping E.M. buy a book, the knockwurst and sauerkraut we all had for lunch and hated. Sauerkraut reminded me of those days when every second dripped with bitterness. It’s so peaceful on this raft, and yet so vibrant. Is this what happiness feels like?

  When we get to the rocks, the current unexpectedly begins to pick up speed. “Okay, let’s turn around,” Gabriel says. “Vicky, you paddle forward and I’ll paddle backward.” We manage with some effort to turn the raft sideways, but by then we are past the rocks and going even faster. The raft begins to heave up and down as if going over small bumps. There is a distant sound of water rushing. We row harder and harder, but we are still moving in the wrong direction.

  “This reminds me of my life,” Mona says.

  Gabriel looks back toward the sound, which is getting louder and louder. “We’re gonna hit the rapids!” he shouts. “Vicky, let’s turn the raft back around and row to that clump of trees there before the rapids.”

  My arms ache with the effort of fighting t
he current. By the time we turn around again, we are almost past the trees. Ahead of us the river ripples and gurgles as it snakes around the rocks. Mona sits up to look and says, “Those are the famous rapids? I’ve been in bathtubs more dangerous than that.”

  “Tighten your vest,” Gabriel tells Mona.

  I see that E.M. is gripping the edge, a look of paralyzed fear on his face. His life jacket is lying on the bottom of the raft. “Put on your life jacket,” I say to him.

  “Vicky, do you see those two rocks?” Gabriel asks. “We need to steer the raft around them or else try to maneuver between them.”

  “We have to go between them,” I say. “The current is too strong to steer around.”

  “You’re right,” says Gabriel.

  “Hold on, Mona,” I yell, “we’re going to hit the rocks with the side of the raft.”

  “Yeah, let’s do it!” she screams.

  We pick up speed. The raft begins to bounce on the surface of the water, and then it dips into a trough that’s unexpectedly deep. When we rise again, Mona is on the floor of the raft sliding toward us and we are heading straight for the rock.

  “Paddle backward!” Gabriel shouts, but we are going so fast and bouncing so hard that I forget which direction backward is. Before we know it, we have crashed head-on into the rock.

  The jolt lifts Gabriel and me out of our seats and into the bottom of the raft. We scramble back to our places as the bumps over the water diminish. Mona is on her knees soaking wet and laughing, and it suddenly occurs to me to that we have not heard a peep out of E.M.

  I look back. There is no E.M. His life jacket is on the bottom of the raft.

  “E.M. fell out,” I say weakly. Somehow Gabriel hears me. He turns around and utters a word I did not think was in his vocabulary.

  “Let’s paddle to the side so we don’t drift farther down,” I say. We get ourselves out of the main current and stop between the roots of two trees, then we turn back around to look for E.M. After a few seconds, a hand rises out of the water.

  “I see him!” I yell.

  “Where?” Mona and Gabriel ask at the same time.

  “He went under. There.” I point to the place I saw his hand.

  Gabriel moves to the edge of the raft and gets ready to jump into the water. I put my hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know how to swim,” I say as I unbuckle my life jacket.

  “I’ll be okay with the life vest,” he says.

  “You’ll never reach him with a life vest. He’s upstream.” Before he can say anything else, I dive in. I dive flat because I don’t know how deep it is and I don’t want to hit my head on the bottom. I swim toward a spot ten or so yards ahead of where I last saw his hand. The current gathers force and my arms begin to feel heavy, so I switch to a breaststroke. When I get to the place I aimed for, I tread water, feeling with my arms and legs for E.M. Then I dive under as far down as I can.

  Gabriel said that the river at its deepest was twelve feet. The water is so murky that I can barely see. I stay underwater, still groping for E.M., until I begin to feel the way I felt half an hour or so after I took Barbara’s sleeping pills, when the tunnel I was falling through grew darker and darker.

  Then I see E.M. about ten feet away from me. His arms float straight up, like a puppet’s held by strings, and his legs are moving in slow motion, as if he’s walking on the surface of the moon.

  I go up for air, then dive under again. I grab him from the back, one arm around his chest, and use my free arm and legs to push us toward the surface. As soon as our heads pop out, I put my hand under his chin to keep his head above water and let us float a little. My limbs are so weak I can hardly move them.

  Gabriel and Mona are shouting for me. They stand in the shallow water, extending the oars toward us. I make one final effort and somehow get close enough to grab Gabriel’s oar. He pulls us in, and he and Mona drag E.M. to shore. I sit in the shallow edge of the river, too weak to stand.

  “He has a pulse,” I hear Gabriel say.

  “Should we give him mouth-to-mouth?” Mona says.

  “Not if he has a pulse. He’s going to be okay. We just have to get the water out of his lungs. Help me turn him on his side.”

  I get to shore just in time to hear E.M. cough and see water gush out of his mouth and nose. Gabriel is patting him softly on his back.

  It occurs to me, as I kneel next to them, that I have just acted as if life is worth living.

  Gabriel runs back to the ranch to get help. Mona and I stay with E.M.

  “I’m okay,” E.M. groans, looking anything but okay. He insists on getting up, but when he tries to walk, his legs wobble. We help him over to sit in the shade of a willow tree.

  “Thank you,” he says, coughing.

  “Now I know you’re delirious,” Mona says. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say thank you.”

  He tries to respond, but a coughing fit interrupts him.

  “You shouldn’t talk now,” I say.

  But words gush out of his mouth uncontrollably. “I was down there and all I could think of was who’s gonna protect my little brother from my father. I shoulda killed the old man when I had a chance, then I wouldn’t have to worry about it. That’s what came in my mind. Then everything went black, man, black, and I saw this Aztec warrior, he had one of those — like a head of a jaguar on his head, you know, like you see in pictures. Then he starts speaking to me in Aztec, ’cause I don’t understand what he’s saying. And I’m like, I wanna know what he’s saying. I got so frustrated that I didn’t understand. I got mad at myself. Like I was supposed to learn Aztec when I was at school or something and I didn’t because I didn’t like school or didn’t think it was important, and now I was regretting it and wishing I had.”

  “The dude was probably giving you instructions on how to float up and get some air,” Mona tells him.

  E.M. ignores her. “All I could think of is that the warrior was Huitzilopochtli. Then I began to understand what he was saying even though he was still speaking Aztec. I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t understand the words, but I knew what he was saying, know what I mean?”

  “Yup, I do,” Mona says. “Lucy made up her own language when she was about one and a half, but I knew exactly what she was saying.”

  E.M. continues, “At first I thought he was telling me I was a coward because at the last second I had felt sorry for my old man and not finished him off, but that wasn’t it. I don’t know how he knew what I was thinking or how I understood him, but I knew he was mad at me for something else. He wasn’t angry at me for something I’d done, he was angry about something I hadn’t done, and he wanted me to get off my ass and do it. The only part I didn’t get is what I was supposed to do. He went on and on like I was supposed to know. Then he said that if I didn’t know, then I sure as hell better find out, and he grabbed me by the chest and he started to pull me out of the hole where I was.”

  “That wasn’t Huichi-whatever, you bonehead,” Mona says. “That was Vicky here dragging your sorry butt out of the bottom of the river.”

  “I know it was her that saved me, but in my mind she was Huitzilopochtli. All I’m telling you is what I saw. This guy was as real as you sitting there.”

  “Or it could be that you’ve been spending too much time with Gabriel,” Mona says. “Him with his voices and now you with your Huichi.”

  “Maybe I’m just as nuts as you guys now.” A wicked-looking smile comes over E.M.’s face as he looks at Mona. “I even had a nightmare you wanted to give me mouth-to-mouth resurrection.”

  “It’s resuscitation!” Mona screeches. “Man, you’re as dumb as that cow you tried to milk this morning! Mouth-to-mouth, in your dreams. How could you be so stupid as to take off your life jacket after everybody told you to keep it on?”

  “Maybe I wanted to die like you guys.” E.M. turns serious. He says to me, “Why did you save me?”

  “I didn’t think about it,” I say.

  ??
?I could’ve pulled you under.”

  “You weren’t thrashing about. You were just floating there like a log. It wasn’t that hard to pull you out.”

  “Not too bad for a spoiled rich girl,” he says.

  I figure that’s a compliment, coming from E.M. I thank him with a nod.

  “That’s all you’re going to say? After she risked her life saving you?” Mona whacks E.M. on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

  E.M. looks straight at me and says, “I owe you one, Huichi.”

  Fritz and Gabriel arrive in the same vehicle that Pepe used to take E.M. and me to the north pasture. We tie the rubber raft to the roof. Gabriel and Mona ride in the back with E.M., and I ride up front with Fritz. When we get to the ranch, Dr. Desai insists on taking E.M. to the hospital outside of Fredericksburg. She wants to make sure there’s no water left in his lungs and the lack of oxygen hasn’t damaged his brain. Mona gives me a meaningful look when she hears this, but she restrains herself from wisecracking for once.

  Dr. Desai pulls me aside to ask if I’m all right. I tell her I’m exhausted but otherwise fine. She says, “Vicky, someday you will receive what you gave today.” She puts her arm around my shoulders, then she heads out the door.

  Gabriel, Mona, and I walk silently to our cabins. When we get to our door, Mona says, “I’m going to sleep till tomorrow,” and goes in.

  I turn to say good-bye to Gabriel and see him standing there, a lost look on his face.

  “You okay?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. I touch his arm gently.

  “Hey,” he says, as if waking up.

  “Where were you?”

  He shakes his head, embarrassed.

  “Did you hear something just then?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Something’s happening in here.” He taps his head.

  “What?” We begin to walk toward his cabin.