All These Things I've Done

  “Forever,” he insisted. “I mean it.”

  Win was probably the nicest boy I had ever known, and it was a nice thing to say. Though I didn’t believe him, I knew he believed himself and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I tried not to let the doubt show on my face.

  I kissed him on the lips, making sure to keep my tongue in my mouth where it belonged. I closed the door and returned to the room I was sharing with Natty. I took off the bathrobe and slipped into my pajamas. Then I got back into bed next to my sister. She cuddled into my side and placed her arm around my waist.

  “Did I interrupt something with you and Win?” she whispered.

  “Nothing important,” I told her. I decided that it hadn’t been.

  “I do like him,” Natty said dreamily. “If I ever have a boyfriend, which seems pretty doubtful, I’d want him to be exactly like Win.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” I replied. “And for the record, Natty, I’m pretty sure you’ll have a million boyfriends some day.”

  “A million?” she asked.

  “Well, as many as you want.”

  “I’d settle for one,” she said. “Especially if he were as nice as yours.”

  XV.

  we mourn again; i learn the definition of internecine

  WE DIDN’T GET BACK TO THE CITY until Sunday after lunch. Win went to his apartment straight from the train station—his apartment was fairly close to Grand Central—and Leo, Natty, and I made our way back to ours. I was eager to be home. I was sleepy and hungry and I had a ton of schoolwork. Besides which, being away always made me anxious.

  As the weather was unseasonably warm for February, Leo and Natty wanted to walk from the train station instead of taking the bus. I had wanted to take the bus in order to expedite the trip, but I had been overruled.

  We were nearly halfway home when I began to feel an inexplicable and almost painful need to be back in the apartment. I quickened my pace.

  “Slow down,” Natty called. “You’re walking too fast for us.”

  I turned my head over my shoulder and suggested we race. We had just reached the anachronistically named Museum Mile, which, along the park side, was a fairly straight shot back to our apartment.

  “Come back, Annie,” Leo said. “It’s not fair if you have a head start.”

  I backtracked to where Natty and Leo were standing.

  “On your mark,” I said, “get set, go!”

  Natty, Leo, and I raced up the sidewalk. Leo was in the lead, with Natty not far behind. I was last but I liked that position. Easier to keep my eye on my siblings.

  Though we were panting and red faced, we got home in less than ten minutes. The exertion had quelled my anxiety, too.

  “Take the stairs?” Leo joked.

  “Good one, Leo,” I said, pushing the elevator button.

  In contrast to the mild day outside, it was unusually cold inside the apartment. A draft was coming from the living room, so I went to close the windows. In the living room, I found Imogen seated on the sofa and the disquiet I had felt earlier immediately returned.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said.

  Imogen shook her head. “Where are Natty and Leo?”

  “In their rooms,” I told her.

  “Sit down,” she said, and I knew this instruction could only mean one thing.

  “I’d rather stand,” I insisted. “If you’re going to tell me Nana is dead, I’d rather stand.”

  “She died last night. There was a power failure, and the backup generator didn’t work for whatever reason. By the time the power came back on, it was too late. I’m sure she didn’t suffer much.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “How do I know what?” Imogen replied.

  “That she didn’t suffer much! How can you possibly know?”

  Imogen said nothing.

  “You don’t know! Maybe it was horrible! While you slept, maybe she choked and gasped and her skin felt like fire and she thought her eyes would pop out of her head and she prayed for it all to be over …”

  Imogen reached out to put her hand on my arm. “Please, Annie, don’t do this.”

  “Don’t touch me!” I pulled my arm away. I could feel my old rage returning. I slipped into it easily, like a tailored suit. “Your whole job was to make sure that those machines kept running! You’ve failed miserably! You’re a failure and an idiot and a murderer!”

  “No, Annie. Never,” Imogen protested.

  Leo came into the room. “Annie, why are you yelling at Imogen?” he asked.

  But I couldn’t be bothered to address my brother. I was in that angry fugue state. “Maybe someone paid you to unplug Nana’s machine?”

  Imogen began to cry. “Annie, why would I ever do that?”

  “How should I know? People will do all sorts of things for money. And my family has many enemies.”

  “How can you say these things to me? I loved Galina just as I love you and your entire family. It was her time. She told me as much. I know she told you, too. Or at least, she tried to.”

  “Nana’s dead?” Leo asked in a panicked voice. “Are you saying that Nana is dead?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She died last night. Imogen let her die.”

  “That isn’t true,” Imogen replied.

  “Get out of our house,” I ordered her. “And don’t ever come back.”

  “Please, Anya. Let me help. You have to make arrangements for the body. You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Imogen pleaded.

  “Just get out,” I said.

  She stood there, but didn’t move.

  “Leave already!”

  Imogen nodded. “Her body is still in her bed,” she said before she finally left.

  Leo was sobbing quietly, and I went up to him. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t cry, Leo.”

  “I’m crying because I’m sad. Not because I’m weak or stupid.”

  “Of course you are. I’m sorry.”

  Leo continued to cry, and I said nothing. In point of fact, I felt nothing except the embers of my rage mixed with anxiety over what my next steps should be. At some point, Leo began speaking again but I was so distracted that I had to ask him to repeat what he’d said. He had wanted to know if I’d meant everything I’d said to Imogen.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what I meant. I’m going in to look at Nana. Do you want to come?”

  Leo shook his head.

  I opened the door to Nana’s room. Nana’s eyes were closed and her gnarled hands were laid peacefully across her chest. I assumed Imogen had done that.

  “Oh, Nana.” I took a deep breath and kissed her wrinkled cheek.

  I became aware of the sound of whispering. Nana and I weren’t alone. Natty was kneeling by the window at the side of the bed, her head bowed in prayer.

  Natty raised her head. “I just came in to tell her about the wedding … And … She’s dead.” Her voice was small and childish, still barely above a whisper.

  “I know.”

  “It’s like my dream,” Natty said.

  “No one’s turned to sand that I can see,” I said.

  “Don’t make fun,” Natty admonished me. “I’m serious.”

  “I’m not making fun. We all died in your dream, didn’t we? And in reality, Nana is the only one who’s dead. You knew this would happen someday. I told you as much last night.” And in that moment, I began to realize just how ridiculous and wrong the things I’d said to Imogen had been. I regretted my behavior and I wondered why my first response to anything was rage. Sadness, worry, fear—all of those emotions came out as rage for me. Maybe if I’d been braver in that moment, I would have cried.

  “Yes, I knew she would die,” Natty admitted, “but part of me never really believed it.”

  I suggested that we pray for Nana together. I took Natty’s hand and kneeled down by the side of the bed.

  “Say something out loud for her,” Natty implored me. “That thing they read at Daddy’s funeral.”


  “You remember that?”

  Natty nodded. “I remember a lot of things.”

  “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me, will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die …’” I stopped. “I’m sorry, Natty, that’s all I know by heart.”

  “No, that was it,” she said. “That was enough. It’s so beautiful, isn’t it? And it means she isn’t really dead. Not in any important way at least. It makes me feel so much less afraid somehow. Even less alone.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “You aren’t alone, Natty. I’ll always be here for you. You know that.” I wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “But, Annie, what will we do now? You aren’t old enough to take care of us yet. Will Leo, then?”

  “Leo will be our guardian, yes. And I’ll go on taking care of everything else just as I always have. As far as you’re concerned, nothing will change, I swear.” This, I realized, was how parents ended up lying to children. They promised certainties when all they had were pretty speculations. I prayed to God this would go down smoothly. “In fact, I should really go call Mr. Kipling right now to begin making arrangements.” There was so much to do. If I didn’t begin right away, the burden of it all might paralyze me. I took Natty by the hand and led her out of the room. I closed Nana’s door gently behind us. I went into my bedroom and immediately picked up the phone.

  Mr. Kipling had only recently returned to work after his heart attack. “Anya,” he said, “I have Mr. Green on the phone. He’ll be listening in from now on. It’s a precaution I’m taking in case I should have a recurrence, though I have no reason to believe this will be so.”

  “Hello, Simon,” I said.

  “Hello, Ms. Balanchine,” Simon Green replied.

  “What can we do for you today?” Mr. Kipling asked.

  “Galina is dead.” I kept my voice cool.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Mr. Kipling said.

  “I am, too,” Simon Green added.

  “She was very old.” It had already begun to feel as if I were speaking of someone I had barely known.

  “While I’m very sorry for your loss, I also want to reassure you, Anya. As you are well aware, everything has been arranged to make this transition as simple as possible for you and your siblings.” Mr. Kipling then said that he and Simon Green would come immediately to the apartment. “Is Leo with you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good. He’ll need to be in on these discussions.”

  “I’ll make sure he stays put. Should I call the funeral home?”

  “No, no,” Mr. Kipling said. “We’ll arrange that.”

  I hung up the phone.

  I had felt as if there were a million things I needed to do, and yet, for the moment, it seemed there was nothing but to wait for Mr. Kipling and Simon Green to show up.

  I wanted something to do.

  I thought about calling Win, but the truth was, I didn’t really want him around. This was a time for family.

  I lay down on my bed.

  Oh, Nana. How many times had I wished that your suffering would be over, that you would die. And how many times had I prayed for the opposite, that you might live forever or at least until I was old enough to be Natty’s legal guardian.

  And here it was, that day. And I felt nothing except perhaps guilty that I felt nothing. Maybe I had seen too many hard things in my life. But then, so had Leo and Natty, and they both had cried. What was wrong with me that I could not muster a tear for my grandmother, who I had loved and who I know had loved me?

  The doorbell rang, which was just as well. I didn’t wish to continue along this line of thought anymore.

  I went to answer it: Mr. Kipling and Simon Green, of course. They had made exceptionally good time.

  Mr. Kipling, who I once would have described as stout, had lost a great deal of weight since his heart attack. In his present manifestation, he looked a bit like a teddy bear with the stuffing removed.

  “Annie,” said Mr. Kipling. “Again, I am so very sorry for your loss. Galina was a magnificent woman.”

  We went to the living room to sit down. Leo was still there. He hadn’t moved since Imogen had left.

  “Leo,” I said.

  He looked at me blankly. His eyes were nearly swollen shut from crying. He didn’t remotely resemble the confident man I’d seen in the last several months, and this worried me. Come on, Leo, I thought.

  I continued. “Mr. Kipling and Mr. Green are here to discuss what happens now that Nana has passed.”

  Leo stood. He blew his nose on an already soggy handkerchief, then said, “Okay, I’ll just go to my room.”

  “No,” I said. “You need to stay for this. You’re a very important part of everything that’s about to happen. Come and sit next to me.”

  Leo nodded. He pulled his shoulders back and walked over to the sofa and sat down. Simon Green and Mr. Kipling sat in the two armchairs across the coffee table from us.

  First, we made plans for Nana’s funeral. This was simple as Nana had left clear written instructions: No open casket, no expensive coffin, no chemical preservation, no fancy marker, though I would like to be next to my son in the family plot in Brooklyn.

  “Do you want there to be an autopsy?” Simon Green asked me.

  “Simon, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mr. Kipling disciplined. “Galina had been sick for many years.”

  “Yes, well …” Simon Green said. “What did lead up to her ultimate passing?”

  I described what Imogen had said about the power failure.

  “Why didn’t the backup generator come on?” Simon Green persisted.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “You trust this Imogen, right?” Simon Green asked. “No one could have gotten to her. Maybe paid her off or something? Someone who might have had a good reason for wanting Galina Balanchine dead.”

  “Who would have wanted Nana dead?” Leo asked, his voice a bit quivery.

  “Simon, you’re being absurd and inappropriate.” Mr. Kipling shot Simon Green a warning look. “Imogen Goodfellow has worked for this family for years. She is as loyal and fine a worker as there is. As for the circumstances of Galina’s death? There is no mystery here. She was incredibly sick. It’s amazing she endured as long as she did. In the weeks leading up to her death, she and I had had several discussions about the inevitability of her condition and she even confessed to me that she suspected her time would be soon, that she had even begun to hope for such a time.”

  “She told me the same thing,” I said. I looked at Leo. “She did.”

  Leo nodded. Then he nodded again. Finally, he said, “But it wouldn’t hurt anything to have a …” When Leo was upset, he sometimes lost language. “What he said”—he pointed at Simon—“the thing where they find out why she died? Then we would know for sure, right?”

  “An autopsy, you mean?”

  “Yes, an autopsy,” Leo repeated. “Annie always says that it is better to have more information than less.”

  I admitted that I had only been chorusing Daddy.

  Mr. Kipling patted my brother on the hand. I winced, because there had been a time, and not too long ago either, when Leo couldn’t bear to be touched by anyone who wasn’t immediate family. But Leo was fine. He barely seemed to register the touch. “Actually, Leo, though usually I couldn’t agree more with your sister and your father about the power of information, in this instance, there are things having an autopsy could hurt. Would you mind if I explained to you what they are?”

  Leo nodded, and Mr. Kipling laid out his argument. “Your grandmother is dead. And nothing is going to change that fact. There is no reason to believe she died of anything but old age and the cumulative effects of her illness. But, if this family authorizes an autopsy, it will seem as if we’ve had reason to believe that there was another possible cause to her death. It will seem as if we believe there is more to this stor
y, and that is the last thing this family needs.”

  Leo nodded. “Why?”

  “Because you and your sisters cannot afford the exposure. You are certainly aware that, as the only sibling who is over eighteen, you are becoming Natty and Annie’s guardian?”

  “Yes,” Leo said.

  “If the living arrangements of your family become a matter of public interest, Child Protective Services could try to take Natty and Annie away from you, Leo. You are very young and people are aware of your medical history. The authorities could send Natty and Annie to foster care, if, for some reason, you were deemed an unfit parent.”

  “No!” Leo yelled. “No! Never!”

  “Well, don’t worry, Leo. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that never happens,” Mr. Kipling said. “And this is why I’m advising you to make no moves that bring any unwanted attention to your immediate family. The folks at social services are entirely overwhelmed. No one will care about your living arrangements unless you give them reason to.”

  There was a pause.

  “Yes … What you say … This makes sense to me,” Leo said finally.

  “Good,” said Mr. Kipling.

  “Do you think Leo should give up his job?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to do that!” Leo roared.

  “He’s still working at the Pool,” I explained.

  Mr. Kipling ran his fingers through the invisible hair on his bald head. “Ah yes. I never did resolve that situation at the animal clinic, did I? I apologize, Anya. My heart attack—but it’s really inexcusable on my part. Mr. Green, would you make a note?”

  Simon Green obeyed and said nothing. Indeed, he hadn’t said a word since suggesting the autopsy. His expression reminded me of a basset hound.

  “Do you enjoy your work at the Pool?” Simon Green asked my brother.

  “Yes,” said Leo. “Very much.”

  “What kind of things do they have you do?”

  “I get lunch for the men. And I get snacks and drinks, too. And I drop off the laundry.”

  “And they treat you well?”

  “Yes.”

  “I absolutely understand your concern, Anya, but I don’t think Leo should quit his job at the Pool,” Mr. Kipling concluded. “Even with the taint of organized crime, it is better that he appear to have been consistently employed.” Mr. Kipling looked in my brother’s eyes. “You must promise never to do anything dangerous or illegal. You are the protector of Anya and Nataliya now. And you are extremely important.”