His sorrow at not being able to bury his father was as heavy as his grief at the death. Every scene in the grainy video made him cry, except the ones where he was too astonished at the weight gained or gray hair developed or teeth lost by certain friends and family members, people he hadn’t seen in almost five years.
The day after he watched the video his back began to ache. He had to leave one job early one afternoon and call off the other job in the evening. The pain in his feet seemed to have traveled to his back, only with more ferocity. He spent many mornings before work lying on the floor, writhing in pain, swallowing as many as five Tylenol capsules at a time. A colleague referred him to a cash-only doctor in Jamaica, Queens, who charged him sixty dollars for a twenty-minute consultation, after informing him that the accident health insurance plan Neni had bought for them online—after her eligibility for the state’s free Prenatal Care Assistance Program ended—was pretty much useless (the children were both receiving insurance through Child Health Plus, at no cost, thankfully).
In a windowless basement office, the doctor examined him and told him his pains might be stress-induced. “Are you dealing with any major stressors in your life?” he asked Jende.
Am I dealing with any major stressors in my life, Jende wanted to say. Yes, Doctor, turns out I am. In a few weeks I am due to stand in front of an immigration judge to continue begging him to please not deport me. My father just died and I could not bury him. What could be a bigger shame for a firstborn son? My mother is getting too old to be breeding pigs and farming and selling in the market, so I have to start sending her money more frequently. I have a wife and two children who I need to feed and clothe and shelter every day. My wife is supposed to return to school to keep her student visa, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford her international student tuition by washing dishes at restaurants. She may have to drop out of school and live without any kind of papers. Maybe she’ll end up in front of an immigration judge, too, begging to please be allowed to remain in the country so she can find a way to finish her school. Forget about school, we don’t even have enough to cook a good meal with chicken some days. I am holding on tightly to my savings so that I’ll be ready for the day when worse comes to worst, but now I ask myself what am I saving it for? The worse has come to the worst, and my back is breaking. So, yes, Doctor, I have many major stressors in my life.
Forty-nine
HE KNEW IT WAS OVER THE MOMENT HE WALKED OUT OF THE DOCTOR’S office.
That night, after work, he asked Neni to sit down at the dinette. He took her hand and looked deep into her eyes. “Neni,” he began.
“What’s wrong? What did the doctor say?”
“Neni,” he called her name again.
“Jende, please—”
“I’m ready to go back home,” he said.
“Home where? What do you mean by ‘go back home’?”
He took a deep breath and was silent for several seconds. “Home to Limbe,” he said to his wife. “I want to go back to Limbe.”
She pulled her hand from his and shifted backward in her chair, as if he’d just revealed that he had a vile contagious disease. “What’s the meaning of all this?” she asked. Her voice was angry.
“I don’t want to stay in this country anymore.”
“You want us to pack up our things and go back to Limbe? Is that what you’re saying?”
He nodded, looking at her sorrowfully, like a child pleading for mercy.
She peered into his eyes, bloodshot and heavy eyes that seemed to belong to a sick, broken man. When he tried to take her hand into his again, she shifted farther away from him and put them behind her back.
“You want to return to Limbe?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why are you talking like this, Jende? What’s the meaning of all this?”
“I don’t like what my life has become in this country. I don’t know how long I can continue living like this, Neni. The suffering in Limbe was bad, but this one here, right now … it’s more than I can take.”
Neni Jonga stared at her husband as if wanting to feel sympathy but capable of feeling only irritation. “Is it something the doctor said?” she asked. “Is it because of your back?”
“No … I mean, it’s not only because of my back. It’s everything, Neni. Have you not seen how unhappy I’ve been?”
“Of course, bébé. I’ve seen how you’ve been unhappy. But your father died, and you have been in mourning. Anyone who loves their father the way you loved your father would be unhappy.”
“But it’s not only my father’s death. It’s everything that’s happened. I lost my job. My papier situation. This work, work, work, all the time. For what? For a little money? How much suffering can a man take in this world, eh? How much longer …” His voice broke at the end of his question, but he cleared his throat to push it out.
“You know we can get through anything, Jends,” Neni said, taking his hand. “We’ve been through so much. You know we’ll be okay, right?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll be okay. I’m trying really hard, but I don’t know if my life will get better in this country. How long will I keep on washing dishes?”
“Only until you get your papier.”
“That’s not true,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “Papier is not everything. In America today, having documents is not enough. Look at how many people with papers are struggling. Look at how even some Americans are suffering. They were born in this country. They have American passports, and yet they are sleeping on the street, going to bed hungry, losing their jobs and houses every day in this … this economic crisis.”
Timba started whimpering in the bedroom. They stopped talking, looking past each other as they waited for her to put herself back to sleep. She did.
“Having papers in this country is not everything,” Jende continued. “What do you think is going to change with my life if I get papers tomorrow?”
“You will get a better job, won’t you?”
“What better job? I have no education that anyone can call a real education. What will I do? Go to work at Pathmark? Spend ten years weighing shrimp like Tunde?”
“But bébé, working at Pathmark is a good job. You know that. Tunde has a very good job. He has benefits, all kind of insurance. He even has a retirement plan—that’s what Olu told me. And on top of that he buys food for his family on a discount. How is that not a good job?”
Jende looked at Neni and chuckled, a cheerless chuckle followed by another shake of his head. Maybe she thought it was such a good life her friend Olu had because her husband worked at the Pathmark seafood counter, but he didn’t think Tunde was so happy with his life. How could he possibly be, spending all those days of the week around seafood, coming home at the end of the day smelling like fish.
“So you think Tunde and Olu have such a good life, eh?”
“I think they manage well, and we can, too, if you get your papier and get a job like that.”
“And how long do you think I can take care of my family with the kind of money Pathmark will pay me? Eh, Neni? How am I going to send you to pharmacy school with that kind of money? How are we going to send Liomi to college? Or be able to ever move out of this place full of cockroaches?”
“Then we’ll go to Phoenix. That’s what you’ve always wanted, right?”
“I’m not moving to Phoenix! You think Phoenix is going to have something better for us? I was sitting here feeling jealous of Arkamo because he has that nice four-bedroom house over there, only to find out two days ago that he lost his house. The department store where he was working closed down, he doesn’t have a job, he cannot pay the bank, the bank takes back the house. You know where he and his family are living now? In his sister’s basement, which has no windows! Is that what you want for us, Neni? To end up in a basement in Phoenix?”
Neni sighed and shook her head. “Okay, bébé,” she said. “Then we’ll stay in New York. Maybe you could go back to working as a driver. Maybe we can find you another job like the one you had with Mr. Edwards?”
“You’re talking nonsense.”