I TOLD WILL I was going to turn in with Lena last night, that I was exhausted—because I was—and then I lay in bed wearing Lena’s earphones, which are large and shiny plastic discs in the shape of monkey faces. I thought of what Don had said to me, what Kay had written, of how I’d seen a city crumble beneath a cloud of dust.
Lena rolled away from me as I prepared to say Goodbye to Stress, and before long fell asleep clutching her duck.
The images didn’t feel like a dream. I was aware of the room as I lay there, the shape of the TV cabinet, the bathroom door slightly ajar, the mirror on the dresser showing glints in the dark. I lay in an indoor twilight holding those dim motel-room shapes in front of me as I began to sink under. Did I keep my eyes open?
Into the dark room came a thin, stooped man. My impulse was to fling my body over Lena, shielding her and keeping her safe with me forever. But I couldn’t move.
The thin man turned to look at me, and I recognized him. With his bloodshot eyes and tobacco-stained mouth, his gray, grubby mechanic’s workshirt with the franchise logo on the pocket, I recognized him instantly: B.Q.
I felt repulsion, then fear; I knew I couldn’t turn onto my side or cover her with my arms, I knew I had to lie just as I was, belly up and exposed. And she was exposed beside me. That was the worst of it.
But next I understood he was a weak and broken person. He had never been a threat to us. He worked for Beefy John, that was all—he drew a paycheck.
“She told you herself,” he said sadly. “But you didn’t listen, Mrs. Mrs., she sent me with a message because she can’t bring it. She can’t say anything anymore. So here it is. True language is the deep magic. As old as time. God of the hills and water. God of the sun and trees.”
He stood at the foot of the bed looking down at Lena, and as he reached out toward her I felt I had to stop him—but instead of touching her he swooped farther down and grabbed something else: Hurt Sheep, which had fallen off the bed and onto the floor.
He picked up the stuffed animal and kept on walking across the motel room, headed toward the window now, where he stood and drew the drapes open.
In the night sky there was a deep-blue light, a kind of royal blue out over the ocean, and stars twinkled in it, the four-pointed stars you might see in paintings. They made me think of the three kings, of the Nativity.
I turned my head and watched him leave by the window. After a couple of seconds I could see quite well, almost as though I was standing at the window myself. He walked out through the glass and into the air and kept going, the sheep tucked under one arm, to where Kay waited, standing on the furling crest of a wave.
“HEY. MAMA. WHERE’S Hurt Sheep?” asked Lena in the morning. “Hurt Sheep was right exactly here!”
“Maybe under the bed. There’s lots of space down there. Remember to check beneath things, when you’re looking,” I said, brushing my teeth.
Later I helped her and we looked everywhere.
No, I thought, no no no. Come on now.
“Maybe she’s gone. Oh! Yeah. I guess she went with Kay,” said Lena, and shrugged, cocking her head.
“What do you mean, love?”
“It’s a good place for Hurt Sheep. That’s OK, Mom. She went with Kay. I told you before. Remember? In the boat, to the white castle.”
We are sending this message to our daughter Kay’s friends, her fellow medical professionals and students, and others who knew her. This is to let you know with our deep sadness, that in the evening of this past Friday, we authorized the medical staff of Brigham and Women’s Hospital, to remove, Kay from her ventilator and other support equipment. This was the most difficult decision, a parent can ever make, but as she left a “Living Will” document on her Computer, we know for certain, that it is what she wished.
Please do not reply to this Email, because neither Kay’s father, nor I, will continue to use Kay’s Email address, which we would view as a violation, of her personal privacy. We used it only to access her many Contacts, which we could not find, in another way. Neither of us uses an Email, and this is the only time, we will send a message with Kay’s Email Account. However, regular mail can be sent to us at the address below.
Also below, is listed a charity that was close to Kay’s heart, for any gifts made in her memory.
Our deepest thanks to all of you for your visits, cards, flowers, and for the love, you also held for our beloved daughter.
10
I WASN’T MYSELF, BUT THE IMAGE OF ME
IT’S LATER NOW—MUCH, MUCH LATER.