Disturbed Ground (9 page)

"Right. Dorothea absolutely dotes on Bert," Beth added.

"I just don't think he'd get that kind of attention anywhere else."

Beth agreed, and the VOA partners, who had worked so hard to find Bert a home in the first place, decided that even if Dorothea Puente was formerly this Dorothea Johansson person, that wasn't a legitimate reason for uprooting Bert and placing him in some less-desirable residence.

Before they could finish the article, the VOA street counselors had reached their destination. Judy told Beth she wanted to read the article later herself, and at the end of the day she took it home, stashing it with some other papers she meant to read just as soon as she had the time.

While rumors about Dorothea Puente's past had sparked and fizzled within certain small circles, none reached the ears of Bill Johnson, back at Detox. He heard nothing of the suspicions raised by Mary Ellen Howard and had no reason to distrust Dorothea Puente. For the most part, Johnson's suspicions had been washed away by Puente's fluid charm. So, when she complained to him about Bert's never-ending string of visitors, he didn't give it much thought.

Dorothea was tired of "those girls" coming over all the time, she told him, meaning the "two Lucys" from the Chest Clinic, and the two VOA workers, Judy Moise and Beth Valentine. She peevishly told him that "all this interference has got to stop."

Bill Johnson listened noncommittally, but was apparently too nice a fellow to convey this admonition to the "girls" for whom it was intended.

Still, Puente had reason to believe that her words had been passed on and heeded, because in mid-June, due to peculiar coincidences, the unwelcome visits ceased.

Bert's Tuesday and Thursday TB checkups came to a sudden end because, according to Lucy Yokota, "We considered him cured." During her final visit, Yokota told Bert that if he had any problems, he should call. Otherwise, they would check on him again in a year.

Coincidentally, visits from Judy and Beth also came to a halt in mid-June. It was nothing planned. It just happened that way. Call it a fluke. Call it fate.

As the summer heated up, so did things at the Volunteers of America headquarters. Everyone on the staff, every program, every dollar was to undergo review. Rumor had it that all the dead weight would be axed. So, for the next several weeks, besides the usual running around, handling emergencies, giving talks, and participating in support groups, the VOA street counselors spent a good deal of time enduring meetings, shuffling papers, and preparing presentations. Further, with more and more homeless on the streets whose cases demanded immediate attention, there simply wasn't time for a social call on Bert, who was, after all, doing extremely well.

No one had any reason to worry about Bert. In fact, wasn't he a shining example of how even a seemingly hopeless case could turn around, given enough care and the right environment?

So, with "those girls" out of the picture, gentle Bert was now left to
the lingering affections of his friends back at Detox and the dominant influences of Dorothea Puente. No one guessed how precariously he was situated in that sweet old blue-and-white Victorian, imperiled as a canary in a mine shaft.

On a sweltering Saturday, July 30, Bert Montoya made his way across town to the converted warehouse on Front Street that he'd once called home, and sought out his friend Bill Johnson. Bert was by nature amicable and uncomplaining, but Johnson could tell that something was troubling him. With a bit of gentle prodding, he learned what it was. Bert didn't want to stay at Dorothea's any longer, he told Johnson. He didn't want to "take meds."

This didn't seem especially alarming. Johnson knew that even though the antipsychotic drugs stopped Bert's auditory hallucinations, he disliked the side effects. And just a couple of weeks earlier, Bert had said that once he started receiving his SSI checks he wanted to leave Puente's and get a place of his own
.

So now, if Bert wanted to come back to Detox and stop taking meds, that was fine with Johnson. He would drive him back to Dorothea's so they could pick up his things.

But once there, things got muddled.

At first, when Johnson told Dorothea that Bert wanted to leave, she replied flippantly, "He can leave any time he wants." But then she wanted to know why he wanted to go.

When Johnson explained that Bert wasn't happy because he didn't like having to take medication, she turned to Bert and demanded, "Then why did you wake me up at four in the morning the other day?"

Bert turned sheepish. It seemed he
had
woken her up early one morning, asking for his medication because he hadn't been able to sleep. Bert's resolve disintegrated. Well, yes, the meds weren't so bad. He would take them. Well, no, he didn't really want to leave. He would stay.

"My intention was to take him back to Detox," Bill Johnson mused later. "She changed his mind…. I could have told him to get in the van—I was his friend, he would have done what I told him—but all I could think was of him banging on the door [at Detox], and there'd be no mat for him."

Johnson knew that Detox would be getting full once the weather changed; at Dorothea's, at least Bert was assured of a place to sleep.

Less than two weeks later, on Wednesday, August 10, Bert again inexplicably returned to Detox. He spent that night on a vinyl mat on the concrete floor. Uncomfortable, no doubt, but familiar. Safe.

The next morning, Bill Johnson again offered to take Bert back to 1426 F Street. Clearly, it was a better place for him. The food was better, he had his own room, his own TV. It made no sense for him to stay at Detox. He would be happier at Dorothea's. Really. He should go back.

And Bert relented.

When they got within three blocks of the house, Bert asked his friend to let him out at the corner. He didn't want Dorothea to know that Johnson had brought him back. He would walk the rest of the way so that she wouldn't get mad.

CHAPTER 8

Early in October, when summer’s hot grip had loosened and Sacramento residents could walk unbowed by the pounding sun, Judy Moise returned from vacation and plunged back into work. She felt refreshed and enthusiastic, not least because the VOA review, which she'd so dreaded, had gone astonishingly well. On top of that, the Mental Health Association had recently named her "Mental Health Worker of the Year." Though she seemed to be earning more recognition than money, this wasn't too bad for a woman who had reentered the work force at forty-two, without benefit of a graduate degree, specific training, or even clear-cut career goals.

So midweek, when Judy popped in at Detox and peppered Bill Johnson with questions, eager to be brought up to date, she wasn't ready for the odd news he imparted.

In his unhurried way, Johnson spoke softly of Bert... his unexpected reappearance at Detox, and how he'd returned to Dorothea's… what an uncommonly kind person Mrs. Puente was… cooking such fine meals, making sure Bert was going to church… She was even taking her tenants on a trip to Mexico—

"Mexico?" For a moment, the room went out of focus and Judy had a sinking feeling. Then she recalled Dorothea mentioning a trip to Mexico, and an idea surfaced. "Why don't you call Dorothea and see how Bert's doing?" she suggested.

Johnson placed the call while Judy stood waiting. When he hung up, he turned to her and announced, "Bert's in Mexico."

Judy frowned as some vague muttering commenced in the back of her mind. "Well, why isn't Dorothea in Mexico with him?" she asked.

"She was
"
he explained. "She took him down to visit her relatives in Guadalajara, and they stayed with her brother-in-law, who's a doctor down there. And you know what? Everyone liked Bert so much, they wanted him to stay longer. She says her brother-in-law has a nice home in the country, and Bert's really enjoying the country life. He's even stopped smoking. So she's letting him stay awhile."

Country life? Didn't Judy remember that Bert preferred the city? She didn't want to say anything to upset Bill, but there was something strange going on here.

Distantly, the muttering commenced again in her subconscious, a muffled rumble, like indigestion in her intellectual tract. She said good-bye to Bill Johnson and left, but the muttering followed her out the door and dogged her the rest of the day. It persisted through the week, greeting her in the mirror, following her during rounds at work, nagging through dinner. Finally, very early Saturday morning, it shook her awake.

She stared into the darkness, listening to her mind tick, wondering why this business about Mexico troubled her so much, debating whether she was being irrational. She looked at the clock and saw it was 5:00
a.m.
Dorothea had said she was always up before five, that she liked to garden early in the morning. So she'd already be up. Very well. Judy would call her.

She dialed the number, and sure enough, Dorothea answered, clear and alert.

"Good morning, Dorothea, this is Judy Moise," she said, affecting a casual tone. Without even apologizing for phoning so early, she simply inquired, "I wondered, how's Bert doing?"

If Dorothea was startled, she didn't show it. "Oh, Bert's in Mexico," she said cheerily. In an effusive rush, she told Judy the same story she'd told Bill Johnson: her brother-in-law, the doctor, with the nice house in the country; the relatives who liked Bert so much that they'd insisted he stay. "They just love Bert," she cooed.

Judy didn't voice her doubts, but she was having a hard time believing that Dorothea's family would be so enamored of Bert that they'd welcome him into their home. He was sweet and even-tempered, true, but he was still mentally ill, and such people were hard to place even when the hosts were
paid
to take them in.

Now Dorothea was saying that he was just doing wonderfully. "He likes it down there so much, he's been calling me three times a week just to talk about what they've been doing."

Calling? Bert placing international calls? Judy tried to picture this, but it just wouldn't come. Maybe Dorothea's relatives were dialing for him.

Dorothea was volunteering more details about her family in Guadalajara, but Judy cut her off, saying, "You know, Dorothea, I'm kind of uncomfortable about Bert being down there without you. I mean, what if he gets lost? What if he wanders away from your sister's place and can't find his way back? He'd never be found again. And since he's Spanish-speaking, no one would believe that he's American. He'd never make it back across the border."

In truth, this was exactly what Judy feared had happened: Dorothea had taken Bert down there, he'd wandered off, and now she just couldn't admit that he was lost.

But Dorothea laughed this off. "That would never happen in that area, it's rural. Besides, now everyone down there knows him, and they'll keep an eye out for him. Please don't worry, Judy. Anyway, he'll be back next week."

"Next week?" a glimmer of hope.

"Well yes," Dorothea was saying. "You know that if he's out of the country more than two weeks, he'll lose his Social Security. So he'll be back by then."

So Dorothea knew it was illegal for Bert to be gone for more than two weeks! Judy took this as a good sign. She rang off, her apprehension lifting like an untethered balloon. Bert would be back in a week. Everything would be all right.

But when Judy called a week later, Bert still wasn't there.

"Oh, there was a fiesta that he wanted to stay for," Puente said breezily. She apologized, promising again that Bert would be back within a week.

Judy had little recourse but to implore Puente to have Bert call as soon as he returned. The landlady agreed, and Judy was left to wait.

But no call came.

By now Judy's muttering disquiet was a constant buzz in her head. Given the nasty rumors that had floated around about the old woman's past, she was beginning to worry that maybe Dorothea had intentionally "lost" Bert so that she could collect his checks.