I Know This Much Is True (40 page)

sitting at the table, eating and reading the paper when I heard my mother on the stairs.

She smelled like the lilac dusting powder I gave her every Christmas—the only thing she ever claimed she needed. She was wearing a housecoat I’d never seen before—a colorful, flowery one. Her toenails were painted pink.

“I don’t know how you boys can eat cold spaghetti like that,” she said. “Why don’t you let me heat that up for you?”

“It’s fine,” I said.

She sat down at the table across from me. “Honey?” she said.

“Are you all right?”

“Yup.”

“Well, you don’t look all right. You look like the wreck of the
Hesperus.
”

“I hate him, Ma,” I said.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t, Dominick.”

“Yes, I do. I
hate
him.”

She got up and turned her back on me, started putting away the dishes. “You hate his temper, not him. Boys don’t hate their fathers.”

“He’s not my father.”

“Yes, he is, Dominick.”

“The only thing that makes him my father is some stupid piece of paper he signed. What kind of father would bully his son the way he bullied Thomas tonight? What kind of father wants his sons to go off to war and get wasted?”

“He didn’t say that, Dominick. Don’t put words in his mouth.

He loves you boys.”

“He can’t stand us and you know it. He resents everything about us. He’s been that way all our lives.”

She shook her head again. “The thing about your father is.

. . . Well, I don’t want to tell tales out of school, but he didn’t have it easy when he was a kid.”

“Don’t keep calling him my father. He’s
not
my father.”

“He didn’t have much of a home life, Dominick. His mother was a no-good tramp. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I think that I Know[169-263] 7/24/02 12:37 PM Page 263

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when his temper goes off like that, it just all comes back at him.”

“Is our
real
father alive?” I said. “Did he croak or something? Just
tell
me!”

She looked me in the eye for a second, and then looked away.

Put her hand over her cleft lip. “All I’m saying, honey, is that these kinds of problems pop up in every family. Not just ours. Now do me a favor and don’t walk around here with bare feet. I think I got all that glass, but sometimes you miss a piece. Just be careful, honey.

Okay?”

“Who
is
he, Ma?” I said. “Who’s our father?”

She stood there a while longer. Gave me a weak smile. “Well, good night,” she said. “Get some sleep now. Watch out for that glass. Okay?”

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17

f

“
Mr. Birdsey, tell me about your stepfather
.”

Silence.

“
Mr. Birdsey? Did you hear me?
”

“
What?
”

“
Yesterday, near the end of our session, we were—
”

“
Can I have a cigarette?
”

“
Smoking is bad for your health, Mr. Birdsey. And for mine, too, since
I’m in the room with you. I’d rather you didn’t get into the habit of having cigarettes every time we sit down to talk.
”

“
You didn’t mind yesterday. You lit the first one for me.
”

“
Yesterday was an exception. We were making some progress and—
”

“
I
think
better when I smoke. I
remember
better.
”

“
I don’t quite see how that’s possible, Mr. Birdsey. Physiologically
speaking. Let’s move on, please. With regard to your stepfather, do you
suppose—
”

“
Do you believe in reincarnation?
”

A pause. “
Mr. Birdsey, I discuss neither my religious beliefs nor my
264

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personal life with patients. It’s my policy. It’s not relevant to what we’re
trying to accomplish.
”

“
Well, I want a cigarette. That’s
my
policy
.”

“
And how do you justify that in terms of your religious conviction,
Mr. Birdsey? I’m curious about that. If, as the Bible says, the body is a
temple, then—
”

“
Don’t call me that.
”

“
Excuse me?
”

“
Call me by my code name. Especially if this is on tape. I’m vulnerable
enough already.
”

“
Shall I call you Thomas then? You said during one of our earlier sessions that you prefer the more formal ‘Mr. Birdsey,’ but perhaps now that
we’ve established a—
”

“
Call me by my code name, I said. Mr. Y.
”

“
Mr. Y? Yes?
”

“
You secure these tapes. Right?
”

“
Yes, yes. This has come up several times already. The tapes are—
”

“
Do you really think they’d put me under house arrest and then
not
watch my every move?
Not
sit there waiting for me to slip up?
”

“
Whom do you mean?
”

“
Never mind. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.
”

“
I want to assure you, Mr. Birdsey, that we are in a completely safe
environment. As your doctor—your ally—I have taken all necessary precautions to assure your safety.
”

Pause. “
Indira Gandhi was assassinated, wasn’t she?
”

“
The prime minister? Yes, she was. Now, since our time together is
precious, let’s talk a little about—
”

“
Killed and cremated. Whoosh! Don’t tell me the CIA didn’t have a
hand in
that
one. . . . Maybe it has something to do with the blood vessels.
”

“
Excuse me?
”

“
Why I remember better when I smoke. It probably has to do with the
way the nicotine affects the flow of blood to the brain. Not all truths are
scientific. Go try and prove a miracle in some chemistry laboratory, Mrs.

Gandhi. Go analyze God’s DNA.
”

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WALLY LAMB

“
You’re quite safe here, Mr. Birdsey. Quite safe.
”

“
Can I have a cigarette?
”

On the tape, I heard the sliding open of a drawer, the flick-flick-flick of a lighter.

I had to smile. “Thomas, one; Doc Patel, nothing,” I said.

She nodded. “Your brother is a talented manipulator, Dominick.

I suppose it’s what twenty years of institutionalization will teach you.”

“Hey, if he was out in the real world, jerking people around would be a valuable skill. Right?”

“Yes? You think so? That’s an interesting perspective.” She was always doing that: turning some flip remark of mine into a revealing observation. You had to watch it with Dr. Patel, even if you were only the patient’s brother.

We were in Lisa Sheffer’s office at Hatch, not the doc’s. Sheffer had arranged the powwow that morning after she’d gotten an unexpected phone call from the office of the probate court. There’d been a change of plans. The judge was reviewing my brother’s case that day instead of waiting for the end of the fifteen-day observation period.

The move was premature and unanticipated—“fishy,” in Sheffer’s words. We’d planned to meet in her office at four o’clock that afternoon to discuss the outcome—Lisa, Dr. Patel, and me. Since Sheffer was running late, the doc had suggested we listen to the tape of Thomas’s latest session while we waited. My brother had mentioned several things she said she’d be interested in getting my reaction to.

But,
she’d warned me, some of what he’d said might be upsetting. I’d shrugged. Reassured her I could take it—that I’d heard it all at this point.

On the tape, Thomas exhaled.

“
Mr. Birdsey, the last time we spoke, you mentioned that your stepfather was sometimes abusive to your mother. Do you remember?
”

“
One of these days, Alice. Pow! Right in the kisser!
”

“Is he quoting your stepfather there, Dominick?” Dr. Patel asked.

I shook my head. “Jackie Gleason.”

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Her face went blank. She stopped the tape.

“
The Honeymooners.
It was a TV show.” No lightbulb yet. “This guy—this comedian named Jackie Gleason—he used to say that to his wife. On the show. ‘One of these days, Alice. Pow! Right in the kisser!’”

“Yes? Excuse me. What is the kisser?”

“The kisser? The mouth.”

“Ah, the mouth. Yes, yes. And this was a comedy? About a man who struck his wife in the mouth?”

“He never actually . . . it’s, uh . . . you’re taking it out of context.”

“I see,” she said. She kept looking at me. I wasn’t sure why my face felt hot.

“
Was your father physically abusive to your mother, Mr. Birdsey? Or
was it more in the nature of—
”

“
It was not a pretty picture
.”

“
Will you elaborate, please?
”

No response.

“
Mr. Birdsey? What was ‘unpretty’ about it?
”

“
He used to use her like a punching bag, that’s what. He’d sock her in
the jaw. Kick her. Slam her against the wall. He used to make us watch.
”

“
Us?
”

“
My brother and me.
”

“That’s complete bullshit,” I said.

Dr. Patel hit the “stop” button. “Yes? You’re saying it never happened?”

“No!”

“
One time we were sitting there eating dinner, the four of us, and
Ray just reached over and elbowed her, right in the face. For no reason.

Just because he felt like it, that’s all. He broke her nose.
”

I wrapped my arms around my chest. Shook my head. “Never happened,” I told the ceiling.

“You’re sure?”

“My stepfather breaks my mother’s nose and I wouldn’t remember it?”

“
He used to rape her, too. Right in front of us.
”

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WALLY LAMB

“Jesus God. Does he really—”

“
You watched this, Mr. Birdsey?
”

“
Plenty of times. He made us.
”

“
Let me make sure I understand. You’re saying your stepfather used to
rape your mother and insist that you and your brother watch?
”

“
He’d pull us out of bed in the middle of the night sometimes. Drag us
down the hallway to their bedroom and—
”

“That is complete—”

“
—push her nightgown up and just attack her.
”

“
And you and Dominick witnessed this?
”

“
We had to. We had to just sit there and shut up. My mother would
beg him to let us leave, but he’d tell her to shut up or he’d cut our throats.

And then, after he was finished with his business, he’d say, ‘There, this is
what the world is really like, you two. Might as well get used to it.’ He
was always trying to toughen us up. Sometimes he’d make us . . .
”

He kept rambling. I sat there, trying not to listen. I read the wording on Sheffer’s framed diploma. Studied the little area where paint was peeling off her ceiling. Picked away so thoroughly at a dried paint splatter on the knee of my jeans that I poked a hole in the cloth. Hadn’t Thomas made Ma suffer enough while she was alive without bringing her back from the dead so Ray could rape her? In
front
of us, for Christ’s sake? God, I hated Thomas.
Hated
him.

“Dominick?”

That’s when it dawned on me: she’d stopped the tape. “Yes?”

“I said, you look pale.”

“I’m all right. I’m fine.”

“Perhaps that’s enough for today. Maybe we could—”

I straightened my spine. Managed to look her in the eye. “Can I ask you something? Is he trying to con you with this crap or does he really think it happened?”

“I believe he thinks it happened. And you say it did
not
happen.

Correct?”

“That Ray raped my mother and we had ringside seats? Gee whiz, now, let me think.” I got up, walked over to the barred window.

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Looked out onto that sorry-ass recreation area with its rusted basketball hoop, its picnic tables that looked like they’d been gnawed on the ends. How could Sheffer work here? How could
any
of them work at this place—listening all day long to this kind of crap—and not go nuts themselves? I turned and faced her. “You know what
I
think? You want
my
opinion? I think he’s bullshitting you. He knows that if he gives you a good horror story, you’ll call it ‘progress’ and let him smoke. You said it yourself: he’s a good manipulator. You’re being manipulated.”

“Your stepfather—”

“Look, my stepfather could be a first-class son of a bitch when he wanted to, okay? I’m the first guy to admit that. But he was a bully, not some inhuman . . . Jesus Christ, if we’d watched something like that, don’t you think we’d
both
be off the deep end by now? Him
and
me?”