Pacific Avenue (11 page)

“You afraid he might do something?”

“I don’t know.”

Two customers came up, bought strawberries, and took
their change. Eddie turned back to me. “He ever hit you?”

“No. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t even talk. But he
has nightmares.”

“You talk to your mother and dad about it?”

“I don’t want to.”

Eddie rubbed his eyes. He watched a couple of women
check out the satsumas, ready to answer questions, but they moved on down the
arcade. “Why stay with him, doll?” he asked. “You don’t have to put up with
that. Girl like you, you could have almost any fellow in town.”

“I don’t
want
to. Anyway, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, lord.”

A middle-aged man with a Midwestern accent interrupted
to ask where to buy “real New Orleans coffee.” Eddie waved him over to the
Morning Call. “So, Richard’s going through some kind of shell shock, you’re scared,
and you don’t know what to do. And you got a baby on the way.”

“That’s it.”
He understands. Thank God someone does.

“When’s it due?”

“September.”

“We have a little time, then. I have a neighbor was in
the war. Australian fellow. He’s sure to know more than you and me. Let me see
what he says.”

“Richard won’t go to a psychologist. I asked.”

“Martin’s not one. But he’ll know something. Meantime,
keep cool. Don’t tell Richard we talked. I mean it.”

When I got home that night, Richard was asleep. I took
off my coat and slipped into bed beside him. He reached out and held me, and I
went to sleep too against his warmth. We woke early and made love for the first
time in a long time.
He’s Richard again. I want to stay with him no matter
what.

Our Sunday was quiet, with a backdrop of distant, irrelevant
parades. We made love again and read aloud to each other, talked about Sharon
and Sam’s visit. We still didn’t say anything about our problems, but I felt
easier now that Eddie had something up his sleeve.
Eddie’s smart, he knows
everybody. If Eddie’s on my side, something good will happen.

He didn’t let me down. When I showed up for work Monday
morning, he was jubilant. “This is gonna work out good, doll,” he said. “I told
you about my neighbor Martin that was in the war. Martin Yates. Well, he’s got
some kind of grant now—he’s setting up a puppet theater.
And
he’s looking for people to work for him.”

“Richard has a job.”

“What is it, counting screws or something? He’ll take
this in a minute.
Also
”—he gave me a sidelong
look—“I think
you
should go work
for Martin too. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want you, but I think you and
Richard ought to do something together. Of course, you could still work for me
sometimes,” he added. “And if this doesn’t pan out for some reason, you can
come back anytime.”

I’d worried for a moment that Eddie wanted to get rid
of me, but I could feel it wasn’t that at all. “Where is it?”

“Out in Gretna. You might want to think about getting a
place out there. Easy to come in if you want, and the rents would be a lot
cheaper.”

“What about the neighborhood? I mean, Richard and I—”

“Gretna? No one in that area will care.”

“What about the baby?”

“Martin’s got twins. He won’t have a problem. Quit worrying,
Kathy! It’ll be okay.”

I was still doubtful. “What would we be doing? Neither
of us knows a thing about puppets.”

“That’s the beauty part. Some of this grant is for education,
and it helps that Richard’s a veteran. And black. Give it a try—it’ll be fun.
Also, I told him about Richard and the war stuff, and he’s going to do what he
can to help. Quiet-like, but I think he knows what he’s talking about.”

When I told Richard about Eddie’s idea that night, he
hesitated about two seconds before he decided he wanted to try it. We called
Martin from the pay phone in the hall, and he invited us to come and talk to
him.

Eddie looked pleased when I told him next day. “I’ll be
sad to see you go, doll, I really will. But it’s the best thing for both of
you. And I live right in the neighborhood—I’ll still be seeing you around. Take
the day off tomorrow, go talk to Martin. If it works out, maybe even find
yourself a place to stay.”

I took the Volkswagen across the bridge to Gretna on
Wednesday afternoon. Richard couldn’t get off work, so I went alone. I felt so
hopeful, I bought a paper and went early to look for apartments.

Eddie was right about the rents being cheaper—except
that the rents for houses and apartments were all more than we were paying for
our tiny room. Everything I saw cost more than we could afford. First and last
rent in advance, and deposits for cleaning and security—I’d have to ask Dad for
money, and I didn’t want to. I decided to talk to Martin anyway. We had to
start somewhere.

His address turned out to be in an old neighborhood
near the levee. His house was a raised cottage with a long stairway leading to
its porch.

When the door opened, I peered through the screen at
the place I expected to see a face. I was looking a couple of feet too high. A
man smiled at me from his wheelchair as I adjusted my gaze.
How’d he get up
those steps?
He had navy blue eyes and
curly black hair—“Black Irish,” my dad would have said. He looked about
thirty-five.

“Martin?”

“You must be Kathy.” He pushed the screen open and I
edged through. “Come on in. You picked a good time—my wife’s taken the kids to
the zoo. Have a seat on the couch there—push some of their junk aside.”

His living room looked like it might
be
a zoo. Toys were everywhere. Unusual, beautiful
toys, almost all handmade. Ornate building blocks, wooden animals, and
dolls—not one of them from a factory, as far as I could see.

I elbowed out of my jacket and sat down, moving a
carved horse carefully to the coffee table. “It’s beautiful.” A block palace
filled most of the table. Each block was exquisitely carved and painted. Martin
laughed as he saw me taking it all in.

“My wife’s an artist, and we’re both puppeteers—and of
course, we’re getting started in business, so we have to economize. And the
boys are twins, so we need twice as many of everything. We make all their
stuff.” If this was economy, I felt sorry for rich kids. And better about
Richard and me.

“So, you and your boyfriend want to work for us. We
need help with everything, almost. I don’t suppose you’ve ever done anything
with puppets before?”

“No, we haven’t. But we’ll work hard, I promise. I’m
sure we can learn.”

He smiled. “We can teach you. We don’t really expect
experience. We work long hours, though, and you’ll also have to practice on
your own to be any good. Where do you live?”

“We’re in the Quarter now, but we want to move. Do you
know of any apartments for rent in this neighborhood? I looked around this
morning, but I didn’t see anything we could afford.”

“Well, one of the neighbors, Francine Boudreaux, has a
mother-in-law house in her backyard. A while back, she was talking about
renting it, but she couldn’t advertise since it’s not zoned for rental. Maybe
she still wants to—I doubt she’d charge much. It’s just one big room, and it’s
not fancy.”

“Can I look at it?”

“I happen to know she’s not at home at the moment—in
fact, she’s with my family at the zoo. She and my wife are friends—they like to
speak French together.”

“Is your wife French?”

“No, Vietnamese. Francine’s a Creole. I sometimes wonder
what kind of French they could have in common, but if their rate of talking is
anything to go by, it must be quite a bit. Anyway, when they get back, I’ll ask
Francine about the house.”

“Richard, my boyfriend, is a Vietnam vet.”
Is your
wife angry about the war? I think I’d be.

“Eddie told me,” Martin said. “I’m not a vet, but I was
a journalist over there. That’s where Thu and I met. We left in ’68 when I got
injured.”

“I am. Yes. We came to the United States for medical
treatment for me. But we decided to stay for a while.”

“Do you do puppets from Vietnam?”

“There and everywhere. Would you like to see some?”

“Oh,
yes.
”

He showed me to a workroom at the back of the house.
Puppets of all sorts were everywhere, even some figures that didn’t look like
puppets at all. There was an odd little flat man like a big paper doll, with a
curly red stocking cap. At the tip of the cap was a small light.

“What’s this one?” I asked.

“That’s Beberuhi. He’s Turkish. The light is to help
him search for truth.” He laughed. “Frankly, I’d think you might need a
brighter one to find it. He never does—maybe that’s why.”

“He’s flat,” I said.

“A shadow puppet. He’s held up between a light and a
screen, and the audience sees his shadow on the screen from the other side.
Traditionally, shadow puppets are opaque, but I’ve modified him with colored
bits, kind of a stained-glass effect. Also, it’s not traditional to have a real
light on his cap.

I picked up a carved wooden puppet that wasn’t strung
yet. “Who’s this?”

“He’s not actually a folk puppet. He’s a conventional
marionette for a character in an Arab folktale. It’s sort of a mixed approach.
They wouldn’t use a marionette in those countries.”

“Why not?” I couldn’t see anything wrong with the puppet.

“In some Islamic countries, it’s unacceptable to make images
of living creatures. It varies. We use traditional puppets like the shadow
puppets if we can, otherwise we adapt them.”

“Why would you have to?”

“So the puppets won’t seem too odd at first. When Thu
and I came here, we noticed that most Americans don’t understand other
cultures. We thought that might be one reason for the war, so we started the
puppet project. In fact, the main group sponsoring us is a peace organization.”

“Where do you perform?”

“Mostly in schools now, but we’d like to found a permanent
theater for the public. Maybe have a puppetry school or at least some classes.”
His voice was wistful, filled with his dream.

He pushed his wheelchair away from the worktable and
led me back to the living room. “When can you start work?” he asked, as I
picked up my purse and coat.

“Monday.”

“Good enough. I’ll talk to Francine tonight. Call me tomorrow
and I’ll let you know. You can move in over the weekend if she says yes—and if
you like the place, of course. I’m looking forward to having some help. This
thing is starting to get out of control.” The satisfaction in his voice belied
his words.

I headed back across the bridge to New Orleans.
Everyone’s
going home, but that building downtown is blinking awake with lights. Switch on
the car lights to see me home, turn on the lights, exactly like the puppet
looking for truth.

* * *

“Oh, Richard, it’s great!” I burst into our room, leaving
the door open behind me. Richard, sitting on the bed reading, looked up with a
smile.

“They have all these puppets from all over the world,
and they make their kids’ toys, and there’s even a place for us to
live. . . .” I realized I was being incoherent. I turned and
shut the door and started over.

“They’re starting a puppet theater to teach kids about
other cultures. Martin’s Australian, well, you knew that. He’s in a wheelchair.
I didn’t meet his wife and kids—she’s from Vietnam. They met over there.”

“She’s
Vietnamese
?”
Richard asked. His hands fumbled at the book, his expression startled,
stiffening. “Hold on, Kathy. No way I can do this. No way.” The book dropped on
the floor with a bang that made Richard jump. He looked like a cornered animal.

I was stunned. “What do you mean, you can’t do it?”

“I can’t face her. I can’t, not after the war. Why
don’t you see that? We’ll find something else.” He wouldn’t even look at me.

“Like what? Sorting screws for the rest of your life,
so you won’t meet anyone inconvenient? No.
I
won’t live like that.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You can talk to them once, anyway. If she’s angry or
hostile, we won’t do it. But if not, I don’t see why you’d have a problem. I
mean it, Richard. You have to give it a try, at least. You owe it to the baby.”
Not fair, and I don’t care.

Richard opened his mouth and then shut it. We didn’t
say another word about it all evening. In fact, we hardly said anything at all.

When I called Martin the next morning, he suggested
that we come over and look at the house.

“There’s a kind of problem,” I told him. “Richard
doesn’t think he can face your wife, on account of the war.”

“Oh.
That
problem.
That one’s happened before. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. Come over about
seven?”

Richard was still giving me the silent treatment when
it was time to go to Gretna. He plopped himself into the passenger seat of the
car and gazed out the side window. I thought he was sulking. But as I turned
onto the bridge, he reached to turn on the car’s heater and I saw his hand was
shaking. Shaking as it had on Thanksgiving, his face as closed and scared as it
had been that day.