After the Hurricane(104)

“Oh, I been everywhere,” he says, tapping his fingers on the bar in a drumming rhythm. “Did you read about those red pandas? I thought you would like them. So cute!” He had sent her an article on red pandas in the Bronx Zoo six months ago. “Did you go see them?”

“Yes.” She had, actually. It was a special exhibit on animals of the Himalayas and her father had been delighted by the red pandas. He had never heard of the animal, and he had emailed her about it, saying, ALMOST SEVENTY and there are STILL things that are new to me!

“Cute little guys.” The rum arrives, and her father sips his, deeply.

“Where have you been recently, Papi?” Elena asks again, trying to be specific, trying to be patient. Trying not to cry.

“My parents grew up here,” he says, happily. “It’s nice to come back sometimes. Did I ever take you here? Man, it’s all built up now. We still might have some family here. Did you know that? I should find out.”

Elena thinks about all the things he hid from her, how easily he shares things now that he has given in to his thirst for alcohol, given in to the ups and downs of his mind. The way he talks to her like she knows the intimate details of his life and not the CliffsNotes. She thinks about Goli, and how her father is like his aunt, how reality is something that comes and goes for both of them. She takes out the albums she has carried with her and opens the one with the oldest photos.

“Oh, look at that,” he says, looking at his parents’ wedding photo. “That’s my mother. Wasn’t she beautiful?” He strokes the photo with his index finger.

“Yes.” She was, but for her eyes, which are too bright and burning to be beautiful. Her eyes give her away.

“They cut all her hair off the third time she went to Bellevue. She wouldn’t wash it. I was so sad for her, she was always so proud of her hair,” her father says, and Elena wonders if he realizes he is saying this out loud, realizes that he is telling his daughter the things he told her she would never, could never, know. “Did you ever meet my mother?”

“No, Papi.”

“She wasn’t well.”

“I know.”

“She heard voices. All the time. She just wanted it to be quiet.”

“That must have been hard for her.”

“I loved her,” he says, and he sounds like a child.

“I’m sure she loved you, too.” He nods.

“She was the only person who loved me for a long time.” Elena does not know what to say. Her father looks at her. “How old are you now?” he asks.

“Thirty. Thirty-one soon,” she says. Her birthday is in July. He nods once.

“Yes. You came, and Neil left. I ever tell you about Neil?”

“No, Papi.”

“Sad. He was my first friend, first real friend. I think I was his, too. He would have liked you.”

Elena does not know what to say to this. She doesn’t quite understand what he means. A thousand questions ring in her mind, but she doesn’t ask a single one. She just stays sitting next to him, her body tense, hoping he will not disappear.

“How did you get here?” he asks her again.

“I drove.”

“Only way to do it. You see the island that way. What do you think? You ever drive around the island? Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.” The island has been devastated by the hurricane, it is flailing and failing, but it is still beautiful. It seems wrong that it should be so beautiful and so desperate at once.

“Paradise. Not like New York!” he says, laughing and drinking his rum. Absentmindedly, when he finishes his own, he reaches for Elena’s, which is still full.

“No. Not like New York.”

“You been here a long time?” he asks.

“No, Papi. Not long.”

“Did I know you were coming?” he says, lightly, but she can see the furrow in his brow. He is not sure.

“No, Papi. We didn’t know where you were. No one could get ahold of you. Mom was scared, actually.” He pushes at the air like a cat at this.

“Your mother worries too much. God, I love her. When’s she gonna come down here? She said she would come. She never does.” He looks sad. “You know, it’s not her fault about us. I don’t want you to blame her.” Elena almost smiles. As if she would blame her mother. “I still love her so much. It’s not her fault we grew apart.”

Grew apart. Well, her father has had a long time to create a fiction that suits him. There is little worth saying now to contradict it. He tells himself the story of his life to survive, but who doesn’t? Elena just wishes she knew more of it. And maybe she will always mourn all that she doesn’t know. But mourning won’t give her any more than she has.

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going or anything, Papi. I’ve been, I’ve been looking for you.” He looks surprised at Elena’s careful, careful words.

“But I was right here the whole time! You should have come here. I could have shown you everything!”

“How long have you been here?” she asks, trying so hard to sound even, to conceal her panic, her anger, her fear. He shrugs. She knows that this is like talking to an animal, a dog who sometimes looks like he understands every word you say until he starts biting at his leg halfway through your statement.