Tiger Eyes (14 page)

“A Coke would be good,” he says.

I bring him one, from the machine.

The nurses on the floor assure me that Mr. Ortiz is not in pain. That soon it will be over.

That evening, Wolf drives me home. “I’m going to miss you, Tiger,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Where are you going?”

“Away.”

“Now?”

“No, but soon. After …”

“Will I see you again?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

He thinks for a minute. Then he says, “
Cuando los lagartijos corren
.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look it up,” he says, and he smiles. It is the first time I have seen him smile in a long time.

“I’m going to miss you too,” I tell him.

He takes me in his arms and we don’t speak again. He holds me close, patting my hair. I rest my cheek against the rough wool of his sweater.

“W
ho was that?” Bitsy asks, when I go inside.

“Who was who?”

“In that truck … outside … just now …”

“Oh, that was a friend of mine,” I say, anxious to get up to my room. I want to write down what Wolf has just said to me, before I forget it.

“What friend?” Bitsy asks.

“You don’t know him.”

“Maybe I do.”

“His name is Martin Ortiz,” I say, walking toward the stairs.

“Ortiz?” Bitsy repeats, following me.

“Yes.”

“Does he go to the high school?”

“Not anymore.”

“He’s a dropout?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, why don’t you just tell me about him, Davey … instead of playing Twenty Questions.”

“You’re the one playing Twenty Questions, not me,” I say.

Bitsy takes a deep breath. “Is he Spanish?”

“I guess.”

“You
guess?
”

“I never asked him.”

“Where is he from, Española?”

“No, he’s from here. He’s from Los Alamos.”

“He is?”

“Yes. He works at the Lab.”

“What does he do there … maintenance?”

I almost laugh. I almost laugh and say,
Yes, he picks up the garbage
, just to see her reaction. But I don’t. I am very polite. I say, “His father is a patient at the Medical Center. He goes to Cal Tech but he’s taking the semester off.”

“Well,” Bitsy says, her voice full of relief. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

I hold up my hands as if to say
search me
, then race up the stairs to my room. I take out my notebook and write
Quando los lagartihose koren
. I know I haven’t spelled it correctly, but at least I will remember it this way. Tomorrow I will go to the Spanish department at school and ask one of the teachers what it means.

“C
uando los lagartijos corren
,” Mr. Valdez says, writing it down in my notebook.

“Oh,” I say, embarrassed by my errors. “What does it mean?”

“It means,
when the lizards run
. Does that make sense to you?” he asks.

I smile. “Yes,” I tell him. “Yes, it does.” I try saying it myself.
“Cuando los lagartijos corren.”

“You’ve got a good ear,” Mr. Valdez says. “You should take Spanish.”

“I’m going to … next year,” I say.

Cuando los lagartijos corren … when the lizards run
, I say to myself all during my next class, which is Geometry.
I’ll see Wolf in the springtime, in the canyon
. I say it over and over inside my head, until the teacher calls on me to draw a trapezoidal figure on the board and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

M
y mother has been hired as a Casual at the Lab. She moves around from group to group, depending on who needs her services, like a substitute teacher. She types and files and answers the phone. And she likes it. It makes her feel useful again, she says. It gives her a sense of purpose. I am not about to argue with her but I can’t see typing at the Lab as useful or having much to do with purpose. It seems to me she would have more purpose by being a real mother to Jason and me.

On Saturday morning, during breakfast, I decide to bring up the subject of Driver’s Ed. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Reuben mentioned it in the car the night Jane got drunk. The notice just went up on the bulletin board outside the office at school. You have to sign up before February first to get into the spring class. I hand out information to my mother, and to Bitsy and Walter, asking them to read it when they have a chance. Then I go upstairs to clean my room. I want to drive so badly. If only I could drive I could get to Santa Fe. I could watch the people
and browse around and most of all just get out of this town. This town suffers from a chronic case of the blahs.

An hour later I am folding the laundry with my mother, while Jason and Bitsy bake an angel food cake. Walter sits at the table, a mess of papers spread out in front of him. He is working on his mini-computer.

“So if I sign up now I’ve got a good chance of being accepted into Driver’s Ed this spring.” I say it quietly. If I keep emotion out of my voice I will do better with Walter and I know that he is the one I’ve got to convince.

“Fifteen is much too young for Driver’s Ed,” Walter says, not even looking up from his computer.

“I’ll be sixteen in April.”

“There’s just no reason to rush it, Davey,” Bitsy says. She cracks several eggs, separating the whites from the yolks.

“Everyone my age is signing up,” I say, as I fold a towel in thirds. “Jane’s parents gave her permission.” I am quiet and matter of fact, as if I don’t really care at all.

“When you’re a senior … that’s time enough,” Walter says, over his shoulder.

“But that’s two years from now. How am I supposed to get around until then?”

“You can walk,” Walter says. “Or you can ride a bicycle. You’ve managed until now. You’ll manage a little longer.”

I face Mom and say, “Mom, please. I really want to take Driver’s Ed. It’s very important to me. All you have to do is sign the little green card.”

Mom looks at me and we make eye contact for the first time in months. Then, just as she is about to speak, Walter says, “Statistics show that accidents, especially automobile accidents, are the leading cause of death among young people.”

“Why go looking for trouble?” Bitsy says. She pours the batter into the cake pan and Jason pulls the oven door open for her.

“Mom … say something … will you?”

“Walter and Bitsy know what’s best,” Mom says.

“Since when … since when I’d like to know?” I explode now. I don’t care about logic or emotion or anything. “Can’t you think for yourself anymore? Do you have to let them decide everything?” I spin around. Jason is drinking a glass of milk and listening intently. I turn back to my mother and point my finger at her, accusingly. “You’re getting to be just like them … you know that … just like them!”

“That’s enough!” Walter shouts, slamming his hand on the table.

“No, it’s not enough!” I shout back. “I’m sick of hearing how dangerous everything is.”

“Driving a car
is
dangerous,” Mom says.

“Oh, please … spare me, will you?” I yell
at Mom. “Dangerous … dangerous … dangerous … 
Stay out of the canyon, Davey … you could be hit by a falling rock. Don’t forget your bicycle helmet, Davey … you could get hit by a car. No, you can’t learn to ski, Davey … you might wind up a vegetable!”
I am really yelling now.

“Davey, honey …” Mom begins and she reaches for me. But I pull away from her.

“Some people have lived up here so long they’ve forgotten what the real world is like,” I shout, “and the idea of it scares the …”

“You can just stop it, right now,” Walter says, before I have finished. He says it slowly, making every word count.

“You’re a good one to talk,” I tell him. “You’re the one who’s making the bombs. You’re the one who’s figuring out how to blow up the whole world. But you won’t let me take Driver’s Ed. A person can get killed crossing the street. A person can get killed minding his own store. Did you ever think of that?” I kick the wall and stomp out of the room. I am crying hard and my throat feels sore.

“We have a long way to go with that girl,” I hear Walter mutter.

Then Mom says, “It’s hard to be fifteen.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Walter’s Chamber Music group is giving a concert at our house. Bitsy tells me to wear a skirt.

“What for?” I say.

“It’s a dress up concert,” she answers. “It’s a festive occasion.”

“It’s not
my
concert,” I tell her. “It’s not a festive occasion to
me
.”

Bitsy taps her foot and glares at me.

“Oh, all right,” I say. “If it’s that important to you I’ll wear a skirt.”

I run upstairs, feeling angry. Partly at Bitsy and partly at myself. I don’t mean to act rude but sometimes I can’t help myself. Bitsy and Walter say that ever since the Driver’s Ed incident I have a chip on my shoulder. They say that as long as I live in their house I have to live by their rules. Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean I have to like them, or even accept them. I toss on the skirt Mom gave me for Christmas. It is blue denim and tiered and the truth is, I like it. I don’t mind changing out of my jeans. I might have done it on my own. It was having Bitsy
tell
me to do it that got my back up. I wear the skirt with boots and a loose white sweater. I have to
pick a dozen cat hairs off it. Minka must have been sleeping in my sweater drawer. When I forget to close my dresser drawers she hops right in and makes herself at home.

I am the only one in the living room when the doorbell rings. I open the door. It is Ned Grodzinski, one of the men who came to our house for Christmas dinner. He is filling in tonight for the woman who usually plays violin.

“Hello, Darby,” Ned says, stuttering over the D.

“It’s Davey,” I tell him. Ned looks like the nerd in the National Lampoon poster. He carries six pens in his shirt pocket, his high-water pants show off his white socks and his hair is short and slicked down. He is also the one who kept staring at my mother on Christmas Day. I am not overjoyed to see him again.

Fortunately I don’t have to spend any time alone with him. The doorbell rings every few minutes and soon the house is filled with guests. Jason and I sit on the floor in front of the fireplace. The others sit on the sofas and a group of chairs from the dining room which Bitsy has arranged in rows. The musicians tune up and the concert begins.

Walter plays the viola, a woman with a long, gray braid plays the violin, a bald man with a beard is on cello and Ned plays second violin.

Jason yawns constantly. Every time I see him yawn, I yawn, although it is only eight o’clock
and neither one of us should feel tired. There is something about chamber music that makes you want to go to sleep. Maybe that’s why they call it chamber music.

When the concert is finally over everyone applauds and Bitsy serves coffee and cake. Jason and I both stuff ourselves.

Bitsy pours a cup for The Nerd and says, “Ned, you remember our sister-in-law, Gwen Wexler, don’t you?”

“How could I forget?” Ned says, and this time he doesn’t stutter at all.

Mom shakes his hand and says, “The concert was just lovely.”

“My regular group plays on Fridays,” Ned tells Mom.

Bitsy is all smiles as she excuses herself and moves on to her other guests.

I stay close to Mom.

“Would you like to hear us sometime?” Ned asks her.

“When?” Mom says.

“This Friday … next … the week after …”

“Well,” Mom says, laughing, only it’s not her regular laugh. It’s a high pitched, nervous kind of laugh.

“I’m divorced,” Ned says.

“Yes, I know,” Mom says. “I’m a widow.”

I can’t believe this.

“Walter told me,” Ned says, nodding seriously.

Jason whispers something to me but I shake him away. I am steaming. Why doesn’t Mom just tell The Nerd to bug off? Why is she going through this
I’m a widow
business?

“So,” Ned says, “I hear you’re working at the Lab now.”

“Well, I’m only a Casual,” Mom says. “What group are
you
in?”

She is beginning to sound just like one of them.

“I’m in H Division. H is for Health.”

H is for
hick
, I think. H is for
horrible
. H is for
hyena
.

Now Mom and The Nerd stand silently and just look at each other. I can’t understand why she would waste her time talking to him.

“Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?” Ned finally says.

“Tomorrow?” Mom repeats.

She is acting so dumb I want to slug her.

“Yes, tomorrow,” he says. “And if you say
no
I won’t bother you again. I don’t know how to go about this anyway. I’m beginning to feel very foolish.”

Good, I think. Now, just say
no
, Mom, and that will be the end of it.

But instead, Mom says, “Yes, I’ll have lunch with you.”

“Great!” Ned is so pleased he can’t stop grinning.
“Do you know where you’ll be working tomorrow?”

“P division.”

“I’ll pick you up outside at noon. I have a white Datsun but it’s dirty so it looks gray.”

Mom laughs. “I’m sure we’ll recognize each other.”

“Well, then … see you tomorrow.”

“Right.”

L
ater, when everyone has gone home, I go up to Mom’s room. She is looking in the mirror, holding a red sweater up to her face. “What do you think?” she asks me.

“I can’t understand why you said you’d have lunch with him,” I tell her. “He’s such a nerd!”

“Oh, come on, honey … he’s a nice man. He’s shy, that’s all.”

“I can’t believe you’re going out on a date.”

“It’s not a date,” Mom says, putting the red sweater away. “We’re having lunch together, that’s all.”

“I call that a date,” I say.

“Well, I don’t,” Mom answers.

TWENTY-NINE

On Tuesday afternoon, when I get to the Medical Center, I save a rose from one of the floral arrangements I’ve delivered to a patient and carry it down the hall, to Mr. Ortiz’ room. But when I get there the room is empty. The bed has been stripped. I race down the hall to the nurses’ station. “Mr. Ortiz?” I say.