Chang-rae Lee - The surrendered

In fact Hector was being quite kind to her, maybe even gallant, exiting at rest stops before she had to ask and helping her in and out of the low-slung seat of the car. He’d even grabbed a surly cashier who made a remark when she fumbled and dropped her change, holding his collar over the counter and telling him in English to be polite, which by his expression the fellow seemed instantly to understand. Maybe a villa would be better, for they could sit together in its garden and finally talk about all that had happened between them. They would have plenty of room, too, in case Nicholas changed his mind and decided to train up and join them in Solferino.

Nicholas said he wanted to come, to visit the place with her, but he decided that staying behind in Siena, so he could keep working at the fancy art gallery and make a way for himself, would be best for him at the moment. Eventually, it was understood, he would return to New York. She wished now that she had not sold her business, but of course he could start his own. He should start his own, sell only the highest-quality pieces, unlike her. He had promised to keep out of trouble, to write regularly as he had been doing, and in kind, she said, she (or her attorney) would wire whatever money he needed. Maybe Nicholas had been a bit selfish and greedy and his requests somewhat inappropriate but in the end everything would be his anyway, so there was no real obstacle for him as long as he could right himself. She was certain he could master his impulses.

Hector had brought him up to the hotel room practically in the middle of the night and squired him over to her bed with a hand on his shoulder and although she was but a sliver of her normal self it gave her a great joyous boost to see him again, her legs feeling as though they could sprint up a stair, to look upon his still boyish, handsome face (beneath some bad bruising, he told her, from a recent motor scooter fall) and hold his hand and listen to his stories of traveling through Great Britain and Europe. How worthwhile, to have been so persistent with her letters to him! She was glad not to hear any more details of the riding accident, and to see that his leg seemed healed. In fact he showed no limp at all when Hector ushered him away, though perhaps he was making a special effort to mask it for her sake.

She was as certain as ever now that the nightmare of his death and that one middle-of-the-night phone call had been the resulting figments of the almost lethal dosages of the cancer drugs that Dr. Koenig had convinced her to take at the time. But now she saw that the whole horrible nightmare had been a purposeful self-alarm, a stern warning from her unconscious mind that she make amends before it was too late.

The one unsettling element was his amazing equanimity to her present condition. It had stunned her, at first. Although she kept telling him she was going to be all right and that he ought not to worry, it was disappointing that he didn’t ask even once how she was feeling or what her prognosis was, that although he was gentle-faced and soft-spoken as he stood above her in the dimness of the canopied hotel bed, his hand on hers was sweaty and almost twitchy, as if he wanted to shrink from her. And yet she could empathize, honestly and deeply, how scared he must have been to see her like this, to have to know in his heart that there was nothing to be done. He could hardly meet her eyes. But when she told him that he ought to let her rest and should go, he kissed her, leaned down and quickly pressed his lips on her forehead and bravely did not gasp or cry out, did not pause or even linger, and thus offered, ironically, the best proof that he was indeed her son.

Perhaps there would be a future, too. Hector, she noticed, had even given him some money before he left, for which she had to remember to thank him (which in her state was like trying to remember the scene inside every picture in a random pile of photographs after having glanced through them once), to thank him for showing decency in a circumstance that would be unsettling for any man but that he was never cut out for. She kept telling herself not to pressure him to keep up with Nicholas. They were loners both, they certainly didn’t need each other yet, and there was nothing to be gained by compelling any bond. If anything, she imagined that it would be Hector who would someday look again for Nicholas, wish as she did to make a final connection with his son, if for no other reason than not to die alone. She had been wrong to believe she could have ever preferred a solitary end, for the prospect now terrified her, made her think it would be the last true horror. But nothing like that would happen now.

“You haven’t told me what you thought of him,” she said. “It must have been strange for you.”

“I guess it was,” Hector answered, one hand propped on the steering wheel. The other was cradling a bottle of beer. That he was drinking while driving didn’t concern her in the least. He was calm. He wasn’t sullen or angry, and for the first time she thought he looked almost contented, if a little tired, as though the long night into day he’d spent dealing with Nicholas had in fact been a worthwhile effort for him. Perhaps something he would be glad for always.

“I’m so happy he was healthy,” she said. “His leg seemed completely healed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Don’t listen to me,” he said. “Nick’s going to be fine.”

“I’m sure you told me already but I forget. Did you talk a lot with him?”

“Not so much.”

“He must have asked many questions. Especially about you.”

“A few.”

“I assume you didn’t tell him you were his father?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I think he suspected something, anyway.”

“How’s that?” Hector said, taking a long sip from the bottle.

“When Nicholas finally came back, when you brought him to me again very early this morning, I asked him the same thing. I asked him what he thought of you. And do you know what he said?”

Hector shook his head.

“He said, ‘You have a decent man there, Mother. He’ll look after you. I think you should keep him around.’ ”

“Nick is some kind of boy.”

“You keep calling him Nick. I like the sound of that. It’s nice to hear.”

“Sure,” he muttered, though suddenly sounding to her as though he wanted to change the subject. But she wasn’t yet ready to let it go. At the moment there was hardly any discomfort in her body, even the expansion joints of the road giving her none of the usual painful tremors as they sped over them. And her mind suddenly felt right again, or at least geared in, her thoughts interlocking, turning forward, exerting some force.

“Maybe you’ll check in on him sometimes.”

“I doubt it.”

“But why? You don’t ever have to tell him anything. You could just be his friend. Someone he could contact, if necessary. He obviously respects you.”

“It won’t happen.”

“Why not? Because you don’t want the responsibility? There wouldn’t be any. He’ll have enough money. You wouldn’t have to do anything. What I’m thinking is that you’ll just be someplace he could find you. If he wanted to talk to you. That you’ll tell him, or at least my attorney, where you might be.”

Hector suddenly braked, slowing down enough that she had to hold out her arm and brace herself against the headrest of the front passenger’s seat to prevent going face-first into it. They were on the shoulder of the roadway but it was very narrow, as they had been crossing a long bridge. They were stopped midway across the two-lane span, the valley and planted fields receding majestically below them. He shut off the engine and got out and opened the rear door. A truck thundered by at full speed, blaring its air horn and only missing him, it seemed, by inches. Yet he didn’t flinch or even seem to notice, his glare trained only on her as he bent down to speak.