Хлоя Бенджамин - The Immortalists

‘Crap,’ says Daniel. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to cook for you.’

‘Nothing to apologize for.’ Raj is freshly showered, wearing another expensive-looking sweater – sage green this time – and a pair of dark jeans. ‘We rattled around.’

‘We always get up early,’ says Ruby.

‘Ruby’s school starts at seven thirty,’ Raj says.

‘Except on performance days,’ Ruby says. ‘On performance days, we sleep late.’

‘Oh?’ says Daniel. Coffee will help. Mira usually has it ready for him, but today, the pot is empty. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because we’re out so late. Till one, sometimes. Or later,’ Ruby says. ‘On those days, we homeschool.’

She’s still in her pajamas: SpongeBob SquarePants scrubs and a white tank top with a pink bra underneath. The effect is disconcerting – the childish pants and the tank, which isn’t tight, exactly, but still shows more than Daniel expected to see.

‘Oh,’ he says again. ‘That sounds complicated.’

‘See?’ asks Ruby, turning to Raj.

‘It’s not complicated,’ Raj says. ‘School days, early. Performance days, late.’

‘Have you seen my mother?’ asks Daniel.

‘Yup,’ says Ruby. ‘She was up early, too. We had coffee together. Then she went to Tai Chi.’ She puts her fork down with a clatter. ‘Hey, do you have a juicer?’

‘A juicer?’ asks Daniel.

‘Yeah. Dad and I found this in the fridge’ – Ruby lifts her glass; orange juice sloshes precariously close to the rim – ‘but we prefer to make our own.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t,’ says Daniel. ‘Have a juicer.’

‘That’s okay,’ Ruby chirps. She spears a folded corner of omelet. ‘So, what kind of stuff do you guys like to have for breakfast?’

She’s only making conversation, Daniel knows, but he’s having trouble keeping up. What’s more, the coffee machine isn’t turning on. He’s filled the filter with grounds, poured the water in, and flicked the switch that starts the brewing process, but the little red light remains off.

‘I’m not much for breakfast, actually,’ he says. ‘Usually, I just bring a mug of coffee to work.’

Soft padding of feet on the stairwell, and Mira sweeps into the kitchen. Her hair, shiny and freshly blown out, lifts like a wing.

‘Good morning,’ she says.

‘Morning,’ says Raj.

‘Morning,’ says Ruby. She turns back to Daniel. ‘Why aren’t you at work today?’

‘The plug, sweetheart,’ says Mira. She crosses behind him, touching the small of his back, and plugs the machine into the wall. The red light comes on immediately.

‘It’s the day before Thanksgiving, Roo,’ says Raj. ‘No one’s at work.’

‘Oh,’ says Ruby. ‘Right.’ Another corner of omelet. She’s eating her way in, leaving a thick, stacked blob of central toppings. ‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’ The humiliation of it – his career so long established, now precarious – is exacerbated by Raj’s mansion, his cashmere, his juicer. It takes monumental effort for Daniel to remember Ruby’s question. ‘I work for a military entrance processing station. I make sure that soldiers are healthy enough to go to war.’

Raj laughs. ‘Well, if that ain’t an oxymoron. How do you like it?’

‘Very much,’ says Daniel. ‘I’ve been with the military for over fifteen years.’

He still feels proud to say it. Coffee drips thinly into the pot.

‘Okay,’ says Raj, as if agreeing to a stalemate.

‘And you?’ asks Mira. ‘How are you two enjoying work?’

Raj smiles. ‘We love it.’

Mira leans forward with her elbows on the counter. ‘It’s so exciting – such a different world from ours. We’d love the opportunity to see you perform. You’re welcome anytime at the Ulster Performing Arts Center, though I’m afraid it might not be up to your standards.’

‘And you’re welcome to come to Vegas,’ says Raj. ‘We’re on every week, Thursday through Sunday.’

‘Four nights in a row,’ says Mira. ‘It must be exhausting.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Raj’s voice is mild, but his smile is pasted on. ‘Rubina, on the other hand –’

‘Dad,’ says Ruby. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘But it’s your name.’

‘Yeah, it’s like’ – Ruby scrunches her nose – ‘my God -given name, but it’s not my name .’

‘Oops,’ says Daniel, smiling. ‘I called you Rubina yesterday.’

‘Oh, that’s okay,’ says Ruby. ‘I mean, you’re a stranger.’

The word hangs in the room for seconds before her face drops.

‘Oh, gosh,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – you’re not a stranger .’

She looks pleadingly at Raj. Daniel is touched by the gesture: the teenager running back to a parent’s legs to cling, to hide.

‘That’s okay, sweetheart.’ Raj ruffles her hair. ‘Everyone understands.’

They pile into Daniel’s car, all five of them, everyone offering the front seat to Gertie and acquiescing when she demurs to sit beside Ruby in the back. They drive to the maritime museum and the historic district and take a brief hike through Mohonk Preserve. Daniel races Ruby across a field, mud flying up to streak their jackets. The air in his lungs is gloriously cold, and he gasps with pleasure. When it begins to snow, he expects Ruby to complain, but she claps. ‘It’s like Narnia!’ she exclaims, and everyone laughs as they walk back to the car.

She surprises him in other ways, too. At dinner, for instance, when Gertie recounts her ailments – a topic favored by Gertie herself and dreaded by Daniel and Mira, who share a panicked look as she begins.

‘I had a corn on my foot that didn’t heal for a year,’ she says. ‘That’s part of the story. Then, because of the infection, I got something called lymphadenitis. The lymph nodes in my legs were inflamed, I had pockets of pus the size of golf balls. The hair on my legs stopped growing – utterly. And before long it spread to my groin.’

‘Ma,’ hisses Daniel. ‘We’re eating.’

‘Forgive me,’ Gertie says. ‘But I wasn’t responding to the antibiotics. So the doctor took a look and said that if I came in for surgery they’d drain all of my nodes, and that might be enough to fix the problem. There were two of them working on me, an older doctor and a younger, and the younger says, “Mrs. Gold, you wouldn’t believe the gunk we found.” Afterward they hooked me up to a drainage tube and I had to stay in the hospital until all the blood and the fluids oozed out.’

‘ Ma ,’ Daniel says. Raj has put his fork down and Daniel’s mortified; he’d like to slap duct tape across his mother’s mouth, but Ruby is leaning forward with interest.

‘So what was it?’ she asks. ‘What was causing all that stuff?’

‘Well,’ says Gertie. ‘Given we’re eating I’m not sure I should say. But seeing as you’re interested –’

‘We are not,’ says Daniel firmly, ‘not now,’ and the peculiar thing is that Ruby looks just as disappointed as Gertie. When Mira asks Raj about their tour schedule, Ruby leans toward her grandmother. ‘Tell me at home,’ she whispers, and Gertie flushes with a pleasure so rare that Daniel nearly reaches for Ruby to thank her.

That night, while brushing his teeth, Daniel thinks of Eddie. Eddie’s question about Simon – whether the fortune teller predicted his death – is troubling him.

Daniel doesn’t know when the fortune teller claimed Simon would die. Simon only said it was young – this in the attic of 72 Clinton Street on that drunken, befuddled night seven days after their father’s death. But young could have been thirty-five. Young could have been fifty. The detail was so vague that Daniel discarded it. It seemed more likely that Simon’s death was the consequence of his own actions. Not because he was gay – whatever mild discomfort Daniel has with Simon’s sexuality is far from moralizing homophobia – but because Simon was careless, selfish. He thought only of his own pleasure. One could not go on that way forever.