"The Dead And The Gone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pfeffer Susan Beth)chapter 2Friday, May 20 He was awake when his clock began blinking 12:00, 12:00. Alex checked his watch. It was 6:45 am. He could hear the whir of the refrigerator turning back on, but there were no other sounds in the apartment. Throwing on his robe, he tiptoed into the living room, not wanting to wake Bri or Julie. All the grocery bags scattered around looked ridiculous now, a crazy extravagance during a crazy day. Alex turned on the TV, lowering the sound as quickly as he could. He sat close to the set, keeping the volume as low as possible so his sisters wouldn't be disturbed. Only a couple of stations came in, but he wasn't looking for variety, just information. Both stations were doing news broadcasts, focusing exclusively on the emergency. On one station the broadcaster was talking about conditions in Europe, but Alex knew that could wait. He switched to the second station. At first that one talked about how things were elsewhere in the United States. No word of survivors on the Carolina barrier islands. Terrible conditions in Cape Cod. It took about fifteen minutes of terrible news around the country before the newscasters began focusing on New York. Alex sat there, absolutely still, the sound so low he could barely hear. The words and pictures assaulted him anyway. Horrific loss of life. Lower Manhattan decimated. Staten Island, Long Island devastated. Blackouts, looting, riots. Curfew between 8 pm and 6 am. Tides twenty feet tall, sweeping away people, trees, even buildings. Mandatory evacuations. Plane crashes. Countless numbers of people dead in subways and in cars from tunnel flooding. Alex hadn't thought about people being on the subways when the flooding first began. He felt a wave of panic and had to tell himself to calm down. It would be easy enough to find out if Mami was all right. All he had to do was call the hospital and confirm that she was there. Sure, they weren't supposed to call her at work unless it was an emergency, but they hadn't heard from her in over twenty-four hours and that was emergency enough. Mami had the hospital number written on the scratch pad she kept by the phone. Just seeing it comforted him. He picked up the phone, but it was dead. For an instant he went crazy. The phone was dead because Mami was dead. But then he realized how foolish that was, and he began shaking with silent laughter. No wonder they hadn't heard from Mami. It was a miracle the phone service had lasted as long as it had, long enough for Papi and Carlos to call. Alex went back to the TV and switched to the station with all the international news. Their newscaster was interviewing a distinguished-looking scientist about how long it would take before things got back to normal. "Things may never get back to normal," the scientist said. "I don't want to be an alarmist, but I know of nothing humans can do to return the moon to its orbit." "But surely there must be something," the newscaster said. "NASA must be working on a solution day and night." "Even if they can come up with something, it may take months, even years, before they can implement it," the scientist replied. "What happened yesterday will be nothing compared to what lies ahead." "You're not suggesting we all panic," the newscaster said in that calming, don't-panic voice Alex associated with TV when things were at their worst. "Surely panic is the one thing we shouldn't do right now." Before Alex had a chance to find out what the scientist's alternative to panic might be, the electricity went out again. Alex cursed under his breath. No phone, no electricity, two kid sisters depending on him to take care of them until their parents returned. God certainly didn't want to make things easy for him. Or for anyone else, he thought. Floods in the subways. Devastation throughout the world. How many people had died in the past two days? Thousands? Millions? How long would it take before Carlos was back at his base? How long before Papi could return from Puerto Rico, before the hospital could let Mami go home? Stop it, he told himself. You're starting to sound like Aunt Lorraine. One Alex went back to his bedroom and picked up his notebook. Knowledge was the enemy of fear. Before every debate he always wrote lists of his argument's strengths and weaknesses. He'd do the same now. He made three columns and labeled them: what i know; WHAT I THINK; WHAT I DON'T KNOW. Under what i know he wrote: There didn't seem much point writing down what he'd heard about Europe or Massachusetts. People there could make their own lists. He bit on his pen and thought. Then he wrote: F Of course that was assuming Julie had packed things besides mushrooms and candy bars. But Mami had Wednesdays off, and most likely she'd gone to the supermarket to buy groceries. Alex made a mental note to check the kitchen cabinets, but he doubted there was anything to worry about when it came to food. He looked at the lists. Under what i don't know he wrote: Apparently no one knew that. But just because no one knew didn't mean things wouldn't get back to normal. He might have had the bad luck to catch the only pessimistic scientist on TV. And, he reminded himself, New York always survived. It had to. The United States, the whole world, couldn't manage without it. It might take a while, and there might be a lot of politicking involved, but eventually New York bounced back from any misfortune. He lived in the greatest city in the world, and what made it great was its people. He was a Puerto Rican New Yorker, strong by birth and by upbringing. Puerto Rico. Bri had heard from Papi. He lifted the pen to write What exactly had Briana said: She'd gotten a phone call, there was a lot of static, she thought she heard a man say, "Puerto Rico," and she was certain it was Papi. Papi's family came from Milagro del Mar, a small town midway between San Juan and Fajardo, on the northern coast of Puerto Rico. When Nana died on Sunday, Alex had been sad, but he really didn't know her all that well. Then again, Mami's mother had died before he'd been born and Mami had no contact with her father, so Nana was the last of his grandparents. But that wasn't reason enough for him to go to Nana's funeral. Mami couldn't leave her brand-new job, and Carlos was too far away. So Papi had gone to Puerto Rico on his own, meeting up there with his two brothers and their families in that little town on the coastline. It might not have been Papi who called. It might have been one of his brothers. Or it might have been a wrong number, someone asking for "Peter or Ricky," and Bri just assumed the man had said Puerto Rico. Alex told himself to calm down. Maybe it had been Papi who'd called and maybe it hadn't. It didn't matter. There was no reason to assume the worst, but it was safe to say Papi wouldn't make it home on Saturday, liven if everything miraculously snapped back to place, there'd be long delays, the same as when it snowed and flights got backed up. If New York didn't have electricity or working phones, neither would San Juan. The image of a twenty-foot tidal wave flashed through his mind. What defense would Milagro del Mar have against that? Could anyone survive? He shook his head. It was as dangerous to think about that as to think of tunnels flooding and people drowning in the subways. Until he heard differently, he was going to assume Papi was safe in Puerto Rico and Mami was safe in Queens. He just wouldn't put anything about them on his list. Alex stared at the list. He'd written nothing under what i think. The truth was he didn't want to think. He wanted to wake up to hear Papi cursing him out and Mami defending him and Bri and Julie fighting over who hogged the bathroom worse. He wanted the moon back where it belonged and pessimistic scientists to crawl under rocks. He wanted a full scholarship to Georgetown and summer internships with United States senators. He wanted to be the first president of the United States of Puerto Rican descent. More than anything, he wanted to know his parents were safe. He couldn't make himself think "alive and safe." They had to be alive. They were just gone, that's all. Papi was gone for Nana's funeral, and Mami was gone because the hospital needed her. Just gone for the time being, the same as Carlos. Both of them worried about Alex and the girls. Both of them trying to get home. If the subways were out, Mami would have to get back to Manhattan by bus. With traffic what it was, that could take hours. She wouldn't like seeing all those bags of food scattered around, though. Alex decided to ask Bri and Julie to put the food away. They knew where things went in the kitchen better than he did. It would be harder for Papi to get back, but not impossible. Planes would start flying again eventually. Papi could get a bus from the airport to Port Authority and walk the couple of miles uptown if he had to. Alex looked at his watch and saw if he dressed quickly he had time to make the 8:15 Mass at St. Margaret's. He thought about waking up Bri and Julie and telling them to go with him, but decided it wouldn't be worth the chaos. They'd all go on Sunday, maybe Mami, too, and they could pray for Papi's safe return. But this morning he would go by himself. He left a note for his sisters, even though they'd probably still be asleep when he got back, and walked to Columbus Avenue, praying for safety as he crossed Broadway, then up the two blocks to the church. The sun was shining brightly, but even so the moon was clearly visible, the way it sometimes was in daylight. Only it was too big. Much too big. Alex was relieved to find the church open and surprised at the number of people there. More men than he would have assumed would be there, and not all of them old. Many-people had fear in their eyes, and many others were weeping. He was glad he'd left his sisters at home. He expected the Mass to begin as it always did, but instead Father Franco said he had some announcements to make. Alex could see that he was reading from a sheet of paper. That reassured him. As long as lists were being made, there was order in the world. "The mayor's office and the archdiocese's office are in constant communication," Father Franco began. "Whenever the archdiocese learns something, it will inform the parish priests so that we can inform our congregants." He looked up for a moment and then smiled. "A whole new reason to go to Mass on weekdays," he said. There was a ripple of nervous laughter. "Very well," Father Franco said. "We've been told the subways are not yet back in service and bus service is severely restricted, so unless your work is essential to the survival of the community, you're requested to stay within walking distance of your home. No driving except for emergencies. There is a city-wide curfew from eight pm to six am." He looked up again. "These rules may seem draconian," he said, "but as I'm sure you understand, these are very difficult times. Now I know you've been wondering about electricity. They're hoping to have most of Manhattan back on line by Monday." "No electricity all weekend?" a man called out from the back. "All the municipal services are doing what they can under tremendously difficult circumstances," Father Franco said. "The outages are nationwide." "What about the phones?" a woman asked. Father Franco consulted his list. "There's no time frame for return of phone service," he said. "Again, these are national problems. Most of the communication satellites have crashed. Let's see, what else. Airports remain closed until further notice. No decision has been made about when the public and parochial schools will reopen." He looked up again. "We'll use our bulletin board to post any information we receive from the archdiocese, so be sure to check that daily. All the churches are running short staffed. I'm sure you can understand why. But the archdiocese has declared that all its churches will be open from six am to eight pm. There may not be a priest available, but Christ, our savior, will hear your prayers." Alex had thought the ritual of the Mass, which he knew so well, would provide him with comfort, but his mind was reeling from all Father Franco had said. It wasn't so much that he was taken by surprise. He knew about the phones, the electricity, the subways. But he hadn't really known that everyone else knew. Somehow it had felt like the problems belonged to West Eighty-eighth Street. But it wasn't just Papi stuck in Milagro del Mar; people all over the world were affected by the airports being closed. And Mami wasn't the only person stuck at her job with no way of reassuring her family that she was all right. Alex prayed to Christ for the wisdom to see what would be required of him and for the strength to do it. He prayed for the souls of those who were dead, and for the safe return of those who were gone. He thanked God for the Church, without which he would be lost. He got home to find his sisters up and prowling around the apartment. "You're back!" Bri cried as though he'd been gone for weeks, not hours. "Where were you?" "At St. Margaret's," he said. "I left a note. Didn't you see it?" "Yeah," Bri admitted. "We were worried you might not come right back." "Well, I did," Alex said. "And I'm hungry. Have you had breakfast yet?" "No," Bri said. "We didn't feel like eating until we knew you were okay." "I'm fine," Alex said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Why don't you make us breakfast, Bri. We'll all be happier after we've eaten." "What do we have to be happy about?" Julie asked. "We don't know where Mami or Papi are, or what's happening, or when things are going to be normal again." "Well, you could be happy you're not in school flunking your English test," Alex said. "You could be happy because we have food in the house and we have each other. You could be happy because the sun is shining and because you got to sleep late. There are a lot of things you could be happy about if you wanted." "Do you want to smell the milk?" Bri asked from the kitchen. "I think it's okay." Alex went into the kitchen and took a sniff. "It's okay," he said. "Let's have cereal and milk while we can." "What does that mean?" Julie asked. "When won't we be able to have cereal and milk?" "Father Franco said they weren't sure when we'd be getting electricity back," Alex said. "That's all. Maybe by Monday. No point buying milk before then." Bri put wheat flakes into three bowls and then poured some milk over hers. She took a bite and smiled. "It's okay." she said. She sliced a banana and distributed the pieces. "What else did Father Franco say?" Julie asked. "He said the airports are closed and phones are going to be out for a while," Alex said. "Which is why we haven't heard from Mami. I tried calling the hospital this morning, but the phone was dead. We were lucky Papi and Carlos got through to us yesterday. And they don't know when schools will reopen." "That should make you happy," Bri said to Julie. "I miss school," Julie said. "I'm bored. At least at school I do stuff and I hang out with my friends." "There's stuff for you to do here," Alex said. "For both of you. After breakfast, why don't you put away all the food we got from Uncle Jimmy?" "There may not be room for it in the cupboards," Bri said. "See if you can find room," Alex said. "You know how Papi and Mami feel about the apartment being a mess. That reminds me. Julie, did you think to take batteries?" Julie shook her head. "Did you?" she asked. "I wouldn't be asking if I had," Alex said. "We're okay without batteries," Bri said. "The flashlights are working." "I wanted them for the radio," Alex said. "I guess it'll have to wait." "What are "I have things to check," Alex said. "You do your job and I'll do mine." "Yes, master," Julie said. Alex left his sisters and went into his parents' bedroom. If Mami walked in while he was going through their things, she'd kill him. But Alex figured he'd better see if there was any cash in the house. He had his tip money from Wednesday night, more than usual, thanks to 12B, but that wasn't very-much. He started with the drawers of his parents' bureau, in case there was an envelope with money under their clothes. Then he opened the drawers of their night table. No money there, either. He fingered Mami's rosary beads, wishing she had them with her. Alex checked their closet next, rifling through his father's pants pockets. He was rewarded with a handful of coins and two dollar bills. On his father's night table, Alex found the key to Papi's office, where he kept his supplies. It was unlikely Papi kept any money there, but it needed to be checked out. Papi never let any of the kids into his office unless he was there, and even then only Carlos had ever hung out with him. As Alex crossed through the living room, he found Bri and Julie hard at work. "Where are you going:" Bri asked him. "To Papi's office," Alex said. "Papi won't like that," Julie said. "He'll understand," Bri said. "Especially when he sees how many cans of mushrooms you got for him, Julie." Alex grinned at the thought of Papi eating nothing but mushrooms for the next month. He left the apartment and walked the few feet to Papi's office. It wasn't much more than a supply closet, but Papi had a desk, and maybe he kept some cash there. There was a minifridge in the corner, and out of curiosity, Alex opened it. There were three cans of beer and an untouched six-pack. Well, if Julie drove him to drink, Alex wouldn't have to go very far. In Papi's desk drawer he found a directory of all the apartments, a deck of cards, and two envelopes. Both envelopes were sealed, but Alex could tell they held keys. One envelope said 11F, the other 14J. 11F felt like it had money in it. Curiosity and desperation overcame fear, and Alex opened the envelope. He found two twenties and a paint chip. Apparently Papi had agreed to paint 11F and was to use the cash to buy the paint. Well, if Papi couldn't make it home for a few days, the odds were neither could 11F or 14J. Alex put the envelopes in his pants pocket. He debated about the beer, but then decided it was safer in the apartment. Besides, Papi would want a beer the minute he got home, whenever that might be. Between his tip money, the couple of bucks in Papi's pants, and 11Fs forty dollars, Alex figured they had a little more than fifty in cash. With the food in the house they should be okay until Mami got home. He went back to the apartment, beers in tow. "Papi's really going to kill you," Julie said. "I'm holding them for him," Alex said. "Count them. Nine cans." "When do you think Papi'll get home?" Briana asked. "Late next week probably," Alex replied. "They have to get the airports open first, so it'll take a while." "Do you think Mami'll be back tonight?" Bri asked. "Mami may be stuck in Queens," Alex replied. "Father Franco said the subways aren't running." "It's funny to think she's stuck in Queens and Papi's stuck in Puerto Rico," Bri said. "Like they were both really far away." "What's funny about it?" Julie asked. "How do we even know7 they're okay?" "Our Madre Santisima is looking after them," Bri said. "Isn't that right, Alex." "Of course she is," Alex said, praying that the Most Holy Mother's arms were big enough to embrace the millions of souls, dead and gone, crying for her mercy. Saturday, May 21 Alex knew his sisters would expect to go to Mass on Sunday, but he wasn't sure he wanted them to hear what Father Franco might say. It didn't help that the panic inside him was growing stronger and more uncontrollable by the minute. He told himself repeatedly that it had been Papi who'd called, that Bri couldn't be wrong, that it was just a matter of time before Papi made his way back home. But he couldn't shake the image of the tiny seaside town being swept away, Papi screaming as twenty-foot tidal waves carried him to certain death. And Mami. The longer they went without hearing from her, the more terrified Alex became that they never would. Had she drowned on the subway like thousands of others? It was only three days, Alex reminded himself, and three days was nothing when the world was in chaos and communication was impossible. They had plenty of food. They had a home. They had the church. They had each other. They had Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Lorraine. If it came to it, they had Carlos. They were better off than millions of people. And it wasn't as though they didn't have Papi and Mami. They just didn't know how they were. It would be all right. It had to be. Still, before he let his sisters go to Mass, he wanted to know as much as he could about what was going on, at least in their neighborhood. So he decided to take a walk. "Where are you going?" Bri asked with that tinge of fear he'd come to expect in her voice. "Just for a walk," Alex said. "Can we come with you?" Julie asked. "No," Alex said. "Why not?" Julie demanded. "I'm bored. There's nothing to do here. Why can't we go on a walk with you?" "You'll be going to church tomorrow," he said instead. "Have either of you done any homework since Wednesday?" They shook their heads. "I expect to see it completely done by the time I get home," Alex said, the way Mami would have. "And I tell you what. If I find anything is open, a store or a coffee shop, we'll go as soon as 1 get back. All right?" "You won't be gone long?" Bri asked. "Not long," Alex said. "I promise. Now start your homework." "Come on, Julie," Bri said. "I'll help you with your math." "I don't need any help," Julie grumbled, but she followed her older sister to their bedroom. Alex breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't blame his sisters for wanting to get out. But they had to be protected. He knew he needed to check the bulletin board at St. Margaret's, if for no other reason than to see if there was a notice about the schools reopening. But instead of walking east to the church, he went west. Alex told himself as he walked toward Riverside Drive that the Hudson River would be fine, but even so, when he got to the river, he felt a sense of relief. The river was agitated, but that could have been from the heavy rains on Thursday. New Jersey, across the river, was right where it belonged. If rivers had tides, and Alex had to admit he didn't know if they did, they didn't seem too bad. Alex turned around and began the walk to St. Margaret's. There was hardly any traffic compared to the days before, and there weren't many people on the streets, but there was plenty of noise coming from the apartment buildings. Alex grinned. Usually when the weather was this hot, people had their air conditioners going, but with no electricity, windows were open instead. He heard quarrels, laughter, scoldings, even lovemaking, many of the same sounds he'd heard in Uncle Jimmy's neighborhood, only now in English instead of Spanish. But for all the sounds of life on Eighty-eighth Street, Broadway felt dead. Nothing seemed to be open, not the supermarket, or the coffee shop, or the deli, or the Korean grocery, or the dry cleaner, or the Laundromat, or the liquor store, or the florist, or the Chinese takeout, or the movie theater. He saw a couple of cops but very few other people walking around. Even the fire engines and ambulances seemed to have stopped their downtown runs. At least St. Margaret's had people in it. The bulletin board was surrounded, and it took Alex a couple of minutes before he could see everything that had been posted. There were so many sheets that the walls around the bulletin board had been drafted into service as well. The first thing he noticed was a listing of the dead. There weren't really that many names on it: two sheets, single spaced, three columns across, alphabetical order. Alex forced himself to look at the Ms. Nobody named Morales. His knees buckled with relief. As long as Mami wasn't on the list, there was no reason to think she was dead. That was something he could tell his sisters. "Not many names," a man said, looking over the list. "Most of the bodies can't be identified," another man replied. "A lot washed out to the sea. And they're still removing bodies from the subways. You looking for anyone in particular?" "No," the first man said. "Well, a couple of people, but not family. How about you?" The second man shook his head. "There's one friend we're concerned about but that's it. We're lucky." Alex turned away from the list of the dead and saw several pages of handwritten names, with phone numbers next to them. HAVE YOU SEEN ANY OF THESE PEOPLE? Write Down the Name, the Last Known Sighting, and Phone Number to Contact with Information Willing his hand not to shake, Alex wrote down his parents' names, putting The first man looked over at Alex and read what he'd written. "Your parents?" he asked. Alex nodded, not sure he could trust himself to speak. "You okay?" the man asked. "You have someone to look after you?" Alex nodded again. "Puerto Rico," the second man read. "By the coast or inland?" "Coast," Alex choked out. The second man shook his head. "San Juan was hit hard," he said. "All the coast. You and your family will be in my prayers." "Mine, too," the first man said, gently resting his hand on Alex's shoulder. "If you need help, you know someone at St. Margaret's will be here for you. We're family here, don't forget that." "I won't," Alex said. "Thank you." The two men walked away, their places taken immediately by two others. Alex checked out the rest of the notices on the bulletin board. Monday was going to be a national day of mourning. Schools would reopen on Tuesday. Curlew was still in place. A Mass for the dead would be held daily at 6:00 PM until further notice. Alex left the church uncertain where to go, but ending up on Amsterdam Avenue. What few cars were on the street whizzed their way uptown. Alex walked the two blocks to Joey's pizza parlor. The door was locked, but he looked through the window and spotted Joey behind the counter. Alex knocked on the window, and when Joey looked up, waved. Joey walked over to the door and unlocked it. "I'm glad to see you," Joey said. "I wanted to call but no phones." "I know," Alex said. "Are you going to open?" Joey shook his head. "The ovens are okay," he said. "But there's no refrigeration. I've lost all my cheese. Can't have pizza without cheese." "The electricity's supposed to be back by Monday," Alex said. "That's what they say," Joey said. "But what if it comes and goes? And what if the phones don't work good, either? People call in for pizzas. No, I'm shot. The chains'll figure a way. Pay off the right people, get all the service they need. But us little guys, we're goners." "I guess I'm out of a job then," Alex said. "You and me both," Joey said. "My wife's already after me for us to move. She says this is just the beginning." "You think so?" Alex asked. "I figure the scientists are working on solutions. And the government. If we get electricity back, that'll make things better right there." Joey shook his head. "I'm not ready to give up, but my wife's got a point," he replied. "It's not like the tides just hit Wednesday night, like one of those tsunamis, one-shot deal. Tides are twice a day, every day. Full moons will really be killers." "But people will just move away from the coast," Alex said, trying to sound calm and rational, trying not to think of his father. "Lots of New York City is inland. We're not getting hit by tides here." "That's what I said to my wife," Joey said. "But she says the whole city will erode. I guess the question is how long will it take. Weeks, months, centuries." Alex smiled. "I'm going with centuries," he said. "The Empire State Building isn't eroding anytime soon." "Tell that to my wife," Joey said. "Meantime, I don't see how I can stay in business, and I don't know what else to do. Become an undertaker, maybe. But since you're here, I should settle up with you. How long since I paid you?" "Last Friday," Alex said. "I worked a full day Saturday, three hours on Monday and Tuesday, and four hours on Wednesday." "That's right," Joey said. "You were here when the cable went out. I never did find out if the Yankees won. Okay, that's eighteen hours I owe you for. You got all your tip money?" Alex nodded. "Here, take this," he said, handing Alex a batch of bills. "It's all I got in my wallet." Alex looked over the money. "Too much," he said, handing a ten-dollar bill back to Joey. Joey shook his head. "Take it," he said. "I got cash at home." "Thank you," Alex said. "When you reopen, I'll put in a couple of hours for free." "Deal," Joey said. "Look, Alex, take care of yourself. You're a good kid, best worker I ever had. Kids like you, you're the future. Especially now. Pray for us while you're at it. All of us." Alex nodded. "I'll do that," he said. "I'll see you soon, Joey." "I hope so," Joey said. "Here's to better days." "Better days," Alex said. As far as he was concerned, they couldn't come too soon. Sunday, May 22 Much to Alex's relief, at Mass Father Franco made no announcements. After the service was over, Briana and Julie found friends and joined them. After a minute or two, Bri ran over to Alex. "Kayla's mother invited us for lunch," she said. "She said you could come, too." Alex looked over to where Julie was standing. She and her friends were giggling as though nothing had changed. "I don't think so," Alex said. "Thank her for me, though." "You sure?" Bri asked. Alex grinned. "Positive," he said. "Thanks anyway. Have a good time." He was glad his sisters had friends to talk with. It would make Monday with no school that much easier for all of them. But he was just as glad to have some time alone. He used the free time to walk around the west side, not sure what he was looking for. There were more people on the streets, but they seemed as dazed as he was. Just when Alex became convinced nothing would ever be open again, he chanced upon an open hardware store. He was taken aback by the sight of the normal: paint cans, screwdrivers, duct tape all neatly in place. Alex spotted a couple of flashlights. It wouldn't hurt to have another one, he thought, in case the blackouts continued. "Thirty dollars," the man behind the counter said. "Thirty dollars?" Alex said. "For a flashlight?" "I only got two left," the man said. "Supply and demand. The last one'll be forty bucks." Alex put the flashlight away. They could live without it. But as he reached the door, he turned around. "Batteries," he said. "You have any batteries left:" "They'll cost you," the man said. Alex pulled out his wallet. He had fifty-two dollars on him. "I need Cs and Ds," he said. The man looked behind the counter. "I got a four-pack of Cs for twenty bucks," he said. "Two Ds'll cost you ten." They had food, Alex told himself, plenty of canned goods, and starting on Tuesday when school reopened, they wouldn't have to worry about lunches. But who knew when electricity would get back to normal. "I'll take them," he said, handing over a twenty and a ten. The man put the batteries in a bag. "You won't regret it," he said. "Next guy comes in, I'll charge twice that." I bet you will, Alex thought. But it won't be my problem. As he opened the apartment door, he noticed how silent it was. There was always somebody at home, with six people in the five-room apartment. Even when they were sleeping, there was the constant background of street noise, cars driving by, honking horns, people laughing or shouting. The washers and driers in the basement laundry room rumbled well past midnight, and in the wintertime, the oil burner that kept the entire building heated drowned out all the other sounds. But now even West Eighty-eighth Street was quiet. Quiet as a grave, Alex thought. He sat on the sofa and told himself this was the ideal time to cry, when his sisters couldn't see him. He knew there was no shame in crying. Papi had sobbed the day Carlos went off to boot camp. He'd cried just the other day when he heard Nana had died. But Alex didn't shed a single tear. Maybe it was just too quiet to cry. He spotted the transistor radio, put the C batteries in it, and spun the dial until he got a New York station. It was good to know it was on the air, even if all the news being broadcast was horrible. "A telephone hotline has been set up for assistance in locating missing New York City family members," the woman on the radio said. "If one of your family has been missing since Wednesday night, call 212-555-CITY. That's 212-555-2489." A phone number. Did that mean the phones were working? Alex turned off the radio and picked up the telephone. Sure enough, there was a dial tone. His hand shook almost uncontrollably as he dialed the hospital number. Could it be he'd find his mother alive and well in just a matter of moments? He pictured Bri's and Julie's reactions when he told them the good news. "You have reached St. John of God Hospital. For patient information, press 1…" Alex held for further assistance, figuring someone there could help him track Mami down. But hearing music on the other end of the line was surreal. Alex listened to one song, then another, a third, and a fourth —treacly ballads, the kind Bri liked. By the seventh song, Alex wondered how much longer he'd be forced to listen. By the twelfth, he imagined Mami walking in—while he remained on hold. In the middle of the fifteenth song, a woman's voice said, "St. John of God Hospital." Alex's heart pounded. "Hi," he said, trying to sound calm. "My mother, her name is Isabella Morales, works as an operating room technician at St. John of God. I'm calling to see if I can speak to her." "Impossible," the woman said. "We're keeping our lines open for emergencies. No personal calls are allowed." "All right," Alex said, terrified that the woman might hang up on him. "I don't really need to talk to her. I just need to make sure that she's all right. She was called in Wednesday night. Can you find out if she's there, if she's working?" "I'm sorry," the woman said. "I have no way of knowing what personnel is on duty right now." "But someone at the hospital must know," Alex said. "She would have taken the subway around nine-thirty Wednesday night. We haven't heard from her since." "I understand," the woman said. "But it's chaos here, and it has been since Wednesday. Everyone is working twenty-four-hour shifts. I haven't been home since Wednesday, either. I can't stop to look around for your mother." "There's no one you can transfer me to?" Alex asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Someone in the surgical department?" "They're not taking phone calls," the woman said. "And I really can't stay on the phone with you." "Just one more question, please," Alex begged. "Have your phones been on for a while? Have people been able to make calls out?" "We got phone service back yesterday afternoon," the woman said. She was silent for a moment. "I'll pray for you and your mother," she said. "Her name is Isabella Morales?" "Yes, that's right," Alex replied. "Give me your phone number," she said. "If I find someone who knows anything about her, I'll call." "Thank you," Alex said. "Thank you so much." He gave the woman his phone number, and only after he heard the sound of the phone on the other end hanging up did he put the phone down. They'd had phone service yesterday. Sometime in the past twenty-four hours, Mami must have had the chance to call home. Alex picked up the phone and dialed for voice mail. No new messages. Just to be sure, he pressed 1 Mami would have called. Somehow she would have found the time. Maybe she'd called Uncle Jimmy. He dialed the number and Aunt Lorraine answered. "Hi," he said. "It's Alex. How are things going?" "How do you expect things to be going?" Aunt Lorraine replied. "The world is coming to an end. My babies will never live to have babies of their own. God has turned His back on us, and you ask how things are going?" Alex waited until he was sure she'd finished. "Bri and Julie and I were in church this morning, so there was no one home if anyone called," he said. "We haven't heard from Mami since Wednesday. Has she called you?" "I went to church but Jimmy didn't," Aunt Lorraine said. "Wait, I'll ask him. Jimmy! Did you hear from Isabella this morning? It's Alex. Isabella's missing." "I didn't say she was missing," Alex said, but it didn't matter. Jimmy took the phone from his wife. "Alex," he said. "Isabella's missing?" "I don't know that she's missing," Alex said. "She went to the hospital on Wednesday, and we haven't heard from her since. I just called the hospital, and they have no way of knowing who's there, so it could be she's been there since Wednesday and just hasn't been able to call." "We haven't heard from her," Jimmy said. "Is your father back?" "No," Alex said. "But he called when we were at the bodega. Bri spoke to him." "What did he say?" Jimmy asked. He didn't say anything, Alex thought, and it might not have been him anyway. But Jimmy had concerns of his own, and Alex was man of the house. "It wasn't a great connection," he said. "Bri couldn't make out much." "But he called, so he must be okay," Jimmy said. "What about Carlos?" Alex was relieved he could be honest. "I spoke to him Thursday," he said. "His unit's been deployed, but he's okay." "Great, that's great," Jimmy said. "Luis and Carlos are all right," he yelled to Lorraine. "No word from Isabella, though." "We'll probably hear from her before you do," Alex said. "I just wanted to find out if you'd spoken to her." "No," Jimmy said. "Look, Alex, you okay? You looking after your sisters okay? You want to send them to us until Luis or Isabella gets back?" Alex decided against it. Julie and Lorraine didn't get along that well, and Bri would be happier at home. "No, we're fine," Alex said. "Thanks anyway." "All right," Jimmy said. "Take care now. We'll be praying for all of you. And when you hear from Isabella, call us." "Sure will," Alex said, and hung up. He walked back to the sofa and thought about making a list, putting in a neat format the arguments for and against his mother still being alive. He looked at his watch. It was close to two o'clock, and there was no way of knowing when his sisters might get back. If he was going to do any more calling, he couldn't wait. 212-555-CITY. "You have reached the New York City Emergency Hotline for family members of missing, presumed dead, New York City residents. If your missing family member is a man, press one. If it is a woman, press two. For children under the age of twelve, press three." Alex almost pressed one for his father, but then realized New York City would have no way of knowing what had happened in Milagro del Mar. He pressed two. "The following information is only for family members of female residents of New York City who have been missing since Wednesday night, May eighteenth," a woman's voice intoned. "If you are the family member of a missing New York City woman, press one." Alex pressed one. "If your family member is missing from Brooklyn or Staten Island, press one. If she is missing from Manhattan, the Bronx, or Queens, press two." Alex pressed two. "The bodies of unidentified women are being held at Yankee Stadium," the voice continued. "If you wish to go to Yankee Stadium to search for your missing family member, press one." Alex pressed one. "The next available viewing will be Thursday, May twenty-sixth, at eleven-thirty am," the voice said, its tone changing with the specific time and date. "If you wish to go to the next available viewing, press one." Almost without thinking, Alex pressed one. "The bus for your viewing will be leaving from Port Authority at eleven-thirty am on Thursday, May twenty-six. Please be at Port Authority one hour before. Only one family member will be allowed on the bus. Only people who arrive on the designated bus will be allowed into Yankee Stadium for the viewing. If you wish to reserve your seat on the May twenty-sixth eleven-thirty am bus, state and spell your name." Alex did as he was told. The voice parroted back his name and told him to press one to confirm the information. Alex pressed one. "Thank you," the voice said. "You have reserved a seat on the May twenty-sixth bus, leaving Port Authority at eleven-thirty am. If you wish to make a reservation for a different bus in search of a man or child or a woman missing from Brooklyn or Staten Island, please press one. Otherwise you may hang up." Alex hung up. What had he done, he asked himself. Why had he agreed to go to Yankee Stadium, of all places, to look for his mother, who was most likely in Queens hard at work. She was sure to come home between now and Thursday. Why would he even think she might be dead, an anonymous body lying in a makeshift morgue. It didn't matter. If Mami returned home, or if she called, he just wouldn't go on the bus. But if they hadn't heard from her by Thursday, he'd have to look for her. Alex realized then he was crazy not trying to call Papi, no matter how expensive it was. He found Mami's address book, and dialed Nana's number. "We're sorry. Calls to Puerto Rico cannot be put through at this time." That meant nothing, Alex thought. The lines to Puerto Rico would open eventually, and then he'd speak to Papi. It will just take time, he told himself. Time and a miracle. Monday, May 23 The electricity came back on around eleven that morning. Bri and Julie promptly fought over the remote control, only to find it was a national day of mourning and all the TV stations had memorial services on, with sermons and choirs and politicians. "Put on a DVD," Alex told them. "I'm going out for a walk." He left his sisters debating over which DVD to watch. He hoped they settled on something funny. He strolled over to St. Margaret's, not knowing where else to go. The city remained mostly closed, but he supposed tomorrow things would open up again, when the national day of mourning was over. The church was almost full, but Alex found that Father Franco was in his office. There were five people waiting to talk to him. Alex felt like he should take a number, but they were on the honor system, remembering who was there before them and who arrived after. Two women were sniffling, and one man kept staring at his shoes, as though he was waiting for them to untie themselves. An hour later, six new people had shown up, and it was Alex's turn to see Father Franco. He found Father Franco, jacket off and needing a shave, sitting behind a cluttered desk. "Thank you for seeing me, Father," Alex said. "I know-how busy you are." "Please, sit down," Father Franco said. "You're one of Isabella Morales's boys, aren't you?" "Yes, Father," Alex said. "I'm Alex Morales." "Is your mother all right?" Father Franco asked. "I haven't seen her here in the past lew days." "We don't know," Alex said. "She went to work Wednesday and we haven't heard from her since." Father Franco winced. "I've been hearing stories like that all week," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help your family?" "I hope so," Alex said. "I didn't know where else to turn. It's my father. He was in Puerto Rico for my grandmother's funeral, and we haven't been able to get through to him. I was wondering if you'd heard anything about Puerto Rico, how things are there." "Where in Puerto Rico is he?" Father Franco asked. "Milagro del Mar," Alex replied. "Midway between San Juan and Fajardo, on the northern coast." Father Franco nodded. "I'll call the diocesan office," he said. "They might have heard something from the San Juan diocese." He dialed a number and smiled when someone answered on the second ring. "Yes, hello. This is Father Michael Franco at St. Margaret's. I need information about the town of Milagro del Mar in Puerto Rico. It's on the northern coast, east of San Juan." He turned to Alex. "It is east, isn't it?" "Yes, Father," Alex said. His fist was clenched so tightly his fingernails were cutting into his palm. "Yes, yes, I understand. Yes, I'll hold." He cupped the phone with his hand and smiled apologetically at Alex. "The person I'm speaking to doesn't know anything about Puerto Rico, but he's sure there's someone there who's heard something, so he's checking." Alex nodded. "So where do you go to school?" Father Franco asked. "Vincent de Paul," Alex replied. He could hardly remember what the school looked like. "I'm impressed," Father Franco said. "They turned me down. You're a junior?" "Yes, Father." "Your parents must be very proud," Father Franco said. "Yes, yes, Milagro del Mar, on the northern coast. Yes, I sec. I understand. Yes. Thank you. Thank you very much." "How bad is it?" Alex asked, trying to make it sound like a joke. "That's hard to say," Father Franco replied. "Information is very sketchy. From what they can tell, the coastline of Puerto Rico was hard hit." He paused. "Very hard. Devastated. The person I spoke to didn't know about Milagro del Mar, but things are very bad all along the coast. There was a huge amount of damage to the infrastructure, so communication is sketchy. I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you for certain that your father's village survived, but there doesn't seem to be any way of finding out." "Do they know how long it will take before things get back to normal?" Alex asked. "I mean, until there's phone service and planes leaving Puerto Rico?" Father Franco shook his head. "We must pray for Christ's mercy," he said. "I don't know what else to tell you." Alex stood up and tried to smile. "Thank you," he said. "My prayers will be with you and your family," Father Franco said. "Please let me know when you hear from your parents." "I will," Alex said, and left the office. There were ten people in the outside office now, all with nightmares of their own. He walked over to the bulletin boards, but there was nothing new, just more names on the listings of the missing and the dead. He tried to pray for their souls, but the words had lost all meaning. |
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