After Silence

“And what does your husband do?” We were sitting in front of a bank of video screens watching Lincoln walk back and forth from one to the other, checking the different action on each. The same film ran on all the screens, only at different speeds: construction workers putting up a skyscraper.

Lily turned and served me a look that had a lot of topspin on it. “You asked that question like you’re committing a crime. You’re allowed to ask. I’m not married anymore. Lincoln’s father hasn’t been around for a long time. Rick. Rick Aaron. Rick the Prick.” Having said that, she smiled cheerfully. “When it comes to that man, I have no dignity. Only old words apply to him—‘rake’ or ‘scoundrel.’ ‘Shithead’ does very nicely too.”

I laughed. She did too.

“I think we have to leave soon, Max. I can tell when Lincoln is getting grouchy.”

“Would you like to have lunch together?”

“That’s a thought. Wait a minute.” She got up and went over to the boy. Squatting next to him, she spoke in a low whispery voice. He stood still, looking straight ahead at the television monitors. Sometimes life narrows to one laser-thin word: yes or no. I watched closely. What if he said no? She was so pretty—

“Okay. But only if we go to Crowds!”

She looked over her shoulder at me and raised an eyebrow. “That’s where I work. He loves to eat there because everyone is his friend. Do you mind?”

Outside I walked with them to their car, an old but beautifully kept Volkswagen Bug. I’d just noticed the black leather seats when inside rose a figure that took up the entire back seat.

“Is that a dog or a Bulgarian?”

“That’s Cobb. He’s a greyhound.”

Lily unlocked the door and the giant dog slowly leaned his thin head out. His face was graying and he had the calm faded brown eyes of an old boy. He looked at me philosophically and then stuck his long tongue out for no apparent reason.

“He likes you. That’s his way of blowing you a kiss.”

“Really? Can I pet him?”

“No. He doesn’t like to be touched. Only Lincoln gets away with it. But if he likes you he blows you kisses, like that last one.”

“Oh.” Can you be interested in a woman while thinking she’s nuts at the same time? I guess so.

The dog yawned and his tongue came out even further. It looked like a thick pink belt unraveling.

“How old is he?”

“About ten. He used to be a champion racer, but when greyhounds get too old to run it’s not uncommon for their owners to put them down because they’re too expensive to care for. That’s how we got Cobb. They were going to kill him. Kill him or use him for blood.”

“Excuse me?”

“Greyhounds have the richest, best blood of any dog. Veterinarians prefer to use it for transfusions into other dogs, so some people breed them just to take their blood out.”

“Is that true?” I looked at the old giant and felt instant pity.

Lily leaned forward and, puckering her lips a few inches from Cobb’s black nose, kissed the air between them. The dog looked solemnly at her. “That is the sad truth. You know now how to get to the restaurant?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you there.” I patted the roof of her car as she slid in. Behind me there was a loud squeal of brakes, then the brute metal crunch of a car accident. I’d barely turned to see where it was when Lily banged the door back open into my side.

“Look out! Where is it?”

“There. Nobody’s hurt. Just looks like it’s a fender bender.”

“You don’t know. Lincoln, stay here. Do not move!” She leapt out of the VW and raced across the parking lot.

“But nothing happened.” I said out loud to myself.

Lincoln spoke from inside the car. “I know. She always does this. Whenever someone’s hurt or there’s an accident, she goes and helps. You can’t stop her. She always does it.”

“Okay, then I guess I’d better go see if I can help too. You stay here, Lincoln. We’ll be right back.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve done this a million times. She’s always helping somebody out.” He put his small arm around the dog, who, at that moment, looked like a Supreme Court justice.

Across the parking lot a small group of people had gathered around a black Jaguar XKE convertible and a small pickup truck that were bashed together. The driver of the XKE, a thirtyish pregnant woman, was glaring daggers at the truck driver, a young Oriental man in a straw hat. The back of his pickup was filled with gardening tools. From her frown and his “I’m sorry” smile, it was clear the accident had been his fault. Lily stood next to the woman and looked at her worriedly.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, thank you. Maybe a cop, though. Look at my car, will you? Damnit! That’s going to be at least five thousand dollars to fix. I don’t even know if it’ll drive now.”

The Oriental man said something in his own language, and to our surprise, Lily answered him back in it. The pregnant woman and I looked at each other while the man spoke again, in obvious relief, to Lily.

“He says he’s fully insured, or at least I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s saying. He keeps repeating you shouldn’t worry.”

“What language is he speaking?”

“Vietnamese.”

“Wow, you can speak that?”

“The rudiments. The basics, but I can make out his gist.”

Lily took over the whole scene. She got both causer and effected to calm down and go through the necessary steps so that when the police did arrive, there would be nothing for them to do. Both the woman and the Vietnamese fellow were so grateful for her help that they couldn’t stop thanking her. She had nicely and efficiently taken the venom out of their situation and helped when she had no stake in the matter. How often does someone like that happen along?

“Well, Max, now I’m really hungry. How about you?”

“That was very nice to do for them.”

“You know, it was. But I’m angry at myself for knowing it. I’d love to reach a point in life where I do things like that for others but don’t even know I’m doing them, much less know it’s a nice gesture. That’s progress. Wouldn’t it be great?

“Do you read mystery novels?”

“Mysteries? I don’t know, sometimes.” I was begi

She went on. “I don’t. Too misleading. People buy them for the twists and turns and whodunits, but not me. Life is complicated enough—figure it out. You don’t need mystery novels or crossword puzzles to keep you busy. Also, those stories imply people are confused because there’s no Good or Bad. Nonsense—we can recognize the difference. Most of the time we know damn well what’s good and bad, right and wrong. We just choose not to act on it. What I did back there was right—but only what anyone should do in that sort of situation. That’s why I deserve no credit.”

“Okay, but it was kind.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like living in a world where ‘correct’ is so rare that it becomes ‘kind.’ ”

There is a terrific story in my family that needs telling here. My grandmother was a dangerously bad driver. Particularly because she drove so slowly, no one wanted to ride in an automobile with her when she was at the wheel. Once my grandfather was in the hospital for a minor operation. On the day of his release, his wife went to get him in their car. Still wearing pajamas and bathrobe, he was helped into the back seat. Grandma set off for home at her customary crawl. Usually so vocal about her driving, Grandpa lay in back absolutely silent. She thought it was because he was still suffering from the operation. But his silence was disconcerting. Once in a while, without looking in the rearview, she would ask him if he was all right. “Yes, but speed it up a little, willya?” “All right, dear.” Then she continued at her fifteen miles an hour. Halfway home she stopped at a red light. It changed and a few minutes later she again asked if he was okay. No answer. She asked again. No answer. Concerned, she looked in the mirror. No Grandpa. Horrified he’d fallen out, she stopped the car in the middle of the street to look for him. No Grandpa. Since she was close to home, she drove there to call the cops to find her poor ill husband. Guess who was sitting on the porch at home waiting for her. Guess who’d gotten out at that red light, hailed a cab in his pajamas…