Afterlife - Julia Alvarez Page 0,32
their mother’s ultimatum voice.
We’re going to have to work with a lot of jerks if we want to find our sister, Antonia reminds Mona. She, too, is finding it increasingly difficult to keep up her faith in people, in herself. In the past when her own stash got this low, there was always Sam filling up her cup with his abundant kindness. She has continued to think a lot about the afterlife, especially in the absence of any sign from Sam. What, if anything, does it mean? An afterlife? All she has come up with is that the only way not to let the people she loves die forever is to embody what she loved about them. Otherwise the world is indeed depleted. Sam: always thinking the best of people. Izzy: casting her bread upon the waters. Generosities of which Antonia was often the lucky recipient. But what is she thinking? Izzy is not dead.
And guess what? Mona interrupts Antonia’s thoughts. Kempowski was going to have Izzy’s cell phone pinged, but no need. Nancy turned it in. Seems Izzy left it behind there and it ran out of juice. No wonder we couldn’t reach her.
Tomorrow, Mona and Maritza will be meeting up with a local investigator that Kempowski has enlisted near Athol. They mean to stay there for a few days, looking around, talking to this Realtor Nancy. I’ve changed my flight home. You want to come down and meet us? Mona asks. A question with a strong-arm muscle of should in it.
Antonia explains the situation that has come up, burnishing the bleak details, as Mona isn’t making any empathic sounds at her end. But Mona is stern in her response: sisterhood comes first. Izzy is their sister. So as not to sound heartless, she adds that it is very sad of course about the girl, but Antonia shouldn’t get in the middle of a boyfriend-girlfriend fight.
It’s not a fight. He threw her out. She’s homeless, helpless.
A long silence at the other end. Do what you want, Mona says in an aggrieved voice.
Neither alternative is what Antonia wants. What is the right thing to do? An old quandary, and the older she gets, the more she realizes she still hasn’t figured it out. Tolstoy had it right in that story she used to teach about the three questions: What is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do? Funny how Antonia remembers the questions but can’t for the life of her remember if Tolstoy provided any answers.
Let me see what I can work out, Antonia promises, already making a mental list: check in on José’s man-to-man talk with Mario, set up medical care for Estela, and housing, if she can’t convince Roger about an extension of his kindness. Because no, Antonia’s home is not an option. She has already decided: she is the most important one.
Back at the house, Estela is fast asleep in the guest room. She must be bone tired, pobrecita. Antonia had shown the girl the room, laid out some towels. Why don’t you freshen up, get some rest? I’ll be back in a little while. The towels are still in their neat pile, Estela on top of the made bed, her head cushioned on one arm, a red string bracelet matching Mario’s on her left wrist. Maybe there’s an expiration date on how much luck and protection it can provide?
Antonia takes the folded blanket and covers the girl, who startles awake but, on hearing the soothing Ya, ya, duérmete, duérmete, instantly falls back to sleep.
When Mona was recounting how Realtor Nancy tucked in Izzy, Antonia had felt uneasy, as if her sister were being fattened up, not for the kill, but for the sell, an abandoned motel and a farm in the middle of nowhere. But now there’s a tenderness to the thought. Whatever has happened to Izzy, she did experience the kindness of a host toward a stranger.
Later, at her laptop, recalling Estela’s blank look, Antonia Googles the Spanish for giving birth, dar a luz. Is it not used in Mexico? According to one of the websites, parir is the working-class term. Dar a luz was used originally to refer to the Virgin Mary giving birth to the light of the world, a euphemism the upper classes appropriated, a more polite way of referring to a lady’s parturition. Antonia had often bragged to Sam about the poetry of her native language, the beautiful way,