The Cranes Dance (35 page)

“I’ll call Karine,” Wendy said.

“No, no, here it is. I’ve got it.” I can’t do this, I thought. I thought it over quickly several times and then tilted Wendy a few degrees upright.

“Glasses?” Wendy murmured, reaching a hand out to the tray next to her bed. “Kate, would you?”

She took them from me and perched them on the end of her nose, looking at the painting, not at me. Which meant I
could look at her for a moment. There was a thin blue vein underneath her ear, tracing its way into the collar of the nubby sweater she had on.

“I bought it at the gallery I love,” Wendy said. “In Prague. It’s by a Greek artist, not well known. I don’t suppose it’s an important piece, but I just love it.”

“Me too,” I said. “It looks like Theseus is dancing, sort of.”

“He is.” Wendy took off her glasses and closed her eyes. She began to recite:

“Wow,” I said. “Why did they call it the Crane Dance, though? Why not the Labyrinth Dance? Or the Hey, I Slew the Minotaur Dance?”

Wendy smiled, which was what I was hoping for, but then she looked worried.

“I can’t remember the Greek word for ‘crane,’ ” she said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You just recited Homer. You’re the only person I know who can do that.”

Everything you say to a person who is dying feels like slightly
the wrong thing. It’s amazing how loaded our vocabulary is with words that can go wrong. Soon I wouldn’t know anyone who could recite Homer.

“Plutarch,” Wendy corrected. “Not Homer. But the word for ‘crane.’ I can’t remember. It’s … oh, this is really … this is very …”

“You’ll remember it,” I told her. “You’ll be thinking of something else and you’ll remember it.”

“When?” she asked. “When will I remember it? I need to know it now, Kate. Oh, what is it? Why can’t I remember?”

Her eyes weren’t quite focused, because of the morphine, maybe. Maybe because she needed more morphine. She reached out for my hand, and I could feel that she wanted to grip it, but she wasn’t strong enough. The feebleness of her grip seemed to make both of us panic.

“It’s okay,” I said. She shook her head.

“It’s in the library,” she said. “A Greek dictionary. Not the modern Greek. The ancient Greek.”

“Okay. Ancient Greek dictionary. I’m on it.”

“You won’t be able to find it,” Wendy said. Her breathing changed. “Oh,
why
can’t I get up?”

“You should rest,” I said. “I’ll get it.”

“You won’t find it.” Wendy tried to swallow. The effort it took her made it seem as if she were swallowing a boulder.

“I’ll find it,” I said. “Or wait, my phone. I can look it up. Look, here’s my phone.”

“Kate.” I didn’t know if she was crying or her eyes were watering.

“I know, just one second. See: ancient Greek crane. Oh crap, that’s just mechanical cranes. Okay, ancient Greek dictionary.
Do you want me to call Karine? Do you need something for the pain?”

Wendy nodded a child’s nod, her eyes locked on mine. I didn’t want to let go of her hand. I tried to think of something to say. Something that wouldn’t hurt.

“Kate, did you find it? I need to know the word. I can’t remember it.”

I looked down at my phone. Ancient Greek dictionary. I typed the word “crane” with my free thumb, hit the search button.

“I’ll go get Karine,” I said.

Wendy nodded again, but her weak fingers threaded through mine.

“Okay, here it is,” I said. “Oh. Oh, it’s in … the Greek alphabet. Here, you can read it.” I held the phone out, but Wendy shook her head.

“Oh, your glasses,” I said. But my hands were full. Wendy half turned on her side, pulling her legs slightly toward her body, trying, I think, to curl into a ball. There was a portable intercom on Wendy’s bedside table, but I didn’t know how it worked. Did I need to push a button?

“Karine?” I said. And then, louder, “Karine!”

“Just describe the letters,” Wendy said.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.” I held up the phone. The letters were so small.

“What does the first one look like?”

Karine came in, not running, but moving swiftly.

“All right now,” she said.

“She’s in pain,” I said.

“She’s not in pain,” Karine said, placing a large hand on Wendy’s shoulder. “Are you in pain, Mrs. Hedges?”

Wendy shook her head.

“No, I think she is.”

Karine reached for a dropper on the plastic tray beside the bed. Gently, she placed it inside Wendy’s mouth, holding her cheek.

“Ativan,” Karine said to me. “For the anxiety. There now.”

“It’s fine,” whispered Wendy. “But. Kate?”

“Yes?”

“The letters? For ‘crane’?”

I leaned over the bed. Our faces were almost touching.

“The first one is like … is like a small-case y, and the second one is like a capital
E
with an accent aigu and then a small—”

“
Geranos
,” Wendy said. But she didn’t sound relieved. “That’s it.
Geranos
. Why couldn’t I remember it?”

“We all forget things,” I said, hating words, hating them. “It’s not important. You knew it right away.”

“I think I might sleep for a little now.”

“It’s all right now, Mrs. Hedges?” said Karine. “You sleep for a little and when you wake up you will see the nice flowers your friend bring you.”

“Thank you very much,” said Wendy, very formally, shutting her eyes. “That’s very kind.”

It was still too early to go to the theater. It was too early, and too late. I walked back to Gwen’s across the park again, but this time quickly, not looking up or around or seeing anything at all. Life is just what is physically in front of you. I walked fast, as if I might catch up to what was in front of me, run smack against it, stun myself.

My phone was ringing as I let myself into the apartment. “Mom and Dad,” said the screen. I wanted to let it go to voicemail, but I guess some part of me thought, “
Mommy
.” It was the part that was still with Wendy, still holding her hand.

“Kate, it’s me.”

Gwen’s voice. I pressed the phone hard against my ear.

“Kate?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“It’s me.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” she said. Nervously? There
was something. “I was going to leave a message. To wish you
merde
for tonight. Titania. You’ll do great.”

“Oh.” For a second it occurred to me that it wasn’t actually my sister who was talking. It was someone else, doing an impression of her, playing a trick.

“Kate, is that
you
?”

“It’s me. You don’t sound like you either.”

“Yeah, well.” The sound of a big breath. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call.”

Still not really her.

“You want me to call back? You could not answer and I could leave a message.”

“No,” I said. “No of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“I just didn’t want to do the big
talk
,” Gwen said. “You would not believe how much talking I’ve been doing. I kept thinking that you sort of knew, in some way, that it was okay or something. Also I thought I’d save talking to you until it wasn’t like, this huge thing.”

Okay, that did sound like Gwen logic, where time erased everything and there were a thousand clean slates to be found amidst all the spoiled ones.

“Can I ask how you are?” I really was asking this of myself.
Can
I ask Gwen how she is? Can I do that? But Gwen answered.

“I’m about to go into my therapist’s office,” she said. “I’m sitting in the car with Mom. I just wanted to call and wish you
merde
. I wish I could be there. I
miss
you!”

“Me too,” I said.

“You want to talk to Mom?”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Bye, Kate. I love you.”

“I—” I started, but I could hear Gwen saying something to Mom, and Mom saying something back, and the sound of a car door slamming. I felt unsteady.

“Hi, Katie-bird,” sang my mother.

I walked into the bedroom. The sheets were still kicked around, things on the floor, Gwen’s sweatpants in a crumple. I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Hi Mom. How are you?”

“Well I’m just fine and dandy, how are you?”

Happening? Not happening? It was hard to tell. I rotated my ankle until it popped.

“So, wow. That was Gwen.”

“She wanted to call,” my mom said. “It was her idea. We were driving and she said, ‘I want to talk to Kate,’ and I said, ‘Well then you should.’ ”

“Uh-huh.”

“How did she sound to you?”

“Mom, you were right there.”

“I know. But didn’t she sound good?”

“It was so quick.”

“Well, she had her therapies to go to, but it’s been on her mind. Because I know there are some questions about how she’s going to manage things once she goes back to New York, and she just needed to talk to you about that. We all want to talk to you about that.”

“Well, that’s not my decision, though.”

“Okay, I guess that answers my question,” Mom said, somewhat sharply.

“What question?”

“Your sister is doing much better,” Mom said. “
Much
better.
But she needs to stay on this medication and keep up with all her therapies and be healthy in her choices. We just weren’t sure if she could do that all on her own.”

“We?”

“I think it was more of an episode that had been building up,” Mom said. “I know that’s controversial of me, and I know she needs to take some medication, but I think she had all the feelings and they all just built up and overflowed and maybe even, in some way, she was wanting there to be a big thing so she could just get it all out. I don’t know all the psychologicals, obviously. But, honestly, after listening to these doctors, I’m feeling like
nobody
knows what they’re talking about.”

“Do they have a … a diagnosis, or whatever?”

“Oh, well, obsessive-compulsive is a thing, or what they call psychotic depression, or dissociative personality, but that’s just a name, and anyway the first two medications were not right, and were
way
too much. I think the antianxiety medication has worked the best. But she has to take it. That’s what everyone says. She has to take it. We have to think of it like … oh, like any medication if you have some sort of medical condition.”

“She does have a medical condition, though. Right?”

“Nobody really understands these things very well, Kate.”

“Does she not want to take her medication?”

“Well, she wants to take it now. It’s apparently a problem, sometimes people just decide they are okay without their medication.”

“So someone needs to make sure she’s taking it.”

“She is responsible for herself,” Mom said firmly. “That’s what a lot of the work she’s doing now is about. But, yes, I know your father and I would feel a lot better knowing you were
there, when Gwen goes back to New York. We just wanted to make sure that was okay with you. Because you and Gwen lived together before, but maybe you don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Does Gwen want to come back and live with me?”

“She doesn’t want to ask it of you, honey. But yes, I think she does. I don’t know. Maybe the timing is right, since you and Andrew are taking a break. You two could look after each other!”

“This would be … when? When does she want to come back?”

“We can talk the ins and outs when you come home. You’re coming home, right? When the season is over? My goodness, that’s next week!”

“Yeah. Yes. Next week.”

“Are you excited about dancing Titania tonight? We read the
Times
review online. Sounds like you and your partner stole the show!”

“Did it?”

“You didn’t read it? There was a whole paragraph on you and that Klaus person. Gwen said the reviewer is hard on women, so that him saying you did good is really good.”

“Did she?”

“She was so happy for you. We’re all happy for you! I don’t want that to get lost in all this. I know it’s been … whew!”

Rage overtook me.

“It sounds like it’s going to be okay, though!” I said, standing up. “It sounds like Gwen is really going to be just fine and it’s all going to be okay!”

“One day at a time, still,” Mom said, her voice gratefully swinging up. “But I just want you to go out there onstage and
just dance your little heart out and know that we’re all so proud of you!”

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” I said, opening up the bedside-table drawer and yanking out the rope.

“And I’m glad you and Gwen talked. I think that was a big hurdle!”

“She really sounded good!” I said. “And she’s been taking class and everything?” I walked back into the living room, looking at the ceiling.

“Yep! Well, listen, honey, I know you’ve probably got to get going.”

“I probably should!”

“Have a wonderful performance tonight! I know you’ll be just … wonderful!”

“Thank you very much,” I said, formally. “That’s very kind.”

I dragged the desk chair into the middle of the room, under the lighting fixture. It’s a nonfunctioning lighting fixture. It’s not wired. There’s a hook. Over the years, things have been threaded through that hook. Gwen and I used to hang dried flowers there sometimes. It was a place to string lights across at holiday time. Once, for a joke, I hung my bra up there. That was funny, wasn’t it, Gwen? Are you amused?

It wasn’t so very long ago, really, that Gwen and I left the theater together and walked to the subway. We said good night at the corner, and Gwen walked down the steps to the train. I crossed the street to descend on the opposite side. I was going
downtown, to the apartment of Andrew’s that I lived in. Gwen was going uptown, to this apartment that we shared and where I had abandoned her. We stood on the platforms of our sides, waiting for the trains, tracks and rails and columns between us. Gwen stood way back from the edge of the platform, as did I. Neither one of us could bear the sight of the rats scurrying across the tracks.