Early Warning

She came in talking. “You look thin. But that’s a nice haircut. Oh, look at your couch; I saw that same fabric in Younkers and I liked it. I even said, ‘Henry would like that,’ I really did. So bright. Good for a place like Chicago. Have you talked to Claire? Just call her — I’m not saying a word. Well, I will say one word. Insanity. But you’ll hear all about it. Those boys! Well, they do fine in school, and why wouldn’t they? It’s worth their lives to get A’s. Of course, I’m exaggerating. Jesse shot a starling right off the roof of my house; I nearly jumped out of my skin. It fell with a giant thud onto the top of the TV room — you know, where you all used to sleep. Jesse is taking it back to Ames, or somewhere down there, to be stuffed. I’m glad he’s going to college. He’s doing fine, I must say, for a boy who never opened a book in his life. How you children got to be all so different I’ll never know, but he made a thousand dollars with that field Pioneer planted between my place and theirs, he had those detasselers practically running. He was very good about making sure they had plenty of water — that was a real hot spell. But—”

Henry offered her a glass of the lightest Riesling he had been able to find, and she sat in the oat-colored armchair and sipped it, looking around. Finally, she said the magic words: “This is a nice place. Small, but clean.”

Henry laughed. He said, “How was your trip?”

“My land, until I got to Chicago, it was fine, but there was a car in flames right beside the highway. I never saw such a thing. No one around it. I nearly drove off the road, staring.”

“You could have taken a plane, Ma.”

“Now, why do that when I have a perfectly good car? I did pass the airport, I believe.” Pause. “Chicago is not at all like Minneapolis.”

“Not at all,” said Henry.

Rosanna took a sip of her wine and looked around again. Henry let the silence fill the room as she stared at his bookcases, as ordered as the stacks in a library. She took another sip, then smiled and said, “Well, that scar has almost disappeared.” The tip of Henry’s finger went to the spot just beneath his lip. Rosanna shook her head. “Tsh! What days those were! To think I had to sew that up myself, with you lying in Lillian’s lap and screaming your head off. Good thing I had a spool of silk thread. My goodness!” Then, “I think I’m a little tired. I should wash up, too.”

“You can lie down for an hour or so. I made the supper reservation for six.”

He helped her out of the chair, which was deep, and held her elbow lightly — not offensively — into the bedroom. Then he carried in the paper sack. She was sitting on the bed, looking around. She said, “Now, this is a lovely pattern — we used to call it Wild Goose Chase. I don’t know what they call it now.” She ran her hand over the quilt. “Black and white with the red is very modern.” She lay back, and he covered her with the extra blanket. He lowered the shades, even though it was darkening toward twilight by five now. After that, he went out and checked to see whether she had parked the car safely; then he sorted through the tests he had to grade by Monday, went into the kitchen, closed the door, and called Philip. They had started laughing about something when Henry felt a surge of alarm and dropped the phone. What was it? Nothing audible, and yet, when he entered the bedroom and turned on the light, his mother was collapsed on the floor, maybe three feet from the bed, between the bed and the door.

Henry exclaimed, “Oh shit!” and Rosanna moved, opened her eyes. Henry knelt down and smoothed her skirt over her legs. When Rosanna spoke, Henry could barely understand her, which provoked more alarm. There was no phone in this bedroom, so he nearly jumped up to call an ambulance. Instead, he contained himself, and lifted her, eased her onto the bed. She was not at all heavy. She gave out a long sigh that ended in a cough, and then she said something he did understand: “I thought I was the queen, you know, when I used to drive Jake into town. I would wave and smile. Right, left. I would just lift my hands, and Jake would arch his neck.” She lifted her hands maybe an inch off her skirt and smiled. “So silly.”

“You weren’t silly, Ma, you were beautiful.”

“Was I?” she whispered. Then she shook her head. But she was still smiling — at the memory, he hoped. Henry put his hand on her temple, gently. He could feel the dry thinness of the skin of her forehead, and with his fingertip, he could feel the vein quiver in her temple, and then he could not feel it anymore. He waited. After a minute or two, he placed his palm over her eyelids and closed them.

1975

Dear Jesse—