Just a Hat, page 16
There was a Hafiz-like poetry in her closeness. Joseph had only experienced that in little thrills during their brief touches over a math problem or a piano lesson. Now something flooded through him that was indescribably joyful. Resisting the urge to peel out and show her all his skill, to release the excitement bubbling everywhere inside him, Joseph forced himself to putter through town until he reached the city limits.
From there, Joseph opened the throttle and said over his shoulder, “Hang on!”
Vonda’s grip tightened. She scooted even closer. They skimmed the roadside, nosed into ditches, and jumped small hills. They made tight turns and wound through paths that wormed through the mesquite, squatty oaks, and scrub pine. Joseph was showing off, but he didn’t care. For too long Vonda had remained beyond his reach. He wanted to show her more than some chords on the piano, more than a nice haircut, more than a math problem, more than getting beat up in the hallway and sitting with the losers in detention.
Joseph would have kept going, but they had limited time. He wanted to make sure they had time at the tree house. He wasn’t sure if girls liked tree houses, but he’d dressed it up as much as he could: a spare blanket that Maman would never miss; Baba’s old handkerchiefs for cloths to cover the stool-tables; some packages of Little Debbies that LaLa didn’t begrudge him; a yellow rose from Maman’s Shabbat bouquet; a can of mixed nuts left over from his bar mitzvah; two Coca-Colas that wouldn’t be cold.
He wrapped his greatest gift in glittery, star-blue wrapping paper and silver ribbon that he’d saved from a Hanukkah present. Joseph placed it on her cushion, propping it there carefully like it was in a window display. It was his black-and-gold home football jersey, freshly laundered and folded neatly like a new dress shirt.
Joseph pulled into the driveway of the abandoned farmhouse. When he found the spot where he and Roberto usually stashed their dirt bikes, he cut the engine and removed his helmet. Vonda stepped off, and Joseph laid the bike on the ground to keep it out of sight. With all the tender care he could muster, he helped her unsnap the chin strap, remove the helmet, and straighten her hair. Her hair was so golden, so soft like he’d imagined. Even tousled, it looked good. Natural.
“That was fun,” she said a little breathlessly.
“I want to take you flying someday,” said Joseph, “when I get my pilot’s license. We can fly over Eagle Mountain Lake.”
“I doubt we’d slip that one by Reverend Charles Baer,” said Vonda wryly.
“Ready to see your surprise?”
Vonda nodded. Joseph took her by the hand. He showed her the wooden rungs that led up to the tree house. They blended with the camouflage of split bark on the blackjack oaks.
“Wow,” she said. “Are you sure it’s okay to be out here?”
“We’ve never seen a soul out here but us,” said Joseph.
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“Roberto and me. Sometimes Alex. Mateo likes to read up here.”
“Oh.”
“You want to go first?” asked Joseph.
“Okay.” Vonda still had that look that drove him crazy, but it was only barely there. She showed a genuine curiosity in what lay above the branches. She climbed. Joseph climbed behind her.
Vonda walked around the tree house, inspecting it while Joseph pointed out the pond in the far distance and a few other points of interest. There wasn’t much to see but brown fields. “In the spring, it’s a lot nicer,” said Joseph. “Right now, it’s only a few pines that are green, but when the oaks turn green, it’s like being in a big, leafy cloud up here.”
“I’d like to see it in the spring, then,” said Vonda, leaning out of the window to look below. Joseph moved closer beside her and put his arm around her. They stood for several seconds watching the chilly breeze stir the high, dead grass below. She was shorter than Joseph, so his arm felt natural around her shoulder.
“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling her closer and savoring the soft curve of her hip against him. “I have a blanket.”
“No, I’m comfortable,” she said. “Roberto’s jacket kept me toasty.”
Joseph wondered how his body felt to her. He had decent abs. His arms were strong even though his muscles weren’t bulky like Larry’s and Juan’s. Did girls like flat stomachs? He had a flat stomach. Vonda had complimented him one time on his eyes. She said his lashes were so long and dark that it looked like he wore mascara. Having suffered through way too many “Pretty Boys” in the locker room, Joseph wasn’t sure long eyelashes were a real selling point.
Her hair smelled like green apples. That reminded Joseph of a line of poetry.
“‘I want to do with you what spring does to the cherry trees,’” said Joseph softly.
Vonda blushed deeply. “What do you mean by that?”
“It worked,” said Joseph, turning her to him. He touched his fingers tenderly to her left cheek. “Your cheeks bloomed.”
“Oh,” she said.
Her cheek was so soft, even softer than her hands. Joseph cupped her left cheek more firmly in his right palm, bent, and kissed her softly on the lips. He drew away and looked into those star-blue eyes. “Like that. Your whole face is . . . beautiful. Like spring.”
She blushed even more deeply and looked down. Right here, right now was where Joseph had wanted to be since they played the duet on LaLa’s piano bench.
Suddenly, she took his hand. “Joseph, look,” said Vonda. “You and I . . . this will never work like you want it to. My father will never let me . . . let us . . . unless you were Christian. But even then, we’re too young. My father won’t let me date at all. It’s not just you.”
“Why not?” asked Joseph. “My parents won’t let me date, either, but we can . . .”
“No,” said Vonda. “We can’t. Someone will eventually tell my father. I know you think he’s an awful man, but there’s a reason he watches me so closely.”
“What is it?” asked Joseph.
“My oldest sister . . . something bad happened.”
“What?”
“She . . . Joseph, you can’t tell anyone. Swear to me.”
“I swear.”
“She got pregnant her senior year in high school. They sent her away to a girls home where they’d take care of her until the baby came. The deal was that she had to put the baby up for adoption. She really didn’t want to. It was a shame to our family, especially our father. He’d have to give up the ministry if people found out. She wasn’t right after she gave up the baby. Exactly six weeks after my sister turned over the baby to the agency, she killed herself.”
“Geez,” said Joseph. “I don’t even know what to say to that. I’m so sorry for you. Were you close?”
“Not really. She was seven years older than me. She and my father were close until he found out she was pregnant. After that, it was nothing but fighting,” said Vonda.
“That must have been recent,” said Joseph, calculating ages in his head.
“Yeah,” said Vonda. “It’s made things hard around the house and at the church. It’s a small town, and small town people talk. Daddy makes up for it by being as strict as he can with everyone. It’s how you get back in everyone’s good graces, I guess. We don’t know if anyone knows about the pregnancy, but a child who commits suicide? Not kosher.”
“Kosher?” asked Joseph.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Vonda. “Around here it means, like, acceptable, you know?”
“Well, that’s what it means,” said Joseph, “but it usually applies to food.”
“So you’re not offended we can’t be together?”
“I’m sad,” said Joseph. “I’m not sure I know the difference between offended and sad. I don’t understand.”
“Don’t be sad, Joseph. Dad will never stop being strict about home and Mom and the Ten Commandments and apple pie and no-foreigners-better-insult-the-flag and all that. It’s how he keeps his dignity.”
“Can we even be friends?” asked Joseph. His heart wasn’t sinking. It was slamming its fist into his chest and abdomen, grabbing his throat, desperately trying to find a place to reconnect, but Vonda had become withdrawn. Why had she let him get this close and then pushed him away?
“No.”
There was a long silence, and Joseph turned and looked at the table he’d carefully set for her arrival. “No notes?”
“It would just make it harder on both of us.”
“You knew this from the beginning,” said Joseph. “You knew and you didn’t tell me. You planned this day to tell me goodbye.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But you’re not sad?” asked Joseph.
“Yes, I’m sad,” said Vonda. “But we have to stop.”
“Why?”
“I just told you.”
Joseph stared at her, and she stared back. Her face was unreadable when she wanted it to be. And it was. Maybe there was a hint of shininess in her eyes, maybe not. “Could we talk about this?” he asked. He was begging. He knew it.
“Can you please take me home?”
The ride back to town was so cold that they could have wedged the Coca-Colas between them and brought them to perfect, refrigerated frostiness. Vonda’s hands around his waist were so light. Joseph remained stiff in her grip. Blue-eyed Canon. Rage. Control. Rage. Control. How do you survive a fall from a tree house?
LaLa could probably help him understand what just happened, but Joseph was sick of life lessons and word games. No matter where he turned, life was out of control.
38
HATS OFF
The police came while Joseph and Baba were praying afternoon prayers on Shabbat.
Baba and Joseph heard the doorbell, but prayers were not to be interrupted. They continued together: “Blessed are You, HaShem, Who blesses His people Israel with peace. My God, keep my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking deceitfully . . .”
“Kamran!” called Maman from the front of the house.
The alarm in Maman’s voice made them both pause. She wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t important. Maman rarely raised her voice.
“Kamran!” she said again. Her voice was closer. Maman’s footsteps were usually light. Not today. The urgency in her voice matched her footsteps on the wooden floor. Miss LaNell’s high heels would have lost a marching match with Maman today.
Baba and Joseph turned as she paused at Baba’s office door.
“Police.”
Oh, no. Joseph looked up at Baba. Had Reverend Baer called the police on him for taking Vonda riding on his dirt bike? Did he know they’d kissed? Baba paled, but he kissed his prayer book reverently and placed it on the table. Joseph did the same. They followed Maman back down the hall to the living room.
The front door was open, but the screen door was closed. Two men in suits and a uniformed officer stood on the porch looking around. Baba walked to the door. “I can help you?” he asked.
“Mr. Nissan?” asked the uniformed officer.
“I’m Kamran Nissan,” said Baba.
“May we come in for a moment?” asked the uniformed officer. “This is our local city detective, Paul White, and Dallas city police detective, Troy Bender. I’m James Oliver.” Joseph recognized Officer Oliver. He worked security at the junior high football and basketball games. He spent a lot more time watching the games than the crowds, probably because his son played on the football team.
There was a long silence. Joseph could see the war in Baba’s face. Wordlessly, Baba extended his hand and pushed open the screen. The three policemen came inside, each looking around. When their eyes came to rest on Joseph, each expression relaxed. Like one does when he’s found something he’s looking for. “Aren’t you Joseph?” asked Officer Oliver.
“I am Joseph.”
Detective White asked Baba, “Would you and your son mind coming down to the police department with us? We have some questions we’d like to ask you about a case we’re working on.”
“We can’t,” said Baba.
“Are you busy?” asked Officer Oliver, looking around the quiet house.
“It’s Shabbat,” said Baba.
“It’s Shab-what?” said Detective White.
“Shabbat,” repeated Detective Bender. “They’re Jewish, remember? They don’t drive on their Sabbath.”
Baba removed the prayer shawl and handed it to Joseph. “Please go put this in my study, Youssef.”
Joseph took the familiar tallit. It was still warm from body heat. He took it back to the study, folded it, and put it on Baba’s desk. He then did the same with his bar mitzvah tallit. When he walked back down the hallway, he heard the voices moving to the dining room.
Baba seated them around the dining table. The three men looked at the white Shabbat tablecloth, candlesticks, and the remains of the challah bread. Officer Oliver also sat. If they’d brought him to arrest Joseph, he wasn’t doing it immediately.
“Youssef, sit,” said Baba in English. “Answer them the questions.”
Joseph sat, wondering how much the policemen knew. The less he said, the better.
Maman entered with a large silver tray of almond cookies, teacups, teabags, and a teapot full of hot water. Joseph tried not to frown. Maman was about to give these men the last of the Shabbat cookies. Of course, if he was going to jail, it didn’t really matter. He’d get bread and water. Or maybe meals all seasoned with cafeteria tomato sauce.
Maman set the tray down, poured the hot water for each teacup, and turned to leave the room. Detective White said, “Ma’am, please stay. We’d like to hear from you, too.”
Baba lifted his chin in an angry motion that dismissed her.
“Why . . . ?” asked Detective White.
Joseph better explain, or they’d drag Maman into this. Then Baba would really kill him. “It’s impolite,” said Joseph to the detective.
“I don’t understand,” said Detective White.
“They’re from Iran. It’s impolite to ask a Persian man about his wife or daughters or speak to them directly if you’re not part of the family. It’s kind of . . .” How would his wedgy social studies teacher put it? “It’s a cultural thing. Men deal with public life, and women take care of the home stuff. You’re public. That’s the best I can explain it.”
Detective Bender nodded as if he understood. Maybe since he was from Dallas, he dealt more with other ethnic groups.
Detective White looked less sure. “So did I get your mother in trouble . . . ?”
“No. Baba doesn’t get angry with her. It only looks that way. He’s . . . well . . . he’s just . . . Persian. He’s saving face.”
Officer Oliver grinned at Detective White and translated into Texan: “That’s his woman. Like you don’t go up to a roughneck’s woman in a bar and buy her a drink.”
“Oh,” said Detective White, as if that made perfect sense and they were all now one big, happy Texiranian family.
Detective Bender took a polite sip of his tea. So far, no one had touched the cookies. There was hope. Joseph wasn’t in handcuffs yet, and the cookies were undisturbed.
Detective White fished some photos out of his suit coat pocket. “Joseph, the Hazel Police Department and Sheriff’s Office are cooperating with Tarrant County Police Department. They are investigating a drug ring in Dallas. Since back in the fall, we’ve had a location here in our county under surveillance. We believe that it is a way station for a drug supply chain from Mexico. Do you recognize this location?” He put a photograph in front of Joseph. It was the barn where he and Roberto had seen the Edmondsons.
Joseph looked at Baba, who nodded. “Tell the truth,” he said.
My God, keep my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking deceitfully. Was it possible to do both at the same time? “Yes, sir,” said Joseph to Detective White.
“We haven’t been able to find any evidence to submit to the local judge to obtain a search warrant for the barn property. The owner of the property next to it gave us permission to search the fence line. There’s a creek bed between the properties. Does this look familiar?” He placed a couple more photographs on the table. One was the gap in the fence where he and Roberto had ridden through. The other was of the dirt mounds. Dirt mounds full of dirt bike tracks.
Joseph nodded.
Detective Bender spoke next. “Drug runners don’t jump dirt bikes in their spare time. Detective White called in our forensics expert from Dallas. He did some analysis on the tracks. In the meantime, Detective White did some asking around. It seems that the Ybarra boys and the Nissan boy are usually together on dirt bikes. There are three sets of dirt bike tracks leading up to the property. Only two continued onto it and were ridden on the dirt mounds. What happened with them after that was a little confusing, but it was the same two bikes.”
Good grief. Did these detectives think Joseph and Roberto were drug dealers? This was worse than getting caught with Vonda. Drug dealers went to prison, not religious school in Israel. Joseph thought he’d pass out.
“You are frighting him. Please make to the point,” said Baba.
“The Ybarra twins and their father came down to the station this morning and spoke with us. They admitted that they own the two dirt bikes that made these tracks. What we need to know,” said Detective Bender, “is whether you and Roberto saw anything while you were out there. Anything strange. People. Vehicles.”
“What did Roberto say?” asked Joseph.
“What’s important is what you say,” said Detective White.
Joseph fell silent. If he told, he would be in trouble for more than trespassing. He and Roberto knew of a crime and didn’t report it. He was pretty sure that was a crime, too. A prison crime. No wonder Baba was afraid of the police. You could get in trouble for just knowing something.
