Part 33 (1/2)
”Oh, I went, silly. He confirmed today what the nuns told me two weeks ago.”
”He did a blood test?”
”Yada, yada. Yeah, he did a blood test. But the nuns, Lar, they knew because they felt her soul inside me.”
”Her soul?”
”Oh, yes. Sister Agatha told me.”
”She can tell this?”
”A girl soul? Of course. Oh, Larissaayou have to be here for the birth of my baby. I can't give birth without you.”
”You conceived without me, didn't you?” They giggled.
”Ahhh!”
”Ahhh!”
”Is Lorenzo happy?”
”I don't know. He's gone fis.h.i.+ng. He's trying to start his own business as a fisherman, like his parents.”
”How's it going?”
”Slow. He says there are no fish. Between you and me, I don't think he's a very good fisherman.”
”Oh, Che.”
”Oh, Larissa.”
”How much time do you have left on your calling card?”
”I don't know. We may be cut off at any time. Why the h.e.l.l haven't you written to me in over six months?”
”I'm sorry.”
”You should be sorry. Something is very wrong. I can tell.”
Larissa started to cry.
”Lar, are you crying? Oh my G.o.d. It's Jared, isn't it? What has he done? I'll kill him. What has he done?”
”No, no, Cheait's nothing like that.”
”So what's the matter, darling? Why on earth would you be crying? What could possibly be the matter?”
”Because I'm in desperate trouble, Che,” whispered Larissa. ”I'm in terrible trouble. I couldn't write you about anything because it's just too awful to put into a letter. But I really need your help.” The words were coming out unintelligible. ”I have no one in the world to turn to. You're so far away, and I need you so much. I can't tell you how much I need you.” Larissa blew her nose, wiped her eyes. ”Che? Are you there? Did you hear me? Che!”
They'd been cut off. Larissa couldn't go back to sleep, pacing around her dim silent house. The next morning, she went to the mall, bought fourteen maternity outfits, two for each day of the week, and sent Che a package, with a money order for a thousand dollars. She included a congratulations card but no letter. She had absolutely nothing to say.
4.
Larissa the Epicurean
Ezra and Larissa were having their monthly lunch to go over department things.
”Why do you look so nice?” Ezra asked.
She was wearing a denim Escada jacket and black True Religion jeans. ”Not that nice, Ez,” said Larissa. ”Jeans and a jean jacket.”
He looked her over. ”I don't know. Pretty put together for a Tuesday afternoon is all I'm saying.”
”Well, thank you. And I like your green corduroy blazer. It goes with your purple tie.” She smiled.
”Uh-huh. So listen,” said Ezra, ”Have you been thinking about the spring play?”
”No! It's January! We're still in rehearsals for G.o.dot, with that insufferable Leroy.”
”Here's the thing. We're reading Shaw's Saint Joan in AP English. It might be a nice parallel for the kids to perform it while they studied it.”
Larissa considered it. ”Saint Joan? Spending three months listening to Bernard Shaw apologizing for the English?”
Ezra smiled thinly. ”Saint Joan is brilliantly written, and it's got like twenty parts in it. But who could play Joan? The whole play is in her casting.”
Larissa sighed. ”I don't know. Tiffany?”
”Give me a break,” said Ezra with tired bemus.e.m.e.nt. ”She was okay and camp in Dracula, but she's not serious enough. Saint Joan is about sacred things.” They both petered off; Ezra looked down into his coffee, Larissa into hers.
”Can we make it into a musical, Ez? With interpretive dance numbers. Maybe when Joan is getting burned at the stake the dancers can sing, *Dawning of the Age of Aquarius.'”
”Too avant-garde for me.”
”What about a melancholy guitar that from stage left punctuates the action with song?” Larissa stirred her cold coffee. ”Listen, it's not the worst idea you ever had. Let me find it at home, and I'll reread it. I'll let you know.”
”No need to search,” Ezra said, pulling out a copy from his worn briefcase.
”You're something else.” She took it from him, noticing the gaunt red look around his eyes.
”You okay, Lar?”
”What do you mean?”