Safe in the Black Sand

10

From her spot at the table, Ms. Jakintsu gazes at me like one might a sunset. Before I can speak, something rubs up against my right shin under the table, causing me to leap up in shock.

Dad chuckles. "Relax. It's only Katu."

            "He like you!" Ms. Jakintsu tells me, admiring her cat.   

            Katu, with fur the color of dusk, is rotund. The basement of this old house must be teeming with mice. The cat sits and purrs, its tail swooping back and forth across the floor. The animal inspects me with emerald eyes.

The absurdity of the situation dawns on me: I'm in a woman's house—a real woman—whose name is apparently Ms. Jakintsu, and who, in my father's mind, is some kind of guru who does pro bono work with the spirit world and makes delicious Basque appetizers.

Ok—so Dad's got a kooky old immigrant friend. So what? No harm in that, I suppose. At least he hasn't been paying her. Still, it was foolish of us to come inside. We should be at the hospital right now with Angelica, facing reality.

"Thank you for the mussels, ma'am," I tell her, going out of my way to be polite, "but I'm afraid we can't stay."

Dad frowns. "Why not? What's wrong, Jax?"

            Ms. Jakintsu bows her head. "Your son no is comfortable," she tells Dad understandingly. "I say too much too fast, is my fault. I talk and no listen, this is my weakness. Now I listen. You talk."

            "We don't have time to talk," I say in a voice louder than necessary. "Look, Ms. Jakin—ma'am. Whoever you are. Please. There's been an emergency. Family crisis. Obviously you and my dad know each other. I'm surprised, I admit. Very surprised, but—"

            "He no mention me before?"

            "No, he has. Many times. I'm just surprised."

She squints, leans forward. "Surprise for what?"

"I'm surprised that you're, well—"

            "Real?"

            I hate that she said it. I wanted my sentence to dangle unfinished. Of course you're real, you old crone!

            "Look," I say. "Maybe you already know this but my father, he sometimes sees and hears things. I'll be honest. I thought you were—well, I guess I thought you might be a character from one of his many stories. But I see now you're obviously not. I'm sorry. It's taking me a minute to process the fact that you've actually been here this whole time."

            Or maybe she hasn't. Maybe Dad has been visiting multiple women and calling them all Ms. Jakintsu. Whatever the case, we shouldn't have brushed him off so quickly when he tried to talk about her. We should have followed him here years ago. When did he find the time to come visit? How had he slipped in and out of the house unnoticed so many times, and for so many years? How could Mom, Angelica, and I have been so dismissive?

            The old woman's forehead folds with concern. "You are angry?"

"We can't stay right now," I tell her. "Someday, another time, I'd love to come back and get to know you. You obviously mean a lot to my dad. But right now we have to get to the hospital."

            Ms. Jakintsu stands up and slips on her oven mitts again. When she opens the oven, a warm breeze of fragrant air escapes once more into the kitchen. This time she removes a sizzling casserole dish.

            "Nothing to do in hospital," she says vaguely, bringing the hot dish to the table. "Your sister already go to another place, safe place for waiting." 

            "What? Who are you talking about?"

            "Angelica, of course." 

            Mad logic, just like Dad. Unreal. Surreal. This house, this kitchen, these colorful hanging plates—are they moving, dancing? Is the Zapotec turkey figurine smiling at me?

"What do you know about Angelica?" I ask.

She looks me square in the eye, visibly offended that I would ask such a question.

"Many things in life I know, many things in life are mystery. But Angelica, she, I know well."

"You've met her before?" I ask, shocked at the thought.

"No."

"Then how do you know her?"

"I know her like I know you, from so many stories of your father."

Who does this woman think she is? She's gone from a nice old foreigner to a condescending Yoda impersonator. I've had enough.

My mouth opens and words rush out faster than I can think. "Sure—of course you know us! You know all of us. You're Ms. Jakintsu, the wise witch of New Haven, Connecticut! Not exactly how I'd pictured you, with your blue jeans and smartphone, but at least you've got the drafty old house and creepy cat."

            "Jax, calm down," Dad says. "You're being rude. You asked to come here, remember? I know it's hard for you to accept, but this is my reality. I let you in. You agreed to accept it—just for today." 

"Stop it, Dad. This house, this woman." I jab an accusatory index finger in Ms. Jakintsu's direction.

The two of them stare, waiting for me to continue. I pant like a sprinter nearing a finish line but find nothing else to say.

            "Is true your father has uniqueness in brain," Ms. Jakintsu says. "He can see and hear invisible thing. Brain chemical for him are different from most people. But this no is important today."

"Not important?" I ask.

"No is our focus for today," she says. "We have other work together. No matter what is real for you, for him, for me. We discuss Angelica now. She is real for all of us. And she need our help. Emergency."  

Ms. Jakintsu bores her chestnut eyes into mine.

"Listen," she implores as if I'm not all-ears already. "Some people no like that Angelica is real. They become angry because she is real. They hate this reality. They want to change it. So they make violence to get Angelica out. You understand?"

            Tears well up as I reach into my pocket. "I need...I'm sorry, I need to call my mom."

            I barely make out the screen through a watery blur. One ring. Two.

            "Hello? Jax? Are you with your father?"

            "Yes," I say, soothed by the sound of her voice—something to ground me in a reality I'm familiar with. "I picked him up at home. We ended up—we're just stopping for a minute to put gas in the—"

            "Jax," Mom interrupts. "Don't come to the hospital. Not right now."

A distant-sounding sniffle. Mom has moved the phone away from her face. I picture the vacant hospital walls. I smell the chemicals of cleanliness and death.

Over the line, Mom breathes in to speak. My muscles tense up. Paralysis. I feel like I did all those years ago on that beach of black sand—on Ms. Jakintsu's beach.

I hold my breath to stop time, or for good luck, like Angelica and I used to do in the backseat when Dad drove us through tunnels.  

Mom sniffs again. "Angelica's in a coma."