New Year

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A short story by Daniel Olivas

            “Shedoesn’t have to know, right?”            Claudio held thereceiver hard against his left ear as he caressed the granite by the kitchensink with his right hand.  His fingerswere still moist with perspiration from his workout.  Claudio rubbed the smooth cool granite thatwas interrupted periodically and randomly with miniature canyons that dippeddown far enough to avoid the polisher’s tool. His eyes traveled over its dappled black and tan surface following animaginary line from his fingertips to the bone white lip of the porcelainKohler sink.  Claudio remembered choosingthe granite with his wife several years ago after the Northridge quake.  They were forced to live in “corporate”housing for three long hot summer months courtesy of their Aetna policy.  Their contractor had visited them at theirtemporary home schlepping six different granite samples.  He laid the small chunks of stone on theorange carpeting like they were diminutive Monets.  His name was Lionel—a former soap operaactor, or so he said—who decided on a complete change of lifestyle seven yearsearlier immediately after he and his second wife split up.  An attorney in Claudio’s office swore byhim.  Lionel’s black curly hair and sharptanned features looked too planned and he dressed better than any of the othercontractors they had interviewed.  Heproved to have a great eye for design but, as Claudio and Lois eventuallylearned, he stumbled a bit in the execution. Lionel stood by the granite samples, one hand on his hip, the other athis chin, and he hummed a nervous little tune.            “Well,” Lionel hadsaid after the silence got to him, “which will it be?”  Luckily, Claudio and Lois have similaresthetic sensibilities so they chose the same sample almost simultaneously bothpointing with their right index fingers. Lionel exclaimed in an overly dramatic voice, “Lovely!  I would have chosen the same piece.”            Claudio quicklyswitched the receiver and pushed it against his right ear even harder.  “I mean, look, she shouldn’t have toknow.  Right?  I mean, where does it get any of us?  It isn’t really necessary, is it?”            As the woman’s voicestarted again, he looked out the kitchen window.  The cawing grew louder and harsher.  Claudio never saw the bird but he knew it wasa crow because his father identified its call when they first moved out to thewest end of the San Fernando Valley ten years ago.  The whole family had come over for ahousewarming.            “Mijo,” his father hadsaid.  “Sounds like you got a big ol’crow living in one of those trees in back. They’re such noisy and mean birds.” His father took a sip from his can of Coors and added:  “I hate crows.”            “Me, too, Pop,”Claudio had answered though he never really thought about it before.  Now, ten years after his father’s pronouncementand his unthinking agreement, he did indeed hate crows.  Especially the one who wouldn’t shut up justthen.            The woman’s voicestopped.  Claudio said, “Okay, then.  We’re in agreement.”  After a pause, a few more words and then acurt good-bye, he hung up letting out a long breath of air.  “Goddamn her,” he said softly, almostgently.  He headed to the refrigeratorand scanned the bottom shelf.  He stoodthere mesmerized by the bottles and cans of Snapple, Diet Coke and various fruitjuices in small rectangular boxes that his son loved.  Claudio suddenly felt dizzy fromdehydration.  He grabbed a Snapple PeachTea.á´¥            Earlier that morning,Claudio woke at six o’clock with the obnoxious shrill buzz of his combinationtelephone, AM/FM radio and alarm clock, the Chronomatic-300 sold under theRadio Shack label.  His wife, Lois,bought it for Claudio’s thirty-eighth birthday last year.  It was a thoughtful and useful gift but hegrew to hate that damn buzzer.  Lois wasalready showered and stood in front of her sink with a white towel wrappedaround her head like the strolling Turk on the Hills Brothers coffee can.  She wore her delicate floral cotton robe andbrushed her teeth with a Braun electric toothbrush.  He sat up at the edge of their bed and rubbedhis face while listening to the soft hum of the Braun.            “Morning,” he said.            Lois didn’t turnaround but answered with a muffled noise and a nod of her head.  She turned off the toothbrush and spat intothe sink.            “Morning, sweetheart,”she answered.  Lois then turned andlooked in the general direction of her husband but because she didn’t have hercontacts in yet, all she saw was a blur.            It was Friday and thatmeant that Claudio could work at home.  Acouple of years ago, they purchased a computer, laser printer and fax machineso that Claudio could telecommute at least once a week because his normalcommute to downtown was pretty God-awful. So was Lois’ but her office didn’t believe in telecommuting.  But, because Claudio worked for thegovernment, his employer had an institutional bias in favor of parent-friendlyflexible work hours and anti-smog programs. So, if he didn’t have to be in court on Friday, he could work on hisbriefs in peace and quiet at home and check his voicemail every so often whenhe needed a break from the computer.            Claudio went to hisson’s room but he wasn’t there.  He thenheard muffled voices from the downstairs TV so he walked to the staircase.  As he went down, the sounds of Scooby Doo became clearer.  Before going to the den, he headed out to thedriveway to get the Los Angeles Times.  It was chilly and a bit foggy.  The week and a half between Rosh Hashanah andYom Kippur had been particularly difficult this year.  Claudio reached down and grabbed thepaper.  As he stood up, he saw hisneighbor across the street reach down and get her paper.  She was wearing a short nightshirt thatexposed plump and very white legs.  Whatwas her name?  She gave birth to a babygirl a month ago and she complained that she would never get her figure backthough she really never had one in the first place.  Claudio waved and she looked up, clearlyembarrassed by her outfit.  She wavedwithout a smile and scurried back into her house slapping her fleshy bare feeton the dew-covered cement.            Claudio went back inand headed to the den to check on his son. Jonathan still wore his Goosebumps glow-in-the-dark pajamas and was, asusual, doing several things at once: as he looked up to the TV every so often tokeep track of Scooby Doo’s exploits hunting ghosts, he was using his kid’sscissors to cut an old T-shirt to make a cape for his new Spider-Man that hisGrandma bought him and, every few minutes, he reached over to his box of applejuice perched on several books on the floor and took a drink from a tiny straw.            “Morning, mijo,”Claudio said.            Jonathan just staredat the TV.            “I said, good morning,Jon.”  Claudio grew annoyed.  Still, Jonathan didn’t answer.  Finally Claudio put himself between the TVand Jonathan and said again:  “Good morning,I said.”            This broke Jonathan’strance and he looked up to his father.  “Goodmorning, Papa.”            Claudio reached downand kissed his son’s hair.  It smelledlike blueberries from Aussie Land Blue Mountain Shampoo.  Jonathan’s hair was soft, straight and darkblond like Lois, but his skin resembled Claudio’s and had an olive glow aboutit.  He had long dark eyelashes like hisfather.            “Jon, I’m making PopTarts for you.  What kind do you want?”            After a moment ofcontemplation, Jonathan said, “One strawberry, and one cinnamon.  And cut them up in funny pieces.”            “And?”            Jonathan lookedpuzzled.  “That’s all.  And milk, too.”            Claudio looked at hisson and said again:  “And?”            Finally, Jonathan gotit.  “And, thank you Papa.”            Getting the answer hewanted, Claudio walked to the kitchen and got his son’s breakfast ready and gotthe coffee going, too.  Lois came downand pulled a bowl out of the cabinet and poured some Quaker Oats granola.  She opened the refrigerator and said, “Honey,you gotta’ get some milk tonight.  We’realmost out.”á´¥            Theirroutine that morning was well set.  Theyate breakfast, each glued to their respective portions of the newspaper: Loisread the movie reviews in the Calendar section, Jonathan earnestly workedthrough the funnies, and Claudio scanned the front page.  After putting her bowl and coffee mug intothe sink, Lois went upstairs and threw down their son’s clothes and then wentto finish doing her hair.  Claudio madeJonathan’s lunch and then went up to put on some sweats, a ragged StanfordT-shirt, and his cross-trainers while their son got dressed, made his bed andthen brushed his teeth with a miniature version of his mother’s Braun electrictoothbrush.  Lois kissed them good-byeand left first.  Within ten minutes—atexactly seven forty-five—Claudio loaded his son and his son’s Star Warsbackpack into their Honda Accord and headed towards school.  They chatted about silly things and listenedto “The Wave”—the local soft jazz station—during the seven-minute drive.            Asthey entered the school’s driveway, the teachers signaled the cars to keep onmoving after dropping off the children. Jonathan pointed to one of the teachers and said, “She’s Mrs.Horowitz.  I hate her.  She has really bad breath and she breathes onall the children.”            “Maybeshe’s a nice person with bad breath,” said Claudio trying not to laugh.  He made it his quest to teach his son thatyou have to look deeper into people to really know them.  “Maybe she doesn’t know that she needs tobrush more.  Or, maybe she needs tofloss.”            “Oh,she knows she has bad breath.  She’s meanso she doesn’t care.”            WhenClaudio could stop safely, he unlocked the doors with the master switch andsaid, “I love you.”  Jonathan said, “Ilove you, too,” and opened the door and dragged his backpack behind him.  Claudio locked the doors and headed to theexit as he changed the radio station to hear the news on NPR.  There was something about the ethnicAlbanians.  Claudio didn’t understandwhat was going on over there even though he knew that he should care more.  But he decided that he simply couldn’t listento that story right then so he pushed the button preset for KUSC.  Ah, Bach. The Goldberg Variations.            Claudio drove north onShoup and then turned right on Sherman Way.  He aimed his car to the Spectrum Club for hisusual half-hour on the recumbent stationary bicycle and half-hour with theweight machines.  As he turned into theparking lot, he tried to decide whether to bring the paperback edition of Bless Me, Ultima or the latest Ploughshares to read whilepedaling.  Claudio always kept books andliterary journals stashed in the armrest and glove compartments so that henever lacked for reading material.  Hedecided on Anaya’s book.  When he majoredin English back in the late ‘70s, Chicano writers weren’t studied the way theywere now.  So, last year, Claudio made alist of classic Chicano authors to read like Anaya, Morales and Rechy and thenhe added the “newer” ones like Cisneros, Soto and Villaseñor.            He slid his car into aspot, turned off the motor, pulled the paperback out of the armrest compartmentand stuffed it into his gym bag.  Claudiogot out and locked his car and walked slowly to the entrance of the club.  He felt stiff.  At the front desk, he handed his membershipcard to a young woman who wore a gleaming white uniform Polo shirt with a largenametag that said DONNA.  She smiled andexposed large and very straight white teeth that matched her shirt.  Donna stared at Claudio with translucent blueeyes            “Got your braces off,”said Claudio realizing that she wanted him to notice.  A tall skinny young man, another gymemployee, leaned against the wall near Donna and glowered.            Donna smiled evenwider.  “Yes,” and she looked down at hismembership card, “Claudio.”  Donna swipedthe membership card through a narrow plastic trough and the computer let out alittle beep.  She then leaned forward onthe counter and brought her face closer to Claudio’s.  She smelled like almonds and honey.  “I was totally sick of them but now, youknow, it was totally worth it.”            Claudio smiled.  “Yes. You look nice.”            Donna bounced a littleon her toes and tossed her blond hair away from her face.  “Have a good work out, Claudio,” and shehanded the card back to him letting it linger in Claudio’s palm beforereleasing it.            “Thank you.”  Claudio headed to the locker room to dump hisbag and glasses in a locker before going to the weight room.  By this hour, there wasn’t much of acrowd.  Claudio shuffled by an obeseolder man who stood naked, hands on his hips and legs spread in a pyramid likeBalzac, while an electric wall dryer blew his sparse stringy white hair into afrenzy.  The man’s belly hung so low thathis private parts were not visible. Claudio quickly averted his eyes, found a locker at the far end of theroom and put his bag and glasses away. He snapped shut the lock, looped the key on his right shoelace andtrotted to the weight room taking a different route to avoid the fat naked man.  Once out of the locker room, Claudio slowedand walked the long hallway of racquetball courts, his head hanging down.  He came to several older men and women whowere laughing.            “Beat the shit out ofthose two little punks,” snorted a man who looked like the little guy on theMonopoly cards but without the top hat and tails.  “Didn’t know who he was messin’ with,” and heshook his fists from side-to-side like a bear showing his strength.  The younger vanquished couple slunk awaytowards the showers.            “Yes, sweetheart,”said a short stout woman whose plump legs were covered with a maze of spiderveins.  “We showed him and hisgirlfriend.”            “What do you mean ‘we,’white woman?” her husband answered and their two other friends burst outlaughing.            Claudio tried to passthem but they blocked the way.  “Excuseme,” he said still holding his head down.            “Sorry,” said theMonopoly man.  “Didn’t see you with yourhead down so low.  Cheer up.  Can’t be that bad, can it?”            Claudio looked up andsmiled a small smile in appeasement just so he could pass without getting intoa conversation.  He learned that theretired people who used the gym loved to talk it up with anyone because theydidn’t have to get to work.  Claudiosmelled stale perspiration and some kind of medicated ointment.            “Now, that’s better,”said the Monopoly man’s wife and they let Claudio pass.  In a few moments, he got to the safety of theweight room, grabbed a little towel from a plastic shelf and wandered over tothe stationary bicycles.  Since theremodeling after the Spectrum Club bought out Racquetball World, everything wasnewer but in a different place.  Claudioliked the greater variety of weight machines but hated learning a new floordesign.  He looked at the six stationarybikes.  The one to the far left by theStairMasters was occupied by a stroke victim and his trainer.  The stroke victim looked as though his bodywas once a magnificent specimen of strength and agility.  Now, his left side dragged and he used acane.  The trainer said, “Good, Howie,good!  You’re moving way better thismorning!  Pedal, pedal, pedal!”  The trainer was probably a sophomore orjunior in college.  His flattop made himlook like a Marine and he had a serpent tattoo on his right forearm.  Howie pedaled slowly staring up at one of thefive large TV screens that hung suspended from the ceiling.  He didn’t acknowledge his trainer’s presenceand wore what appeared to be a sneer on his face though the expression couldhave been the result of the stroke.  Whenthe trainer wasn’t around, Howie liked to flirt with the young women.            Claudio approached thebicycles.  A very thin woman pedaled onthe one to the far right.  Large splashesof perspiration covered three of the four unoccupied bicycles.  Claudio chose the dry one near the thinwoman.  He adjusted the seat, chose theprogram, set it for thirty minutes, opened his paperback and started pedaling.            After a few minutes,Claudio felt the thin woman staring at him but he kept his eyes on hisbook.  Finally, the woman said, “Excuseme.”            Claudio turned, “Yes?”            “Could you dosomething about that noise?”  Claudionoticed that the young woman was so thin and white that he could see whatappeared to be most of her circulatory system throughout her face, neck andshoulders like algae-filled canals.  Shereminded him of those pictures of Auschwitz and he wondered if she had canceror an eating disorder.  Perspirationrained from her face and arms.  Claudioworried that there’d soon be nothing left but her tiny tank top, shorts, andNikes sitting in a pool of liquid.            “What noise?” saidClaudio.            She shifted in herseat and looked annoyed.  “Yourshoe.  The plastic tip on your shoelacekeeps hitting your bike as you pedal and it makes a noise.”            Claudio hadn’t noticedthe sound before the woman mentioned it. “And?” he asked betraying a less than charitable tone.            “Can you please stopit?”            Claudio took a deepbreath and tried not to get angry.  “Okay.”  He stopped pedaling, double knotted theoffending shoelace and started pedaling again. No more noise.            “Thanks,” she saidwith a smile.            “Don’t mention it,”Claudio answered and he tried to find his place in the book.á´¥            After working out,Claudio came home and walked slowly into the den from the garage when he heardthe phone ringing.  He hurried and got toit before the answering machine picked up.            “Hello,” he said stillout of breath from his workout.            “Oh, hi.  It’s Doctor Kayess.”  She had a heavy and deep voice punctuatedwith an Israeli accent that didn’t match her petite body and elegant face.  She couldn’t have been more than twenty-eightyears old.            “Hello, Doctor.  A belated Happy New Year.”  Claudio tore a sheet from the roll of ScottTowels that stood on the counter and wiped his forehead.  Though he had converted from Catholicism tenyears ago, he still felt ill at ease with the Jewish calendar and didn’t wantto sound foolish.            “L’Shona Tova,” sheanswered half-heartedly.            The crow started tocaw and Claudio looked out the window vainly trying to spot it.  “Do you have any news?” he asked as he pushedto one side several of the plastic vertical blinds.            “Yes,” shestarted.  “Yes, the tests came back.  Should I call your wife at work?”            Claudio sighed.  “No, she said that you could tell me if youcalled here.”            On Rosh Hashanah, Loismiscarried for the fifth time.  Eachtime, she carried for only eight or nine weeks. Getting pregnant wasn’t an issue. Keeping it became the battle.  Dr.Kayess and her older partner, Dr. Mizrahi, also an Israeli, had run everyimaginable test on Lois and Claudiobut they produced no answers.  The teamhad come very highly recommended from two moms at their son’s school who hadtried to have babies for years but couldn’t get pregnant until they went tothese doctors.  Dr. Mizrahi was aboutfifty, trim and dapper, with a medical degree from UCLA and a very kinddemeanor.  Dr. Kayess studied at Harvardbut, because of her youth, she still had not mastered the nuances of thedoctor-patient relationship.  Lois’miscarriages stymied both doctors.  Butthis time, they had some fetal tissue from the DNC and ran some tests.  Was there an anomaly in the DNA?  Maybe they would have some answers.            “Well, the tissue cameback normal.”            “Oh,” Claudio said ashe threw away the sopped paper towel in the trash can under the sink.  “Anything else?”            “Yes.  Though she was only eight weeks along, weknow that it was a girl.”            Claudio suddenlystiffened his back and looked up to the ceiling.  It was as though an unseen attacker hadshoved a long knife between his shoulder blades and held it there just foremphasis.            Claudio took a deepbreath trying not to raise his voice.  “Shedoesn’t have to know, right?”            There was silence onthe other end.  Doctor Kayess stumbled onher words.  “I’m so—so—sorry.”            “I mean, look, sheshouldn’t have to know.  Right?  I mean, where does it get any of us?  It isn’t really necessary, is it?”  He looked down to the piles of medical billsand insurance statements that covered a full third of the kitchen counter.            “You mean the gender,right?” she said.            “It would be devastating.  We’ve been hoping for a girl.  We even know that we’d name her Rachel.  There’s no reason for her to know that welost a girl.  Unless that’s part of whatyou need to tell her for a complete consultation.”            There wassilence.  Finally, she said, “She doesn’thave to know.  I’m very sorry.  Have her call me so that we can set up anappointment and we can talk about your options.”            Claudio said, “Okay,then.  We’re in agreement.”            “Yes.”  Her voice sounded very small as though shefelt stupid and inexperienced.            “Thank you, Doctor,”Claudio said and hung up.  “Goddamn her.”  But he didn’t mean it.            The crow’s sharpsquawking grew louder and he looked out the window again searching for it.  The morning fog already burned off and thebright sun blinded him momentarily.  Thefig and lemon trees displayed deep green leaves though one of the six cypressesthat lined the back wall and was dying from some kind of orange fungus.  They had to get a tree doctor out there,sometime.  Claudio finally gave up resignedto the fact that he would never see the creature that tormented him.  He moved his hand from the vertical blindsand they waved back and forth making a hollow clacking sound.  Claudio slowly walked over to therefrigerator to get something to drink.
[“New Year” is featured in Assumption and Other Stories (Bilingual Press, 2003).]