Grandma and Ken were talking in the living room. Grandma was still wearing Ken’s cut-off sweatpants. Jude had gone home to host her book club and to train for Death Valley. She and Ken were going to hike through Death Valley. Ken said he’d be the oldest one there. Aha! said Grandma. You are old! When she saw me she said, Welcome to the land of the living! Ken went to the kitchen to get me a snack, which was cheese with blue veins in it and crackers and pieces of mangoes that grew on a tree in Ken’s back yard. Does the mango tree cry? I asked Ken. He wasn’t sure about that, but good question, he said, he’d listen closely next time. Where’s Lou? I asked. I guess he’s out walking, said Ken. Or maybe he’s at home by now.
Ken and Grandma talked about Willit Braun! Everybody knew Willit Braun. That motherfucker, said Ken. He’s still harassing you, huh? Ken said huh instead of eh because he’s an American now. Will he ever stop? said Grandma. They laughed. Such an officious little dictator, said Ken. He came to Fresno and accused everybody here of being too enlightened. Too cosmopolitan and too educated and too modern. Ken laughed. Grandma explained to me that when Ken said everybody, that didn’t mean everybody in Fresno, just the escaped Russians who had come here from her hometown. She said that sometimes she feels sorry for Willit Braun. He really has not managed to come out from under, has he? she said. Not me, man, said Ken. I don’t have a single ounce of pity for that sanctimonious prick. He said that Mooshie—which meant Mom—was such a strong woman. She’s a fighter, agreed Grandma.
Why did he say that? Was Mom fighting Willit Braun? She’s in a play, I said. Ken asked what play, but Grandma and I couldn’t remember the name of it. Then Grandma and Ken talked about how exciting it was that Gord would be born soon. What a trip, man! Won’t that be cool having a little … said Ken. He held his arms out. We don’t know what Gord is, I said. Gord is Gord! said Grandma. Lou is Lou! Let them be! Grandma says that when Mom goes scorched earth. Just let her be!
I am letting them be! I told Grandma. I was just saying we don’t know what Gord is! Grandma sang let it be, let it be, let it be, lord let it be. I told her lord wasn’t the right word. The right word was yeah, let it be, not lord, let it be. She’s right, said Ken. It’s yeah, not lord. Okaaaaaay! said Grandma. From the top. She sang it again but still used the wrong lyric. She did it on purpose. She just likes opportunities to say lord because it makes her feel like she’s praying.
Lou called and said he was home. Ken said he’d drive Grandma over there. Before they left I shoved Grandma’s nitro spray into her little red purse and put it right beside the front door, but naturally she forgot it because she was trying so hard to show off all the Beatles songs she knew. She put the word lord into “Don’t Let Me Down.” Ken didn’t tell her lord wasn’t in that song. He’d figured out that she just likes putting lord into songs whenever she can.
I stayed at Ken’s house by myself for fifteen minutes until he came back. I went into the different rooms and saw pictures of Mom when she was a kid. She looked normal, believe it or not. I saw a picture of Mom holding me when I was a baby. I saw a picture of Lou when he was young with his arm around a beautiful lady. I thought about how Jude was beautiful too. Grandma had told me that all of her six thousand nephews had beautiful wives and girlfriends except for one. He didn’t care about all of that, he cared about social justice and rainforests. But then he and his wife got a divorce so I guess he started caring about it after all. I thought about the thong under our bed. I shivered. I looked at Mao. I was as tall as he was in the picture. I went into Ken’s bedroom and saw a picture of Jude with her shirt barely on. I screamed. I noticed that my feet had left marks in the carpet in his room. I tried to smooth them out but I made it worse. Finally Ken came home and I tried to keep him from going into his bedroom and seeing his carpet. We played backgammon, Ping-Pong in the garage, speed, super speed, crazy eights, suicide eights, Uno, Skip-Bo and charades. Finally Grandma phoned and said Ken could come and pick her up if he wanted to, but she could also walk, no problem! It was such a beautiful night. Ken had her on speaker phone. I shook my head. She can’t walk, I whispered. She’s just saying that. She’ll definitely die. I sliced my throat with my finger. Ken nodded. He told Grandma he’d be right there. It was so late. No wonder Grandma had watched all those people dying in Fresno. Americans don’t really understand that old people like Grandma can’t sail around and drink whole bottles of wine in the sun and sing all day and visit with people all night long.