Chapter Twenty-Six
The morning of the funeral, I was alone in the kitchen. The sun was barely rising, casting long orange shadows across the gingham decor. I was sitting with a glass of orange juice, looking at the paintings on the wall. They depicted scenery of rolling hills, full of trees bearing fruit in one, and the other depicted the snow perched on the branches and the leaves blown away. I remembered them from my childhood. Not a thing in her house had changed. It spooked me. I half expected Grandma Williams to appear from behind a door. To fly in with a burst and a smile. When I looked to the door way expecting her, I started in my chair.
Saibara was standing in the archway to the kitchen, already dressed in his funeral attire like me.
"I'm sorry," Saibara's voice was gentle in the early morning, "I didn't expect to see someone else awake already," He began prepping the tea kettle at the counter, glancing out the window at the sideyard. He paused for a moment when he spotted Fiona's small herb garden. Saibara then heaved a sigh and clattered around in the cabinet before placing the kettle on the stove, "It's pleasant here in the morning."
"When was the last time you stayed here?" I asked, sipping my orange juice. Saibara seated himself at the table and grumbled, rubbing his sore knee.
"At least thirty years..." Saibara shrugged, time gone forever. He looked around the kitchen and paused on the rolling landscapes, "I hung those up. Fiona just had to have them. She was pregnant with George at the time, we were at the flea market shopping for the nursery. She was absolutely certain we'd have a proper place for them in the kitchen. She was right," His voice was so foreign. He drummed his hand against the table for a moment, "Fiona liked to things to have a home. She liked organization. She disliked change very much. This house is like a damned time capsule," He shook his head.
"I know, it's almost scary," I said, rubbing my arm and sitting back in my chair, "Not a thing has changed."
"That's the same couch we picked out together right after we got married," Saibara peered through the archway at the light blue couch, "The guest bedrooms look like the day we installed the curtains in as a final piece to the rooms."
The tea kettle shrieked, making Saibara startle. He was usually such a stoic man. I could see, however, that he was frustrated, broken, and ready to go home. Saibara poured himself a cup of tea and relished in it at the counter for a moment before rejoining me at the table.
"I woke up today feeling much differently than I expected," Saibara said, staring at the wallpaper. He was talking outside his comfort range, that much was obvious, "I thought I'd come here and bury her out of respect. But now... I'm shaking at the thought of having to say goodbye to her forever."
"I wasn't in her life much at all these past nine years," I sighed, watching the surface of my juice, "I wish I had been. She was a light in my life and I failed to seek her out. She probably would have made my high school life much more bearable."
"Claire, I want to get something off my chest," Saibara said, looking directly at me, "I've thought it for years but I've never spoken it aloud... I never stopped loving that woman. We were very young when we met, only nineteen, and even after sixteen years together and a bitter divorce, I still loved her. When we were young, she was my best friend. I'm stubborn, though... set in my ways, very much so like my father. I'm not a man suited for love."
"Who intiated the divorce?" I asked, genuinely curious about Saibara's past.
"We both always threatened it," Saibara heaved a long sigh and got a little more comfortable in his chair, stirring his tea all the meanwhile, "She finally came home with the papers one day, told me it was something I'd might like to read," He was quiet for a while and pressed his knuckle to his lower lip, "I wasn't relieved like I thought I'd be when I finished reading it. I dreaded the idea of losing the only things that made me proud, joyful... I survived, though. Barely."
"I think she still loved you, too," I said.
"I hope she did."
I laid my hand over the top of Saibara's. After a moment, he placed his other hand on top of mine and gave my hand a squeeze.
"Claire, I won't be around forever. Fiona's death has reminded me of my own mortality," Saibara told me, "I've made mistakes, plenty of them. I screwed up with Fiona, I failed my own son," He paused for a moment and thought to his deceased family, "Gray is the last of my blood. I've wanted so badly to lift him from the rubble and ashes that is our family tree and send him off. I want only the best for him. This afternoon, after he passes his test, I'm giving him my forgery."
"But... what about you, Saibara?" I asked.
"I think I'm needed back here, in our house," Saibara nodded, looking around the room again, "Ever since we've arrived, something in my mind has told me this is where I need to be now. Closest to Fiona and George. I think I need to be with my family, now."
"You'll stay?"
"I think I might have to," Saibara's voice was soft, yet decided.
...
"God, these roads are awful," Phyllis griped as we drove down a backroad. We were on the far East side of the City, much more residential. The houses had plenty of land and space between them, and in the distance, rolling hills towards the ice capped mountain range made for a breath-taking view, "The City should really use the tax payer money more wisely," Phyllis continued as the car rocked back and forth over the uneven pavement, "I see why everyone drives SUV's out here."
Saibara was silent in the passenger seat as he looked out the window. Gray was sitting behind Phyllis, absently running his tie through his fingers. He was watching where the car was steering. Along the side of the road up ahead there were many cars pulled into the grass banks on either side. Nearby, tall iron wrought gates signified the graveyard. Phyllis pulled in behind the next car and turned the ignition off.
"Saibara, I just want to tell you," She whisked a white strand of hair from her face, "it's OK if you want to cry." I couldn't tell if she was trying to insult his manhood or was being genuine. Her voice was very ambiguous.
"Same to you," Saibara replied.
"Are you kidding me? Hit me if I cry," Phyllis said as she threw her door open. A gusty breeze blasted through the car from across the plain, "This tube of mascara cost me $32."
We walked through the iron wrought gates to the cemetery. It was large and had many tall oak trees shading the path that looped through the graves. A crowd of people were gathered in the center, off to the left of the path. A man in a black suit with a shiny bald head greeted Saibara at the gate and handed us program pamplets. The front had a picture of Grandma Williams' in her youth. She had sweet blond hair, pinned back with pearl clips, and in her lap, was a brunette child, who I assumed was Gray's father.
"I took this photo," Saibara said as we strolled down the path, "I remember this warm August morning..." Gray watched as Saibara closed his eyes for a brief moment. It was much longer than a blink. Saibara's face become as hard as a rock within a moment.
Phyllis had already entered the crowd, greeting many people, who to my surprise, looked genuinely happy to see her. I was still under the vibe that Phyllis was a source of negativity. So many people hugged her, however, or held her hand for minutes on end as they spoke extensively to her. Gray and I walked towards the gravesite. He stopped suddenly and I ran into the back him. As I recomposed myself and came to his side, I knew why he was a statue.
There was a large hole in the earth with a white casket suspended above it. The casket was barely noticeable beneath the flowers brought as tribute. Amongst the flowers were small presents that she must have liked or shared with people. Some hand written notes were shoe horned between the gifts brought by friends. Besides the gaping hole was a grey marble headstone that stood as tall as me.
Across the top read GEORGE ALAN WILLIAMS AND SUZANNA ADINAH-GERSHWIN WILLIAMS. My eyes stared at their names, re-reading it again and again. Beneath George's name, there was a simple cross engraved. Beneath Suzi's name, there was a Star of David. His birthday was September 14th, her's October 10th. They had been born the same year and died the same day: May 11th. Loving father, beloved son, valued employee, and remarkable man. World's Best Mother, adoring sister, loved daughter, and Child of God.
"It's them," Gray said, his eyes trained on their headstone, "This is the closest I've been to them in nine years."
"Me too," I nodded from beside him. He gripped my hand very suddenly.
"I can't imagine them in there," Gray closed his eyes like Saibara did earlier. As if he suddenly felt the rush of his own mortality as he stood before the last of his family, "Some times I believe it was all an elaborate scheme. Like they didn't die. It was a trick to make me realize what I had after it was actually gone. I still believe it was punishment."
"Punishment?" I echoed, looking to Gray, "Punishment for what?"
"For being a spoiled brat," His startling blue eyes opened, "I used to just take and take without ever saying a 'thank you' or reminding them that I loved them. I just expected them to behave the ways they did because I knew I was the center of their universe," Gray sighed in an agitated manner, "I used their love against them, essentially. I was an awful child."
"No you weren't," I said, looking back to their graves, "You kept your room clean and you said thanks before dinner each night, I remember. You got OK grades. You were what every parent could expect of a child. Curious, silly, and distracted."
"God, I hope you're right," Gray's grip tightened around my hand.
I saw Saibara in Gray in that very moment. I suffered deja vu from my morning events. I felt the need to reassure him as I had his own grandfather. The Williams men needed to understand that feeling things was okay, even if it made you flustered, bewildered, or ashamed.
A bottle will combust under pressure. And so will a man.
"Aja's just beyond the blackberry bushes," Saibara whispered to his grandson, "Maybe you should go pay your respect before the ceremony for your grandmother starts," Saibara was being so gentle and caring. His hands were clasped in front, the funeral program crumpled beneath his grip. His palm covered the entirety of the picture plastered across the front.
"You go, I'll wait here for you," I told him in a voice that matched Saibara's whisper. Everyone who had gathered, which was quite a bit, were talking in hushed tones. It's as if they didn't want to disturb those who slept here. Gray's hand left mine. I could only see the top of his head beyond the bushes, but I knew he was motionless.
"Claire, here," Phyllis interuptted my thoughts as she stuck a cigarette in my hand.
"Oh, I don't-"
"You do right now," Phyllis told me, lighting her cigarette and then giving me the lighter, "I need someone to mingle with. No one here likes me."
"Why'd you come then?" I asked, resigning to lighting the cigarette and joining her.
Phyllis chuckled lightly and smiled, "Fiona was something else. I loved that woman. She was easy to deal with, pleasant to speak with. Fiona never got mad if sometimes you didn't call for weeks on end. When she answered the phone, she picked up as if you called last night. She was a fantastic woman. I could never believe why she chose a man such as my brother," Phyllis nodded her head towards Saibara. He was standing next to Fiona's casket, looking at the flowers with a face of stone. An elderly man was talking to Saibara, also looking downcast at the casket.
"Did Grandma Williams ever tell you why she and Saibara got married?" I asked, watching Gray's grandfather. The exact image of patriarchal stoicism.
"They were young and she loved him," Phyllis shrugged, obviously bored by it, "Fiona always insisted he was a hardworking man. She said he would work all day and night, grinding his fingers to the bone, if it meant she could sleep in every morning and have wine every evening," She took a drag of her cigarette, "My father was a hardworking man, too, and he was still an ass."
"Why do you hate your brother?"
"Isn't it an unfair world where men control everything and let us women have nothing?" Phyllis growled, "It was all handed to him, for god's sake! He was a man so he got to be a blacksmith! I wasn't even considered for such a thing, despite being the first born. My parents weren't interested in me bettering myself as they were Saibara. If I had been a boy, he never would have been born," Phyllis was looking at me with her intense green eyes, "I had to pay for my own college, I had to support myself during that time. I started as a teacher and fought for my position as principal. I was damn good with kids, I had an affinity for teaching, Claire," She shook her head sourly, "No one ever cared, though. Not even Saibara."
I slowly lowered my cigarette from my lips and watched Saibara, still. The smoke from my mouth was carried away in the frequent gusts bursting across the rolling green plains. In the distance, the city pierced the sky. Further than that, a yellow and green hot air balloon sailed across the open sky.
"Saibara struggled, too, though," I finally said, not tearing my eyes away from him, "His only option was to be a blacksmith. He wasn't going to break that chain, whether your father made it attractive or not."
"And then his son goes and breaks the chain," Phyllis scoffed.
"But George's son reconnected the chain," I said. Gray had appeared near the casket. He was raking the hair from his face, letting out a long sigh. Saibara greeted him and seemed to be gesturing to the man he had been speaking with, introducing him. Gray shook his hand.
"Claire, what are you doing?" Phyllis nearly sighed, "I see a lot of potential for a girl like you. How could you fall in love with him? How could you want to be a Williams? It's been misery for me. It was misery for my mother."
"You know, time changes people," I stomped my cigarette out now, "I think you'd be surprised by who these Williams men are today." I walked away from her after that, as the ceremony was beginning.
...
The sun was setting. Saibara and I were seated in a quiet hallway, still wearing our funeral clothes. We were in a government building, downtown. The ceiling-to-floor windows spanned the entire hallway, and gave a few of the skyscrapers facing the calm ocean. We were on level seven, which houses the Board of Blacksmith's. The walls behind us were decorated in diagrams of the evolution of blacksmith. Saibara was reading a monthly magazine on the craft. I just kept glancing toward the door he went in. He had gone in well over an hour ago. I was growing nervous and fidgety.
From around the corner, heels clunked on the lineoleum floors. Phyllis appeared, fluffing her curled hair from her face delicately. She was smiling, which seemed odd for her. She tapped Saibara and he slid over without thinking, not even looking up from his magazine. Phyllis tapped her manicured nails against the bench arm.
"He's still in there?" She asked in a professional low tone, "I fought rush hour traffic and filled the tank up in the car thinking I'd be running late."
"It takes time," Saibara muttered, still reading, "My test took well over two hours."
"You'll sit here that long?" Phyllis asked nearly incredulously.
"You're welcome to go home, I know how to read a bus route map," Saibara looked at her now.
"Surely Gracie can, too," Phyllis had a sour look on her face as she noticed the no smoking sign nearby.
"Well, I want to be here when he gets out," Saibara said, "I want to be the first person he sees when he finishes the test."
Phyllis sighed and picked up a magazine off the side table, settling into the wood bench.