I had no wish to return to the empty boarding house tonight, to be reminded of all the family I could no longer find there. But I had little choice. Gerald's apartment was uptown. If I had taken a bus to Vine Street I would have thrown up, so instead I walked until a lot of the alcohol had been purged from my veins. Then, nearly tripping, I decided that finding the keys in my pocket and unlocking the front door was too much work. A hammock in the back yard would do just fine. I fell into the hammock and slept. When I woke next, it was because Gerald was angrily shaking me. I came to with a splitting headache and groaned.
"You wouldn't answer the phone," Gerald scolded. "Damn you, Arnold. What happened to your sense of responsibility?"
"Couldn't hear it from out here. Sorry," I said holding my hands to my head. "You're right. Can I ask a favor of you? Can I stay over at your place for a while? I'm just... I'm just not okay right now, Gerald."
"Sure thing, man," said my best friend with a squeak of relief in his throat. He wrapped a single arm around my shoulder and helped me sit up.
"Phew, you stink, man," Gerald scolded me. "Go on in and take a shower and I'll call us a cab."
When we arrived at Gerald's place Phoebe made me a breakfast so late in the day it was almost lunch. I sat at the table chewing silently while Gerald called my Grandpa. Then Stinky and Sid came over to play cards with me. I heard their talk like the waves of a far-off shore.
"Arnold," said Phoebe sitting down next to me at dinner that night. "During difficult life- situations such as yours it is the usual expectation that some sort of physician-prescribed antidepressant be offered. We can make an appointment with your health-care provider tomorrow if you like."
"I'll think about it, Phoebe," I said, trying to be reasonable. But the help that I needed most came by airplane. When Grandpa arrived at the Hillwood Airport the next day, the first thing he declared was that I looked like I had been run over by a bus.
"I would have been glad to show up sooner," Grandpa declared so loud it was almost a shout. "It will be good to get away from that over-bearing son of mine. Now why don't you set down and tell me what's eating ya boy?" When Grandpa had said that, I lay my head on his shoulder on his and cried. I felt the years melt away and suddenly I was a nine-year all over again and he was the only father I had ever known.
But Grandpa had more than boundless, paternal love to offer. He had cunning, too. Two days later, when Phoebe breathlessly arrived with two copies of official documents in hand, my Grandpa was the one who would come through and change everything.
"Look," Phoebe Hyerdyhl sang with joy. "I found the birth certificate for Arnold Pataki. The stranger you met in the graveyard was indeed, correct Arnold! Olga Pataki was the mother."
"Now why is that cause for celebration?" said Gerald scrutinizing the page.
"Because," said Phoebe flipping the second document over. "While I was researching it I found a second document. One month prior to the birth certificate for Olga's son, there was another, similar certificate issued. This one to... Helga Pataki!" The news went off like a bombshell.
"What! Are you serious?" Gerald made a dive for the scrap of paper but I got to it first. I read, then reread the document, my hands shaking.
"Look , she even listed you as the father, Arnold! You're right. There is a son of yours out there. Only his name isn't Arnold. It's Alfred."
"Alfred?" I said, feeling the name like a strange taste. "Alfred? Helga's father must have named him then, because that's what he used to always call me! Alfred."
"Hm, Alfred Pataki, huh?" said Grandpa appearing unexpectedly. He tugged the document out of my hand. "Get in the car, Shortman. We have a great-grandson to find!"
I didn't know if my Grandpa still had his driver's license and I didn't ask. Instead I sank low in my seat as he explained his master plan. We stopped by every single daycare center in the city. I stayed in the car while Grandpa whined and wailed about being too old and senile to remember where he was supposed to pick up his great-grandson. Incredibly, at about two, Grandpa smiled and rapped on the Packard's door.
"Found him!" he beamed. "But now what do we do about? Grab him and run?"
"Grandpa!" I choked. "We can't do that! That's called kidnapping."
"I suppose it is. Darn it, Shortman. I guess you had better go in and see if you can find out how to contact the guardians." It was anyone's guess who the guardian would be. Olga Pataki? Big Bob? If so, it was no wonder he had hung up on me. It was growing into a messy affair that would have to be resolved through courts. But for the moment, I would be satisfied to even catch a glimpse of him. My son- Alfred Pataki. But the reunion I found when I inquired about him at the daycare center's front desk most definitely was not with my son.
"Oh, you know I can't do that, Arnold," said Lila with all the professionalism her teacher's uniform demanded. "But we can sit down and talk a little. Would you like that?" I shoved my hands in my pockets and glowered. But I was defeated. By yet another old school friend.
"All right, Lila," I said. "We'll talk."
"Great," said Lila. "There's a great little coffee shop just down here. It will take only a minute to reach it." I waited as calmly as I could for Lila chat with another teacher, then lock up her cubby desk. I paced alongside her down the sidewalk. Then, growing ever more impatient, I slumped into one of the outdoor cafe tables and glared at her.
"I'll go buy us a couple of coffees," said Lila.
"No thanks," I said. I'd stand up and wait in line for coffee only if they made me. "Let's talk. You know that son is mine, don't you? Alfred Pataki is my son."
"Well, I'd say that's highly probable," said Lila. "I mean the two of you do look oh so similar. But I'm sorry. The only legal guardian we have on file for him is Helga so I'm afraid seeing him is impossible."
"Wait a minute," I said stuttering. "H..H...Helga? You mean she is still alive?" I gripped the sides of the table so hard my knuckles turned white.
"Why of course, silly," said Lila with the small bit of nervousness she had always kept around me. As though she were convinced I was a bad boy who might display a wicked side at any time. These many years later, I could only say that Lila's perception of me is true. I am no angel even if I can look like one.
"Helga was a best friend to me for years, actually. You see, back in high school I went to party and I'm ever so afraid that someone put something in my drink that they shouldn't. Things got really complicated for me then. No one would speak to me anymore except for Helga. She stood by me when no one else would. Of course, she was pregnant at about the same time and we went through the whole thing together. Her father paid for her to go to a private school after that to help keep the whole thing a secret."
"But..." I continued to stutter. "The tombstone. The article about suicide..."
"Oh, Arnold," Lila said shaking her head at me sadly. "It wasn't Helga who killed herself," said Lila. " It was Olga."
"Olga!" I uttered, more stunned than ever.
"Well, yes," said Lila. "Olga was... I guess, ever so sensitive. Helga managed to deal with loss, failure, and rejection. But Olga just couldn't cope with it all. It was so sad. Just ever so sad. Losing her sister made life even more hard for Helga. I did the very best I could for Helga. She stayed and Alfred stayed with me for half a year before she made up with her father."
"Do you know how to get in contact with Helga?"
"I might," Lila muttered nervously. I was angry then, but I forced composure upon myself.
"Look, Lila. You know what has been going on with Helga for the last three years and I don't. What happened to her?"
"Well, I suppose it has something to do with Helga's father," Lila put delicately. "He always saw Olga as the perfect daughter. Helga was the troubled one. But then when Olga died he was... well, confused. There is something a little odd about his memory or something. Or perhaps he is in denial. But in any case he just... well... I suppose he just never used the name Helga again. And he had her name put on her sister's gravestone by mistake. From that point on he's always called Helga, Olga. He's never used the word Helga again, not once, so Helga decided to just go along with it."
"So you're telling me, that Helga changed her name to Olga?"
"Well.. yes. In a manner of speaking. Everyone in the office- she helps part-time, you know- calls her Olga One-Eye. It's her nickname I guess you might say."
"Olga One-Eye?"
"Why, yes." said Lila with a nervous laugh. "Helga lost one of her eyes a little while back. I guess you could say that's why I really, really admire her so much. You see, she was picking up Alfred from the daycare center one day when one of the other children ran out into the street. Helga was- oh, she was ever so brave and caring! She pushed the child out of the way but she was hurt so much! 'Struck at slow-speed'. Her right eye was so badly damaged that the hospital replaced it with a brown eye from an organ donor. It made her look ever-so strange and I guess she's a little embarrassed about it."
"A brown eye?" I said, startled. "That means... the woman in the graveyard was Helga! Oh, damn," I said thinking of my drunken stupor that night, "I embarrassed myself in front of her so much. No wonder she ran from me." Lila rummaged through her purse.
"Helga is my best friend. And she would be ever-so angry if she knew I was talking to you. But if you really want to ask her about Alfred then take this." I was perplexed as Lila offered me a single theatre ticket.
"I don't understand," I said.
"You will," said Lila mysteriously. "Good luck, Arnold," she said before standing up and walking away. With an oversize purse clutched against her flat chest and stout build, I wondered when the braids had went. Lila wore her hair short-cropped now. It was like she was a whole different creature.
That night, my allies and I met up for a conference. I laid the theatre ticket down on the counter for Gerald and Phoebe to see.
"Let's buy two more then," said Gerald. "We're not letting you go alone."
"It's a ballet," Phoebe said adjusting her glasses.
"Now why would Helga be going to a ballet?" Gerald asked perplexed. "She never used to be the culture-loving type."
"Oh, you'd be surprised, Gerald," Phoebe disagreed soundly. "Helga was actually an accomplished dancer in her youth. She was taking ballet lessons from a very young age. She just was very secretive about it."
"Oh, yeah," I said thinking back to the days when we had worked on the school newspaper. When Helga had started a rival newspaper, Sid had brought me photos of Helga in a ballerina costume to use as blackmail. But I had refused to print the pictures in the newspaper to get back at Helga.
"Let's find everything we can about this ballet," I said loudly. "I mean everything!"
Hillwood Theatre Company was a small dance troupe which had operated in the area for the past thirty years or so. Mostly, it was a dance studio to tutor children and teens, but they did have more than ballet teachers. There was a small touring group who regularly performed off-site on big stages in Hillwood and its neighboring cities. The ticket I had been given by Lila was a rendition of Swan Lake. As we searched the promotion material we rapidly discovered just why Lila had given me the ticket.
"The lead dancer is... HELGA?!" I said standing upright so quickly my chair tumbled over. "She's really come up in the world."
"If you ask me, she was better off as an actress," said Gerald. "Too bad about the whole eye thing, huh?" I mourned. It must have been so hard for Helga while I'd been away. Losing her eye. Losing her sister. Losing her mother. Everything. And yet through it all she had somehow still managed to come out on top. My heart swelled with pride and confidence. Helga had always been, and I guess would always be, a truly amazing person.
"I've got to see her," I muttered raking my fingers through my hair.
"We're going to see her," said Gerald. "Calm down, man, you're coming unglued."
"Sorry," I said sitting down obediently while Gerald and Phoebe fussed over me. They banished me to the couch to watch television while they made our preparations. I knew that someday they'd make good parents. Better than mine, anyway.
"Good luck, Shortman," Grandpa had said to me as the big night came. "Go get 'em. And if she doesn't cooperate we'll throw her in the back of Packard and I'll maroon you two on a desert island somewhere. Or Manitoba."
"Grandpa," I said narrowing my eyes at him although I appreciated his sense of humor.
"My hair was combed nice and neat for once and smoothed back with hair gel. I felt a little odd as Gerald and Phoebe paced around to give me a thorough inspection. Then, giving my bowtie one last adjustment, Gerald pronounced me ready to go.
"All right, into the car man," said Gerald as if I was a golden retriever instead of a young man. But I guess I deserved the treatment. I had given him and Phoebe a whole lot of trouble.
The lights were just beginning to dim when I took my seat in the third front row. Anxious, my hand gripped the hand rest of the seat so bad that my hand went numb. The orchestra begin to play, the red velvet curtain lifted high, and the first dancers took the stage. I held my breath until I was in danger of passing out.
When Act two of the play began, my eyes widened. All of the swans dancing on stage wore masks of pink feathers, all except the Swan Princess, Odette. Instead, she wore a mask of white and black-tipped feathers with as much elegance as a crown.
As Princess Odette spun and swirled on stage my eyes followed the strong curve of her backbone. The strong, fluent motion of her limbs. The expressive dip, and curl, and plea to the heavens that is both ballet...and so suitable for Helga. Because even from this distance I could tell. Odette was definitely Helga.
My eyes thirsted for my own Odette and I felt a stab of jealousy. The one dancing with Helga as her prince wasn't me. It was Curly. Full grown, he was limber and rippling with muscles.
And yet, while I watched them dance, with the air tight in my throat, I had the satisfaction of knowing that Helga remembered me. As she paused for breath at the end of the second Act, her eyes lingered on the audience. She nearly fainted when her eyes met mine.
"Gotcha now, Helga," I said folding my arms together. I would sit this out and ambush Helga at the end of the show. Only, as the third act began I came to realize something. The Odette who came on stage to warn the Prince of his mistake was not Helga. It was some other girl wearing her mask.
"Damn it, Helga," I said jumping to my feet and pressing my way out of the theatre's third row. The other theatre-goers were angry at me, but I didn't stop for apologies this time. Instead I barreled my way on a mission. I had to find the theatre's back door before Helga did.
A stage-less swan snuck out of one of the powder room's doors, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Helga paused to hear the applause as the third act ended and as she did, I grabbed her wrist and spun her around so that she was against my chest much as she had been when we had done the Tango. Then I removed her feathered mask.
"Helga!" I said with equal amounts of irritation and joy. "I knew it was you. You pretended to be Katy, too, didn't you?"
"May I cut in?" came a voice and Helga was spun away from me. Curly stretched his two, brawny dancer's arms out wide and Helga hid behind them. But her face remained transfixed on mine.
"Curly!" I barked. My eyes narrowed and I glared at Curly, an intense jealousy boiling up.
"Oh, Arnold!" said Helga speaking with her true voice at last. "You don't need to glare at Curly like that. He's married to Rhonda. Never mind that, what are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" I asked. "Three years ago you ran out on me, Helga. You never returned my contacts. But then, when I finally find you again, you pretend to be someone else. Why are you doing this Helga? Why didn't you confide in me... and why didn't you tell me about Alfred?" At the mention of our son, Helga cringed even more behind Curly. She was older now- her face was powerfully angular. But her right eye was the same blue it had been in yesteryear.
"Why so upset, Arnold?" said Helga with sarcasm. Yet she patted her tied-back blond hair much like she had done when she was a child- flirting without intending. "Haven't you got yourself another girlfriend by now? Someone who has both eyes," she said sneering and pointing to her face.
"Helga, please! Please give me a little credit. I would want you back even if you were in a wheel chair. I've never stopped loving you since I moved away. Not once. I still love you."
"I have a son," Helga uttered, numbly. "Aren't you angry about that?"
"Are you joking?" I said. "Of course I'm not angry. I wanted that son. I wanted to have a whole family with you. Alfred is the greatest gift anyone could have given me. Only I'm dying to see him. Even once. Please, Helga, let me see him," I pleaded with my hand on my chest. But Helga only turned her back on me wearing her inscrutable expression.
"I'll think about it, okay?" she said.
"But Helga!"
"I said I'll think about it!" she whipped around to shout. Then, clenching both hands into fists Helga stomped off . She retreated through a stage door. I was left glaring into the stern eyes of Curly who, while he still kept his arms outstretched to block Helga's retreat, no longer had the eyes of the enemy. In his eyes there was now some sympathy.
"Come on, man," said Gerald in my corner. He tugged on my shoulder with urgency. "Get out of here, man. Before security throws you out." My face sorrowed as Gerald's words registered in my brain. Then, with one last resentful glare to Curly, I allowed myself to be steered by Gerald. He bullied me out of the theatre and into my Grandpa's old Packard.
"Don't be discouraged, man," said Gerald, driving. "You've said your peace and there's hope. You'll have to ride it out and wait and see." I was silent. I kept my eyes glued to the city sidewalk the whole ride home. I was in horrible, horrible, horrible absolutely monstrous mood for several weeks after that. I kept to the boarding house with Grandpa and we fixed it up together. The whole roof needed replacing and the enormity of the project kept me just busy enough to not go senile.
The old grand piano was stuffed in a shed built around it until I broke it out. In evenings I jammed on the keys remembering my Grandma. It was she who had bought the thing in the first place.
With time I began to be slightly normal. I ventured out of the house, not far, but far enough to visit Harold at his butcher's shop. Once a week Sid or Stinky dropped by to play cards, but mostly to check up on me. I was glad for their concern. Phoebe had gone back to college and Gerald came over for dinner from time to time. He did have an important job to get back to, while I was still figuring out my future.
I didn't want my parents back. I was still mad at them. I hadn't applied to any college. I walked past help-wanted posters from time to time. But so far the only plans I'd made was to relicense the Sunset Arms as a boarding house and find some tenets. I was sunk so deep into nostalgia that every time I walked past a mirror, it surprised me to see the grown-up Arnold in it.
Notwithstanding my mood, the weather was bright and beautiful. It would be another couple of months before the summer heat set in. I took my time in coming home from the local grocer's.
On one such fine, sunny day, I took a detour home not to the front of Vine Street, but behind it. Vitello's flower shop, Harold's Butcher Shop, the boarding house, and a fourth building on the street shared a small patch of communal grass. It was the vacant lot where my friends and I had played sports as kids. I didn't know if any kids played there now and I was curious.
As I rounded the corner to Gerald's field my heart stopped. I dropped the grocery bags I was carrying. There on the pitcher's mound a small boy with cornflower yellow hair was rolling a baseball around in the dust. Nearby him, a woman in a long summer dress and pink sunhat was watching him, occasionally, rolling the ball back to him when it had strayed too far.
"He-He-Helga?" I stuttered with all my broken groceries strewn around me. She turned and I saw that my guess was true. It was Helga. Helga Pataki.
"Well, you said you wanted to see him," Helga declared with the same bold brash voice she might use to assign me shortstop at a baseball game.
"Is this... Is this my son?" I stumbled though I knew it couldn't possibly be otherwise. I trembled as I softly placed my hands under my son's shoulders and then even more gently pulled him up into the free-floating sky. When he was high enough I pressed him to my chest. Alfred hung over my shoulder, his stubby locks of hair almost indistinguishable from mine. I laughed. At the same time I was hit by a scent that brought happiness to my soul. Helga smelled like strawberries. Our son together smelled like her but with a bit of mine mixed in. I felt incredible. Powerful. I had created this child.
"He's beautiful," I said stroking my son's back. He pulled back and looked at me, not with fear, but wide-eyed puzzlement. Alfred then looked toward Helga, his mother, for her reaction. But on her face was the most beautiful look of contentment I had ever seen. Within a moment Alfred had settled down and tolerated my pats between his tiny shoulders.
"Helga. He's so beautiful," I repeated, drunk in my joy. "I'd like... if you'd let me... to be in his life. Every boy needs a father." I tread carefully. After all, one never knew with a temperamental woman like Helga.
"You do, do ya?" Helga mumbled. She leant forward and placed both hands on her hips. "Well, that's that, then," Helga announced brusquely. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder to a large duffle bag and purse. "Get over there and carry my bags, Football-Head!" she demanded.
"Excuse me?" I asked, stunned.
"Well if I'm going to move in with you, Arnold, I expect you to treat me like royalty. A queen. Got that Football-Head?" said Helga leaning over and jabbing one of her fingertips toward my nose. When my mind finally wrapped around what Helga had just said, I smiled. It was my best smile- the beaming grin where all of my teeth show.
"Anything you say, Helga. Anything you say." I obediently transferred Alfred to Helga's arm and lifted her bags in a hurry. Then Helga walked hand in hand with me along to the boarding house. I prayed that I wasn't dreaming.
"I'm sorry," said Helga when she had crossed my threshold door and seated herself on the dusty living room couch. "I'm sorry for everything. And running from you in the graveyard. It wasn't at all how I'd hoped our first meeting in years would go. You frightened me, you know," explained Helga. "I was afraid you might turn out like my mother. And I was ashamed. Now I'm even uglier than I was before." Helga mourned the scarred side of her face with her fingertips. I peeled her fingers away from her cheek, then held them cupped in my hand, gently. With my other hand, I caressed the same, scarred cheek.
"You're still beautiful, Helga. You always will be. Plus, these are scars are proof of just how beautiful a person you are on the inside," I said swooping down to press a soft kiss against the faded-red scar, then nearly a dozen more small, tender kisses. Helga resisted for a moment. Then she coiled and melted in my embrace.
Life was nearly perfect after that. When I had proven to Helga I was no alcoholic, we got married. Helga and I also added a sister for Alfred to our family. Grandpa continued to live with us, of course. We took on some new renters. To make more money than our meager boarding house could provide, I took on a part-time job. Even more complicated than that, my parents visited my children and I was finally able to make peace with them. But that is a whole different story- one made of family barbecues and not so mysterious as the hunt for my invisible swan, the love of my life, Helga.