Monkey Boy by Francisco Goldman (best self help books to read .TXT) 📕

Ha, okay. Well, I was thinking of coming out tomorrow.

You were? Why? Another nervous titter. I mean, that’s wonderful, Frank, she says. But what a surprise! This is really unexpected.

I have something for you, I say.

Something for me?

Something you’ve been missing for a long time.

Missing for a long time?

Yeah, what have you been missing since, let’s see, since you were in about the third grade?

A brother?

A moment of silence, I’m not offended, of course not, just a little taken aback. She laughs and says, Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that. I was just joking.

Yeah, I get it, I say. It’s okay. I haven’t been around much all these years, I know that. But no, I say. I’m not the thing that was missing. When I give it to you, I’m sure it’ll all come back. So, Lexi, you’re in a band, too, I go on. That’s so great.

Yeah, she says. You always said I could be like Mama Cass.

And I think, So this is how it’s going to be. I just wanted you to be a musician like I know you really wanted to be, I tell Lexi, instead of a businessperson just to please Mom. And now, look at you. Ahab’s Hussies, what a great name!

Thank you, we’re proud of it, she says. We have fun, but it’s just fiddling, you know. Aunt Hannah must be turning over in her grave.

Lexi, you didn’t get married and not tell me, did you?

What? No, Frank, of course not.

To a policeman?

A policeman! She theatrically groans. Oh God, no. Mom means Mauricio, but that was like three years ago, right after I moved here. He was mostly just a friend, but he still comes and goes. Yes, he was a policeman, quite some time ago, in Mexico City, where you live. You must have passed each other in the street there. Anyway, Mauricio is a fascinating story, Frank. Maybe I’ll tell you about him sometime.

Okay, sure, I say. A former Mexico City cop in New Bedford, love to hear his story.

You know, Yoli’s memory is really starting to deteriorate, says Lexi. Yesterday when I saw the can of butter cookies in her room—gourmet cookies from Paris, oh, they’re so delicious, Frank—I asked her if you’d just visited, and she didn’t even remember. The nurse told me you’d been there the day before. Mom doesn’t just forget. She gets fantasy mixed up with reality too. You know what she said to me? That she and Bert had a happy marriage. You hear something like that and you think, Jesus Christ, what’s the point of anything if in the end you’re just going to forget everything, right? But thank God most of the time Yoli’s still herself, our remarkable, inspiring mother.

Yes she is, I say. And I’m glad I got to see her. But it does seem like you have a big family life of your own now.

Yes, life has many surprises, doesn’t it? she says.

I can’t wait to hear about it, I say. Lexi, can I ask you something else?

Sure, Frank, she says.

Do you still have that old oil painting portrait that Daddy’s boyhood friend made of Mom? He was called Herb, remember? He used to come over the house sometimes when we were little.

Of course I have it, she says. It’s hanging in our parlor. Herb wasn’t just Daddy’s boyhood friend. He was a very fashionable painter, Frank, with a studio near Newbury Street. He thought Yoli was so beautiful that he offered to make a painting of her for free as long as he could make a copy for himself. She was pregnant with you when she sat for that painting. You knew that, right? It was a few months after the wedding. She was already showing a little, but Herb hid that in the painting.

I didn’t know that part. Are you sure?

Really, you didn’t know that, Frankie? I’ve known that forever. Did you know that he was gay. In the closet though, like people had to be back then, but Daddy knew and he told Mom.

Does that have anything to do with why he stopped coming over the house?

I remember Mom saying once that he’d moved to Morocco, but I haven’t heard anything about him in such a long time.

Mom told you Herb moved to Morocco, not Dad?

Well, yes, Mom and Herb were friends too. Maybe Morocco was a place where he could be himself? I doubt he’s still alive, though.

He was a World War Two vet, I say. The stories he used to tell me were like episodes from that show Combat!

Oh yes, I do remember a little of that, she says. From Combat! That was your favorite show. But we always argued over which was better, Star Trek or Lost in Space. You used to make me feel like I was boring for liking Star Trek.

Time has proven you right, Lexi. Star Trek is the classic. Lost in Space is just another silly sitcom. But I wanted to watch Lost in Space, and they were on at the same time. You must also have Ma’s old photo albums, right?

I do, yes, but they’re put away. Don’t want the kids getting ahold of them.

Do you remember her wedding photos?

I think I do, yes, says Lexi.

Is there a picture that shows Tío Memo at the wedding?

Tío Memo didn’t go to the wedding, says my sister. He was against the marriage. You didn’t know that, Frankie? Maybe he thought Dad was too old or because he was Jewish or both. Mom really didn’t like to talk about it, you know. Uncle Memo made up with Bert later, though, for the sake of Mom and the family. Well, you know how much Mom loved her brother. You’ve always been close to Memo. He’s never said anything to you about it?

No, he never has, I say. I kind of suspected he wasn’t there, but I wasn’t sure. Well, I’ll call you tomorrow