Follow the angels
All the way to Heaven
Ask them one hundred
Crucifying questions
They’ll give you no answers
They’ll tell you no lies
So blow out the candles
And wish them all goodnight
December 26th, 1982
Dan Mangan shivered in his leather jacket and stifled a cough as he watched the skaters move happily around the outdoor rink. An older lady in a pink wool cap smiled at him and moved toward him as if to inquire about his health. He scowled and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his now threadbare jeans, effectively disguising his shaking. She turned and moved away from him, fear and disdain replacing her concern. Dan let the scowl fade.
Truth be told, he didn’t feel very fearsome. He was cold and tired, and had barely eaten in three days. His face, arms, and legs still ached from the slow-bruising blows Luke had administered before tossing Dan out of the abandoned warehouse with orders to bring back either cash or a car unless he wanted yet another beating. He had spent the last two nights huddled in a brick stairwell under a cardboard box, barely sleeping for fear of the people roaming through the alley searching the dumpsters. He had risen this morning, groggy, with a runny nose, scratchy throat, and a heavy feeling in his chest. Still, the last thing Dan needed was another little old lady trying to help him. They only ended up getting hurt.
Everyone left him. Crouching down against the wall, Dan turned his eyes back to the people skating around the Rockefeller Center ice rink. In previous years he had skated while his father danced across the ice with his mother. Then Da was gone.
Last year he had been out there himself, skating beneath the massive Christmas tree while his mother watched, bundled in her wheelchair. Now she was gone. Tessa had been here, too, laughing as she struggled for balance on the slick surface. Gone.
Mrs. Kawolski had taken him in, only to abandon him to her son before suffering a stroke after the Rat Bastard’s attack. Gone.
Yelena Maxim--Yaya--who had opened her heart and home as sanctuary for two frightened runaways. Luke’s fire took her home, and pneumonia took her off to the hospital. Now she was in a convalescent hospital where only family could see her. Yet another one gone.
Even Father Paul had gone to visit his sister for the Christmas holidays, and the doors of St. Cecelia’s were locked. Everyone left, or was taken--and Dan ended up alone again.
The cough took him by surprise. It hit fast and hard, racking his thin frame, abusing his still healing ribs. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, and his stomach heaved. He was briefly thankful that he hadn’t had food since the stale Pop Tart he’d eaten two mornings before.
Had it only been the day before yesterday when he’d been tossed yet again? The abandoned Bowery warehouse wasn’t much, but it had been fairly warm and free from the seemingly unending snow and cold. The Cowhands used it as their headquarters, crash pad, and party center. Dan was wary around both drugs and alcohol, and the sight of a lit cigarette was enough to start a panic attack, but after Yaya was carted off to the hospital, he hadn’t anywhere else to go. After all, he was a member of the gang, wasn’t he? They were supposed to be his brothers, right? He’d gone through the initiation. He’d been jumped in and he’d let them paint their stupid-ass name across the back of his father’s leather jacket. He’d stolen for Luke, and gotten his hands dirty carrying packages he was sure were full of illegal drugs.
He was supposed to belong; yet here he sat in the cold, bruised and beaten, with an empty belly and not a dollar to his name. There weren’t many cars around to lift this time of the year. People rolled up the windows and used garages. He’d looked, but the good ones just weren’t there. Besides, his fingers were too stiff to work their magic. Dan supposed he could try and pick a pocket, or mug someone, but he hated the violence that went with that. Briefly, he considered selling his body, but even if he could manage to tolerate being touched, he was pretty sure no one would buy him. No one wanted him.
-
He was a throwaway.
-
-
Disposable.
-
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Waste of air.
-
-
Better off dead.
Dead. The thought drifted through his mind as another round of coughing struck. Hell, I’m probably dying anyway. Maybe I can find a way to hurry it all up. Throw myself on the subway line? That would be messy. The river is pretty cold. I’ve seen ice on the edges of it. Maybe if I jump In, I’ll freeze to death. Either that or drown. Drowning is supposed to be kind of peaceful, and it sure would be better than starving or hacking up my lungs...or facing Luke again, with nothing to show for myself. Besides, my parents are already on the other side. It would be nice to see them again, to hear Mum’s laugh and to feel Da’s arm around my shoulders.
Tears welled up in Dan’s eyes. Through the haze, he could almost see his parents. Together. Waiting. Beckoning.
“I miss you,” he whispered to his vision. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Struggling to his feet, Dan stumbled away from the lights and sounds of Rockefeller Center. He had to get himself to the Hudson.
It wasn’t hard to slip unnoticed onto the subway. So many people passed through the turnstiles; no one really paid much attention to one thin fourteen-year-old boy. Slouched back against the cracked vinyl seat Dan closed his eyes. At least it was warm. Weariness overtook him as he blocked out the noise of the people around him and thought about dying.
Heavenly images filled his thoughts, and he could almost see himself there. He was warm and safe and nothing hurt anymore. It wasn’t all clouds and harps, either. It was a picnic, in the woods. He sat on the grass of a riverbank with his father, watching the water. They didn’t speak. There wasn’t any need. Behind them on a blanket sat his mum. She was laying out a picnic feast. She gestured to them, and Dan watched as his da moved toward her, as if in slow motion. He tried to follow but his feet seemed rooted to the ground. Dan looked away and saw the river below him. It swelled higher, reaching out to him. He tried to tear his eyes away, to look back at his parents, but when he finally managed, they were gone. Despairing, he again faced the hypnotic, swirling water.
“It’s a mortal sin Danny.” Dan jumped slightly as he heard the gentle voice inside his head. “A coward’s way.” His mother’s voice. “You are stronger than that, my son. Trust your angels; they are all around you.”
Dan opened his eyes and looked around him. The subway car had emptied. Now he rode almost alone, save a girl with pink spiked hair two seats down, and a rather burly, bearded man across the aisle, reading a newspaper. It had been a dream. He tried to take a deep breath, but began to cough again.
The man across the aisle put down his newspaper and stared closely at Dan. Dan tried to muster a scowl, but could not manage. His whole body tensed, ready to bolt, as the man approached him.
“Daniel?” The voice was slightly accented, and the word came out Dahn-yeel? Dan nodded cautiously, trying to place the face. “Daniel, it is Nika, Nikodim Maxim. Yaya’s son. Don’t you know me?”
Dan did. “Nika?” His voice was hoarse, the words uncertain. “But you didn’t have a beard before, did you?”
Nika laughed, easing himself into the seat next to Dan. “No. I grew it to see if I could. Yaya says I look like a blond bear.”
“How is she?” Dan asked.
“She is better. I am coming from the hospital now. In a few weeks she will be coming home.”
“But not to her home though, right?” Dan asked sadly. “That’s gone.”
“No. She will not live on her own again. She goes to my sister’s house in Connecticut. There, she can be cared for properly. By family.” Nika settled himself next to Dan.
Dan had no response. He blamed himself for Yaya’s condition, even though he had done his best to care for her.
Nika, too, was silent. He was an educated man with a kind heart. He could tell that the boy beside him was sick, both physically and emotionally. He wanted to help, but he knew he would need to choose his words carefully.
“So,” he began, “what brings you here tonight?
“Just trying to get home,” Dan answered bitterly.
“Where is home these days?” Nikodim asked casually.
“Here and there.” Dan suddenly couldn’t maintain the lie. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Nowhere.”
Nika was silent for a moment. Then he nodded his head and touched Dan’s shoulder. “Tonight,” he said decisively, “you will come with me.”
“No, thank you,” Dan said. “I have plans.” Another wave of coughing hit him bringing stabbing pain with waves of nausea and dizziness.
“Tonight you have plans with us,” Nikodim insisted. “Tonight you will eat with us. You will catch up with Josef and Svetlana who have missed you at school. You will do this for my mother. She has been very worried about you. You haven’t visited.”
“They only let in family, and I’m not.” Dan tried to remain firm in his refusal to accept charity, but his weariness disarmed him and he gave in. “Okay,” he said. “For Yaya.”
They rode in silence for three more stops, then walked two blocks to a brick building proclaiming itself “Grigori's Russian House.” The restaurant was dark, and a “Closed” sign hung on the door, but Nikodim produced a key and let them in.
“Grigori, my brother, the chef,” he told Dan. “Everyone is in the back. Come.”
The back room of the restaurant was indeed where the family was gathered. It was brightly lit and the walls rang with a mix of Russian and English chatter. Delicious smells wafted around amid the clamor.
“Look what I found on the subway. Daniel!” Nika boomed out, pulling Dan into the room.
The room went quiet. Fourteen pair of eyes stared. Dan felt like turning and running, but Nika’s wife Sonya came forward, as tiny and wiry as her husband was large. She reached out and cupped Dan’s face with her hands. He froze.
“You are too skinny, Daniel. When did you last eat?” she asked suspiciously.
“Ummm...Day before yesterday, I think,” Dan admitted.
Sonya pulled his head toward her own and pressed her lips to his forehead. “You are feeling a little warm. Dasha will look at you. First you wash and eat.”
She turned and began speaking in rapid fire Russian. Before he could blink, Dan found himself washed up and sitting between Joe and Lana, facing an enormous bowl of steaming chicken soup. Plump, chunky vegetables bobbed in the light broth. A large hunk of dark rye bread spread thick with butter accompanied the soup, as did a cup of strong and fragrant tea.
As the table talk began again, Dan turned his attention to the food in front of him. He forced himself to eat slowly, resisting the urge to pour the soup directly down his throat. Steadily he ate, savoring the flavors. When his hunger was sated, he sat back and listened drowsily to the family chatter.
Lana leaned over and whispered, “I have something for you, from Tessa. She sent a package to Yaya’s, but it arrived after the fire. I’ll bring it tomorrow, if you want it.”
Guilt twisted Dan’s stomach at the mention of the fire. He nodded, “Where?” he asked, turning his head and coughing into his elbow.
Lana looked at him with concern. “Here. It’s Christmas break, so we kids all help out in the restaurant. I’ll be here to help with the lunch shift. You’re staying upstairs. I can either go up there, or you can come down.”
“What? Where am I staying?” Dan asked, confused. He felt foggy, as if he had missed some important bit of information.
Lana laughed. “In my cousin Eli’s room. He’s spending Christmas with his fiancée’s family in California. He hardly lives up there anyway, now that he’s in grad school.” She patted Dan’s arm. “Mama and Aunt Roza already decided that’s where you are staying. Don’t bother fighting them. You can’t win.”
Dan was saved from replying by both Sonya and Roza Maxim. The sisters-in-law bustled up to him, followed closely by a younger woman with gentle features and shoulder length blond hair.
“Come. Come.” They hustled him out of his seat and up the stairs. Nikodim led the way, carrying a set of keys.
Down near the end of the hall, Nika stopped in front of a purple painted door. He opened it and gestured for Dan to enter. The ladies followed. The room was really a pint-sized studio apartment. A tiny kitchen, complete with small stove, refrigerator, and sink, occupied the far right corner. Directly to the left was a small bathroom, while a twin bed with a blue-striped bedspread filled the back left corner, divided from the rest of the room by bookshelves and a desk. Dan stood next to the brown plaid love seat and stared.
“You’ll be comfortable here, no?” It was Roza who asked. “My Eelusha lived here from when he turned sixteen. His own place, but just across the hall from home.” She chuckled. “Just a few steps away from Mama’s cooking.”
Still in a daze, Dan stammered, “I...I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because you are family,” Sonya answered. “Yaya calls you one of hers. That makes you one of ours. Family.”
“Why don’t you hate me?” Dan’s voice trembled. “It’s my fault, what happened. I caused the fire. I’m to blame. You should hate me.”
The room suddenly exploded in a burst of frenetic Russian. Both the Maxim ladies were talking so fast and so loud that Dan’s head began to swim. The younger woman noticed and caught his arm, forcing him to sit down on the small sofa.
“Put your head between your knees,” she told him quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we can discuss it later.” She turned and shouted a command in Russian. The conversation halted immediately, and she continued in English, for Dan’s sake. “You are going to go downstairs and let Daniel shower and change into some night clothes. Papa can stay and assist him. I will look him over, and then he can get some sleep. We’ll figure this out. I promise. Please go.”
To Dan’s surprise, they did, with barely a murmur. The pretty lady knelt next to him and spoke slowly, in a very gentle voice, “I am Dasha. Dr. Daryah Nikodimova Maxim, to be formal. We have met, but family gatherings are always somewhat loud and confusing. My parents are Nikodim and Sonya. Joe and Lana are my brother and sister. There are many others, but I don’t want to overwhelm you any more tonight. My Uncle Grigori and Auntie Roza live here with their children--right across the hall. This room is not occupied right now, and I believe that my cousin Eli would be more than happy to share his space and some of his old clothes. Papa...?”
Nika had been standing to the side, watching his daughter work her magic. Moving to a chair across from Dan, he asked, “What did you mean when you said you were to blame? What did you do that we should so hate you?”
Dan swallowed hard. “The fire,” he whispered hoarsely. “The fire was all my fault. I was responsible for Yaya losing her home and having to go to the hospital. I don’t deserve your kindness.”
“Daniel,” Nika said, reaching across the small space to touch the boy’s knee, removing his hand as Dan flinched at the gentle touch. “Unless you are the cocker spaniel in apartment 2B, you are not responsible for the fire. The dog chewed through an electrical cord and shorted out a space heater. That is how the fire began. You did not cause harm to my mother. You saved her. You brought her out of the building, got her to safety, and kept her as warm as possible in the very cold night. Without you, my mother, my children’s grandmother, might well have died. You are our hero.”
Dan sat silent, taking in every word Nika said. “But I thought...Luke threatened...are you sure? Really sure?”
“I am positive. It is in the fire report.” Nika’s eyes narrowed. “Is this why you did not come to us after the fire? You disappeared from the hospital without a word. We would have taken you, in a heartbeat, but you were gone.”
“I didn’t know...I thought that I...” Dan put his head down between his knees again and tried to breathe. It wasn’t his fault. He could hardly believe it. The guilt that had been tearing at him was gone, quick as a wink, and he felt free...and suddenly quite ill. He shivered as he sat up, and tried to stifle yet another cough.
“I think you need a hot shower and some rest.” Dasha stood and began gathering clothes from a dresser near the bed. “I am going to go downstairs and get my bag. I want to listen to your lungs and get your temperature. Mama was right when she said you felt warm, and I don’t like the sound of that cough. The last thing you need is pneumonia or bronchitis. Papa can help you if you are still feeling dizzy.”
She held out the pile of clothes. Dan took them, and rose unsteadily to his feet. Lack of sleep and his fever were catching up with him. Nikodim put an arm around his shoulder and walked him to the bathroom. Pulling a towel and a brand new toothbrush from a corner cupboard, he laid them down on the counter.
“I will be right outside, if you need me.”
“Thank you,” Dan said. “I think I can manage.”
Nika nodded and left. Dan closed the door and availed himself of the facilities. He looked in the mirror and was stunned. He looked horrible. His face was unnaturally pale, the bruised left cheek vivid under a feverish flush, and the dark circles under his eyes looked painted on. His over-long hair was grimy, and he could see a ring of dirt around his neck. Stripping off his filthy clothes, he realized that his body odor was rather offensive. He felt embarrassed; he looked like what his mother had called a guttersnipe. The new bruises Luke had left him with were turning to bluish-purple, tinged with yellow; his whole left side mottled with still fading bruises. Finally, Dan shrugged at his reflection and started the shower.
The water felt incredibly good. Hot and full pressure, he let it pound down on him. The soap was white, soft, and very lightly scented. Dan scrubbed himself from head to toe and back again, allowing his body to begin to relax.
Nikodim listened to the shower running and chewed on his lip. He didn’t know what he was going to do with the boy in the shower, but something must be done. Daniel must not return to the streets.
Dasha entered the room carrying a small red backpack and a pitcher of juice. “He’s still in the shower?” she asked. Nikodim nodded, and Dasha smiled. “That’s good. He was a trifle ripe.”
“What are we going to do with him?” Nika’s face was serious. “Mama will never forgive me if I let him go, but how can I make him stay?”
“It will work out, Papa,” Dasha assured him. “But for now we will make him well and comfortable. Shhh.”
The bathroom door opened and Dan emerged, clean and dressed in red flannel pajamas at least a size too big. Dasha smiled at him and gestured toward the bed. Dan sat down on the end of the bed. Dasha removed her stethoscope from the backpack. Dan unbuttoned his pajama shirt without being asked. She warmed the scope between her hands before popping a thermometer under his tongue.
“Breathe normally,” Dasha told him, moving the scope across his chest. Her eyes widened slightly as she noted the fresh bruises, but she wisely said nothing. Nika moved closer. “Now again. In and out. That’s right.” Dasha turned her attention to his back. Silently she signaled her father to look at the older scars visible on the boy’s back and shoulders. Gently, she moved her hands down his arms, across his fingers and back up.
The thermometer beeped and Dasha removed it. “One-hundred-one,” she said. “Not great, but not too bad, all things considered.” She shuffled through her bag and pulled out some pills. “These are some samples I have. I think they will help. You crawl into bed and Papa will get you some juice to take these. I’ll check on you tomorrow. You’ll need to stay quiet and rest all day. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dan whispered, taking a glass of juice from Nika. “Thank you.”
“Daniel?” Dasha asked gently, taking his left hand in hers. “When did you break your ribs? And your fingers?”
“A couple of days after the fire,” Dan answered, too weary to play dumb.
“Did you see a doctor?”
“Sort of.”
“Did the doctor take x-rays?”
“No.” Dan didn’t offer any more information, and Dasha didn’t ask.
After swallowing the pills, Dan slid down between the sheets and allowed Nika to tuck him in. He barely flinched as the big man brushed a hand through his damp hair. The pair turned out the light as they left the room, leaving Dan to fall into sleep, while thinking about angels disguised as big bearded
Russians.
