"Ah, Rose, it is always good to see you." They embraced.
"Oh João!" Rosa cried, embracing him, then holding him at arms' length, a hint of teariness in her eyes, "You still look so good. You do have the secret of eternal youth up here."
"Hey, Bob, as ever," he said, shaking hands with Rosa's husband with one hand in his hand and the other on his arm.
"Oh, Bob, I have to talk to João now. Can you take our things to the room?"
"You guys," Bob said indulgently, "always have some family news."
She turned and laid her hand on João's shoulder. "Can I talk to you?"
"Sure, Rosie, come on."
They went upstairs to his office where he took the rolling swivel chair behind his desk, old wood, and leaned back. The room was paneled in birdseye maple and littered with paper. John's saxophone—he played in a local jazz band—glittered leaning against the desk A stag's head was mounted on one wall and behind his desk hung an old WPA poster with a noble, muscular farmer in overhauls standing in a vineyard gazing at a vine cutting he had raised to the sky.
She took the overstuffed chair beside the dog's bed and sat as she always sat, on the lip as if it were not over-stuffed.
"Oh João, it's true. I want to know all about it," she said with a rising intonation as if her statement were a question.
For a moment he couldn't understand what she was talking about "What's true?" he said.
"Oh I mean everything," She took a long, shallow breath, pulling her shoulders together and leaning back, lowering her eyes to her hands.
"I have been working on this with my therapist." She continued, "I,... I remember things. I'm sorry I made light when you called....We should never make light of one another."
"That's all right," João said, "of course that's the way it is," his voice warm and reassuring, he continued: "We don't want to think our grandparents are bad guys."
"That's not it," Rosa said, shaking off his assurance.
"We have a whole picture of the world back there," he gestured toward the coast, "that we don't want to disturb."
"I talked with my cousin." She said, stressing the word cousin as she always did in referring to this particular cousin who had run away, first to work a carney food stand, then back to the Azores, as if she were her only cousin. "She thinks it happened to her too," Rosa said.
"Shit," João said, disheartened.
Rosa got up, stepped smartly to the guest chair beside his desk and pulled it up so their knees almost touched. She took his hands, leaned forward her thin lashes fluttering briskly over her eyes.
"João, that's not it. We don't want to think these things about ourselves," Rosa said.
João wonder for a moment if she meant, like some ignorant homophobe, that he might have molested some child.
"Don't you want to know what he did?" Rosa asked.
João was suddenly appalled. "I don't think I need to."
Rosa began to cry. She averted her face and pulled out her hankie.
"Oh Rosa," he said.
"You don't want to listen," She said, "Not even you want to listen."
João thought of his mother, how she had retreated into a distant respectfulness like memory.
"Do you know who I am?" Rosa said in a rush. "Do you know who I am? I am Rosa who listened when you told me you were gay, who drove you there to tell your father. Who am I then?"
"I'm sorry, Rosa, tell me."
"I mean maybe there is a reason why you have to listen," Rosa blurted.
"I'll listen because you have always listened to me," he said.
"I mean how far did this thing go? What about your sister, Varenka? You know she has always chosen men who abused her."
João nodded.
"That's a sign, that's a sign of these things," Rosa said.
That makes sense," João conceded.
"And what about you?" She raised her eyes to João uncertainly.
"I…" He had not asked himself this question though he had known all along it would come "I, well, do you mean you think Ivan might have done something to me?"
"Well, Rosa said, her voice husky, "It's happened. I think he did things to me he could have done to a boy as well."
"I can't recall..." João said.
"You don't recall. Of course. I understand, João. I couldn't recall at first. I couldn't at first, but now I can....Oh, João, I thought I was going to have a baby. A baby then when I was hardly more than a baby!"
João nodded sympathetically and felt the impulse to touch her shoulder, but restrained himself.
Rosa sniffed. "I didn't really mean ... there was nothing that made me think of you. But, you know ... what about the way he beat you boys when he was drunk, and the other men did too. Do you think he was the only one of the men who," her throat seemed to clutch at itself, "abused a child?"
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything, you just have to think," she said. "Will you think about it João, for me?"
"Of course, Rosa."
"Listen," she fidgeted in her chair, "I haven't told Bob. He will be wondering what this is all about. Let's go down and we can talk about these things later."
João's expression must have shown surprise.
"These things hobble our capacity for intimacy." Rosa said, "Have you told John?"
"Yes," João said.
"Well, that's a beginning," Rosa said.
"John, what counts as evidence?" João asked. In their small kitchen João, still smelling faintly of his sulfurous bath, was starting Sunday breakfast. The smell of biscuits was emerging from the stove, and the sharp scent of ham sizzled from the skillet.
John was reading the San Francisco newspaper. "Evidence is what the judge will admit and the jury believe," he recited in a monotone.
João reached over and batted the paper. "Don't give me that cynical lawyer stuff. Aren't there rules about what is evidence, what is hearsay? How does the judge decide ?"
"It depends on the case," John said.
"Come on."
"You're talking about that letter from your aunt?"
"Yes. Would it be admitted in court?"
John put down the paper and looked thoughtful. "I can't answer that. The rules of hearsay for child molestation are different from other cases and I don't remember what they are. I'll look it up on Monday if you want."
"Can you find it on-line?"
"I suppose."
"Could you, please?" João asked.
"Of course."
While João continued to cook, John went into the office, the dog bounding up to follow, and searched on the Internet. As he was setting out their plates João heard the printer, and John came back into the kitchen and handed him a printout, while Oscar sat on the floor panting alertly.
"These are the federal standards in cases of child molestation," he said, "the state is a little different. You remember what I said about that kid's bruises."
"How can the standards be different depending on the case?" João asked before he looked at the paper in his hand, "That's crazy?"
"You know better than to ask something like that."
"No, why is it?"
"It's because of the mistrust about sex. In cases like rape, the practice changed in the 70s so that they no longer admit evidence about the sexual habits of the women involved, because lawyers defending the guys muddied the cases by flaunting bad reputations. But the pressure is bigger these days on child molestations, so there are ways to get the past deeds of a molester in front of the jury."
"Is it the same if a man is raped by a man?" João asked.
"It's supposed to be the same, but in practice they're not quite ready for that yet," John said bitterly.
João scanned the pages as he ate the ham and biscuits slurpy with fried eggs. He noticed that admissible evidence that was not hearsay included:
"Family records: Statements of fact concerning personal or family history contained in family Bibles, genealogies, charts, engravings on rings, inscriptions on family portraits, engravings on urns, crypts, tombstones, or the like."
He wished that someone had inscribed what really happened on a ring. He felt sick to his stomach.
"If I were looking at a case for child molestation I would have to have evidence besides that letter to open a case. I'd figure I'd have a chance to get it past the judge if I had other evidence to start with," John volunteered.
"And if you were defending?"
"I'd figure I had a chance of keeping it out. You have to make up your mind."
Now João wished he were the younger man and could turn to his companion for conviction. He felt alone, with his father dead, his mother retreating like a fading ghost into a respectful distance that emptied her voice, and he without children, the end of the line.
"I repeat," John said, "why do you care? Rosa's OK." Oscar was scratching at the door for his walk.
"Is Rosa OK? She's not had an easy life. She's never had children though she said she wanted them."
"Do you believe Rosa?"
"I don't know whether to believe her or not. She's so...so enthusiastic for what she believes at any moment. Child abuse is such a fad…"
"Do you think she was harmed?"
"Something harmed her sometime."
"Do you think that old guy did something to you?"
João spread his hands out flat in the air in front of him. "I don't think so," he said emphasizing the ambiguity in 'think'. "But I feel soiled nevertheless. I have a suspicion and I don't know how I can ever rest it. And there is nothing, nothing I can do. And what about my sister. She always finds men who exploit her."
John stood and put his arm around him and they stood for a long moment. João was taller than John, but rested his head on his shoulder. He no longer felt wise in the ways of the world. Then he lifted his head.
"We could do better by Kenny than his parents."
"Do you want to try to get custody of him?" John asked.
"We could start by asking Varenka if she is game to let him come and live with us. I think she might welcome that. Are you up for that?"
"I think I might be, "John said.
"Hey," João added, "Oscar would like it." He patted the dog and reached for his leash.
Dirk Van Nouhuys says, "For a long time I worked in Silicon Valley as a tech writer but these days I'm only writing fiction. I've published fiction regularly in literary and other magazines for decades and occasionally poetry and photography as well. These days I'm working on a novel about non-Americans working in Silicon Valley. I recently republished in electronic form a translation I made with my father of a two Flemish novels. One, The Danger, is about people suffering from an overdose of radiation in a nuclear plant accident. You can learn about me at my web site: www.wandd.com."
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