SCI Week One: "Take Heart"
When the old man died, his final words consisted of a single telephone number and the words "call Rachel."
His oldest daughter, whose name was Rachel, was confused. "That's not my telephone number."
The lawyer, considered a neutral party in the proceedings (and the only person in possession of a speaker-phone), gathered the entire family--two boys, two girls, and a grieving widow--into his office to make the call.
A woman, obviously not the Rachel present there, responded after the first two rings. "Hello? Who's this?"
"This is Mr. Petersmith, of Petersmith, Stacks, Harlow, and Wood, Attorneys at Law," said the lawyer. "I am calling on behalf of the late Mr. Harold Harper."
"The late Mr. Harper?" said Other Rachel. "Daddy's dead?"
"Daddy?" said the lawyer, stunned.
"Daddy?" repeated the four children.
The widow rose to her feet, raising her black-gloved fist to the sky as if threatening Heaven. "Harry, you asshole!"
The lawyer, quickly grasping that this rabbit hole went far deeper than previously suspected, explained to the Other Rachel in the shortest possible sentences: if the late Mr. Harold Harper was, in fact, her father, then her father was dead; but, as his family was gathered here in the office and they already had a Rachel, they were all due some shocks in the days to come.
"I haven't seen my father in twenty-two years," said the Other Rachel. "Where are you? Has he already been buried?"
The Harper family took a vote and mutually agreed that, no matter what their father the late Harold Harper had been up to twenty-two years ago, this strange orphaned woman who called herself his daughter had a right to come and see him buried. Courteously, they invited her to join them, holding off the funeral another few days until she arrived.
The Other Rachel, when she stepped into the airplane terminal, was thin and frightened-looking. Her eyes were ringed with deep brown hollows like bruises, and she chattered excitedly, if a bit nervously, in the car on the way back to the lawyer's office. She had never been on an airplane in her life. She had never left the town where she was born until today. She seemed in awe of all the other Harpers, of their shoes and their car and the careful tailoring of their black suits, and she called them all "sir" or "miss" as if she was a shopgirl (which several of the Harpers suspected she was).
"To business," said the lawyer, once all the Harpers plus the Other Rachel had reassembled in his office. "I have read all your father's funeral requests, and it seems the reason that he specifically called for the Other Miss Rachel Harper is to have her carry out part of his final wishes. While his remains are to be interred in the family plot, he wishes his heart to be removed and buried alongside the Other Miss Harper's dear late mother."
"What?" said the Other Rachel in a tiny, pale voice.
"What?" said the other children, all at once, drowning her out. "We won't allow it! We never even knew this woman! What was she, his mistress, his whore? No one's going to mutilate our father's body!"
"Oh, who cares?" said the widow. "Tear it out, put it in a bag of ice, and ship it back to wherever she came from. He waited this long to tear out my heart. At least he's letting me return the favor." When their mother used that tone, far be it for the Harper children to disagree. So it was that, after the funeral, the Other Rachel was presented with a medical transport cooler with orange warning labels and biohazard stickers. She slipped it in a pillowcase and, nervously, tucked it into the carry-on rack for the long trip home.
Late at night, the Other Rachel arrived, exhausted, in her tiny, ugly flat. She kicked off her one good pair of black pumps, fell into a chair, and cried. "Daddy," she wailed, "why did you lie to me?"
After a time, she mopped her face with her sleeve and considered the matter of the heart in the cooler in the pillowcase. She had no idea how to go about this. She supposed she should go to the funeral director who had buried her mother and explain the situation, but what then? She hoped they didn't make her have a whole other funeral just for a single organ. Meanwhile there was the ghastly problem of having a human heart in a cooler in a pillowcase sitting on the floor of her one-room flat.
"I can't bear this," she said aloud. "How can I sleep with such a thing in the house? I don't want it. What can I do?"
She turned the idea over and over in her mind. At length a vast anger, mixed with exhaustion, overwhelmed her. Why stick this with her? He had left her and her mother long ago to live with his other comfortable, respectable family. Why should she do him any favors? Why disturb her poor mother's bones to make room for an ugly, loveless lump of muscle?
"I'll go to the park," she said. "I'll walk to the end of the boat dock and drop it in the lake. It'll be gone and no one will be the wiser."
It was by then past midnight. The Other Rachel took a plastic shopping bag and filled it with ice. Then, squeamish, revolted, she popped the plastic locks of the medical cooler and took out the slimy, solidly-frozen heart. It was far larger than she expected. She plunged it deep in the ice, weighted the whole thing with the brick she used for a doorstop, and set out for the center of the city.
It was not a very good city. There were places one shouldn't walk even in the daytime, and places no one went at night unless they were up to no good. The Other Rachel figured that throwing a human heart in a lake was surely someone's definition of "up to no good," therefore she felt a bit safer about being out so late in a bad part of town.
As she reached the edge of the dock, she felt a man grab her shoulder. She very nearly screamed, but then his hand was over her mouth. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, "but if you don't give me all your money, I'll break your neck."
Despite being terrified, Rachel laughed. "Why would I bring money out to the park at night where I might get robbed?"
Even a mugger had to agree with that logic. "Then give me your purse."
"I didn't bring my purse," she said, "for the same reason."
The man saw where all this was leading. Quite suddenly he snatched the shopping bag out of her hand and gave her a rough shove before he rushed full-tilt into the dark trees that lined the jogging path.
The Other Rachel--who also saw where this was leading--stood aghast, mouth open, heart pounding, listening to his footsteps recede.
Just before she reached the line of streetlamps that marked the edge of the park, she heard, from somewhere over her shoulder, a loud, horrified scream. She smiled down at her own feet as she hurried back to the safe, predictable ugliness of her flat. Freed of her burden, her step was quick and her heart was light.
His oldest daughter, whose name was Rachel, was confused. "That's not my telephone number."
The lawyer, considered a neutral party in the proceedings (and the only person in possession of a speaker-phone), gathered the entire family--two boys, two girls, and a grieving widow--into his office to make the call.
A woman, obviously not the Rachel present there, responded after the first two rings. "Hello? Who's this?"
"This is Mr. Petersmith, of Petersmith, Stacks, Harlow, and Wood, Attorneys at Law," said the lawyer. "I am calling on behalf of the late Mr. Harold Harper."
"The late Mr. Harper?" said Other Rachel. "Daddy's dead?"
"Daddy?" said the lawyer, stunned.
"Daddy?" repeated the four children.
The widow rose to her feet, raising her black-gloved fist to the sky as if threatening Heaven. "Harry, you asshole!"
The lawyer, quickly grasping that this rabbit hole went far deeper than previously suspected, explained to the Other Rachel in the shortest possible sentences: if the late Mr. Harold Harper was, in fact, her father, then her father was dead; but, as his family was gathered here in the office and they already had a Rachel, they were all due some shocks in the days to come.
"I haven't seen my father in twenty-two years," said the Other Rachel. "Where are you? Has he already been buried?"
The Harper family took a vote and mutually agreed that, no matter what their father the late Harold Harper had been up to twenty-two years ago, this strange orphaned woman who called herself his daughter had a right to come and see him buried. Courteously, they invited her to join them, holding off the funeral another few days until she arrived.
The Other Rachel, when she stepped into the airplane terminal, was thin and frightened-looking. Her eyes were ringed with deep brown hollows like bruises, and she chattered excitedly, if a bit nervously, in the car on the way back to the lawyer's office. She had never been on an airplane in her life. She had never left the town where she was born until today. She seemed in awe of all the other Harpers, of their shoes and their car and the careful tailoring of their black suits, and she called them all "sir" or "miss" as if she was a shopgirl (which several of the Harpers suspected she was).
"To business," said the lawyer, once all the Harpers plus the Other Rachel had reassembled in his office. "I have read all your father's funeral requests, and it seems the reason that he specifically called for the Other Miss Rachel Harper is to have her carry out part of his final wishes. While his remains are to be interred in the family plot, he wishes his heart to be removed and buried alongside the Other Miss Harper's dear late mother."
"What?" said the Other Rachel in a tiny, pale voice.
"What?" said the other children, all at once, drowning her out. "We won't allow it! We never even knew this woman! What was she, his mistress, his whore? No one's going to mutilate our father's body!"
"Oh, who cares?" said the widow. "Tear it out, put it in a bag of ice, and ship it back to wherever she came from. He waited this long to tear out my heart. At least he's letting me return the favor." When their mother used that tone, far be it for the Harper children to disagree. So it was that, after the funeral, the Other Rachel was presented with a medical transport cooler with orange warning labels and biohazard stickers. She slipped it in a pillowcase and, nervously, tucked it into the carry-on rack for the long trip home.
Late at night, the Other Rachel arrived, exhausted, in her tiny, ugly flat. She kicked off her one good pair of black pumps, fell into a chair, and cried. "Daddy," she wailed, "why did you lie to me?"
After a time, she mopped her face with her sleeve and considered the matter of the heart in the cooler in the pillowcase. She had no idea how to go about this. She supposed she should go to the funeral director who had buried her mother and explain the situation, but what then? She hoped they didn't make her have a whole other funeral just for a single organ. Meanwhile there was the ghastly problem of having a human heart in a cooler in a pillowcase sitting on the floor of her one-room flat.
"I can't bear this," she said aloud. "How can I sleep with such a thing in the house? I don't want it. What can I do?"
She turned the idea over and over in her mind. At length a vast anger, mixed with exhaustion, overwhelmed her. Why stick this with her? He had left her and her mother long ago to live with his other comfortable, respectable family. Why should she do him any favors? Why disturb her poor mother's bones to make room for an ugly, loveless lump of muscle?
"I'll go to the park," she said. "I'll walk to the end of the boat dock and drop it in the lake. It'll be gone and no one will be the wiser."
It was by then past midnight. The Other Rachel took a plastic shopping bag and filled it with ice. Then, squeamish, revolted, she popped the plastic locks of the medical cooler and took out the slimy, solidly-frozen heart. It was far larger than she expected. She plunged it deep in the ice, weighted the whole thing with the brick she used for a doorstop, and set out for the center of the city.
It was not a very good city. There were places one shouldn't walk even in the daytime, and places no one went at night unless they were up to no good. The Other Rachel figured that throwing a human heart in a lake was surely someone's definition of "up to no good," therefore she felt a bit safer about being out so late in a bad part of town.
As she reached the edge of the dock, she felt a man grab her shoulder. She very nearly screamed, but then his hand was over her mouth. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, "but if you don't give me all your money, I'll break your neck."
Despite being terrified, Rachel laughed. "Why would I bring money out to the park at night where I might get robbed?"
Even a mugger had to agree with that logic. "Then give me your purse."
"I didn't bring my purse," she said, "for the same reason."
The man saw where all this was leading. Quite suddenly he snatched the shopping bag out of her hand and gave her a rough shove before he rushed full-tilt into the dark trees that lined the jogging path.
The Other Rachel--who also saw where this was leading--stood aghast, mouth open, heart pounding, listening to his footsteps recede.
Just before she reached the line of streetlamps that marked the edge of the park, she heard, from somewhere over her shoulder, a loud, horrified scream. She smiled down at her own feet as she hurried back to the safe, predictable ugliness of her flat. Freed of her burden, her step was quick and her heart was light.