“I’ll help you,” Kimberly offered. I was shocked and must have looked it. She smiled, “it will make up for all the care you’re not going to get from me.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You don’t have to. We love each other too much to end it by ourselves,” Kimberly sighed, “we owe it to…”
“Tamara.”
“Tamara for making sure we didn’t end up hating each other.” Kimberley meant it. “I don’t think I want to meet her right away, but I can at least help you find her.” I chuckled at the qualified help.
“I also need to learn to speak Armenian,” I added.
“Is her English not good enough?”
“She doesn’t speak any English,” I replied.
“How did you…?”
“It was primal,” I replied, “we spoke without words, yet we understood everything.” Kimberly smiled at me, almost a laugh. “What?”
“What happens if you don’t like what she has to say?” I never thought about it.
“Then I shut up and forget I know Armenian,” I replied. Kimberley’s laugh filled the room. My mom burst in, all smiles.
“So, is everything back to normal?” My mother queried, looking at Kimberly.
“Hardly, Pamela,” Kimberly replied nicely, “we have just decided that there will be no war over it.” My mother’s face dropped. She always liked Kimberly and thought I should have married her years ago.
“Pamela, leave it be,” my dad said, forestalling my mother from interjecting her opinion.
“Do you know her last name, or surname, or whatever they use over there?” Kimberly asked, continuing our conversation.
“She told me once, I think,” I said, trying to jog my memory.
“You’re not helping him in this?” my mother chimed in.
“Yes,” Kimberly answered with determination, “yes I am.”
“I can’t remember, but I think it started with a ‘P’ sound,” I said, ignoring my parents.
“Jonathan!” my mother continued, ” you can’t do this to Kimberly.”
“Pamela, I am doing this,” Kimberly responded, “He obviously can’t do it himself,” she waved her hand over my caged legs and lowered her voice, “and though you would have made a wonderful mother-in-law, we would have been a terrible husband and wife.” I watched as my mother hugged the daughter she wanted. Kimberly smiled at me from over my mother’s shoulder. It was the she-likes-me-better-than-you smile you would expect from a sibling. I rolled my eyes and kept silent. I loved them both, but Tamara held my heart.
When the drugs wore off, mood swings were replaced by pain. It wasn’t a sharp I-can’t-function pain. Luckily, I was in a coma for the worst of it. The pain was dull and constant. Moving increased it and stillness was incredibly uncomfortable. At night, sleeping pills were a must. During the day, I took it out on Rick and the other nurses. Being immobile was incredibly boring and being cleaned by unloving strangers was embarrassing. I thought back to the mountain when Tamara had to pee. I now knew what she felt. I wondered if she knew how much I loved her and that it didn’t matter to me. I cringed as the night nurse wiped my ass. I truly hoped Tamara didn’t feel as I did at that exact moment.
Kimberly came to visit every few days. Always a kiss on my forehead. I would never again know her lips. That was a good thing. They would never compare to Tamara’s. Locating Tamara was taxing Kimberly’s talents. The embassy had not kept records beyond mine, an American. The Azerbaijani authorities were difficult to converse with and knew little beyond putting Tamara on a bus with transfers to Yerevan, her requested destination.
My parents spent a lot of time apologizing for writing Tamara off. You can’t hate the people who dropped everything and flew across the world to bring you back home. From what I could discern, they had run Tamara off. The interrupters were weak, knowing only one language well. My mother, her eyes on me and Kimberly walking down the aisle, probably bordered on cruel. My dad, ever the diplomat, tried to soften the blow with money. From what I could discern, Tamara was irate when they separated the two of us. I could still see the scars of her words in my mother’s eyes, even though the language barrier and the interrupter must have weakened their sting.
When the pain finally faded, my alone time was filled with thoughts of Tamara. Sleeping was difficult. I kept waking, expecting a warm body next to mine. I would smile, half in a remembered dream, then reality would destroy it. I missed her horribly.
Doug Finley came by to see my progress two weeks after I had woken. I could see the dilemma in his eyes. He had a useless partner in a company that needed both principles. The firm was not large enough to absorb the loss easily.
“Jonathan, it’s good to see you awake,” Doug said as he took in my caged legs.
“Doug, thanks for coming to see me,” I returned, “I hope the Azerbaijani deal went well.”
“Truthfully, it took a nosedive,” Doug admitted, “they got wind of your problems and attempted to renegotiate.” He paused a moment, maybe thinking he should have lied, “some misunderstandings occurred that both sides would have trouble undoing. I think they felt the deal was with you and not us.”
“Damn,” I said more to myself. I disliked having all that effort go to waste, especially after what I had endured.
“Not your fault.” Doug shrugged his shoulders. I knew he felt the investment in the trip was a complete loss. Now I am laid up, costing more than I produce. “We’ll find another source in time.” He smiled as if it was non-consequential. I knew it was.
“It kind of pisses me off,” I said grimly, “I thought it was a done deal. I’m sorry Doug.”
Doug smiled. “Just worry about getting better. Have they given you any idea how long you’re going to be laid up?”
“Walking in five or six months, fully mobile in a year,” I answered truthfully. There was no way I would be returning to work quickly. Doug nodded, and I could see the friend mixing with the business owner. I knew that he would pay a financial toll as I recovered.
“Doug, if we need to sell,” I said, “don’t wait to spare my feelings.” I wasn’t sure I was ready to end the business, but I couldn’t let him suffer financially without me.
“Not sure we can,” Doug said, “the proposal expired thirty days ago. Our numbers have dropped,” he added, indicated my legs, “not sure if there is any interest at a reasonable price.”
“Shit, I’m sorry Doug. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know,” Doug sighed, “we’ll just have to make the best of it.” His smile belied the fears I knew were working their way through our finances. Unlike me, he lived rather high. Insurance on his Porsche probably cost more than my car. “So they tell me you tried base jumping without a chute…” At least we could still laugh together.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Five months after I fell from the cliff, my rehabilitation began in earnest. The tree that had saved my life did so at the expense of my legs. Immobile, my leg muscles had weakened so dramatically that when the pins and cages were removed I could barely bend my knees. The doctor had been correct. My arm had healed much quicker. I had to learn to walk all over again.
Kimberly had practically given up trying to find Tamara. She still visited me and told me of trading emails with this authority or another, but I could tell she had been defeated. I wasn’t going to push. She at least had found a trail to Yerevan. My parents said they were looking, but I knew it was a half-hearted effort to stall my feelings while they hoped my desire would wane. My mother had some vision of my future, and it didn’t contain an Armenian wife. My father, bless his heart, loved my mother as much as I loved Tamara. I could not pit him against her.
At night, alone in my room, thoughts of the mountain would return. Feelings of Tamara would fill me. Fear of her finding another frightened me. I would not fare well against someone who knew her language. Longing to return to that hopeless hovel with her in my arms swamped reasoning. I would rather die with her than live without her. It was hard to sleep with her in my mind.
I spent six hours a week learning Armenian. My tutor, Ruben Aslanian, was more than patient with me. He was a retired steelworker, born and raised in Southern Illinois in an Armenian household. I was never a good student, and Ruben wasn’t exactly a great teacher. We learned together. There weren’t any other teachers willing to make house calls on a regular basis.
Ruben would shake his bald head every time I mispronounced a word. He didn’t have the skills to describe my error properly, and my ears currently heard no difference. It would take time to become proficient. What Ruben lacked in teaching skills, he made up for with his patience. He had made many trips to Armenia, visiting and supporting his extended family. I soaked up his knowledge of the country as well as the language.
Seven months after the fall, I was able to walk across the room, with two canes, without tiring. It had been a brutal rehabilitation. Entire muscle groups had to be rebuilt and adjust to the newly healed bones. My ankles, spared the brunt of the fall, were the worst. They felt like the first time I went ice skating when I was a child. It was if they had forgotten everything they were taught and fought against me the whole time. My doctor estimated I would be close to 100%, or what would be my new 100%, in a few more months. I moved back to my apartment. My mind began thinking of travel.
Kimberly insisted on driving me to physical rehab every other day. She was feeling guilty for not locating Tamara. The trips made me feel guilty. We had that way about us still. Unable to handle normal life comfortably. With her help, I progressed quickly. In two more months, I was able to jog half a mile on the treadmill without faltering. The scars along my legs became less hideous, more part of me now. Kimberly said I should tell people they were bullet holes. She thought It would be sexier.