Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

To be sure. Uncle Linden was still a rather good-looking man. Although he had some premature graying in his temples, his hair was thick and an interesting shade of blond, more like a light olivebrown. He had dark brown eyes that he directed with such apparent intensity at whoever spoke to him or he spoke to that the person always thought Uncle Linden was concentrating hard on what he or she was saying. Actually, he often turned his brain inside out but left his eyes fixed like that, just the way someone might direct a flashlight on something and walk off. It took me a while to realize it when I was younger, but he could and often did drift away on the shoulders of some thought or some memory. It was my way of knowing my visit had came to an end. My kiss goodbye on his cheek would flutter his eyelids and bring the trace of a smile to his lips, but not much more.

Lately, though, I found him doing this less and less, especially with me, and either Stuart or Elizabeth had told me on more than one occasion how much my uncle looked forward to my visits.

"When he's not absorbed by his painting, he often sits on the porch and watches the highway. hoping. I'm sure, to see you drive up. Hannah." Stuart told me. Then he added in practically a whisper. "He has this fear in his face that he missed you or that somehow you were there and he hadn't paid enough attention to you. I know. He's said as much," Stuart said. He patted my hand and added. "He needs reassurance, lots of reassurance. I'm not a psychiatrist and I don't have a degree, but experience has taught me that people who are in his state of mind are constantly afraid of abandonment."

"I'll never abandon him." I said, sounding furious at the very suggestion. "If anything, as soon as I am able to. I'll take him out of here to live with me."

"That's very nice," Stuart said. "He's lucky to have a loving niece like you."

I knew that smile was a smile meant to humor a young girl who fantasized, but he didn't know me. He didn't know how determined I could be and how loyal I was, especially now. Uncle Linden was all the family I had, real family, other than Mommy. Daddy was in a class by himself along with his children. I stopped trying to figure out where I would fit in his view of things.

As lean as he was in the pictures we had of him when he was much younger, Uncle Linden still ware his hair long and dressed casually, favoring a windbreaker I had bought him for his birthday two years ago. Most of the time he wore jeans and a pair of sandals. One of the things I did do with him occasionally was go for a walk along the street, passing the gates of home developments with their security guards peering out of glass booths at us with what looked like paranoid eyes, expecting us to rush the entrance way and crash into their precious housing development. People knew that the residency was just down the street, and that drew up terrifying scenarios and nightmares for them. I was sure. The Robinsons told me that there had been a number of challenges to their existence over the years, attempts to use zoning ordinances to stop them from housing what was politely referred to as the mentally disabled. It was another in a growing list of reasons why I wanted us to bring Uncle Linden home, He and the other residents had problems, but that didn't mean they couldn't sense being persona n

on grata.

When I drove up to the home this time. I was pleased to see Uncle Linden sitting on the front porch. He recognized Mommy's vehicle and stopped rocking. As soon as I stepped out of the car, he rose and came to the railing to call out, only he called out. "Willow." instead of Hannah.

"It's me. Uncle Linden," I replied.

He stood there strangely gazing past me as if he was really a blind man tying to hear or somehow sense what he was supposed to see.

"It's Hannah." I said, hurrying to the steps.

"Oh. Hannah. Hannah," he said. nodding. He smiled and I rushed up to embrace him.

"How are you today?"

"Good," he said, nodding and looking thoughtful about it. "Good." he concluded. "Where's your mother?"

"She's still in the hospital. She might be coming home tomorrow morning. It all depends on Claude."

"Hospital?" He sat in the rocker, his face turning ashen with concern. "-What's wrong with her?"

It simply hadn't occurred to me that neither Mother nor Miguel had called the residency to tell Uncle Linden about little Claude's birth. I knew from previous visits and one visit, nearly seven months ago with Mommy, that Uncle Linden knew she was pregnant. She didn't spend very much time talking about it, and I remember he seemed unimpressed, even though she had gone so long without becoming pregnant.

Maybe they were planning on telling him today. They didn't know I was coming to see him. but Mommy hadn't told me to wait for her to tell him or anything like that. However, she always made it seem like I should tiptoe around Uncle Linden and never volunteer any more information about our family life than he actually asked about.

"I know it's hard, maybe even impossible for you to realize how ill he was and still is," she instructed. "so please especially try to avoid talking about the past. If he brings anything up from our past, just say you don't know anything and you're not comfortable talking about it. He'll understand and stop.

"I'm not saying you can make him sicker or anything like that. Hannah," she added when she saw the expression on my face. "I just don't want you to feel any sort of pressure."

"I never do," I said.

"No. I'm sure you don't. and I am happy about that. I do know he enjoys seeing you very much, so spend your time talking about yourself, your school, your music lessons, things like that.

He has no other way of learning about that sort of thing, you know, Okay? You understand?" she asked. and I nodded even though I didn't understand. Why was our family past filled with so many minefields? I knew so little detail about everything anyway. What was she afraid I would say? It did make me nervous.

And so whenever Uncle Linden did begin to drift off, to talk about life before me. I interrupted and mentioned something that had just happened. Sometimes he would bite and ask me about it, and sometimes he would simply clam up and take on that far-off look, and I knew he was hearing another voice, seeing another face. That was my clue to end my visit.

In the beginning when I started to visit Uncle Linden by myself. Mommy questioned me in detail about each occasion, wanting to know what was said, what sort of things Uncle Linden wanted to talk about, and how he reacted to the things I told him. I assumed she had a purely professional interest in it, but the time before last, when Uncle Linden mentioned his desire to do a painting of me, she became very agitated and concerned, so much so. that I was frightened,

"No!" she cried almost before I was able to get the news through my lips. "Absolutely out of the question. Don't you even think of it."

But why not? What harm could that do to him?" I asked. disappointed. I was actually looking forward to posing and having the picture. I couldn't help but be curious as to what he would see in me and how he would portray me. He had done one other portrait while he was at the residency, as far as I knew, and that was of another resident, a woman who was at least twenty years older than he was, and yet she looked twenty years younger. and I thought there were resemblances to Mommy.

"He's always talking about how much you and I look alike," I told Mommy. "I guess he just wants to paint that."

"I forbid you to do it. Hannah. If you don't listen to me. I'll have to tell the Robinsons not to permit you to visit Uncle Linden without my being present, too." she threatened.