The Second Life

By Mariam Manoukian

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 26, 2008
• ISBN: 9781469104010

Mariam Manoukian

Mariam Manoukian is a practicing physician, a first-generation American Armenian. She lives in the Bay Area with her husband and two children. She grew up in the Soviet Union, in Armenia, and always had interest in writing. Prior to The Second Life, she has published a nonfiction book, Metabolic Syndrome Survival Guide, and young-adult fiction, On the Other Side of Mount Ararat.

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Copyright © 2008 by Mariam Manoukian.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without

permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are

the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any

resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely

coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PART ONE

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

PART TWO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

PART THREE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

PART FOUR

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my family, Jerry, Elize and Greg for their permanent, unfailing support and patience. Above all I thank my daughter Elize who has contributed her priceless help at every stage of the manuscript. I’m indebted to Diana Reiss, Pat Maximoff and Laura Robbins for valuable critique at the early stages and Paula Dragosh, Lisa Reardon and Kim Fielding for comments and editing that transformed the manuscript into its final form.

PART ONE

Life in the Time Lane

PROLOGUE

The sleet slapped the crowd in the face. The thaw had started, but there weren’t any clear signs of the coming of the spring. Four men carried the freshly built oak coffin, leading the way of the procession. The cemetery was around the corner where it had been for centuries, and despite the ghastly weather, the procession continued its tragic march on foot. The naked poplars on both sides of the street were shaking from cold and despair. They couldn’t offer the crowd any protection, but the rare second-floor balconies did by hanging out over the street and narrowing the strip of the angry sky.

The dead man’s wife, his mother, and his father were held on both sides by other family and were the first in line, following the coffin. Black and gray fez hats and black headscarves covered every head in the crowd.

Aman, aman, aman, the sickly droning intermittently spread through the crowd. The deafening sound of the wailing of the mother who lost a child dominated the chorus of the mourners. The death of a son was horrifying, but what she had to go through was even worse. Her wailing came from deep inside as if her soul was squeezed between the wheels of a locomotive and wet rails. The wife of the dead man stayed quiet; her blood had drained from her lips, her hands, and her soul. She fainted once or twice and then came back to her senses realizing that she was still held tightly by two people. Her tears dried up, and her lips stopped making any sounds sometime ago. The father of the dead man, the superintendent, oblivious to the bad weather, walked slowly, supported by a cane that he had never needed before. He hadn’t shut his eyes for three days and finally had made the realization that the nightmare had turned into his reality. The old wrinkles, like trenches dug around his big droopy nose, continued underneath his heavy, wet moustache and closed the circle around his wordless mouth.

John F. Kennedy Jr. had saluted at his father’s funeral. But this funeral had happened long before that. The dead man’s children weren’t even allowed to his funeral. They were sent away to their family summerhouse, causing suspicion in the children simply because the summer was still four months away. No one bothered to inform them of their father’s death. Maybe one day, but not soon, maybe never. Even if they had been allowed to their father’s funeral, they would have never saluted to the crowd because it wasn’t a part of their culture. Somewhere far away from the height of the minarets, the loud voice of the muezzin chanted for the Islamic prayer. After a short pause, the Christian church bells rang aloud. Deaf to any distraction, the crowd of two hundred mourners continued its march as if separated from the world with a soundproof glass. People in this town were accustomed to funerals. Infants, children, young, and old died from diseases, age, stray bullets, accidents, and at the hands of the enemy. People in this town were disjoined by history, language, and faith; but despite all differences, the funeral was attended by many. This funeral wasn’t going to make any dents in the wheels of history as no one involved in it was a historical figure, but just as many moments in life defy easy explanation, this funeral had challenged the morals of all times.

As the procession was entering the cemetery, the heavy rain pelted the mourning crowd. The crazy March was only two days away, and after that inevitably would come the bloodiest April.

CHAPTER 1

Nina hated elevators. Designed to conserve time and calories, generally they only lived up to their second function. She ran up the stairs to the third floor of the city hall, caught her breath, and looked around. Behind one of three white doors, Juliet was marrying Richard. Correct on her first guess, she slowly pushed the second door. As the large door swung open, she saw the small wedding ceremony that she came to witness. As if attached to the same thread, all three figures turned toward her and then back to their business. Richard and Juliet were face-to-face with a woman in a black robe performing their wedding. Nina softly tiptoed across the room and positioned herself next to the only other person in the room, the other witness. Breaking through the heavy curtains, the sunlight was penetrating into the room, showering the peculiar couple with daylight. The ceremony had started on time, and at the moment it was Richard’s turn to respond to the script.

I do, said the old man, looking at his bride with admiration. Though delicate and feeble, Richard looked princely and handsome. His head was almost bald except for several small bunches of snow-white hair on his temples curling femininely behind his ears.

The justice of the peace, a woman in her fifties, with dark skin and thin, long lips, licked the remnants of her fading reddish lipstick, raised her eyebrows, and turned to the bride. Juliet was dressed in an old-fashioned white chiffon top with a collar and a huge puffy skirt with small green flowers. A leather belt emphasized her waist, and her thin ankles showed under the skirt. It was hard to place the odd outfit into a certain decade, but it certainly looked like something that Audrey Hepburn would’ve worn in Roman Holiday. Despite the dress, or maybe because of it, Juliet looked innocent, beautiful, and much younger than she was.

Do you, Juliet Melikian, take this man, Richard Dourian, as your lawfully wedded husband, for richer and for poorer, for now and forever? the justice cited with a vacant voice.

For a moment there was an awkward silence. While the justice glanced up at the bride with indifference, Nina held her breath, hoping for a miracle. Juliet’s precarious smile had disappeared while her vow was being read. She lowered her head and stared off into an oval sunlight glare on the floor.

I do. Juliet raised her head. She sounded like a child ready to be admitted to the Girl Scouts, falling short of the saluting hand motion. Instead of the red triangle tie, she was about to get a wedding ring.

Hands shaking, Richard slipped the wedding band on Juliet’s left ring finger. He stared at it like a starving cat at a cornered mouse. Juliet was patiently watching the old man’s clumsy movements. When it was her turn, she confidently eased the other golden band onto Richard’s dainty wrinkled finger.

I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, said the justice precisely according to her job and solemnly turned toward Richard. It was obvious that this wasn’t the only wrongful marriage that she had performed.

Richard eagerly tried to go after Juliet’s lips, but she was much quicker and gave him a peck on his cheek as if he were a favorite pet.

As Nina’s hopes for human sanity went nowhere, she had to attend to her duties as a witness. Wondering about the statistics of how often did the witnesses disagree or resent the marriage they had to witness, Nina approached the desk. As in many other cases, knowing the percentage wasn’t going to make her feel any better.

Her Honor showed Nina where to sign her name and write her address. The other witness, Jose, who was Richard’s gardener, followed her example. He was dressed neatly in a corduroy suit and remotely matching striped shirt. It didn’t really matter what his day job was; what mattered was that he had been the other witness for the most inappropriate wedding.

Nina, thank you so very much for coming. Richard’s voice interrupted Nina, momentarily scolding herself for being so judgmental. We really appreciate your friendship and loyalty. It means a lot for both of us. The joyous expression of his eyes confirmed his sincerity. He turned to Jose.

Gracias, amigo, thank you for taking the time to witness our marriage. He held Jose’s right hand with two hands, a grip that steadied Richard’s tremor.

While Richard was attempting to say something else in his broken Spanish, Juliet used the moment and leaped to Nina.

Is this for me? She gave Nina a kiss and pointed to the bouquet that Nina had grabbed on her dash to the ceremony and had completely forgotten.

Uh, yeah, sure, congratulations. Nina handed Juliet the best-looking bouquet from the flower shop at the hospital.

Thank you, Juliet said loudly, raising her voice as she continued. I am very happy to be Mrs. Richard Dourian.

Richard turned his face toward the women and smiled. Beaming with pleasure he looked very respectable in a white suit, light blue shirt, a dark blue tie, and old-fashioned gold-rim glasses.

Darling, I am very happy too. His eyes watered, or maybe those were tears of happiness. His classical aquiline Armenian nose rose over the landscape of numerous wrinkles, reminding Nina of her own grandfather. Those tears would have been more appropriate if he had been watching his granddaughter graduate from college or a great-grandchild take his or her first steps. Nina silently watched the madness around her. She didn’t want to be judgmental; she had an extensive experience, day in and day out, hearing the most unbelievable stories from her patients. But seeing her friend marry a man forty-eight years older than herself, Nina couldn’t help feeling apprehensive.

Dabbing the tears from his face, Richard spoke to Nina.

I would like to invite you to McNeil’s Park Restaurant to celebrate our marriage. I reserved ten seats, but everyone else has other engagements, so it’s just the four of us, he said as if everyone had already agreed upon their attendance.

Trapped again, Nina fumbled for a second. If it hadn’t been for his last sentence, she would have delivered her prepared refusal to the invitation she expected. Witnessing the ceremony was bad enough, but now that the others had escaped the reception, Nina felt pity for Richard.

Sure, I just need to tell my ex to pick up the kids from school, and if he’s in surgery or on call, then maybe I can find Lisa, she mumbled, glancing at her watch. Most of Nina’s life revolved around her watch as if it carried more information than just the time. She named her reality the unbearable timeness of being, paraphrasing Milan Kundera’s title. There was no legitimate word timeness, but Nina was known for creating new words unfamiliar to those who believed only in Merriam-Webster.

For Nina the unbearable timeness existed in two dimensions; both reflected passing of time, both in the context of unbearable. In the first case, it was unbearable because time went too fast, and she felt constricted by time; as a result, she had to rush and squeeze and multitask to get through. In this dimension Nina had no time to think. That was a common state for her, for instance in this case, adding a wedding ceremony and now also a wedding reception to her already-busy day.

The other dimension of the unbearable timeness of being was defined as a period of time when she wanted desperately for the time to go faster due to certain circumstances, like her divorce period or times in her residency or times in the dental chair, when she had too much time to think. Fortunately, the second dimension didn’t happen as often.

Lisa said she was busy taking a meditation class or giving it, I think, Juliet said. She pressed her lips together tightly and frowned. She was one of the ten invitees who declined the invitation.

Richard, still excited to have just been married, victoriously walked toward the door. Juliet followed her husband of ten minutes and grabbed him by his elbow. Jose said that he had a garden to tend, not far from the restaurant, but would certainly be there at five. Nina rushed out of the city hall, trying to figure out how to organize the kids, finish the work at the office that she had promised to Leticia, and make it to the restaurant no later than five thirty. In the parking lot, she noticed Jose’s truck with a lawn mower sticking out of the bed and imagined that his life was probably much less complicated. She envied him without antagonism. But what did she know about him? With that unanswered question in her head, she realized that her Toyota had vanished. In haste to get to the ceremony, Nina hadn’t noticed the sign reading Employee of the Month next to the space where she had parked.

Nina rolled her eyes and swore in Russian. For people like Nina who were disgusted by cursing in general but did it in critical situations like this one and when nobody else could hear, Russian had the richest assortment and the definitude of swearwords among the languages that Nina was fluent in. Of course, it was important to punish disobedience; but some people weren’t disobedient—they were inattentive, overworked, frustrated, and truly didn’t deserve policy enforcements.

While the Russian cuss thesaurus was preoccupying Nina’s thoughts, an unsympathetic policeman, whose nylon uniform was as tight as a wet suit, handed her a piece of paper, telling where she could get her car back.

Would you like a ride? It was Jose, who had witnessed Nina’s predicament. At least a bit of luck.

She climbed into his truck, and with the lawn mower in tow, he drove her to the police station where, after paying the fine and the towing charges, she reclaimed her car. Now Nina was left with only one hour to maneuver through her list of tasks. Living in fast-forward was nothing new to her. Everything was timed, but just like patients were always added to a fully booked schedule, Nina was able to squeeze a lot more into an already-full hour; but to be successful, she needed other people’s cooperation. She called her ex-husband. His receptionist connected them immediately.

Steven, I need you to pick up the kids, and either keep them for tonight or bring them home and stay with them until eight, Nina said without pauses.

Well, hello to you too. I’m doing fine, thank you. May I ask what your urgent business is?

Nina had no time for his whimsical attitude, but instead of snapping at him, she took a deep breath and squeezed out the words as calmly as she could.

Hi, I have to go to a wedding reception.

Whose wedding reception, may I ask?

Nina didn’t want to answer. She had noticed that for the last several months, he had been more interested in her existence and had been asking more questions than were appropriate for people who were divorced and should’ve been talking only about child-management issues.

Juliet, my friend from childhood, and Richard, her new husband, got married at city hall today, and their wedding reception is at five. She wanted to add Mr. Prosecutor but didn’t. I know, this isn’t your day, but I promised them. If you can’t help me out, I’ll call Lisa. After a short pause, she heard Steven’s voice.

I promised Mary Louise Kay to help cook at an organic dinner in the basement of the Presbyterian Church. I can drop her off, spend the time with the kids, and then go back to the dinner after I bring the kids to you. Can you be home by eight?

Yes, thanks a lot. I’ll see you around eight, at my place. Nina hated hearing the unnecessary details of his life or anything that Milk—the name the kids and Nina called his girlfriend, Mary Louise Kay—was doing, but she was always thankful for his flexibility.

At the office Leticia gave her the messages from the patients. While signing a stack of prescriptions, Nina heard all about Leticia’s appointment with the dentist who could make her smile look like Jennifer Aniston’s for only sixteen thousand dollars. Driven by an accumulated sarcastic impulse, Nina almost told Leticia that she should save the money by eating less, and then her waist might look like Jennifer Aniston’s. The impulse was suppressed, and she continued to nod and sign the endless papers.

Nina locked the door of her office and changed into her evening outfit. It was the same casual-looking Sona dark green Italian sweater, but now it was put upside down, revealing her bare shoulders just by putting the waist on her shoulders. Nina looked at herself in a small rimmed blue mirror that was surrounded by her medical diplomas and the pictures of Salvador Dali. Her skin was a bit more exposed than she would have preferred, but she certainly looked ready for an evening on the town.

Broken down into atomic spheres, Dali’s wife Gala’s wrinkled face was staring at Nina. Gala’s audacious character and the way she conquered men awed Nina. She smiled at Gala and headed out to her car. The cell phone rang. It was Serge. Serge, how are you? Nina looked at her watch. It was 5:25 p.m.

Darling, just wanted to let you know that I am going to Roseville to an opening of a new golf course with a group of friends. One of my friends came from Chicago. I hadn’t seen him for a year. He paused. I’ll call you when I come back on Monday. Nina was slightly let down that her weekend plans were canceled, but she shrugged it off.

That sounds like a lot of fun, she said. Have a good time, ciao. She tried to conceal the disappointment in her voice. That was very typical of Serge, canceling plans without directly saying it. From years of working with Japanese businessmen, he learned to never say no or not. His skillful maneuvering of their relationship reminded Nina of just another business deal. As soon as she got into her car, she checked for the stack of phone messages, grabbed the first one, and called the patient.

CHAPTER 2

The McNeil’s Park Restaurant had just enough people to look busy without being too noisy. Thin rectangle-shaped windows with heavy orange drapes and electric candles at each table gave the place a Victorian look. The customers, dressed in casual business attire, didn’t fit with the atmosphere; but Nina’s bare shoulders and contrasting dark green sleeve was a perfect fit. The hostess led her to the table where Jose was just about to taste the wine. Juliet was wearing a different dress, a more contemporary one. As soon as Nina was seated, Richard ordered champagne, and they toasted the newlyweds.

The most traditional Armenian wedding toast Nina could think of, Let the bride and the groom age on the same pillow, would have sounded ridiculous. Most wedding toasts no longer made sense for contemporary variations of marriage. Left over from frequent Armenian parties in her past, Nina detested toasts, but because of her genetic and ethnic background, she felt compelled to say one. She tried hard to come up with something friendly and respectful and not clichéd, but the same thought kept creeping into her mind. I hope you two have a good reason for getting married. That was definitely not going to work; she raised her champagne glass.

Marriage is an art—please treat it with wisdom and respect. The crystal glasses clinked, and Nina felt pitifully stupid. The pessimist, or more precisely the realist in her, couldn’t help but ask, If you’re so smart, then why couldn’t you treat your marriage as an art? In one gulp she finished the whole glass of champagne.

At the next table there were three middle-aged men. Unbuttoned shirts, no ties, light mood, expensive bottle of wine—corporate executives who were probably celebrating a successful deal. It didn’t take long for Nina’s bare shoulders to draw their attention. She hadn’t worried about the effect at her table but hadn’t thought beyond that. Now she wanted to run to the bathroom and change back to the sweater’s casual look.

Order the butternut squash ravioli for me, she said and headed toward the back of the restaurant, following bathroom signs.

The restroom was large and had a wall-to-wall mirror. Nina stared at her own reflection, and despite the weight of the busy day, she was pleasantly surprised to enjoy her own look. Her shoulder line looked delicate and beautiful and contrasted nicely with the dark green of the sweater and jade earrings. She decided to ignore the inquisitive looks and stay with the bare shoulders. The quick effect of the alcohol on an empty stomach was apparent and helped with the decision. Nina’s eyes were shimmering, and she felt warm and slightly giddy. She took out her dark burgundy lipstick and swiped it over her chapped lips.

Nina, you look great. It was Juliet, standing next to her and talking to her reflection. Then she turned to Nina and said cheerfully, You haven’t said anything.

What do you want me to say? That I’m happy for you? Nina said, avoiding Juliet’s eyes.

Say . . . what you want to say. Say what you think, Juliet stammered.

You know perfectly well that I don’t approve of this marriage, Nina blurted. I think it’s totally unfair what you are doing to the old man.

"Nina, that is so you! I remember when in school you were the only person in the class who worried about the biology teacher’s reaction when we covered her chair with toothpaste. You’re my friend, not Richard’s. Besides, I’m not doing it to him. He is doing it to himself. Juliet admired her reflection and ran her hands through her feathery hair. You’re supposed to worry about me, not Richard."

Nina felt as if she was confronting an alien with radically different values from her own. She turned face-to-face with her childhood friend and gave her a patronizing glare.

I stopped worrying about you during your marriage and divorce to Alec. Maybe you forgot that you called me and said you wanted to jump off a bridge—scaring me to death. Later you told me that was a joke. There are many other instances that I do not like to remember now. But then, it was a different country, you were young. But now? You’re acting childish and disrespectful and perpetually shallow. Juliet, you are, over forty, for crying out loud. Nina couldn’t stop, which was likely the consequence of the champagne.

Richard is an old and decent man who happens to be in love with you for reasons unknown to me. You’re marrying him for some pitiful reason that I’m sure I will hear about sooner or later. You know why Lisa isn’t here? This is not fair to your friends either. I’m not even sure what am I doing here. She finished with the thought that had nagged her all day. I think that you’re doing something vain, and what is worse, you do not hesitate to pursue it.

I absolutely disagree. For the first time all day, Juliet wasn’t smiling. She folded her arms across her chest angrily. The bulging vein on her forehead that always showed when she was anxious throbbed.

The fact that I was young and stupid when I divorced Alec has nothing to do with the current situation. First, I want you to remember that Richard purposed the marriage not I. When we met in Yerevan while he was visiting, he seemed very odd. He used to look at me for a long time as if I were some mysterious painting. I agreed to marry him not for money, but for a green card. I would like to stay in this country, and this is my only chance. I don’t need his money or his house. I think he knows that. Second, he has his own agenda for this marriage, and it’s not as romantic or platonic as you think. For your information, he asked me two things in return. Neither one is love. Now both of Juliet’s hands were in the air.

He wants me to respond when he calls me Esther. Don’t ask me who she is. I couldn’t get anything out of him. Esther could have been his mother, sister, or an old lover. His late wife’s name was Gloria. Did you see the silly dress I was wearing today? He dragged me through six secondhand shops until he found it. He said that would be my wedding gift to him, to wear that ridiculous ancient dress. Again, he refuses to say why.

Juliet gripped the fake marble countertop and continued.

So you can think of our marriage as a double deal, she stated. Nina’s mind traveled back to their school years when Juliet was constantly arguing with teachers for grades. Most of her complaints were merely for the sake of an argument.

Nina wasn’t finished. She loathed secrecy and hypocrisy, and Juliet’s behavior was soaked with both. Why do you say, ‘I’m so happy being Mrs. Dourian’?

Juliet searched for an answer for a while.

Well, I’m just having fun.

Well, then I don’t have anything else to say, Nina concluded lamely. But then she tried again, "Juliet,