Torn

easier to talk to Namana alone.

To the right of the counter was a large white door with a little window in the center and a serious metal lock and plate on the side. As Devin was buzzed in, his father called to him. “Don’t say anything to upset her.”

Devin pretended not to hear. If his father wanted to issue orders, he should have come along. Alone, Devin entered the white corridor and let the door click shut behind him. The old-people smell was stronger, but the view was more pleasant because the hall opened up into a wide, sunny space. As he walked forward, he saw an angled ceiling that was nearly all glass and filled the room with natural sunlight. There were plants on either side of every lounge chair, more standing against the support columns, and even a few small trees, giving the area a natural, open feel.

A few of the residents occupied some of the chairs. Some played chess; others read. One tall bald man wore what looked like a hospital gown. He leaned against a pillar like he was one of the trees, a white birch. His eyes were vacant, and he moaned softly as mucous dripped in a long viscous strand from his nose, halfway down his chest.

Devin tried not to stare. Or inhale. He stepped slowly into the center of the room. Some of the women looked at him and whispered to one another. They giggled and tried to catch his eye. It was utterly gross to think they were flirting with him, so he forced himself to assume they were just being friendly. He scanned their faces. It’d been maybe three years since he’d seen Namana. He wasn’t sure how much she might change in that time. Could one of these women even be her?

He was about to speak to one of the gigglers when a uniformed nurse appeared at the far end of the room, guiding a small, snow-white-haired resident with a walker. The last time he’d seen Namana, her hair had still been gray mixed with a few strands of black, and she’d been heavier. This frail woman looked more like someone had started making a life-size Namana doll, but had run out of material. It was her, though.

He walked up and smiled as sincerely as he could, reminding himself of Cody on stage. “Hi, Namana, how are you?”

She twisted her head slightly and looked at him, then moved her hand in a spastic twitching motion, as if waving him away. Her hand moved at the wrist, but her fingers dangled lifelessly. There was a blue bruise on the back of her left hand, from some IV needle or another.

She continued waving, but the smiling nurse helped her into a chair, laying her down like a blanket on top of the thick cushions. The nurse put the walker against the wall and said, with what seemed an inappropriate amount of energy, “There! All set!”

Devin came closer. Namana raised her head. Her blue eyes were hazy behind the thick glasses, but now at least they seemed to really focus on him. She scrunched her eyebrows a moment, as if trying to place Devin’s face.

The nurse leaned down till she was right next to his grandmother’s ear and said loudly, “This is your grandson! Devin! He’s come to see you!”

Namana bobbed her head slightly. She agreed.

The nurse turned to Devin with a wide smile. “Sometimes she forgets,” she said in a pleasant stage whisper. “I’ll leave you two alone. Call me if you need anything. I’m Angie.”

“Thanks,” Devin said. Angie spun and walked away.

He looked at his grandmother, wondering if the whole trip had been a waste, if there were anything at all she’d be able to tell him. Surprisingly, her hand again dangling from her wrist, Namana waved him closer.

“What is it, Namana?” he said, putting his head nearer. He was still about a foot away, nervous. Even after everything he’d been through—maybe because of it—he was afraid of her because she was so old. She waved him closer still. He complied, by inches, until he was just close enough for her to grab him hard by the back of his head.

He was surprised by how strong she was. Her grasp made him feel like a child too weak in body and soul to resist as she pulled his face down to hers. They touched, nose to nose. Then, she didn’t so much kiss his cheek as make a soft pup-pup sound with her smacking lips near his skin.

“Devin,” she said softly, as if it were the answer to a test question that had been plaguing her.

“Namana,” he said, and hugged her gently. As he pulled back, he saw her eyes fill with tears. Guilt rushed up inside him for not seeing her for so long. There was a tissue box on a table next to the chair. He pulled out a sheet and patted her wet cheeks with it. She bristled, grabbed the tissue, and pushed her glasses up and out of the way so she could use it to dab her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said.

“I’ll do it,” she croaked. “I’ll do it. You’re a baby. Shouldn’t have to…”

Devin managed a bitter little smile. “Not exactly a baby anymore, Namana.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, trying to focus on his features. “No, you’re not,” she said sadly. She leaned forward a little and added conspiratorially, “Neither am I.”

They both laughed. Devin felt grateful he could still recognize her.

Now came the hard part. The reason for the visit. He didn’t want to “upset her,” as his father said, but he had to find out what she might know about the creature.

“Namana, do you remember that song you used to sing me, to put me to sleep?” he said. “When I was a baby?”

A sweet smile spread on her lips. She started humming, then she closed her eyes and put her arms out in front of her, as if recalling what a child in her lap felt like.

As he listened, the years crumbled, and Devin remembered what it was like to sit with her, feeling warm and snug as she sang, holding something in his hands, some stuffed toy made of dark fur. A teddy bear?

He was surprised and embarrassed at how well he’d remembered the melody. He’d been thinking he’d made more of it up, but as she hummed, he realized he’d reproduced it note for note, word for word. Another illusion came crumbling down as he realized he was no musical genius, he’d stolen the song whole hog.

“Lay still, still, still,” she croaked. Her voice wasn’t harsh at all, the way he remembered it; it was gentle, soothing. At least it was now.

If it wasn’t his song, whose was it?

There was something compelling in the melody, something that made everyone who heard it speechless for a few moments. Maybe that was part of its magic, that the song would stay in your mind, and then force its way out again. Was that why he remembered it so precisely? It explained why he felt drawn to it, why his usual ambivalence had vanished when he’d sung it at the last show.

“Namana,” he said, but she kept singing. He said it a little louder, “Namana?”

“Eh?” The spell was broken. She was back in the room.

“The song. Where did it come from?”

She gave him a dreamy, demented smile. “From mommas and grandmommas singing to their babies.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean where did you learn it?”

“Oh. Well, when I was a girl, my great-grandmother used to sing it to me. No one liked her very much. She was good to those she loved. Not to those she didn’t.”

“Was she a witch? Was your great-grandma magic?”

Namana shook her head. “No.” Then she thought better of her answer. “Maybe. I don’t really remember. I just remember she loved me. And that she was very old. Older than I am now. They didn’t like her, though.”

“Who didn’t like her?”

“People in the town. You can’t like everyone. She had her ways.”

“The thing in the song—did the people in the town think it was real?”

She went quiet. Her eyes were closed for so long Devin was afraid she’d fallen asleep. His memory again flashed to the toy he had held in his hands. He’d never had a teddy bear. What was it?

He was about to repeat the question when she leaned forward and whispered, “It comes with the song.”

Devin’s heart started beating faster. She knew. Maybe she could help. “Why, Namana? Why does it come with the song?”

She made a light gargling sound and managed a shrug of her thin shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe it likes the song. Wouldn’t you like a pretty song that was about you?” Her eyes twinkled with a light he remembered from long