Date: Thu, 3 Jun 2004 21:22:56 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Graschels of Guenther Street - Chapter Six

Pertinent information is posted at the beginning of
this series.  Comments are welcome at
quasito_cat@hotmail.com or quasito_cat@yahoo.com

The Graschels of Guenther Street

M.C. Gordon

Chapter Six

     "Are you sure it's okay?" Eric whispered to Deet
on Tuesday morning as they stood outside Jane Doe's
hospital room.

     "It's fine, son," Deet replied.  "Judge Solari
told me she wants Jane to meet you.  Just remember
that Jane's not her real name.  It's up to her if she
wants to tell you her name or not."

     Eric took a deep breath when Deet pushed the door
open.  He was really proud that the judge trusted his
dad enough to give this stranger a chance to live with
them.  He knew instinctively that he shouldn't ask the
girl any questions about what had happened to her, and
he certainly hoped she didn't ask him anything.  He
wasn't ready to talk about what had happened, not even
with his dad.

     "Hi, I'm Eric," he said as he slowly entered the
room.

     "Hi," Jane answered.  "My name's Philadelphia,
but don't you dare call me that.  You can just call me
Jane until maybe your dad `dopts me."

     Eric relaxed and quickly crossed to stand by her
bed.  "That's okay," he whispered.  "His real name is
Dieter and he won't let anybody call him that either."

     Philadelphia, who was beginning to become
non-existent, peered around Eric at Deet.  "I gots to
put Philadelphia behind me," she said quietly.  "That
chil' had a lot of sadness.  She made a baby, but it
died.  Poor baby never had no chance."

     Eric wasn't sure what to say because he'd never
known a girl who had a baby before.  "Maybe it's in
heaven with God," he offered.

     "I don't know `bout God," she replied.  "He never
done much for Philadelphia."

     Uncomfortable, and finding himself closer than he
wanted to his own experience, Eric changed the
subject.  "We have a new puppy," he said.  "It doesn't
have a name yet."

 . . .

     "Mr. Graschel?  I'm Doctor Tran," a man said
quietly to Deet while the children slowly gauged each
other.  "May I speak with you for a few moments?"

     "Certainly," Deet replied and the two stepped
into the hall.

     Dr. Tran Van Nam was a small man, the son of
South Vietnamese refugees who had settled in San
Antonio.  "I'm the hospital child psychiatrist.  I
understand you're going to have custody of Jane and
will be placing her in counseling.  Judge Solari
requested that I give you the names of several of my
colleagues for you to select from.  I'm very concerned
about Jane.  She's going through a period of denial
and disassociation.  It's the only way she can cope
with her physical and emotional trauma, and quite
normal.  But she's going to have to accept what's
happened to her if she's to experience any emotional
growth at all.  I'd like to suggest family counseling
as well.  One of the greatest reasons emotionally
disturbed children fail is that the adults they need
the most have no concept of how to help them."

     "What is your assessment of Jane?" Deet asked.

     "She has no self-esteem at all.  She puts up a
brave front of being a tough little girl, but she's
terrified inside.  She's twelve trying to act sixty
and she's feeling like she's six years old.  Her baby
was premature and had multiple health problems.  While
she barely has any concept of the fact that she was a
mother, she knows that she lost something that was
part of her.  Girls today go into puberty at an early
age and her hormones told her brain that she's
supposed to be nurturing right now.  I suggest you
provide her with a pet to care for.  Also, she's had
very little formal education.  She'll perform very
poorly on any intelligence test because she was kept
out of school.  That doesn't mean she's not a bright
child, because she is.  Again, and this is only a
suggestion, she needs a private tutor willing to begin
at a first grade level with her."

     "Dr. Tran," Deet interrupted, "do you take on
private patients?"

     "My time is limited, Mr. Graschel, because of my
duties at the hospital."

     "How many hours a week do you think would be
needed to work with a family?"

     "At least three hours, three times a week," the
psychiatrist replied.

     "Would you be willing to accept us as patients?"
Deet asked.  "I can sense your compassion for Jane.
And I need someone who cares as deeply as you do.  You
see, my son was sexually abused before he came to live
with me and has already had one horrible nightmare
that he doesn't remember."

     Dr. Tran looked up at the tall man who stood
beside him, stricken by the pleading look in the blue
eyes.  "Very well," he agreed, "I will accept your
family as private patients."

 . . .

     "Daddy!" Eric exclaimed as Deet entered the
hospital room after his conversation with Dr Tran, "we
picked a name for puppy!"

     "You had better luck than I did then," Deet said
as he smiled at the children.  "I have to give him a
long fancy name for his kennel registration papers.
What are you going to call him?"

     "Benji," Eric and Jane said simultaneously.

     "Hmm," Deet murmured.  "Benji sounds good to me.
Benji of Willis-Helotes, High Potentate of Beloved
Children."

     "Huh?" Eric asked.  "What kind of name is that?"

     "He has a pedigree, Eric.  That's like a long
list of family names registered with the American
Kennel Club.  It means he's somebody in the dog
world."

     "Do he know that?" Jane asked, completely
confused at the idea of a dog being anybody at all.

     "I don't think so," Deet replied.

     "Seems useless," Jane said, slowly relaxing in
the atmosphere of love and beginning to think of
herself more as Jane than Philadelphia.

     Deet laughed.  "You're right.  He's just a little
thing who likes to chew on my slippers.  Benji it is
then, and the AKC be damned."

     "UM!  What you said!" Eric immediately said and
Deet looked puzzled.  "You told Jorge we couldn't say
bad words and you just said one."

     Deet began to laugh again.  "Guilty as charged,"
he admitted.  "Do I get a warning or do I have to pay
for that mistake?"

     The children whispered together for a minute and
Eric finally said, "You get off with a warning this
time."

     Deet felt a bit left out for the rest of their
visit.  Eric did most of the talking, telling Jane
about the Fuentes family.  He found he respected the
tough exterior Jane was trying to project while at the
same time his heart broke that this little girl had
been so horribly abused.  It had infuriated him when
he learned that his son had been beaten and raped by a
family member.  He couldn't even begin to describe his
feelings for the woman who had prostituted her
daughter, and cringed when he thought of the number of
men who had used this innocent child.

     He would leave the legal maneuverings to Herbert
and Manuel, but was already considering his plan of
action to see that he would be allowed to adopt Jane.
She could have a lock on the inside of her bedroom
door as he had promised, until she felt comfortable
enough to realize that he and Eric would be her
protectors, not her tormentors.  He had a housekeeper,
an elderly lady named Minerva, who came in once a week
but only because she was his parents' retired
housekeeper and didn't believe a single male was
capable of mopping a floor.  He planned to ask her if
she could recommend a full time, live-in housekeeper
who would be able to relate well to Eric and Jane.
Consuela Fuentes had already agreed to provide him a
list of possible tutors for Eric and now Jane would be
included.  Dr. Tran's secretary was to call him and
set up appointments for the children individually, and
all of them as a family.

     Deet was accustomed to thinking methodically
after his many years working for the Texas DHS.  He
could recall fine, intricate points of policy from the
depths of his mind three years after leaving the
agency.  Years of being pressed by the demands of the
state legislature to do excellent work, acceptable by
the Federal watchdog, the United States Department of
Agriculture, with increasing cuts in budgeting and
staffing, had taught him to make mental lists.  Each
thing on the list was prioritized and checked off when
it had been accomplished.  As far as he could tell,
the only thing left now was to bring Jane home.

     When he went back to court in six months he
planned to have all of Jane's school work and comments
from her tutor in one neat vanilla folder.  He wanted
to ask Manuel if buying a camera to take pictures of
the children as they grew would be a good idea,
bearing in mind that a gay male is always branded a
pedophile by bigots and homophobes.

 . . .

     "I think Jane should be released Wednesday," Dr.
Tran remarked to Judge Solari that evening when they
met for drinks.  Their friendship was an old one, for
his role and hers in the lives of children often
passed through her court.

     She nodded her head.  "I was hoping you would say
that," she replied.  "I think Jane needs to be in a
stable situation as soon as possible.  But I have two
concerns.  First," she said as she held up one
manicured finger, "is that Eric has only been with his
father a few days.  Second," and another finger joined
the first one, "Thursday is Thanksgiving.  Is it wise
to release Jane to Mr. Graschel the day before a
family holiday?"

     "The greatest tragedy," Dr. Tran said, "is that
Jane has no concept of Thanksgiving.  I asked her if
she would prefer to be in the hospital or with her
guardian for the holiday and she told me she only knew
about it from television and thought it was just
something made-up."

     Angelina Solari buried her face in her hands and
choked back sobs.  Slowly wiping away her tears she
finally said, "Our jobs never get any easier, do
they?"

     "No, they don't," he replied, "but sometimes we
make a difference in their lives.  He didn't even look
at the list of family therapists I had, you know."

     She raised her head and looked at her old friend.
 "He didn't?"

     "No, he asked me if I would take them as private
patients."

     "Did you agree?" she asked.

     "Of course, I did," he replied.

     The judge smiled an evil smile and said, "And I
suppose it should take years of therapy?  You should
get to know each other pretty well."

     "You're a bitch," he answered.  "You know I can't
become involved with someone I'm seeing on a
professional basis."

     "Get the children started on the road to
recovery; use your professional knowledge to get that
hunky German to let go of that rod he's got stuck up
his backside, and I'll order a change of therapists by
this time next year if your professional opinion is
that the children won't be harmed.  That is, if you
think you'd like to pursue Mr. Dieter Graschel at that
point."

     He sighed.  "For years I have treated you to
glasses of expensive wine and season tickets to
off-Broadway shows at the Majestic Theatre.  Now my
plan begins to pay off."

     "Now who's the bitch?" she asked.  "And I thought
you did it because you love me."

     "I do," he answered.  "I always have, and always
will.  But you have a husband and two children waiting
for you at home and Tom will pulverize me if I keep
you out too late.  Go home and embrace your children.
I have to get back to the hospital.  Little Jane Doe
isn't the only child on the pediatric ward who's
suffered abuse.  I have to prepare reports for you to
go over in court tomorrow."