Would I Lie to You

by Mary Lou Dickinson

  “How could you not know?” she asked. At least he must have some idea.

  “I just don’t,” he said, his voice rising. “That’s all. I don’t like it when you sound as if you’re accusing me of something.”

  “Calm down, Jerry,” she said, lowering her voice. “It’s not good for you to get so agitated.”

  “I am calm.”

  “Listen,” she said. “I just asked a question. That’s all. Let’s drop it.” Whatever it was, she would rather not know if it upset him so much.

  *

  Sue climbed the stairs to where Jerry now sat on the edge of the queen bed where she had left him earlier to rest again. The sheets were rumpled and the duvet had fallen almost to the floor. His eyelids drooped as he pulled himself under the sheets and drew the duvet up. Sue finished placing it around his shoulders as she crawled in beside him. None of this would be happening if she had not become involved in Martin Drew’s campaign that fateful fall. She would not have met Jerry. He might be dying, but she would not know about it.

  “I’m sorry, Bird,” he whispered. Then fell asleep.

  Sue lay awake beside him for a long time. She could hear the wind moaning and shafts of light from a nearby street lamp came through the blinds. Somewhere, boards creaked in the old house.

  Although she had not known it at the time, her life had changed the day she had walked into Martin Drew’s storefront office near Honest Ed’s on Bloor Street. A tall man in a black turtleneck and jacket stood near the table of pamphlets and sign-up sheets. A handsome man, she had thought at the time, admiring his red hair and aquiline nose. The man she had not known would become her husband.

  Martin came from behind to greet her, giving her a hug. A neighbour who had been involved in the local ratepayer association, Martin had helped her deal with racoons raiding garbage next door and strewing potato peelings, bones, and eggshells across her garden. He had put her in touch with the local councillor. Not too many months later, Martin had decided to run for the position.

  “Jerry,” he said as she stood in the office that day. “Meet my neighbour, Sue Walters.”

  Both of them were quiet. Sue felt she had been caught staring. The man finally put out his hand. “I’m Jerry Reid,” he said. “Hello, Sue.”

  “Hello,” she said, taking his hand briefly.

  The telephone on the table rang and Martin reached for it. “Yes,” he said. “The meeting will start in half an hour.” He hung up and then beckoned to her. “Have a coffee, Sue.”

  There were lawn signs piled against the wall and maps overhead showing all the streets in the ward in minute detail. A large photo of Martin also hung on the wall. Sue had been involved in other kinds of campaigns and was nervous about whether she would have enough time for this one. As well as all the preparation she already had to do for her students, there were the extracurricular meetings she was by then involved in. Not to mention the Take Back the Night march once again. She had been there in the ranks through years of struggling for women’s rights, for adequate daycare for children, for the rights of diverse peoples. It was discussions about those issues that had shown Martin was supportive of initiatives that mattered to her.

  “Let me get it for you,” Jerry said. He went to a table where a large urn was plugged into a wall outlet. She watched the dark stream of hot liquid fill the mug, noting that he wore no rings.

  He pointed to the chairs on the far side of the room and her eyes followed his gaze to a spot where people had started to gather. “Martin’s going to speak,” he said.

  This was a year or so after the departure of the man she had lived with for longer than made any sense to her later. He had packed up most of his belongings in a large brown suitcase with a strap around it. As well as whatever remained in cardboard boxes he had brought back from the supermarket at the corner. She had filled her time with work since then, thinking she would never be interested in a man again. The principal at her school had asked her to be on a committee and she was treasurer of the provincial association for teachers. In the evenings, other meetings, concerts, or skating on the rink in front of City Hall took up her time. She frequented the local pool, swam laps, and occasionally met with a friend for coffee afterwards.

  She had wanted to support Martin even if it meant taking on a bit more than she could handle. She knew part of it was that even with all her activity, she was feeling lonely.

  “How do you know Martin?” Jerry asked.

  “He lives near me. I met Emily first. His wife. And you?” She did not say she found Martin friendlier than Emily. That was often the way, that one person in a couple was more outgoing or warmer. She also felt Emily was wary of her, but had never understood why.

  “We grew up together,” Jerry said.

  “Where was that?”

  “Stratford.”

  “I didn’t know Martin came from Stratford.”

  “He does.”

  “And how did you get involved in the campaign?” she asked.

  “I suppose because I encouraged Martin to run,” Jerry said. “So he asked me to be his campaign manager. That gives me the privilege of asking if there are things you might like to do.”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I just know I want to do something.” She looked at the map again. “Lots of territory to cover,” she said. “Probably canvass. I like meeting people.”

  “Great,” he said.

  Canvassing also meant she would be away from the office and not find herself feeling uncomfortable around this man. Not having suddenly to explain to herself that she was staring at him again. All she needed was another ill-fated love affair. Anyway, he did not seem more interested than he would be in anyone prepared to volunteer and when the door opened again, he turned to greet the man and woman who came through it.

  “Great to see you,” he said. “Martin will be speaking soon. You can hang up your coats over there. And there’s coffee. I’m Jerry Reid, Martin’s campaign manager.”

  This was how Sue knew Jerry for weeks, as Martin’s campaign manager. He seemed well-organized and invariably polite. But once when she came into the office, she heard him cursing into the telephone. When he hung up, he yelled at one of the volunteers who was sitting quietly, waiting for instructions.

  “Can I help you?” Sue asked, aware that his tone and language would create a profound impression on the young woman. It would not contribute to the smooth campaign Sue had known by instinct was desirable. What’s the matter with him? she wondered. He was showing a side of himself she had not witnessed before. Surely, he knew better. By now, she also had learned he was a lawyer and while that might be typical behaviour for some of them, it was not reflective of the image he had thus far portrayed.

  “I’m sorry,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “Thanks, Sue. Maybe you can get things organized for Cathy. She’s going to take a kit for her poll so she can canvass the blocks nearest to where she lives.”

  “Karen,” the young woman said.

  “Hi, Karen.” Sue smiled at the woman who appeared to be no older than nineteen or twenty and very nervous. She had covered for Jerry, Sue thought, even though she hated the “important man” image he projected as he turned to deal with a reporter from the newspaper, a man she recognized from photographs in the media. A distinctive flourish of white hair. Somewhat oversized ears. Insouciant smile. He started talking to Jerry. She assumed he would ask the direct questions he was known for, digging for pertinent information. This interview would be important to the campaign. But even so, there was no reason for Jerry to have been bad-tempered with the new volunteer. “What is Martin going to do about the homeless situation?” she heard the reporter ask, instead of asking about the plans around a proposed high-rise, a question the local residents had raised repeatedly.

  As soon as the reporter left, Jerry grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the office.

 
It went on like that. Sue would come in after canvassing on at least one evening every week. Almost always, she would encounter Jerry. She did not see him lose his temper again and might have forgotten the incident, except every so often she would hear an underlying tone that sounded on the verge of impatience. A rising voice. A heavy sigh. Perhaps not anything she would have particularly noticed if not for the earlier incident. If she came in near closing time, she also noticed two or three people who left together. One night, Martin asked if she would like to join them.

  “Please do,” Jerry said.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  At the nearby Brunswick House, they all sat in two adjoining booths. They ordered beer and talked in animated voices about the progress of the campaign. Martin wanted to know what reaction the canvassers were getting at the door.

  “What about you, Sue?”

  “Oh, it’s mixed,” she said. “I’m disappointed in how little many people seem to know or care. But if they’ll give me a moment, they ask questions and seem interested in your platform. A number have asked for lawn signs or have said they’d be willing to take one. I pass those requests on right away.”

  “Of course,” Jerry said. “Sue’s amazing.”

  Oh, she thought. I didn’t know he noticed. She recalled the night he had stormed out of the office after he managed to deal with that reporter. He had thanked her for giving information to the volunteer, who, by then, had probably thought of leaving without her canvas kit. Sue supposed she was granting that situation too much prominence in that nothing like it had happened again and he had apologized not only to the volunteer, but also to her. Surely, everyone was entitled to some impatience.

  After one beer, Sue took out her wallet. “Have to get up early in the morning,” she said.

  “I’ll pay,” Jerry said, slapping a bill on the table. “Could I walk you home?”

  “I’ll pay for my own,” she said quietly even as she wondered why she found it so difficult to accept this gesture from him. To say, “Thanks” and smile politely. Ordinarily she would, but in assuming this he had misjudged her. No more men like that last one who attempted to take over, an almost unstated motto by then.

  “Okay,” he said. “May I walk you home?”

  “All right.” She only hesitated for a moment.

  So, he accompanied her along Bloor to the foot of her street, a short one that ran north.

  “I live only a couple of blocks away,” he said. “Maybe I could call you some time.”

  “Maybe after the campaign,” she said, thinking he would forget by then. This show of interest felt uncomfortable to her, and besides, she knew she would continue to see him at the campaign office until the election.

  He looked disappointed. “All right,” he said. “We’ll celebrate the results.”

  She nodded. Her assessment of him could be wrong, but she was prepared to wait to find out.

  *

  When Jerry’s pain increased, a nurse began to come in daily to check his drugs and monitor dosages. He had more difficulty going upstairs by then and one of the nurses recommended a hospital-type bed for the living room. There were rails on the sides he could use to pull himself up and the mattress could be raised and lowered. Sue felt as if he were getting thinner by the hour. Indeed, his legs and arms were like sticks. He had to be moved regularly to avoid painful bedsores. One day, when his eyes opened, he pressed his lips together and groaned.

  “I can’t stand this. The pain is unbearable. For God’s sake, put a pillow over my head,” he begged. “End this misery.”

  “Oh, Jerry.” Sue understood no one needed to live in this kind of pain and that carefully titrated dosages should be able to contain his agony. The doctor had agreed, telling them there could still be pain that broke through and that he had approved special doses in between the regular ones when that happened. But sometimes, even before they could be administered, Jerry was desperate.

  “This is no way to live,” he groaned.

  Sue flinched. No, she thought, it isn’t, but everything was suddenly moving so much more quickly than she had anticipated. She did not know what to do.

  “Would you like some visitors?” she asked, her voice sounding as if it scraped across marble floors and glossy countertops in another realm entirely.

  “You must be joking.”

  “I was thinking of your friends in the meditation group.” They might provide some distraction for him.

  Jerry nodded then. Yes, he knew these people were ones he wanted to see. He had belonged for a while to a small group that met early on Friday mornings. He had told Sue that those quiet times had changed his perceptions of what was significant. And so, the members began to appear one at a time at his bedside for an hour or two, their presence accentuating in a different way Sue’s awareness of time growing shorter.

  “How are you, Sue?” one of the women asked as she came through the door.

  “I’m tired,” Sue admitted, her face crumbling slightly before she breathed in deeply. She knew Jerry was fond of Jane and was embarrassed to think that even though she had trusted her husband, she had been jealous of this woman without even knowing her. She had also been aware that some of her past experience had left her more wary than she ought to be and she had worked hard at dispelling those feelings of jealousy.

  “Will you go for a swim while I’m here?” Jane asked, the dark brown eyes of the younger woman radiating concern.

  “I think so,” Sue said. “If you’re comfortable with that. Jerry’s looking forward to seeing you.” She had mentioned when Jane arranged her visit that swimming was her means of relaxation. Even so, she sometimes felt guilty when she did things to please herself. Even though otherwise, she was sure she would be so stressed that she might say or do things she would regret later. She was grateful that she had been able to get this time off, that the principal had arranged for someone to take her classes and told her to take as long as she needed. It seemed sometimes that her interior monologue was so painful that this time that she had been given was useless. Then, when she swam a few lengths, the buoyancy of the water and her limbs creating a steady rhythm, soothed her. Jerry would be the first to recognize that kind of connection and even acknowledged he had taken up running with Martin and working out for the same reasons.

  Jane turned toward the living room. At the sight of Jerry, she winced, frown lines forming between her eyes.

  “He’s so wan,” she whispered.

  Sue nodded. “It’s all right to go in.” She felt Jane’s ambivalence. “It is.”

  Jane moved tentatively toward Jerry and settled in a chair beside his bed. Picking up a zippered bag with her bathing suit and cap in it, Sue kissed him on his forehead. “I’ll see you shortly,” she said.

  At the pool, Sue slipped into the cool water, quickly ducking under the surface. It reminded her of skinny-dipping off the sailboat with Jerry. He had reached for her underwater and stroked her breasts. It was so long since they had been able to hold each other and make love that her body felt deprived. That body that she had carefully guarded for so long before she met him. She swam with an even crawl up the pool and back again. After the first lap, she settled into the breaststroke. Her movements and her breathing became her whole world then and it was forty-five minutes before she emerged and went into the change room to dry her hair and put on her clothes.

  Back at the house, the nurse was leaning over Jerry, changing his diaper. A slight paunch sagged now into folds at his waist above his greying pubic hair. His penis hung limply, tiny and almost grey in colour. The skin was wrinkled. She looked at his face, trying not to look shocked or upset, knowing how difficult this indignity was for him, he who had always been so proud of his virility, who had had no idea how his body would fail him. Now his eyes were almost closed and Jane was on the couch behind the bed where she could not see him. Sue realized she had
likely moved there to give him privacy until the nurse was finished, saw when he reached his hand over his head and dangled it in the air that Jane, this younger woman who had probably never been more than someone also seeking tranquillity, stood up with eyes averted and took Jerry’s hand into hers. Looking toward Sue, who turned away to put her bag down on a chair, she also gently touched his forehead. When the nurse stepped away from the bed and moved to pick up her jacket, Jane then went around to the other side where she reached for a bowl and put a spoonful of applesauce to Jerry’s lips. He slurped on it and coughed.

  It was only after Jerry dozed off again that Jane joined Sue who now sat at the table at the other end of the room.

  “Have something to eat,” Sue said, gesturing at the food on the table that people had brought. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Jane took a bagel.

  Sue stared out the window at the street where the children passed by on their way home for lunch. She heard the lilting sounds of their conversation and an occasional laugh. Crimson fell from a small Japanese maple as if the tree were undressing, leaf by leaf. It occurred to her that ordinary life went on as usual while her world seemed to have become very small, Jerry’s breath, voice and needs almost her entire focus.

  On Sunday, Martin came to see Jerry. Sue listened to them talk as she put out towels for her sister, Maggie, who would arrive later that day from Vancouver.

  “Remember swimming at the quarry?” Martin asked.

  “How could I forget?” Jerry said.

  “We jumped from that high rock into the water,” Martin said. “Our parents told us not to, of course. How deep the water was, how cold. We felt immortal.”

  Both of them had grown into strong swimmers and sailboat aficionados. What would happen to Jerry’s boat? It was a thirty-foot beauty with a blue line around it and blue canvas covers for the sails. In honour of their marriage, Jerry had named it Prime Time.

  “Sue won’t want it,” Jerry said.

  “Well, ask her about it,” Martin said.

  “No, I won’t want it,” Sue said, going into the room to join the conversation. Not about to become a solo sailor, she would be glad to see the boat go to Martin.