The Promise of Rest

by Reynolds Price

  All Hutch could think of saying here was Spare Wade Mayfield. Or again Take him now. But he wouldn’t say either. And he’d never given a moment’s thought to anything as ludicrous as cursing the sky. As if the sky gave a good goddamn—the sky or its veiled shut-mouth endless boss, eyeless as any fish in the back of a mile-deep cave, afloat in pure black oakgall ink.

  For the first time clearly. Hutch knew he needed each conscious hour this boy might get. And he needed them for both his own and Wade’s sakes—to finish their lives and case them out with a clear-eyed dignity, blind or not. So Hutch said to himself Heal him someway. Bring him back. Then he held his palm over Wade’s shut face as if a father might raise the dead with nothing but skin and a weight of care that was all the greater for being reclaimed from years of silence.

  THE phone rang two rooms away in the study (Hutch had muted all the other phone bells). He checked his watch—past one in the morning—then walked toward the rings and waited till the message machine clicked on and the caller spoke.

  “It’s late, I know, but I need to talk if you’re hearing this.” When Hutch didn’t answer, the voice said “Hutch, it’s Ann. Do you hear me?”

  Hutch thought Forget it. But Ann didn’t quit; she was waiting him out, as she’d almost always known she could.

  He took up the phone. “I’m here. What’s the problem?” Ann was silent.

  Hutch thought she’d hung up. Only when he said “Good night” did she speak.

  “The problem, ex-friend, is our son’s on his way.”

  Hutch said “No, he’s sleeping quite peacefully. I just this minute left him. He’s had a strong day.”

  “You had your class supper?”

  “I did. They’re long gone. Wade enjoyed them.”

  “When will you be done with your chores?” Ann had always referred to his teaching as chores.

  “I should finish reading my last exam by the 28th.”

  “Then you make your annual May trip north?”

  “The Academy shindig? No, I’ll bypass that, this year anyhow.”

  Ann said “I was going to offer to spell you that week.”

  “We’re covered, thanks. Hart Salter is excellent help when he’s here, and just tonight one of my seniors offered to help us this summer.”

  Ann said “I talked with the doctor again, just today. I like her, on the phone at least. She says Wade’s stronger since the first time she saw him. I wish I agreed.”

  Hutch couldn’t resist a knowing lie. “You’re wrong. Wade’s come a good way since getting home.” He hadn’t purposely chosen the word home; but as it passed, he felt its weight in Ann’s lone mind. We know too well how to maim each other. Even after so many months apart, Hutch and Ann had fingers poised on one another’s prime destruct-buttons and could trigger a mauling with the merest flick.

  Ann let home pass. “I’ve just pulled a pork roast out of the oven; can I run it by before work in the morning?”

  “You’ve got your key; come in and leave it.”

  “You know I don’t like to use that key.”

  Hutch said “Remember what the sheriff said after that last break-in—‘Locks are just to keep your friends out.’” Hutch laughed a little. “No, come on in.”

  “Will you be there tomorrow?”

  “Most of the day—or have you forgot your old contention that college teachers are underworked and overpaid?”

  Ann sidestepped the taunt. “I’ll run by then about seven o’clock.”

  “You’re rising early in this new life.” With Hutch, Ann had always slept like the floorboards.

  “We’re starting a big case—the man that carved up his trailer-park neighbors near Hurdle Mills.”

  “So all paralegals arc scrambling day and night to save his precious hide?”

  Ann said “Why does that disturb you so? I thought you valued all forms of life.”

  “That was years ago. I’m a seasoned killer now.” His voice went cold and metallic as a psychopath’s. “I’m fascinated by your taste for crime, madam.”

  “It’s not my taste—you’re the neighborhood vampire; you hate me saving a single warped soul.” By the end of that, she was half joking too.

  “On the contrary, madam—I’m delighted your hands are occupied. Just don’t get left alone with the defendant—you’re still too well-knit to undergo whittling.”

  Ann chose to hear a small compliment. “Thanks, Doctor. I need that.”

  “It’s the visible truth. That student of mine said so tonight.”

  “Do I know him?”

  “Maitland Moses, the one that’s not just gifted but rolling full tilt already.”

  “The one with the choirboy frog in his throat? I liked his red cheeks. I’ll send him a jar of honey for his vocal cords with my sincere thanks, if he really said that.”

  The thought that Ann could even doubt that much—a student compliment—reminded Hutch of how much lighter his days were now without that infinite pressure of waiting from Ann: Award my life your consent to proceed. But all he said was “Hold off on the honey. We may owe Mait more than any honey made, if he does what he’s volunteered to do.”

  “What was that?”

  Hutch said “I told you—he offered to help out all summer long, as much as I need.”

  Ann took a wait. “You moving him in?”

  “Not any time soon, far as I can see—though since you mention it, I do have space. Maybe I’ll take in boarders soon. No, we don’t know what we may need down the road; but Maitland’s offer is a bankable asset.”

  Ann said “Who is we?”

  It had been the main question of their years together. Hutch smiled, but not ironically, to hear it. “It’s our son and us—the Mayfield-Gatlin ex-family alone again, against all odds: remember them?”

  “Why is it ex?”

  “You made it so.” When Ann took a pause to work through that, Hutch said “Ms. Mayfield, I’m whipped—turn me loose please.”

  She said “Don’t you conk out, for God’s sake.”

  “I love this, Ann.”

  “You love it?”

  Hutch said “You know I do.”

  “Our son’s pain and death?”

  In some huge way the answer was Yes, but Hutch didn’t say it. He said what was also true—“I love this chance to help him when he needs me. He hasn’t needed you or me for nearly twenty years.”

  “Wade was not a grown man at twelve years old.”

  Hutch said “He was. If you and I had vaporized, Wade would have lived.”

  “Lived maybe but not much else.”

  Hutch said “He had you and me here squarely behind him till he finished college. Then he lit out, put a long distance between us, found a crazed mate and signed us off. So much for us.”

  “I always thought they were right about us—Wyatt anyhow. Wyatt Bondurant wasn’t crazy, Hutch; he saw too clearly.”

  “Ann, if that’s the case, Wade and Wyatt were also right about ninety percent of the American populace who’d find it exotic—to say the least—if they were cast as the main in-laws to a mixed-color monosexual union with the new in-law as vicious as a mongoose.”

  Ann laughed. “If Wyatt Bondurant was a mongoose, that makes us cobras.”

  Hutch said “Oh right, great hooded viperess.”

  “No, I grant that Wyatt was from a very different world. But he had good sense when we weren’t around; he looked like a Congolese river god and could smell racism through ten feet of concrete and five hundred miles.”

  Hutch said “You and I are were indictable racists then?”

  “At times, sure—were and are. So is every black, white, red or yellow American—”

  Hutch stopped her. “I lack your trained legal mind; but if one sin’s committed by all live citizens, who the hell’s got any right of condemnation?”

  In the face of his logic, Ann rushed ahead. “I don’t think you and I are abnormal, Hutchins—not in that one department.”

 
; “But our son bought Wyatt’s whole blanket indictment on Caucasoid man for nearly ten years.” Hutch had calmed a little. “I think Wade’s quietly letting it go, as he settles in here. I haven’t heard a mean word from him yet, and we’ve had several crises already that might have provoked him—I told you he passed out on me in the bathtub?”

  “You did, yes.” Ann took a seamless breath and held it. It gave her the force to say “You know you’re walling me out of all this.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Our son’s tragedy—yours and mine.”

  “I’m still not sure it’s a tragedy,” Hutch said.

  “A young man dying in agony, for no just cause, is not tragic to you?”

  “It’s horrific, Ann—no question whatever. No question it’s the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed or tried to bear, and I’ve borne at least a normal load of hard sights. But I guess I’m starting to see it Wade’s way. He’s so completely uncomplaining, so ready for whatever slams in on him next. So maybe he feels like a tall lean hero at the end of something like Shakespeare’s Tempest or Sophocles’ Oedipus near his own death.”

  Ann said “Wasn’t Oedipus a very old man when he died?”

  “Fairly old, yes. But he just disappeared, no corpse at all—remember?”

  She took a long wait. “Hutch, listen to yourself. This is no seminar for dazzled sophomores. A very young man is dying blind in agony, against his best will.”

  “Wade doesn’t act that way.”

  Ann said “Wade’s sparing you. He’s spared you forever.”

  “Then I thank him profoundly.”

  “Can I come back?” If Ann had phoned with the news that an asteroid would crash between them in the next thirty seconds and atomize the world, she couldn’t have made a firmer impression.

  Hutch felt almost assaulted and robbed. This thing is mine now.

  “Did you hear me, Hutch?”

  “Yes ma’m, I did.”

  “Could I have an answer soon?”

  “It was you that left, Ann.”

  “I quit our marriage or what was left of it. I never meant to quit all care for my child.”

  “Our child,” Hutch said. “Wouldn’t that be fair? No, I never said you quit on Wade; but if you’ve discovered this intense need to nurse him, then why didn’t you go to New York and get him? You can drive; some junior lawyer would have ridden up with you. I went; I rescued my son—” The words were still in the air between them when Hutch heard their self-love and cruelty. He could neither call them back nor ask Ann’s pardon.

  She let them pass her by. “Hutch, I wrote to Wade with numerous offers for the whole past year. I never heard a word.”

  “That’s because he never opened a single one, yours or mine. They’re all here beside me, in a box he brought home, each one still sealed. Come get them when you’re ready.”

  Ann said “I couldn’t stand to see them again. And please don’t you.”

  Hutch was suddenly exhausted—the long day, the class, this familiar arm wrestle over a son’s life, a life that was leaking through their actual fingers before their eyes. Hutch said “Let’s talk tomorrow then. I’m past thinking clearly.”

  “Thought’s not required—just average human feeling.”

  Hutch said “Tomorrow please.”

  At that Ann was gone, not a slam-down but a silent disappearance.

  People are vanishing on me by the hour. But Hutch was safe again in his house with his son; for a sweet moment he tasted the fact. Then as he moved toward bed and sleep, he thought Cheap and stingy and he meant himself.

  6

  May 9, 1993

  Dear Wade and Pops,

  I know it’s Mother’s Day not Father’s Day but I’ve been meaning to take pen in hand ever since you two left me up here and I’ve been so busy that this is the first slow minute I’ve had to tell you both “Hey!” like they say down yonder in the cotton fields and to gripe about how much I miss my friend Wade but how glad I am that he’s with you Mr. Mayfield. Happy Mother’s Day to both of you—Dad and son—from your pal The Boat.

  I was so glad, Wade, to get your call the other night and to know that you been gaining strength with the good homecooking and personal doctor care. Like I said I watched more than one miracle happen in my days. Just don’t overdo it with the fatback and chitlins, your belly is tender, but if you get a chance just ship me a thermos full of warm pot liquor from your next turnip greens. That’ll heal some bodies and souls let me tell you!

  Speaking of which you don’t want to hear my news, it’s so pitiful. Two of my boys passed on last week, Sellers and Larry. I don’t believe you know either one but I’d been tending to them since back at the start, back about ’82, and they had worn themselves deep in my heart. Larry especially had been doing so well gaining a little weight and hadn’t been badoff sick since winter. But he hit the ice, let me tell you, and went.

  Don’t let that get you down a bit. Every boy in this mess, and every man, woman and baby is a whole different thing and you can’t foretell. You remember, Wade, I’ve still got Monte that’s had a full case of it since ’83 and has still not missed a day of work, never has any trouble that’s harder to fight than a summer cold or a little athlete’s foot from swimming at the gym. I wasn’t ever too good at the books but Monte amounts to a miracle in my book.

  Haven’t run into Ivory to speak to since you all left but I saw her crossing the street this morning with a white flower on toward the subway station looking fine as ever. I wonder if it means her mother is dead or if Ivory’s still in mourning for Wyatt? Let me stop right here or I’ll get you both down and let me end with a cheerful hope. You both invited me to visit you. I may be planning to ride the bus to South Carolina for July 4th.

  My grandmother is leaning on me for one more look at my homely face before Jesus calls her. I told her in that case she was safe. Since she’s deaf as a post, she couldn’t hear Jesus with a bullhorn no how! If you two gentlemen are not too busy it would do me good to stop by and see you. Don’t let me get in the way of your plans though and don’t let me weigh on your mind at all. I couldn’t stay more than an hour or so or maybe one night if you got an army cot. You know my number so if the word is Yes just call me collect. If not I won’t think you mean any harm.

  Lord bless and keep. Pray for Boatie and the world. He is watching over you

  Like a friend

  Jimmy Boat

  May 9, 1993

  Dear Mr. Mayfield,

  You asked me to send you a list of what I might have spent on Wade’s behalf. I’ve finally had a chance to sit down with my receipts and add things up. It comes to even less than I thought—$217. If you’ll check me against the composition book you took home from Wade and Wyatt’s kitchen, I believe you’ll find me accurate. If there’s any question, don’t hesitate to write me. One reason I spent so little on my own was that, after Wyatt’s death, Wade gave me check-writing privileges on their joint account. I terminated those, in writing, at the bank last week.

  I got your kind letter after you reached home. Everything you say about my time with Wade is thoughtful of you, but don’t fail to know that I did it because I wanted to. Tragic as things have been in my family lately, it meant something to me to help Wade when needed. He has done me more than one kindness, and I will never forget him, I or the remains of my kin. Tell him please that I went out to see my mother this morning in Sea Cliff, that things are going well out there with everybody and that Mother sends him her love and prayers. She thinks Wade will “live a long life” and she’s only been wrong half a dozen times in the years I’ve known her. She will be seventy-six next month and is strong as she’s ever been but still grieving for my brother.

  Please keep me informed on how things go and don’t hesitate to call on me if you need anything sent from the apartment or if Wade has any unfinished business up here I can handle. As you requested, I check the apartment two or three times a week and water the fern. Everything except
what you packed up and took is still right there where you left it and will wait for your plans long as you pay the rent, which I hate for you to keep doing.

  With many good wishes from me and my family to you and yours,

  Sincerely,

  Ivory Bondurant

  May 16, 1993

  Hello to you, Mr. Wade Mayfield. This pretty get well card hits the spot with what we are feeling about you today. You just keep your mind set on strength like I told you to and keep your blood purified with lemon and water hot as you can stand it plus your doctor medicine and we will look for you back up here at work and visiting us before much longer. Call us on the phone late some afternoon, we are always home with the TV on so let the phone ring awhile till I get to hear it. It would be a real tonic for me and mine to hear your voice. You recall I grew up in Virginia and I still get homesick when I think of the beautiful land down there near my dear grandfather’s place and all of us children running round outdoors in the old times not scared of a single thing. My oldest brother Bankey is still alive, by himself in the family home, last I heard. I would dearly love to see him once more, a serious boy that could read all night if you left the light on. I take fresh flowers to Wyatt’s grave every Sunday after church and I always tell him your name to remember, Wade. Please give my good thoughts to your mother and father. They raised a good boy.

  Respectfully yours,

  Mrs. Lucy Patterson Bondurant and Raven

  May 19, 1993

  Dear Emily,

  You’re good to keep bracing me up with calls and letters. I wish there were other causes for cheer from down here today, but no there are none. Wade goes on more or less the way he’s been since the day he arrived in early April. Hutch and even the doctor try to claim he’s stronger, but a mother’s eyes and intuition say no. As I told you, I take everything Hutch will give me—daily visits with food and clean laundry—but when I’m there with just Wade alone and Hutch not trying to hide the truth, I generally see a steady decline.