by Belva Plain
“You are out of control, Hyacinth. You've got a problem.”
Children's chatter filled the lunch hour. This was not at all what she had planned and longed for. And she thought of the two rooms in which she now lived. Perhaps after all she had made a mistake in selling their house. So her mind spun, round and round.
Emma said suddenly, “I want to go riding. I'm tired of this pool.” There was something new in her voice, a petulant wail. “I'm tired of it. The club has an ice cream bar, and this place doesn't.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jerry said. “Shut your big yap.”
“I don't like that talk,” Hyacinth told him.
“Everybody talks like that, Mom.”
“Maybe they do, but I still don't like it.”
What was she saying? Picking on him for using a word like yap? Picking on him today? But mothers are supposed to correct, if they do it kindly. Yes, mothers are. She was forgetting: This nanny is his mother now.
Emma repeated, “I want to go riding.”
“I didn't bring anything for you to wear,” Nanny said. “I didn't know you wanted to.”
Jerry protested, “I can ride the way I am.”
“You know you can't. You need long pants so your skin won't rub sore, you need boots and a helmet with a chin strap. You know your daddy would have a fit if you rode without one. It's the same as on your bike. And that's that,” Nanny concluded with the voice of authority.
“Can't we just drive out there to show Mom?” Jerry pleaded. “Just to look? You would like that, wouldn't you, Mom?”
“I'd love to. I'd love to do anything you'd like.”
“It's a good long drive, but nice,” Nanny said. “We should start now before traffic gets heavier.”
Jerry sat in front talking and fiddling with the radio dials in turn. Emma, in the middle row of seats, fell asleep. When her head fell to rest on her mother's shoulder, Hyacinth did not move; even though her body needed to change position, no such comfort would be worth the loss of that warm head so close, with the feel and fragrance of soft hair brushing her cheek.
“We're almost there,” Jerry cried. “I know the way. Two more lights.” He held up two fingers. “Then we turn left—no, right—and the first thing I'm going to do is, I'm going to show you Uncle Arnie's horse.”
In his excitement, he was bouncing on the seat. He had always bounced, even when he sat in his high chair.
And Hyacinth asked tenderly, “Not your horse first?”
“Oh, both. But his first because his is bigger. It's enormous. I told you! It's a Tennessee Walker.”
In almost every one of their telephone conversations, Jerry remembered to give that piece of information.
“I know. And Emma's pony?”
“It's not really hers. She's too young. She gets rides. They have to walk it around and hold her on it. She only thinks it's all her pony. But we never tell her that,” Jerry warned. “We don't want to hurt her feelings.”
There's the goodness in him. That's really sweet, and so funny when you think of how tough he sometimes tries to be.
“What did you say about me?” asked Emma, sitting up.
“Only that you had a nice nap, and we're almost there.”
Emma smiled. Her teeth would not need to be straightened. She had not kept Gerald's dimple, as Jerry had. Someone—who?—had given her a little gold heart on a chain. She had had a scratch or bite on the inside of her arm; there was a Band-Aid on it. Her mother's eyes missed nothing.
On the other hand, the mother's eyes saw nothing. It was all a blur, the passing impression of a shady lane, of some low shingled buildings, and of fields, flat green spaces with white board fences. They brought out a pony, a little creature not much larger than a Great Dane, and for Hyacinth's benefit, they set Emma on it for a minute or two. Nanny clapped, so Hyacinth clapped. They brought out another pony, much larger; Jerry began a demonstration, and still there was that blur before her eyes and in her head: What am I doing here? It is all false.
Nanny touched her arm. “Are you feeling all right?”
She came to. “Yes, yes, I'm fine.”
“I ask because you didn't answer Jerry. He's showing you how he mounts.”
“I'm sorry! I don't know why I didn't hear him. Go on, Jerry, show me.”
“You hold the reins between your thumb and this finger. See? Like this, not in your fist. And you have to sit up straight with your knees down. See? Can I walk around a little? Just a little? I know I'm not dressed and I'm not supposed to, but can I, Tom?”
The young groom who held the pony was patient. He winked at Jerry. Apparently he liked him. Most people did. “Okay, I'll walk with you once around the paddock. Then you have to get off, and we won't say anything.”
“They're very nice to the children here,” Nanny said. “I guess that's because their Uncle Arnie keeps his horse here and comes almost every day. When Jerry's in school, he usually can't come every day, so they exercise the pony for him.”
Jerry was proud as he dismounted and handed the reins to Tom. He's having a good life, Hyacinth thought. At least I have to be grateful for that, and I am.
“I didn't tell you his name, did I, Mom?”
He had told her, many times, but obviously he enjoyed repeating the name, so she told him he had not.
“King Charles is his name. Do you know why?”
“No. Why?”
“Because Charlie is a King Charles spaniel.”
“Oh. Well, that's a very good reason.”
“I thought so, too. He's a Shetland pinto.”
She had heard that many times also, but she remarked merely, “I like his white stockings.”
“They're socks, Mom. Stockings are when they come up to the knees.”
“You know so much, Jerry.”
“I do. I do.” He nodded seriously. “Did you know I ride on an English saddle? Cowboys use Western saddles, but I don't.”
“Well, you're not a cowboy, are you? You're an easterner.”
Nanny consulted her watch. “If we're to beat the traffic going back, we'd better start. It's good we don't need to be on time for dinner. But Daddy has office hours one night a week, you know, and tonight's the night.”
Hyacinth had quite naturally not known, but the routine and the punctilious dinner hour—barring emergency—were most surely familiar. A picture loomed, flashed, and immediately dissolved: strong, lean hands, impeccable and somehow stern, if hands ever could be stern, laying a knife and a fork in parallel order on a plate. Whether it was this image, with all its corollaries, or whether it was the awareness that the day was coming to an end, she did not know; she only knew that her supply of emotional energy was running low. What was the purpose of this day? It had only reopened her wounds. And she had no way of knowing anything about her children's wounds, if any. Perhaps by now theirs had healed over. She could only pray that they had.
“I want ice cream,” Emma announced, “the kind with chocolate sprinkles.”
“Don't you remember the magic word, Emma?”
“I want ice cream, please.”
“Great. We'll have it back at the hotel.”
“Do they have sprinkles?”
“I'm sure they have.”
Nanny was dubious. “It's getting near suppertime, you know. Don't spoil your appetites.”
“It's midafternoon,” Hyacinth said firmly, “and it won't hurt them if they don't finish their supper for once.”
In a polite, respectful way, Nanny was overstepping her role. She wouldn't be doing it to any other mother or any other employer. She was doing it because she saw very clearly that she was dealing with a mother who for some mysterious reason had been defeated and cast out.
On a terrace under a breeze that rattled the palm branches above their heads, they sat in a man-made jungle surrounded by flowers. And Hyacinth, observing the children, saw that they were pleased but not unusually so. Already they were accustomed to places like this one, this oasis of luxu
ry.
Jerry announced that Dad was taking him to the tennis matches. He had a new racquet. Emma wasn't old enough for tennis yet; she was having ballet lessons. And Dad had started to play chess with Jerry. Really there was no harm in any of this. Anyone who could afford to gave his children all these extra chances to learn and do. But if you had been reduced to a meager shelter, you could not afford to give them these things. As so many times before, Hyacinth remembered the woman at that group meeting who had lost her son to their father's lavish house on a lake. And she remembered—when was there a day when she forgot?—the faces of the widow and the little boy….
A startling question roused her. Jerry was asking whether Dad and she were divorced yet.
“Oh, yes,” she replied quite casually.
“The papers are finished and signed, I mean?”
She was astonished. Papers. This generation's children knew too much, too soon. Yet how could they help but know?
Again she said simply, “Yes.”
“Why don't you ever come to our house?” asked Emma.
Jerry rebuked her, although not unkindly. “You don't know anything. But it's not your fault. You're only five.”
“I'm five and a half. Why don't you, Mommy?”
I'm tired, thought Hyacinth. I'm tired, and I don't know what to say.
They were waiting. And again the woman, the nanny, the stranger, gave her that curious glance.
Then Jerry answered. “It's because Mom's sick. Tessie said so.”
“Tessie? Who is she?”
“You know. She cooks the food and cleans the house.”
Sick, thought Hyacinth. Yes, I must have looked it that day.
“Oh. Well, she's wrong, Jerry. I'm perfectly well. I had to take care of Granny for a long time, you see, and then—”
“Tessie said there's something the matter with you. I heard her. She told you, too, Nanny, don't you remember? I heard you both in the kitchen. Tessie said she thought you were queer because you didn't talk at all that day when you came and we weren't home. She said you were a bad woman, and that's why Daddy went away from you. But I know that's not true. You're not bad, and Tessie is dumb. I hate her. I told Daddy.”
For an instant, Hyacinth closed her eyes. Then she heard her own voice coming as if from a hollow place far off. It seemed to echo in her ears.
“And what did Daddy say?”
“He said of course you weren't bad.”
Nanny, whose flush made two red wounds on her cheeks, interrupted him. “You need to be careful of what you say, Jerry. I don't remember that Tessie ever used the word bad, only sick. Be accurate. That means not making mistakes.”
“I am accurate. I am accurate, Mom. I always remember things, don't I, Mom?”
“Yes, you have a wonderful memory.”
“Oh, he does. I know that,” Nanny said. And turning to Hyacinth, she explained, “This is all a mistake. Nobody meant any harm. Tessie made a mistake about your being sick, too. Maybe you were that day. I don't know, I wasn't here, but you do seem very well today. Their Uncle Arnie talks about you to the children, and he's never said a word to them about your being sick, or anything. And he would have told them. He talks about you a lot.”
This woman was not fooling Hyacinth. Under the veneer of sympathy and the curiosity now verging on the prurient, there was perhaps a touch of malice, an inference that something was “going on” and that Uncle Arnie was perhaps more to her than a mere uncle.
This kind of thing was horrible for the children. They needed to get off the subject immediately. Yet she could not help one more question.
“What else did Daddy tell you, Jerry?”
“He said Tessie should not talk like that. He said he was going to speak to her about it.”
Emma persisted. “You won't tell me when you're coming again, Mommy.”
“I'll tell you over the telephone, darling. I can't tell you right now.”
“Then can we go to your house?”
How could she say that she had no house anymore? “I'll tell you that over the telephone, too.”
“Why do you have to go away again today, Mommy?”
The nanny's interest was palpable. It was legible in her very expression, which said silently: Now how are you going to answer that one? Well, maybe you couldn't blame her. The situation really was out of the ordinary, a good topic for speculation and conversation.
“I'm going to school again, Emma, and I mustn't be late.”
“School? But you're grown up. Grown-ups don't go to school.”
“Sometimes they do,” Jerry said wisely. “Dad told me.”
That settled the question. If Dad told him, then it must be so.
“We really should start now,” said Nanny. “It's time.”
Promptly, they all stood and went through the lobby toward the exit and the car. Emma and Jerry went running ahead.
“Beautiful children,” said Nanny.
She might have been awkwardly trying to make amends. Or else to “rub it in,” either one. How to know the devious path of her thoughts, or anybody's thoughts? In any case, it did not matter because they would change nothing.
A few hours later, as the plane rose into the evening sky, Hyacinth tried to recall those final minutes, but her mind seemed to have gone empty. She did recall that last night, while she had sat making foolish fashion sketches, she had been full of anticipation. Yet today it had gone all wrong. It was not that Jerry and Emma were unhappy, for the nanny was good to them and it was plain that they liked her. Gerald, of course, adored them, so it was none of those things. It was only the cruel, undeniable truth that was slowly filling the empty space in her mind: Her children, her flesh as she always thought of them, the flesh of her heart—were slipping away. She was losing them.
Late one afternoon Hyacinth answered a knock on the door and found Arnie.
“I got no answer when I called today, so since I was coming up from Wall Street anyway and had to pass nearby, I thought I'd take a chance on finding you home.”
“I was at class till just now. I haven't had time to straighten up all this mess. You wouldn't think a little place like this would get so messy. But come in anyway.”
She was prattling as people can do when they are taken unawares and are already too unnerved to be taken unawares. Standing in the doorway, Arnie was within reaching distance of the card table on which her work was spread, and she was so close to his face that she was able to catch its flicker of astonishment before he wiped the flicker away with a greeting.
“Well, stranger, long time no see.”
“But you hear me often enough on the telephone,” she said, and smiled at him, not because she felt like smiling, but because being the kindly person he was, he deserved a smile.
“Not the same. You want to go out to dinner?”
His eye had caught the still-unwrapped delicatessen sandwich next to the bottle of Evian water, as well as the shabby bed in the room beyond. He had seen everything. I swear he can read my mind, thought Hyacinth.
“Thanks, but no,” she replied. “Another time. This stuff that I'm doing here is due tomorrow at my second class in the morning. I'm really working hard,” she said brightly.
“Good, good. I won't get in your way. I'll stay a few minutes to rest my feet, that's all.”
Taking his seat across from her in the only other chair, he regarded her. And she, not even raising her eyes from the pencil and paper, was aware of being under close examination.
“How've you been doing?” he asked abruptly.
“Just fine. Busy and fine.”
“Put the pencil down for a minute and talk to me.”
The tone, both peremptory and anxious, surprised her, so she complied.
“I want you to level with me, Hy. You think I don't know you're miserable? Jerry told Gerald about what happened last week when you were down there. And yesterday in the coffee shop after surgery, Gerald told me. So that's why I'm here. He was sorry about i
t, about the maid and the things she said. He'd like to be able to explain things to you himself. For the children's sake, it would be better for you and him to have a little friendly contact now and then, he thinks.”
Arson. A man killed. Consider yourself lucky. Get on with your life. Friendly contact.
“You can tell him for me, Arnie, that he should be ashamed of himself to give you a message like that. He doesn't mean a word of it, for one thing. And in these circumstances…. He knows better. So please don't ask me again, will you?” It was an effort to speak, and she said no more.
Arnie made a gesture of discouragement. “All right, I won't.” He sighed. “Beats me. I guess nobody ever said divorce is easy. The fallout from it goes on forever, maybe, like a nuclear explosion. Me, I never married, so I guess I wouldn't know. Why I never married? Don't know that, either. Christ, the pretty women we see in this kind of practice! Maybe that's what boggled my mind. You know, plastic surgery, when I was a beginner, I thought I was fixing up war wounds, accidents, and stuff like that. But most of it's turned out to be making women look younger.”
Gerald, too, had had aspirations. She remembered that young man in Texas who had been born with half a nose, and how Gerald had described the awful, freakish face, and how he had been remade, given a new personality. So now it's pretty women, she thought. Well, that's all right. Somebody has to help them, too. And if some of them make extra payments to the doctor in bed, that's all right, too, as far as I'm concerned.
Where has the passion gone, the passion for him that fired me from the day I first saw him until the night it exploded into a real three-alarm fire? Gone. Gone. Dead.
Arnie mused, “Yes, yes. Too bad. I always tell you, don't I, that I like you both. And Gerald—Gerald was a find for me. My first partner was a dud. Poor handling of patients, and too many botched jobs in the OR. Lucky we weren't sued. But they're already talking about Gerald. He's the coming man down there. Top of the line, he is. Matter of fact, I'm thinking of cutting back, taking less pay, and leaving more to him. Not that I'm old. God, I'm not fifty yet. But I'd like to start taking it a little easier, spend more time outdoors with my horses.”
He was settling in for a cozy chat, and she began to feel impatience, recalling that occasionally he was given to such spurts of talk. When he gave her a long look, she had a quick recall of Francine's remark: “This man's a little bit crazy about you.” The thought unsettled her, and she seized at once on his last word to remark about horses.
