by Regina Doman
Fish leaned against the door, watching them until they disappeared into the woods. The bear had found his bride. Blanche had found her prince.
He stood in deep silence, looking at the burning light of the sunset on the swaying grass of the field.
He came out of his reverie to find Rose had glided up beside him and was leaning against the other doorjamb. He wondered how long she had been there.
“So they’re gone,” she said at last, with a sigh.
“Yes,” Fish said.
“On their journey together, just the two of them at last,” Rose said softly.
“Some forgotten isle in far-off seas—
like a god going through the woods there stands
a mountain for a moment in the dusk
whole brotherhoods of cedars on its brow
and you are ever by me as I gaze,
are in my arms as now, as now, as now!
Some forgotten isle in the far-off seas!”
“Robert Browning,” he said, without looking at her.
“But of course.”
The silence remained, but he was aware of it now. He glanced at her then, and saw she was looking at him. She gave him a smile, a mysterious smile, and swept away back to the party.
Troubled, he remained at the door until the music ended.
Hers
Rose was not afraid of snakes, bugs, slime, mice, heights, depths, loud noises, and had even braved dark places where danger might be lurking on occasion.
But she was deathly afraid of what she wanted to tell Fish, even though she was laughing and joking with the other girls as they cleaned up the reception hall. The relatives were going back to her mom’s house, and Kateri had invited her to come to a post-bridal party for the young adults at the Kovach farmhouse, but Rose said maybe she would come by later.
“What’s up?” Kateri looked at her, her black eyes snapping warily. “Rose, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Rose feigned indifference.
“Don’t go and break your heart over that Fish guy again. He’s not worth it,” her friend said in her no-nonsense manner.
“I just want to talk with him,” Rose objected.
Kateri rolled her eyes. “All right. Then come over to the farm after you talk, and you and I can go out to the barn and you can have another good cry over the whole thing, okay?”
“Okay,” Rose said, trying to strangle the butterflies in her stomach.
HIS
The guests had gone in spurts and trickles. Steven and his mother said goodbye early on, since they were driving back to the city that night. Feeling a sense of duty, Fish remained behind to assist the family in cleaning up the hall.
He helped take down the Christmas lights from the ceiling and roll up and throw away huge bundles of floral paper tablecloths. He swept the stage of cupcake crumbs, napkin bits, and broken spoons, and found a child’s shoe behind a curtain. He carried boxes out to the cargo doors of station wagons and suburbans, and waited around until people ran out of jobs for him to do. Rose, still in her bridesmaid’s dress, was also working hard, until at last the old hall was successfully restored to its usual virile drabness.
“Can you give me a ride home?” Rose had queried while putting away the coffee maker, and he had said yes. Now with all the various helpers scattered to their different rides home, Fish found Rose standing before him, purse and bouquet in hand.
“All set?” he asked her, taking out his car keys.
“Yes—and no,” Rose said, looking longingly over the darkened hillside. “Would you feel up for a walk?”
He studied her, and wondered if it would be wise to say yes.
“Okay,” he sighed, and put away his car keys. “Where do you want to walk?”
“Let’s go towards the golf course over on the other side of the hall,” she suggested. “It’s fun to walk on the paths there at night.”
Out on the golf course, the moon was rising. Fish listened to the sound of occasional traffic on the country roads, and reflected on how quiet it was out here. Rose kept pace with him, sometimes walking a bit more quickly than he did.
“I wonder how it feels to be a princess who’s just gotten married,” Rose said at last.
“I’m not sure,” he said, unhelpfully, smiling. “I’ve never been a princess.”
“Happiness is such a difficult thing to describe,” said Rose, ignoring his last remark. “Maybe that’s why fairy tales just end with the old cliché of living happily ever after. It’s so much easier to visualize tragedy than happiness.”
“True. Or it could be that happiness is just more rare.”
Rose pondered and wound a ringlet of hair around her finger as she walked. “There’s one kind of happiness that comes from going to a wedding, and, I suspect, a whole other kind that comes from being married.”
“The second kind is probably more real,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“‘Love is an ideal thing. Marriage is a real thing.’” He added, “That’s Goethe, by the way.”
She considered this. “Do you want to get married?”
“Are you proposing?” he inquired mildly.
“No, silly, of course not,” she said quickly, flushing.
“Of course not. No, I don’t know that I will ever get married.”
“Why not?”
He paused. “I’d like to finish my doctorate. I’d rather concentrate on school and get as much done as possible without any distractions.”
“A distraction!” Rose scoffed at him. “You sound so—mercenary.”
“Just being practical,” he said easily. “You’ll find out when you start college—it’s not easy to be a full-time student and maintain a relationship.”
“Speaking of college, I guess we’ll be near each other next semester,” Rose said, changing the subject. “Did you know I’m going to Mercy College?”
“I didn’t. And where is that?”
“About an hour and a half from the University of Pittsburgh, where you are. It’s a small Catholic school. My best friend Kateri goes there. The students there are really serious about their faith.”
“How nice. What will you be studying?”
“English,” she said. “Just like you.”
“How nice.”
There was silence as they walked. At last Rose said, “So what do you want to do after you get your degree?”
“Write. Do research. Teach, if I have to,” Fish looked out at the night sky. “Live a quiet life.”
“Doesn’t sound very exciting,” Rose said, apparently disappointed.
“No, but it sounds very appealing to me. I’ve had more than enough adventures.”
“I thought you liked having an adventurous life.”
He chuckled. “Liked? Well, ‘tolerated’ would be a better word for it. Yes, it’s been exciting at times, but not usually enjoyable. Mostly it’s made me older. And it’s made me feel different, like an outsider.”
“I think you’ve always felt like an outsider, and you always will, even if you just do nothing but live an average American life,” Rose said, seeming put out. “It’s just your personality.”
“Then my personality’s been exacerbated by my experience,” he agreed amiably.
“Although I’ve always considered myself an outsider too,” she said at last.
“I’m sure most people do,” he granted. “It’s part of the human condition.”
“Fish, stop it. You’re always trying to distance yourself from me.”
“Was I? I was just agreeing that you and I are like most people in the human race.”
“No, I don’t think we are, at all,” she said stubbornly.
“Rose, come, come,” he said, and stopped and looked at her. “I think we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? I sense that you’re trying to categorize yourself with me, in a particular, unique way, aren’t you?”
“Well, what if I am?” Rose said, lifting her chin. “It’
s how I honestly feel.”
“Fine. Feel that way. But I think you’re wasting your time.”
There was silence. He exhaled and wished, for the upteenth time, that Rose wouldn’t put herself through this ordeal time and time again. After a moment, he said, “Let’s go back.”
Fish turned around, and she followed him, a bit unwillingly. He waited a moment, and then, having gathered his thoughts, tried to ease her out of the situation. “Rose, I understand how you feel, but let’s face it—you’ve lived a pretty isolated life up until now. Most of the guys you’ve met, aside from my brother and me, have been jerks.” He amended his statement after a pause. “Well, aside from my brother, anyway. But that’s not a true picture of reality. You’re going to college next semester where you’ll probably meet a lot of other people who are like you. You’ll meet lots of other guys who share your interests and your particular brand of exuberance. You’ll make friends. Given this situation, I think it’s foolish of you to keep pinning your hopes on someone who’s just going to keep disappointing you.”
“You sound just like an uncle!” she burst out at last. “For Pete’s sake, Fish, you’re hardly much older than I am!”
He smiled. “But in terms of life experience, Rose, I feel decades older than you are.”
“You always say that. Well, I don’t think you are. I see a lot of similarities between us, and you just keep on coming up with all sorts of reasons why those things don’t—or can’t exist! I think you’re fooling yourself.” She halted, folded her arms and glared at him.
He swung around to face her. Now he was irritated. “So what do you want me to do? Sweep you into my arms and kiss you?”
Her expression changed. “Would you?” she asked, in a new and different voice.
He covered his face and groaned in exasperation. Finally he said, “Look, Rose. If you ever think that I’d kiss you, tell yourself you’re dreaming, because you are.”
Fish turned and walked off a few steps, but stopped out of courtesy. She began trailing after him.
“But Fish, what about you?” she said again, in a voice that was barely a whisper.
“What about me?” he tried to sound good-humored.
“You’re lonely, and solitary, and an outsider. I don’t want you to be. I want you to be happy.”
“Oh, I’m happy enough,” Fish said shortly. “Don’t think that just because you rescued me you’re under an obligation to marry me to make me happy.”
“I didn’t say that,” Rose said defensively.
“Don’t even think it,” he said.
She was silent for so long that he looked at her, a bit wary.
“Don’t worry about me,” he repeated. “God’s going to take care of me. And He’ll take care of you, too. A pretty girl like you isn’t going to have any trouble finding a boyfriend. You’ll be in love before you know it.”
She turned on him, eyes flashing, and he realized he had said the wrong thing. “Don’t trivialize me!” she burst out, then sat down on the grass, hands over her face, and started to cry.
Good Lord, he thought, hating this entire situation. He waited for a moment, then squatted down beside her. “Rose, I’m sorry. I was too flippant with you,” he said at last.
“I just want you to take me seriously,” she said at last, her voice muffled by her hands.
“I do. Or at least, I try to,” he said. “I’m just not very good at relating to girls.” He exhaled. “See, this is why I keep telling you to stay away from me.”
“I know,” she sighed, trying to compose herself. “My mom keeps telling me to stay away from you too.”
“Well, there you are,” he stood up, feeling vaguely uncomfortable about this knowledge. “She’s a wise woman. Listen to her.” He put out a hand to help her up. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
She stood up, wiping her eyes, and they went on.
But as they passed over a particularly striking rise of ground, with a view of the velvet-grassed hills all silvered by the moonlight, she halted. He waited for her a few steps away, and heard her murmuring to herself, chanting poetry.
“I hold it true, what e’er befall,
I hold it when I sorrow most,
‘Tis better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all.”
She probably assumed that he couldn’t hear her, but Tennyson’s lines were so familiar to him that he did. After a moment, she came up beside him and gave him a faint smile. He had already decided to pretend that he hadn’t heard, and started mildly to talk about college majors. Poetry in the moonlight was a dangerous thing.
Hers
“Could you do me another favor, Fish?” she asked as she got into the car.
“What is that?” the most aggravating man in the world inquired, starting the car as though none of the past conversation had occurred.
“Could you drive me home so I can change, then drive me to the Kovach’s? There’s a party going on there. You can come if you like. You can meet the other Kovachs.”
“I’d be happy to chauffeur you there, but I’m not sure if I’m up for a party,” he said, stifling a yawn as they drove from the parking lot. “I’ve got to get an early start tomorrow.”
“Do you have to get back for summer classes?” she asked.
“As always.”
Rose stared dismally out the window. As wretched as it was, she preferred being with him to being without him. Now that the wedding was over, it would be at least three months until she saw him again. Oh, stupid, stupid person that she was, to set her heart on such a man.
“Fish?” she asked hesitantly.
“Hm?”
“Can we still be friends?”
“Certainly.”
“You’ll come visit me at college?”
“Of course.”
“You won’t be embarrassed?”
He glanced over at her momentarily as he drove. “Rose, I’m never embarrassed to be around you. Frustrated and exasperated, yes, but not embarrassed. You’re a charming girl.”
“Oh shut up, or I’ll hit you,” she said fiercely, rubbing a grass stain on her pink skirt. “No wonder people keep beating you up, Mr. Fish. You bring it on yourself.”
“That’s probably true,” he said, with his characteristic crooked smile.
When they reached her home, she ran inside, avoiding the relatives talking in the kitchen, and mounted the stairs to her bedroom. Shutting the door, she dragged the wish box out from beneath her bed, took off the lid, and looked inside.
She gazed at the letters from Fish, the various mementos from him. A book of poetry he had given her as a birthday present, by T. S. Eliot, whom she normally detested as the man responsible for the ugliness of modern poetry.
Up until that moment, she had intended to pitch the whole box into the trashcan, or at very least the letters. But now, in the light of his promise to continue being her friend, she couldn’t. Momentarily she toyed with solemnly bringing the letters down and handing them back to him, like some kind of modern Ophelia. “Their perfume lost, I give them back.”
But Fish would only laugh at her. She couldn’t bear that thought. And she had certainly put him through enough dramatics tonight.
What was the use of keeping these things? Wasn’t she merely harboring a vain desire that would never be? Wasn’t it unhealthy, or delusional, or even sinful to hold onto them?
But he had saved her life. And she had saved his life. At the very least, they would always be friends.
Fingering the letters, she pictured him married, maybe to a handsome Indian woman, with several interracial children, coming for a token visit at Blanche and Bear’s house while she was there. He would greet her cordially, and they would exchange pleasantries. His wife would be charming. Rose would like her. They would all talk together. And maybe Rose would have a husband of her own by then, someone tall and devastatingly handsome, who could easily beat Fish at arm wrestling. By the time of their conversation, she
would have forgotten all about her disturbing passion. Maybe she and Fish would even laugh about it as her trivial adolescent phase.
All of this smarted in her imagination. Then she pictured herself as an old maid, sitting in a parlor, clutching this box to her chest and rambling on about the one true love of her life. For some reason, she preferred the latter picture to the more civilized and realistic first scenario.
“I shall have twenty cats and talk to them all,” she said, picking up the volume of poetry. “My cats and I shall have fish every day for dinner.” Her imagination taking flight, she finished, dropping the book in the box, “And I shall memorize every line in this book and paint it in calligraphy on my living room walls.”
Giggling at her ridiculousness, she replaced the lid of the box and shoved it back under the bed. There were a few precious moments left of her otherwise meaningless life to spend with Fish, just the two of them together. He was out there waiting in the car, probably wondering what the devil was taking her so long.
With a sigh that was disappointment and resignation all at once, she stood, deciding not to change out of her bridesmaids dress after all. The celebration was still on, and she should go and celebrate. She could go to the Kovachs, and tell Kateri all about it, and cry and laugh over it. And Fish, if he guessed anything, would probably think she was silly. As usual.
3
…and they prepared a great feast in honor of their daughter’s christening, to which they invited the wise women…
