by Mary Lawson
Marie was in the middle of making French toast and bacon and sausages and cornbread and muffins and scrambled eggs. I asked if I could help and she looked slightly panicky at the thought and said, “Oh, thanks, but—I don’t think so. Maybe you could find the men and tell them breakfast is in ten minutes? I think they’re in the yard.”
So I went out. The sun was strong already, and the sky a pale clear blue. Daniel had joined Matt and Simon, and the three of them were admiring the tractor.
“How much did it set you back?” Daniel was saying. “If it’s not a rude question.”
Simon and Matt looked blankly at each other.
“How much was it, in the end?” Matt said. “We beat him down quite a bit.”
“Like hell we did,” Simon said. “You chickened out. It was tragic. Here’s Auntie Kate. How do you like our baby?” He patted the tractor’s muddy flank. Where you could see through the mud it was gleaming red; it looked powerful and businesslike, with its vast wheels and deep-cut treads, and oddly graceful, in the way anything well designed is graceful.
I said, “Happy birthday, Simon. Your baby’s lovely. Is she new?”
“Two weeks old today.”
“She’s got a terrible cough first thing in the morning,” I said. “Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Spoken like a true city slicker,” Matt said. “We’re just going to take Dan out for a run. If you’re lucky you can have a turn later.”
I said, “Actually, I came to tell you breakfast is almost ready. Marie says ten minutes.”
“Oh,” said Matt. He looked at Daniel. “Later? After the celebrations? I’d say after breakfast, but I suspect Marie has other plans for us.”
“Later’s fine,” Daniel said.
We started toward the house, Simon and Daniel still talking tractors, Matt and I a few steps behind.
“So how’s it going?” I asked. “The farm, I mean. It’s looking prosperous.”
He smiled. “We’re surviving. We’re never going to be rich, but it’s not bad.”
I nodded. At least he had never cared about being rich.
There was a pause. It is the pauses that I dread, in my conversations with Matt. The conversations themselves, polite and careful, as if between strangers, are bad enough, but it is the pauses I take home with me afterwards.
“How about you?” he said. “How’s your research?”
“It’s going well.”
“What—what are you actually researching, Kate? I don’t think you’ve ever said.”
I watched our feet, our shoes stirring the fine dust of the farmyard. No, I had never said. Why rub his nose in the fact that I was doing the sort of thing he would have so loved to do? But now it seemed I had no option.
I said, “Well, roughly speaking, I’m looking into the effects of surfactants on the inhabitants of the surface film.”
“Things like detergents?”
“Yes. And wetting agents from pesticides and herbicides. That sort of thing.”
He nodded. “Interesting stuff.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
Interesting stuff.
What anyone would say. As if he were just anyone. As if he had not taught me most of what I know. That is literally true, I believe. It is the approach that is important— the openness, the ability to really see, without being blinded by preconceptions—and Matt taught me that. The things I have learned since have been mere details.
He was waiting for me to go on, to describe my work to him, but I could not bring myself to do that. It wasn’t that I didn’t think he would understand—if I could explain my work to an undergraduate I could certainly explain it to Matt. It was the fact that I would have to explain it. I cannot describe how wrong that seemed, and how cruel.
He had slowed down and I had to do likewise. The others went on ahead. I glanced at him and he gave me a swift smile. When he is under stress his smile is stretched in a way it isn’t normally. I imagine most people wouldn’t notice, but I watched him so much when I was young, you see. I know his face so well.
“Daniel seems a great guy,” he said at last.
“Yes,” I said, relieved beyond measure that he was dropping it. “Yes, he is.”
“Is it … serious? Between the two of you?”
“It might be. I think it probably is.”
“Good. Good. That’s great.”
He bent down and picked up a flat stone. If we’d been on the beach he would have skipped it, but we weren’t, so after turning it over a few times he dropped it again. Then he looked at me, that clear, grey-eyed, steady look of his.
“You should take him back to the ponds afterwards, Kate. They’re in great shape.”
I looked away quickly. In my mind’s eye, I saw him, stealing a few moments from the incessant demands of the farm, walking back to the ponds, standing, alone, looking into their depths.
I waited a moment, to be sure that my throat would be clear. Simon and Daniel had reached the house. Marie was standing in the doorway.
“Yes,” I said finally. “Yes, I should do that.”
Marie seemed to be watching us. I couldn’t make out her expression.
I said, “I think breakfast is ready.”
Matt nodded, and prodded at the stone with his shoe. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go in.”
Matt and Simon and Daniel started moving furniture around right after breakfast. They’d decided that the day was going to be warm enough to hold the party outside, so they were taking out tables and chairs and setting them up around the side of the house, where there was grass and a struggling fringe of garden.
Marie and I stayed in the kitchen, doing women’s work. Or at least, Marie did women’s work, and I stood and watched. She seemed distracted. Normally Marie is fairly confident in her own kitchen, but she was moving ineffectually about, taking things out of the refrigerator and putting them back in, opening drawers and closing them again. She had about two dozen desserts spread about on the counter in varying stages of unreadiness and couldn’t seem to decide which to start on first. I wondered if it was the party that was unnerving her or if it was me. I know she does not find me easy to have around. I would have gone out and left her to it, except that it seemed so impolite.
I said for the third time, “There must be something I can do, Marie. Let me whip the cream.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well—all right. If you like. Thank you.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a jug of cream. “I’ll get you the beater,” she said.
“It’s here.”
“Oh. Yes. All right, I’ll get a bowl.”
She put down the cream, opened the cupboard, and got out a large bowl. Instead of giving it to me though, she stood holding it in both hands, her back to me. Suddenly, without turning around, she said, “What did you think of the tractor?”
“The tractor?” I said, startled.
“Yes.”
“I thought it was great. I don’t know a lot about tractors, but it looked really good.”
She nodded, her back still to me. She said, “Matt and Simon chose it together. They spent weeks working out just what they wanted. The two of them. They had brochures and magazines all over the kitchen table for weeks. They’re very proud of it.”
I laughed. I said, “I know.”
She turned around, holding the bowl in front of her. She was smiling rather oddly. She said, “What do you think of Simon?”
I stared at her. I said, “I like him very much. Very much. He’s a lovely boy. An extremely nice boy.”
I felt myself flushing—her question was so strange and my reply sounded so old-fashioned and patronizing. Then it struck me that Simon was now eighteen, the same age as Matt had been that disastrous summer. I wondered if she was worrying about him. I was sure he was far too streetwise to make his father’s mistakes, but still, she might be worrying.
I said, “I also think he has a lot of common sense, Marie. He’s a lot more mature than most of the student
s I see. I think he’ll do very well next year.”
She nodded. She put down the bowl and wrapped her arms around herself—the same old defensive gesture, but different somehow. Her face was flushed, but she seemed grim rather than embarrassed. Fierce, almost. It was so unlike her that I was quite unnerved.
She said, “How does Matt strike you? Does he seem well to you?”
“I think he’s looking very well. Very well.”
“Do you think he looks happy?”
I was alarmed now. We do not ask such questions in our family.
“He looks happy to me, Marie. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She gave a little shrug. “I just wondered if you could see it, that’s all. Could see that he is well and happy and has a wonderful son who he loves and has a good time with. I just wanted you to see it, for once, after all this time.”
In the silence we could hear furniture being heaved about. Something had become stuck in a doorway. Matt was cursing, Simon was hooting with laughter. I heard Daniel say, “Maybe if we tried going back …”
Marie said, “If you only knew how much your opinion matters to him, Kate. If you could see him when he knows you’re coming home … at first he’s so happy … but then as it gets closer, he doesn’t sleep. Luke forgave him years ago, and Bo never knew that there was anything to forgive. But your disappointment—you thinking his whole life is a failure, feeling so sorry for him for the way he let himself down—that’s been so hard for him to bear. That’s been the hardest thing. Everything else that’s happened to him has been easy compared to that.”
I was so astonished that I found it hard to take in what she was saying. She was so upset, so emotional, and it seemed to me that her accusations made no sense. What was my disappointment compared to the loss of Matt’s dreams?
I said, “I don’t think his whole life is a failure, Marie. I think you’ve both done very well, I think Simon is a credit—”
“You do think his life is a failure.” Her arms were wrapped tight, hands gripping her elbows. I was shocked, not only by what she was saying but by the timing of it, a birthday party, guests about to arrive. “You think what happened is the great tragedy of his life. You can hardly look at him, you feel so sorry for him and so angry with him still. After all these years you can still hardly look at him, Kate.”
I don’t know what I would have said then, but I was spared because Simon came in. He surveyed the desserts and then stuck his finger in one and said, “What’s this one then?”
Marie said sharply, “Leave it!” and he jumped and said “Okay! Okay!” and backed out, looking at her strangely. We heard him say, “Don’t go in there. Mum’s getting ratty.”
Marie handed me the bowl. I took it, wordlessly, put it on the counter, poured the cream into it, and whipped the cream. I whipped it too much and it curdled and went lumpy.
“I’ve overdone it,” I said. “I’m sorry.” My voice sounded odd. I handed the bowl to Marie.
She said, “It doesn’t matter. Could you put some on the pies?” and went on decorating the cheesecakes. Her voice was mild now, as if she had said all she had to say and the rest was up to me. But I could think of no reply. If after all these years she still didn’t understand what Matt had lost, what was there to say?
When I’d finished the pies, I said, “Anything else?” and she said, “Not just yet. You might take a cup of coffee to the men.”
I poured three mugs of coffee from the pot Marie always has brewing and put them on a tray. I found a small jug in the cupboard, poured cream into it, found the sugar bowl, got three spoons from the drawer. All in silence. I took the tray outside to the men. They’d set up the tables by then, under the trees, according to Marie’s instructions. Matt and Simon were discussing chairs— how many and where.
“What do you think?” Matt asked as I came up. “How many will want to sit down? And in the sun or in the shade?”
“Only the women,” I said, holding the tray while they both stirred three sugars into their coffee. “They’ll want to sit in the shade.”
“Right,” Matt said. He looked at Simon. “How many women are there?”
“Mrs. Stanovich,” Simon said, “Mrs. Lucas, Mrs. Tadworth, Mrs. Mitchell, Miss Carrington …”
I looked around for Daniel. He was by the corner of the house, looking with interest at a clutter of machinery in the barnyard. I went over to him. I felt dazed, as if I were coming down with sunstroke. Daniel took his coffee and said, “Do you ever feel you might like to live on a farm? For real, I mean. Take up farming. Do some real work, where you see progress at the end of the day.”
“No,” I said.
He looked at me and grinned, and then he looked harder. He said, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, there is. What’s wrong?”
I shrugged. “Just something Marie said.” Her words were still echoing inside my head. Her accusations bothered me very much. I kept going over them, casting around for explanations, trying to understand how she had come to think as she did. Perhaps it was natural, if you considered her background. She would have no conception of what Matt’s life could have been like, had things turned out differently. And even if she had, she wouldn’t want to acknowledge it. She’d been the cause of his downfall, after all.
“About what?” Daniel said.
“Pardon?”
“You said Marie said something. About what?”
“About … me. Me and Matt.”
“What did she say?”
I had told him everything else, I might as well tell him this. “Oh just … she thinks I think what happened to Matt is a tragedy.”
He stirred his coffee, watching me.
I said, “Which is true. She said I think Matt’s whole life is a failure, which is not true, but it is true that what happened to him is a tragedy.”
Daniel put his spoon back on the tray. He didn’t say anything. I said, “The thing is, she doesn’t even see it. It’s not her fault, she doesn’t understand. But that’s a tragedy too, you see—that Matt is married to someone who has no idea, really no idea, what he’s all about.”
Daniel sipped his coffee, still watching me. Out beyond the fields, along the side road, you could see a cloud of dust boiling up. A car—Luke and Bo, coming to lend a hand. The car was going very fast and seemed to be all over the road; part of my brain puzzled over it, until I remembered: a driving lesson. Daniel said, “Well, I agree with you about one thing, Kate. I do think there’s a tragedy here. But I don’t think it’s what you think it is.”
A mosquito—an early forerunner of the hordes to come—landed on his wrist. He narrowed his eyes, handed me his coffee, and smacked it. He wiped his hand on his shirt and retrieved his coffee and said, “You’ll say I don’t understand, just like you think Marie doesn’t understand, but I think I do. Some of it anyway. Your family’s had a real struggle, all those generations and everything, all of you striving toward this great goal. And Matt’s obviously brilliant, anyone can see that. So I can see it was a disappointment. He had his chance and he blew it, which is a real shame.”
He gave me a brief, almost apologetic smile. “But it’s just a shame. It’s not a tragedy. It makes no difference to who Matt is. Can’t you see that? No difference at all. The tragedy is that you think it’s so important. So important you’re letting it destroy the relationship the two of you had… .”
He must have seen my incredulity, because he hesitated, eyeing me uneasily. He said, “I’m not trying to say it doesn’t matter to him, Kate—that he’s miraculously discovered that he loves farming, so it’s all turned out for the best, or some crap like that. I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that from what you’ve told me about him and what I’ve seen of him, my guess is that he came to terms with it a long time ago. The problem is, you didn’t. And as a consequence, he’s lost what he had with you. That’s the real tragedy.”
Strange how parts of your brain can continue
to function normally when other parts have come to a dead stop. I could hear Matt’s and Simon’s voices; I saw the car getting nearer; in the distance a couple of crows were quarrelling; my brain recorded it all faithfully. But within me, for a long moment, there was total silence. A paralysis of the mind. And then gradually things started up again, and with the return of conscious thought came an absolute flood tide of disbelief, confusion, and furious resentment. Daniel, of all people, an outsider, a guest, who had dragged the story out of me, who had known Matt scarcely twelve hours. That he could look at our lives and casually, carelessly, knowing nothing about it, come to such a conclusion. I could hardly believe that I had heard him right—hardly believe that he had said it.
I watched Luke’s car; kept my eyes fixed on its progress. It disappeared briefly behind the house, then reappeared as Bo hurtled into the farmyard and came to a halt in a cloud of dust ten feet from where we were standing. She was talking as she got out. “See!?” she said, defiantly. She waved at Daniel and me but she was speaking to Luke, who was in the passenger seat—she bent down and peered in so that he’d be sure to hear. “See?!”
I watched her, my brain recording the scene. Matt and Simon were coming over to greet them. They grinned at us as they came up; I knew the grins referred to Bo and Luke, but I was incapable of responding. I watched Matt, my mind churning with Daniel’s words, with Marie’s words. “If you could see him when he knows you’re coming home, Kate … at first he’s so happy … but then as it gets closer, he doesn’t sleep …”
Bo slammed the car door, went around to Luke’s side, and opened his door for him. He was balancing a birthday cake on his lap and had a monstrous bowl of green Jell-O wedged between his feet. I heard Simon say to Matt, “He looks sort of … resigned,” and Matt nodded. “I guess that’s what happens when you face death on a daily basis. After a while it loses its sting.”
Bo had her head inside the car and didn’t hear. She took the cake, and Luke bent down and lifted the Jell-O up onto his lap and levered it and himself out of the car.
