Ani returned to her room, put on a flannel nightgown, and climbed into bed. She pitched across an ocean of dreams and woke up a few hours later with a throbbing headache. She stared vacantly through the skylight at a rectangle of blue with strolling fleece. Then it became a blank screen onto which she projected scenes from the past.
In Yosemite the cold skies were blue. Asa had paid for Ani to fly out and meet him for Thanksgiving one term when they were both on leave from school. They had hiked the Mist Trail toward Vernal Fall. Asa climbed steadily up the stairs ahead of Ani, and she panted behind him like an asthmatic mountain goat. They passed several other hikers, but that late in the season the park had few visitors. After the first hour Ani silently cursed with every footfall. Onion head, she thought, taking a line from Baba’s book, the donkey is following the ass yet again.
The next day in Tuolumne Meadows after a breakfast of trail mix, rye bread, and reconstituted dehydrated eggs, Asa suggested they try some peyote.
What is peyote? Ani asked.
Holding out some dried, furry things the color of thistles gone to seed, Asa said, Native American shamans used these in their rituals. They can bring on fantastic visions.
Ani watched him doubtfully as he wedged a bud between two apricots and handed it to her.
She spat the first mouthful on the ground. It tasted vile.
Don’t waste good shit, Ani. Do you know how much I paid for these?
I don’t care how much you paid for them. I’ll vomit if I eat that.
Sure, everybody throws up. Then you get the high.
Forget it, Asa, she stated.
Not to be dissuaded, he brewed some peyote tea and added honey.
It will go down easy like this, he assured her.
Ani choked down a quarter cup and then he drained the rest.
Now what happens? Ani asked.
Let’s hike up that ridge. Looks like we’d get a great view from there.
Twenty minutes later they sat on an outcropping of stone with their legs dangling over the side. Most of the trees were bare except for some distant pines. The moss on the rocks around them gave off a pulsing light.
Do you see that? Ani asked.
What?
The light coming out of the moss. It’s neon.
He crowed with delight. You’re tripping, little girl.
His laugh unnerved her. Also being called little girl. She saw two small horns sprout from his sandy head, and there was an unsettling glint in his eyes.
Asa lay on his back, saying dreamily, I can feel the life spirit surging through the trees and rocks. If God is anywhere He’s here in the mountains, the trees, and the earth on this very spot. I’m glad you’re here with me, Ani, to share this.
An emerald lizard lashed its tail in Ani’s skull. The night before, he had confessed to her that he slept with several women while on the valley floor before Ani had arrived. There should be a punishment for that kind of betrayal. She scrambled on top of Asa and sat on his stomach, pinning his hands to the rock.
With her face six inches from his, she asked, Asa Willard, will you marry me?
Fear flickered through his blue-faceted eyes, and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. The devil had taken her to the high mountains and tempted her with power. Ani realized that if Asa jumped up suddenly she might fall from the ledge. She laughed and climbed off him.
He sat up, rubbing his forehead. Ani, you shouldn’t fuck with me like that when we’re tripping. It’s dangerous.
Sorry, Ani said.
He talked slowly. You know sometimes I love you . . . but sometimes . . . I’m not sure if I’m in love with you.
What’s the difference? she asked, sensing a kind of sophistry.
He explained. Being in love means projecting yourself into the future with that person—you know, marriage and kids and the whole thing.
The lizard flicked its small split tongue.
Ani said, Don’t worry, Asa Willard. I wouldn’t marry you. You’ve done so many drugs our children would be mutants.
Ani observed with interest as his face flooded with hurt.
Asa asked, How can you say that? Don’t you take our relationship seriously? Someday I want to marry you. I’m in love with you, Ani.
“I’m in love with you, Ani,” she mimicked out loud in her Paris garret. “What a lame-brained weasel he is,” she said to no one. He played her like a yo-yo on a string. But who gave him the string?
After Asa had graduated from college he went to India. Ani was in New Hampshire, holed up in a senior fellowship office with her books while Asa was trekking in Nepal and Kashmir. Before he left he told her they should leave things open, not make any promises. He suggested that she should expand her sexual horizons. She suspected his motive was to keep himself free to fuck any woman that came across his path. But, as with all his recommendations—read the books on his top-ten list, learn to do a pull-up, lose a few pounds, and try this or that drug—she had taken this one on as well.
During the third week of the term, there was a knock on Ani’s office door in the library. She assumed it was her friend Elena but opened to find a tall thin guy in a blue work shirt and loose jeans. A shock of straight black hair covered his forehead.
Sorry to disturb you. Do you by any chance have a pencil sharpener in there? he asked.
No, Ani said, but there’s one on the windowsill in the main room.
Thanks. He ducked his head as he retreated.
Two minutes later there was another knock.
Didn’t introduce myself, he said, extending his hand. I’m Will Jeffers. My office is next door.
She shook his hand. Ani Silver.
What’s your project? he asked.
Feminist literary theory, she said.
So you’re a feminist?
She smiled. At least in theory.
What does that mean?
There’s an old saying: Between talking and doing there are mountains and valleys. What are you working on?
I’m writing a manuscript of poems.
What kind? Ani asked.
You know contemporary poetry?
Some.
New York School kind of stuff.
Ashbery?
Chattier, more narrative. Along the lines of O’Hara with the Snyder nature thing thrown in.
A few minutes later, Ani and Will were standing in line in the snack bar sliding plastic trays along the silver counter. Ani had taken a yogurt and a fruit salad. She was on a diet. When they got to the register Will drew a wad of crumpled ones from his pocket. He handed them to the cashier, who smoothed and counted them. The cashier told him he was sixty-five cents short. After he rummaged in his pockets, producing only another quarter, Ani gave him a dollar.
Where are you from? Ani asked.
He pushed his hair off his forehead. Connecticut. Stuffy suburb with more country clubs than grocery stores. My family owns a greeting card company. American Cornucopia. Heard of it?
Ani liked the warmth of his smile. She asked, Cards with nature scenes on them and poems that don’t rhyme?
That’s right. Hallmark cards have end rhymes and ours don’t. My dad employs a freelance staff of starving poets. I started writing ditties when I was nine.
Precocious kid, Ani said.
When I began to read real poetry, I felt sick about the crap on those cards. Haven’t had a thing to do with the company since I was fifteen.
Does it influence your writing?
It’s like this, he said. When I finish a poem I ask myself, Could this be an American Cornucopia greeting? If I answer, Not in a million years, I’m happy.
As they walked back to the library, Ani noticed a dull coin embedded in the dirt. She bent to pick it up.
What’s that? Will asked.
A penny, Ani answered.
Lucky penny?
Ani explained. Picking it up might not bring you luck, but not picking it up will definitely give you bad luck.
Will laughed. Where did you get that idea?
My Old World grandmother. She believes in omens and curses. When I was nine she caught me and a friend playing with a Ouija board and almost had a heart attack. She told me that Satan was the power that moved the indicator. She said she knew a girl in the old country who was possessed by demons and threw herself into the ocean. She didn’t want me to end up like that.
Demons, huh?
Ani shrugged. There’s a lot of magical thinking in our house. When I was little I believed that Satan was hiding in the sheets at the foot of my bed and my guardian angel slept behind the headboard.
Will said, I thought my shoes turned into crocodiles in the dark. Just the usual.
Ani and Will closed themselves into their separate offices. Ani had just settled into her chair when there was a quiet knock.
Sorry to bother you again. Will hesitated. I have a question.
Yeah? Ani asked.
Are you engaged in some type of serious situation, or could we go out on an ostensible date this Saturday night?
Ani paused. There is a boyfriend, but at the moment he’s in India. We’ve left things open. What about you?
I’ve been seeing someone for three weeks, but I like you better.
What if you meet someone you like better than me three weeks from now?
He grinned. Not likely.
The next day as Ani was crossing the campus she heard someone calling her name. From the backseat of an aging station wagon taxi Will beckoned, then opened the door.
Hop in, he said.
Where are we going? Ani asked, as the car pulled into traffic.
Where are you taking us, Eugene? Will questioned the heavy-set, balding driver as they moved down the hill toward the Connecticut River.
Well, Eugene answered deliberately, see, it’s like this. I thought we’d go by my son Dell’s farm. Take a look-see at the cows. I know you like those cows, William. They are very poetical. Then my wife Wanda will be giving us some tea and Vanilla Wafers, if that suits you and your lady friend there.
Sounds good, Eugene. Sounds very good, Will replied.
This one’s better looking than the one you brought last time, William, I can tell you that, Eugene said, winking at Ani in the rearview mirror. What’s her name?
Ani, said Will.
She should be called Nelly, Eugene commented. Don’t you think Nelly suits her, William? She has the same mane as my son’s horse, called by that very name.
I like it, Eugene. I like it very much, Will responded.
Wait a minute, Ani protested. You’re going to call me Nelly after a horse?
There are many noble Nellies, including the horse, Will told her.
On Saturday evening Ani and Will met for dinner at a restaurant on Main Street. Will put away an enormous amount of food for someone as thin as he was. For dessert he ordered Mississippi Mud Cake and plunged in with gusto.
He glanced over at her. You know, Ani, you’re eyeing this cake with a strange combination of fear and longing. Have some. He extended his fork toward her.
She took the bite. Delicious. It’s weird. I’m used to Asa—
The itinerant, erstwhile, so-called boyfriend?
The human calorie counter. I don’t measure up to his physical ideal. He’s a rock climber. He wants me to lose weight.
Must be something the matter with the man’s eyes, Will said gravely.
Afterward he pulled her to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, bending his face toward hers. Tasting of chocolate with a hint of beer, his kiss was lighter and quicker than Asa’s. She let him walk her home but didn’t invite him into the apartment. He lingered on the front steps until she agreed to see him the following evening.
The next night Ani crossed the rickety porch of an old house. Someone had painted THE ARGOSY in crooked letters on a piece of board and nailed it above the door. When Ani knocked, Will opened with a flourish and a grin.
Nelly, he said. Welcome to the Argosy. The crew has shore leave tonight. Come upstairs to my cabin.
She saluted him. Aye, aye, Captain.
They navigated a cramped, cluttered kitchen, up a flight of warped stairs, and down a narrow hall. She knew they were heading to his bedroom. As she followed she calculated that this was their third date—fourth, if you counted lunch. It seemed like a respectable number. His small room was painted a daffodil yellow and there were scraps and sheets of paper tacked to the walls from the low ceiling down to the dusty baseboards. They were poems, some of them photocopied from books, some written out in Will’s sloping hand. As heat rose from the registers, poems fluttered like leaves.
Any of these yours, Captain? Ani asked.
Not a one, he said, flicking back the fallen lock of hair. You want to dance?
Here? Ani asked. There was about a foot of bare floorboard bordering his mattress.
Pointing to the mattress Will instructed, Step out of your shoes.
With the cassette player blasting Talking Heads, Will took Ani’s hand and they pogoed around the bed. After he unbuttoned his shirt, Ani followed suit, and soon their clothes were on the floor. They twirled and hopped and swayed.
As Ani danced, the list of prohibitions in the cave of her skull withered until it was illegible, until it disappeared and she could do anything she wanted. She fell to the mattress laughing.
You’re crazy, you know, she told him.
He dropped down next to her and said soberly, Crazy about you.
During a thunderstorm the following afternoon Ani expected God was going to strike her dead with a bolt of lightning as she stood on the street corner. Or that a car would careen out of control and mow her down as she crossed the campus green. What was the Old Testament punishment for adulterers? Death by stoning. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
For the next few days Ani startled every time the phone rang, sure it was Asa calling from Kashmir. He was feeding coins into a slot in a little glass phone booth set in the side of a snow-capped mountain, telepathically alerted to her treachery. But he didn’t call.
Ani stopped in the bookstore to buy a copy of Frank O’Hara’s poems. She found what she was looking for on the shelf and then stood reading from a new collection by a favorite poet. She wanted both books, but she didn’t have the money. Glancing around from the sides of her eyes, Ani checked that no one was watching. She unzipped the large center pocket of her anorak and slid one book inside. The zipper redone, she carried the other book to the register and paid for it. Her heart was thumping just above the purloined volume as she exited the store. She was on the road to becoming a career criminal. What was worse, Ani wondered, adultery or shoplifting?
One afternoon Will slipped a typewritten note under Ani’s office door.
Dear Nelly—In point of fact I believe I love you.
This feeling has nothing to do with roses, hearts,
or any of the usual. More along the lines of that dark
mare in Dell’s pasture grazing in rye grass and chicory.
I’ll say your eyebrows are vaults of the night sky
and your gray eyes the first stars, at the risk
of sounding poetical. I’ll say I love you, but you
already know this alleged fact. Your Captain Will
That night Ani and Elena met for supper at the student center café. Ani and Elena were sharing an off-campus apartment where their respective boyfriends drifted in and out. Ani had had only one boyfriend before Will. Elena was the one who played musical beds.
So you and Will are a hot item? Elena ask
ed.
Ani admitted, I’m a little in love with him. He makes breaking up with Asa seem possible.
Does Will know he’s a human can opener?
Ani imagined herself trapped in a can of New England clam chowder. She shrugged. I told him about Asa.
He any good in bed?
Elena!
Oh, don’t be a prude, Ani. Is it better or worse than with Asa?
Six of one, half a dozen of another, Ani answered evasively.
Ani wasn’t even sure what the question meant. Were some people better at sex in the way that some people were better tennis players? She had to guess that Asa and Will were probably evenly matched. Kind of weird to think about sex as a competitive sport.
At the end of the term, Ani and Elena were in the kitchen drinking tea from steaming mugs when the phone rang. Will was asleep in Ani’s bed so she dashed to still the ringer.
Ani, is that you? It’s great to hear your voice. Asa sounded so close he could have been calling from next door.
Where are you, Asa? Ani asked.
Home. Got back last night. When are you coming down?
In a few days.
Can I drive up and get you?
Asa. I’ve been seeing someone for a couple of months.
His voice was tight. Anybody I know?
No. Her voice was flat.
You can’t do this to me, Ani. I love you, he whispered hoarsely.
Later Will counseled her. He’s going to put you on a diet of Wheat Thins and water, Nelly. Don’t let him do it. Your breasts are pleasing the way they are.
Elena shook her head and warned, As soon as Will is out of the picture, Asa’s going to be up to his old tricks again.
Ani refused to allow Asa to come fetch her. She also wouldn’t make a date to see him in Boston. She knew she was weak.
She took the Vermont Transit bus south and Baba met her at the depot. On the way home when they drove right past Asa’s street in Cambridge, Ani forbade herself to glance down the block at his house. Asa called four times within hours of her arrival, his voice whittling at her resolve until it was less than a matchstick. She finally agreed to meet him the next afternoon at a café in Cambridge.
Dreams of Bread and Fire Page 4
