Sylvie was alone—she had taken a room in the town, in a hotel given over mostly to pilgrims. She ate food in the bazaar, even raw fruits, and never got sick. Theo lived with a guru in an ashram; he had quite a high position there, as one of the guru’s right-hand men. But after he met Sylvie, he was no longer so interested in the teaching, although it was what he had come to India for. He put his case to the guru: how it was through their love that he and Sylvie could achieve the ascent to the Good and the Beautiful, which the guru himself taught was the purpose of all human life. The guru was not quite convinced by this interpretation of his own message, but he was sympathetic, and in fact performed the marriage ceremony. This was very beautiful, with all the members of the ashram singing while the guru chanted the benediction and Sylvie and Theo walked around the sacred fire. They were completely covered in flowers, strings of marigold and jasmine hung down over their faces, but nevertheless at the end everyone threw more flowers at them, showering them with fragrant blossoms. After all that, it was ridiculous to say they were not really married.
Pauline became restless, and it got worse every afternoon when she thought of Sylvie alone with Theo in the apartment. One day she decided she had a headache and needed to go home. Unfortunately she had an appointment with a client, which she had to cancel, but that couldn’t be helped. She did have her health to consider; and it was just one more proof that her business was simply getting too big for her to handle alone, and she really needed an assistant. She decided to reopen the subject with Sylvie as soon as she got home—but when she did, there was only Amy there, back from school and lying on Pauline’s bed, eating corn chips and watching an adult program on TV. Pauline’s entrance did not disturb her—she gave her a friendly little wave, then settled herself more comfortably on the white chenille bedcover.
“Where’s Sylvie?”
Amy pointed at the screen, indicating that what was going on there precluded conversation. It was only when Pauline insisted that she answered, “She’s out . . . Do you mind?” she said, pointing at the screen again.
“Yes, I do mind.” Pauline was grim: she minded Amy lying on her bed, she minded the greasy corn chips she was scattering over it, and most of all she minded Sylvie not being home. “Is Theo with her? . . . Where’ve they gone?” When Amy didn’t answer, Pauline turned off the TV.
Amy was silent for a while. Then she said, “Well. That wasn’t very polite.” She spoke with quiet reproach so that Pauline felt a bit ashamed and began to make excuses: “I don’t think it’s the sort of program you should be watching. And I have a headache,” she remembered.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Yes. That’s why I came home. Why aren’t you at school?”
“They sent us home early. Someone died . . . I could give you a head massage. I do it for Sylvie all the time.”
“No thanks. I don’t think you should be eating on my bed. Making crumbs.”
“Oh, sorry.” Amy got up at once and made token gestures of brushing off crumbs. “We have some herbal stuff if you like that, but don’t take aspirin whatever you do.”
“Why shouldn’t I? . . . Is she with Theo? Where did they go?”
Amy answered only the first question: “It does horrible things inside your stomach. Toxic things.”
“Oh rubbish, Amy.” Pauline went out impatiently, and Amy followed her, saying, “I swear to God. It’s been proved.”
Pauline sat down heavily on her living-room sofa. She felt disconsolate: to have left her office, canceled and maybe lost her client, and now to be trapped here with Amy. It wasn’t that she had anything specifically against Amy: it was really, though she never admitted this, that she didn’t like children in general. That had been the trouble with spending Christmas in her brother’s home. She had done all she could to make herself liked by his children, bought them expensive presents and so on, but she had heard them making fun of her—she had rather heavy ankles and they told each other that she had elephantiasis and amused themselves with imitating the walk of such a person. It seemed to her that children were cruel, and if you did not measure up to their standard, they despised you. She had several times caught Amy looking at her in a way that told Pauline she was contrasting her with Sylvie.
Pauline looked up now and saw Amy’s eyes fixed on her; but it turned out to be with compassion: “You look awfully sick,” Amy said.
“Yes, that’s why I’m home.” And Pauline did feel sick, with disappointment. She said, “Do you think they’re coming back soon?”
“I wouldn’t know. There was no one here when I got back. It’s not very pleasant for me, to come from school and there’s no one here.”
“No. You’re right. It’s not.” Pauline spoke as a fellow sufferer—though in the past she had enjoyed nothing more than to come home to an empty apartment and be alone there and still.
“Do you want to know how I was born?” Amy said.
Pauline wanted to say no, but instead said, “If you want,” without encouragement.
“I was born in India,” Amy said.
“What—in that ashram place?”
“Oh no. Theo and Sylvie didn’t live there any more—they’d gone up in the mountains to be by themselves in a hut. They didn’t have any water or electricity or anything. They washed in a mountain spring.”
Amy was sitting next to Pauline by this time, quite close, as if craving company. “I’ll just do it for a minute, shall I? I’m really good at it but you can tell me to stop if you don’t like it. Okay?”
She began to massage Pauline’s head. It was soothing, although Amy’s fingers were a bit greasy, probably from the corn chips. She was so close to Pauline that she was almost sitting in her lap, enveloping her in her smell. Some of this was like Sylvie’s—they used the same shampoo and soap—but some of it was peculiar to Amy: natural, in the sense of non-artificial, also somewhat dewy and damp like the wool of a lamb that had been out in the rain.
“So were you born in this hut?”
“Sylvie wanted to stay, but with there being no doctor or anyone near, Theo took her down to the town—it was a holy town called Hardwar so that was all right. And they say I was so good I just waited till they had gotten her in this hospital and then guess what? I came out so fast they said it was like kittens coming out of a mother cat so we needn’t have been in the hospital at all and I could have been born in the hut.”
Amy had now climbed right into Pauline’s lap—this was in order to press her fingertips against Pauline’s brow. It was simultaneously soothing and disturbing: Pauline was really not used to having anyone sit in her lap and touch her face so intimately.
“But then we did go back to the hut, Sylvie and Theo and I, and they were so crazy about me they couldn’t stop looking at me and they’d get up at night and wake me up, just so they could play with me some more and count my fingers and toes.”
“Do you remember all this?”
“They told me but I think I remember it too. I think. I was only seven months old when we left. It was snowing all the time and they couldn’t find any more firewood. Anyway, by that time Granny had found out and we had to leave. Leave India, that is, and go to New York. Because of Granny. Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, I think so. Thank you very much, Amy.”
“I do it well, don’t I? Sylvie likes me doing it even when she doesn’t have a headache. She’s very sensuous, Theo says.”
Late that night Amy and Sylvie had one of their fights. Pauline, who was already in bed, propped herself on her elbow to listen, but they were showering together so most of what they said was drowned by the sound of the water. Next morning was as usual a big rush, with Sylvie having to take Amy to school. When she returned from this mission—for which she had merely thrown a raincoat over her nightdress, which anyway wasn’t much different from her usual kind of frock—she went straight back to bed. This too was her custom, so that she was always asleep by the time Pauline left for her office. But today Pa
uline wouldn’t let her; she followed her into the bedroom and said, “We have to talk.”
Although warm and nestled between her sheets, Sylvie roused herself to face a serious and perhaps not unfamiliar situation: “I know, I know—and I swear we’ll go the moment we find a place, I promise.”
“It’s not that,” Pauline said. “It’s not that at all.” She was silent—not that there were no questions to ask but that there were too many. For instance: where had Sylvie gone yesterday with Theo? What had they fought about, she and Amy? Instead, when Pauline spoke, it was to say: “What I asked you the other day? In the museum?” When Sylvie looked puzzled—“Because I really do need someone, and if you can’t do it or would rather not . . .” And still receiving no answer, Pauline worked herself up a bit: “When someone offers you a job, the least you can do is say yes or no. I mean, it would just be common courtesy.”
“Oh Pauline. I never thought for a minute you were serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s such a terrific compliment—to think anyone would think me capable of a job. When I told Theo, he laughed and laughed.”
“Who’s he to laugh? What’s he ever done for you except come around here to my place in the afternoons or whatever—where did you go yesterday? Where were you when poor Amy was sent home from school and no one here to meet her? I think that’s shocking. Absolutely shocking.”
Sylvie hung her head and plucked at the satin hem of the bed-sheet. It was not possible to tell whether she was ashamed or offended.
For fear it might be the latter, Pauline went on: “I know it’s none of my business but I’m so fond of you both, you and Amy.”
“You’ve been an angel to us, dearest Pauline. You are an angel.”
“Well, you see, I love you.”
“Of course you do,” Sylvie said. “And we love you. Very, very much,” she added, but this, for Pauline, only made her reply less satisfactory.
Although Pauline felt herself so overwhelmed with work that she was ready to hire an assistant, a few days later she again shut her office early and went home. This time she found what she expected—Sylvie was there, and Theo was with her. Pauline could hear them splashing in the bathroom, but when she opened the door, she quickly shut it again. Theo was washing Sylvie’s hair; she had her head bent over the basin while he massaged soap-suds into it; both were naked. But when they came out, Theo had wrapped a towel around his waist and Sylvie was in a white bathrobe. They looked like twins.
“What a surprise,” Theo said, referring to Pauline’s unexpected arrival; he made it sound like a joyous surprise.
“Yes, well, you see, I have to talk to Sylvie on a very important matter.”
Theo was rueful: “I’m afraid I can guess what it is, and I promise you that the minute we’ve found a halfway nice place we’re going to move out and meanwhile I cannot tell you how terrifically grateful we all are to you, aren’t we, Sylvie? Do stop that and listen to Pauline,” for Sylvie was vigorously rubbing her hair with a towel.
“But it’s all wet,” Sylvie protested. “I’ll drip on her rug and ruin it.”
Theo said, “Oh you mustn’t. It’s such a pretty rug.” He looked down at it and Pauline could tell from the politely sweet expression on his face that he didn’t think so at all. She had had the same impression before when she had encountered Theo in her apartment. Although she had taken a lot of trouble with her furniture and fittings—matching colors and so on—in his presence everything appeared drab, lower-class.
Ignoring him, she addressed herself only to Sylvie: “You still haven’t given me an answer—I don’t think you realize how important it is, important for the business, that is, for me to have a proper assistant.”
“You’re talking about the job you offered her, and that again I must say shows your incredible kindness.”
Pauline said, “I hear it made you laugh no end.”
“Made me laugh—?” Unable to believe that he might be the person referred to, he put both his hands on his chest. His chest was naked, giving him an almost mythological appearance. He looked as if he might be living in a forest and carrying a bow and arrow, not to shoot down birds or other living creatures but apples from a tree for Sylvie to eat.
Theo had turned to Sylvie: “Did you tell Pauline that I laughed?” Sylvie began to defend herself, they argued with each other, softly, sweetly, while Pauline stood by. She realized that it was hopeless to try to intervene—they would only have listened to her politely and then turned back to each other. She could not come between them, no one could; perhaps not even Amy.
Amy turned out to be receptive to the idea of Sylvie taking a job. She at once asked Pauline, “What’ll you pay her?”
Sylvie said, “Amy, that’s vulgar.”
“No it’s not,” Pauline said. “It’s realistic.”
She was relieved to have been able to return to the topic in Amy’s presence and away from what she could not help feeling was Theo’s negative influence. But Sylvie still seemed to be under the latter: “We don’t need money,” she told Amy.
“Yes we do. We need heaps.”
“What for?”
“You know very well what for,” Amy said.
She and Sylvie exchanged a conspiratorial look that excluded Pauline. Yet Pauline too wanted to ask, what could they possibly need money for? It was not in her present interest to point out that they lived rent-free, or that she paid their grocery bills—though it was true that these had hardly increased since they had moved in with her. Their vegetarian diet of cereals and pulses was as frugal as if they had been living on bird seed.
Sylvie said, “Theo gives us whatever we need.”
“Theo doesn’t have anything to give,” Amy said.
“He will though,” Sylvie said with quiet confidence.
“Not till Grandma dies. Which she won’t.” Amy raised her voice to defend her facts: “She’s terribly healthy and she has all these doctors giving her vitamin injections and all these people coming in doing massage and things on her and you know she goes swimming every afternoon because that’s the only time Theo ever gets to come visit you.”
“That’s not true,” Sylvie said.
“It is so! And she plays tennis but Theo can’t get away then in case she needs him for a partner.”
“You’ll have to forgive Amy,” Sylvie turned to Pauline. “Sometimes she just doesn’t know what she’s talking about. No you don’t! You’re a silly brat, that’s all.”
“I’m a silly brat, look who’s talking. I’m the only one who earns any money. And I give you all my pocket money from Grandma to put in our savings and you haven’t put in one single dime.”
“I haven’t got one single dime.”
“Then why don’t you take Pauline’s job! She’ll pay you—”
Pauline gladly said, “Of course I will.” But when Amy at once came back with “How much?” she became more cautious. She said to Sylvie, “You’d be on a starting salary at first, but later of course when you really know the business—”
“How long would that take?” Amy asked. “Because we haven’t got very long. You think we have,” she turned again on Sylvie, “but I’m not going to that shitty school forever or stick around here when you promised—you promised—”
“Amy, shush, darling, it’s our secret.”
“Don’t pinch me.” But Amy bit in her lips so that no further words should escape her, not even in answer to Sylvie’s “I did not.”
Next day Pauline lost another client. Unfortunately it was one whom she had been nurturing for several months, for a bigger sale than usually came her way—a converted brownstone in the East Fifties, and Pauline had made an appointment to meet her client there for what she hoped was a final and decisive viewing. But just as she was about to leave on this mission, Theo came into the office. “Can we talk?” he said to Pauline after a pleasant greeting. When she hesitated, “You’re busy. A pity, but never mind. That’s just our bad l
uck. Sylvie’s and mine.”
Pauline hesitated again, but not for long. She dialed her client’s number and left a message on the machine to postpone the meeting by an hour. Then she allowed Theo to lead her away. Although this was her neighborhood and not his, he knew exactly where to take her. It was not a place she would have chosen herself—a stone garden created between mammoth buildings with an artificial waterfall trained to run down a brick wall.
“Isn’t this fun,” said Theo, bringing two styrofoam cups of coffee from the refreshment window, and also, in case one of them felt hungry, a Danish in plastic wrap. There were only a few elderly people sitting around, some reading the newspaper, some dozing, one or two staring straight into the waterfall but probably seeing other things. The chairs were white metal, small and uncomfortable with criss-cross seats like egg-slicers.
Theo said, “I shall have to take them away.” For a moment Pauline didn’t know what he was talking about, and when she realized, she cried out much too loudly, “You’re crazy!”
He smiled sadly: “It is a shame.” Then he assured her: “You’re not to blame. You meant well, but things don’t always turn out the way we intend.”
“And may I ask,” she said, “what is it that hasn’t worked out?”
He gestured into the air, indicating that the matter was too delicate to be put into words. But she wanted words and didn’t care if she appeared crude and indelicate. She felt that way anyhow, in his presence. She was dressed in a very good business suit, with a blouse that had cost her a good deal of money, but beside him—though all he wore was jeans and a shirt—she felt badly dressed. It couldn’t be helped; she was what she was; so she repeated her question.
He was courteous and tried to give her a fair answer. He said, “You see, we have to be careful. Amy’s very high-strung.”
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