At least, affection and understanding had had an inning, with promising results. He had little left for Sarah. Jeff had been telling him things that still lingered unresolved in his mind. A vote of confidence. They had much to give each other. Was that enough to have salvaged from the ruin? He had leaned on Sarah long enough, demanding loyalty, unable to offer what she needed. A living, growing relationship? Mutilated. Murdered. Discard it in a clean and manly way. He must go to her with the strength to cope with life alone.
As he neared the police station, he bridled at the atmosphere of blind complacent authority he would encounter there. The captain had glared at his money this morning as if willing it to disappear. It interfered with his routine and was therefore offensive. Coached by George, Joe had followed him to say that his money had been returned by a foreigner who had borrowed it without mentioning it. What foreigner? He had left on the morning boat. The case against Costa had evaporated. Did the captain’s threats still hold good? The fact that Peter was pulling strings in Athens was reassuring. Perhaps he would blunt the captain’s wrath. He didn’t care, no matter how it turned out. Alone, without the support of place or person.
He wasn’t sorry to find the captain absent. He displayed Jeff’s statement and countersigned the signature and turned it in. He left word for the captain that he and Jeff were at his disposal to answer any questions and made his getaway.
Once home, he was so intent on finding Sarah that he was halfway across the courtyard before he noticed the rent in the wall. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared. He blinked and stared again. Why hadn’t anybody said anything about this? What in the world had happened? If he weren’t feeling quite sober now, he would suspect his eyes of inventing it.
It started up near the roof and continued down below the bedroom floor, above and alongside and under one of the bedroom windows, so that the window frame was standing almost free and furniture was visible within. After stupefaction, his first reaction was outrage. Who was responsible? How could it have happened? He remembered vaguely some talk about a structural weakness when they had bought the house. Something about earthquakes and the builder airily pointing out that there hadn’t been an earthquake of consequence in—he couldn’t remember how many years.
The earthquake. It had been like this since night before last and nobody had told him. Briefly and unreasonably, he felt it as an additional grievance against Sarah. All of his pride in the house gathered in a knot of protest. The house was his single creation about which there could be no question. It was, in a way that had nothing to do with architecture or esthetics, perfect. It had been there to assure the beholder that there was something unique and beneficent about life here. It had even shut Mike Cochran up. Their ruined lives? The symbolism was so neat as to make it absurd. If the house was ruined, their lives must be flourishing. Total ruin was visited on a man only to illustrate divine retribution. Was he Job?
He noticed that some effort had been made to gather the rubble of the wall into neat piles, but one whole bank of their finest saffron geraniums had been destroyed. He laughed softly, a strange sound that caught in his throat with dismay. What could he do but laugh? And rebuild it, he thought with instant decision. He wasn’t as impervious to the police chief’s threats as he had thought. He wouldn’t go until the house was repaired. He would pull strings, go to the press, fight back. This was where he lived. He was going to stay. He was pleased to find that there was so much left in him.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and realized that Sarah had appeared in the door. He turned slowly and looked at her. He felt so at odds with her, so deeply estranged that for a moment he wondered why he had thought he had something important to say to her.
“Is Jeff here?” he asked without a word of gesture of greeting.
“He came a little while ago. I was so relieved to see him that I was careful not to fuss over him. He just put down his bag and left.”
As he had asked him to do, but George was sorry he wasn’t here. He wanted to talk to him about the wall. Wanting him to be here was like thinking of a beloved friend. Curiously, his liking men brought him closer, quickened George’s protective feelings toward him, broadened his responses to him. Without having given it much thought, he found that his acceptance of it had already grown more positive; he would like to help him prove to the world that it wasn’t a misfortune.
Sarah emerged from the house and approached him cautiously. “You hadn’t heard about that?” she asked, facing the wall. “It’s one of the major casualties of the earthquake.”
He admired her for making no reference to his absence. “Is there any other damage?”
“Just what you see. It’s hard to say how far it goes. We’ll have to get Pano here and see about fixing it. Sid told me you have the money back. I don’t care if it takes all of it. It has to be fixed.”
George looked at her with a spark of interest. “I’m glad we agree about that.” This much agreement reestablished some semblance of normal contact between them. He supposed they could go on from here and pretend that the last three days hadn’t existed. They could, but he was determined not to do so.
Sarah turned and took a few aimless steps toward the grouping of outdoor furniture. “How odd of Jeff to have wanted to lend it to Dimitri. I mean, Dimitri is—do you think there’s anything—well, anything unhealthy about their friendship?”
It was just what he had been waiting for. He had plenty to say to her. “I think they’ve been to bed together, if that’s what you mean,” he said bluntly. “That sounds healthy enough to me. Some of our best friends prefer their own sex. It’s not surprising if Jeff does too. I want you to get that through your head right from the start.”
Sarah turned back to him with an anguished look. “But darling, you can’t just accept it and condemn him for life. He’s extricated himself from Mike, but I knew he would if there was anything of that sort involved in it. He needs help. There must be something we can do. Couldn’t you arrange for him to have a girl? Men sometimes do that for their sons.”
“Sure. I could deliver him to Joe Peterson’s doorstep. He could have three girls, with a boy or two thrown in. Good God Almighty, do you think he’s not old enough to know what he wants? He’s extricated himself from Mike because Mike dumped him. He’s madly in love with him, poor kid.”
“How can you say that? How can you talk about it as if it didn’t matter? I don’t understand it from you, of all people. You’ve said yourself you don’t like what’s happening here—so many of them beginning to turn up.”
“I was talking about a particular type. There’s no need for Jeff to be like that. If he’s inherited his tastes from you, I certainly intend to help him.” It was an oblique attack, but he had had to steel his nerves to say it. It prepared the way for words he couldn’t imagine saying to her sober. He saw only a mild reproof come into her expressive eyes before it melted into her distress.
“If you can’t feel any normal concern for him, I wish at least you wouldn’t be flippant,” she said.
“That wasn’t meant to be flippant and you know it. Okay. I have another word or two to say on the subject and then we can get on to more disagreeable matters. I intend to encourage Jeff to be perfectly open about his emotional life, his sex life, whatever you want to call it. If he wants to bring a friend home to go to bed with, he’s welcome. He’s not going to feel any guilt with me. I don’t ever want to hear you say a disapproving word or make him feel that there’s anything wrong. If you do, I’ll leave you and take him with me. That’s how flippant I feel about it. Right? As for the rest of what I have to say, we’d better go inside. It doesn’t lend itself to alfresco discussion.” He saw her straighten to assert herself, but at the same time he felt her acceptance of his authority. All the years of attempting to achieve an equal partnership had probably been a waste of time.
“You’re certainly giving yourself airs this evening,” she said, not without humor. “You disappear for two
days. You make it sufficiently clear that you’ve been with three girls and then you move back in as if you were the lord of the manor.”
“That’s what I am, though I’ve allowed you to lose sight of the fact more often than I should have. Only one girl, incidentally. Shall we go in?” Again, he had to make an effort to speak so plainly. All the years when they hadn’t had such things to talk about made it difficult to break the habit of gentle loving intercourse that had grown up between them. He had managed it the other night in front of Mike, when he had been drunk, but even then he hadn’t been able to bring himself to name names and cite facts. In spite of his violence, he remembered skirting an outright accusation. It mustn’t be like that again.
She stood for a moment musingly, studying the nails of one hand, making a small point of making up own mind, and then started for the house. As she passed him, she gave him a look that was as nearly flirtatious as any she had ever given him, having never been inclined to obvious feminine wiles. Why should she flirt with him now, when she had found herself a new lover, when he had insulted her in public and as good as left her? Did she think she could obliterate all that had gone wrong between them with a suggestive glance? He felt his fists clenching for the blow she so richly deserved. He accompanied her into the house without looking at her. “Go up to my study,” he ordered her. “We’ll be private there.”
“Do you want to take a drink?”
“This isn’t going to be a social event. No, no drinks. If I can’t do it sober, it’s not worth doing at all.”
Some sense of the gravity of the occasion seemed to get through to her. She kept her distance as they crossed rooms and mounted stairs and came out at the top of the last difficult ones. He glanced at the smashed window. The broken lamp lay where he had left it.
“Oh,” she said when she caught sight of it. It was a small stricken sound.
“Yes. ‘Oh.’ I had a little temper tantrum when I found out what you’d been doing when I was with Mike the other afternoon.” Dread made his heart beat heavily. When it had all been said, when it had been clothed in words so that it lay ugly and explicit between them, what would be left to carry them over into the future? Perhaps nothing. That was the risk he was taking.
“I wish you’d get to the point,” she said as she seated herself beside a table piled with books. “What is this all about?” She watched him closely as he went to the bed that doubled as a couch and let himself down on it. He can’t know, she repeated to herself. It had been her main source of support for the last two days. She mustn’t betray her guilt by the slightest quiver of hesitancy or guilt. She had to carry it off for his sake more than her own. If he were anybody else, she could imagine breaking down and confessing and hoping to patch things up. That was the ordinary human way, but he wasn’t one for patching.
“I told you I was leaving the other night,” he said conversationally. “What did you make of that?”
“I was terribly frightened, of course,” she said, welcoming what seemed to be a reprieve. “Actually I was sitting here wondering what I could do to stop you when the earthquake happened. When I saw the wall was gone, the first thing I thought was that you’d have to stay to take care of the repairs.”
“How very touching. I haven’t been all that much fun recently. Why were you so anxious for me to stay?”
“Oh, George. Because I love you, darling, and always have. What a question.”
“Love me in your fashion? Love having me around while you have other men to satisfy you?”
She knew his calm was deceptive. She could hear the shout barely contained in his voice. She blanked Pavlo from her mind so that she could look at him with eyes shining with sincerity. “I’ve begged and begged you to forgive me my one bad mistake. There’s something I never wanted to tell you—it’s a subject I’ve tried not to think about—but I suppose I should now. I had the feeling that he was torn between me and Jeff. It was one reason he was able to get under my defenses. I felt he needed an experience with a woman so desperately. I don’t say that as an excuse but so you’ll understand that I didn’t just lose my head.”
“Oh, God. This ridiculous idea that homosexuality is some sort of disease that can be cured.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Her composure made an accusation indecent. She looked fresh and cool and lovely in her simple summer dress. He would never believe in her again. “You know perfectly well I’m not talking about silly fucking Ronnie. I said ‘men.’”
“I heard you. You’re sometimes capable of poetic license.”
“Splendid. You’re really good, Sarah. All right. Before I can expect you to tell the truth, I suppose I ought to tell the truth myself.” He paused to conquer his shame. He had guarded the fairly obvious secret for a year, drowned it in alcohol, drowned them both in alchool rather than reveal the pitiable fact. Now that he was prepared to speak, he was suddenly filled with hope. Perhaps a confession would solve everything. He had been withholding something that was essential to their understanding of each other. If he could open himself to her totally, as he had always believed in doing, love might flow from him once more. “You talk about my forgiving you,” he began. “I had. My mind found all the necessary excuses. I was a more eloquent advocate for you than you could ever be for yourself. There was one thing, though, that I should think you might’ve guessed. You made me impotent. I’ve always thought of our bodies as belonging so exclusively to each other that I stopped wanting yours when I knew somebody else had had it. I’m not impotent in a general way, just with you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been running after other girls, as you very well know. I’ve made the best of celibacy, waiting to get back to you. I’ve punished myself with drink in order to keep myself concentrated on you. It was self-defeating, of course, but I think something had begun to happen. There’ve been moments recently when I’ve felt the dam breaking. I’d hoped you might accept celibacy too.” He watched her face as he spoke. It had filled with a sort of grieving sympathy when he said the key word, but he had penetrated deeper now. He watched as her grieving seemed to turn in on herself. He had struck genuine regret. It was a clear admission of guilt, but it left him at his most vulnerable, filled with the old desire to protect her from hurt. He was drawn by her.
He started to his feet, but as he thought of taking her in his arms, the specter of her latest infidelity intervened. He would be imitating Pavlo on her body. He couldn’t bear it. He had failed to overcome the refusal in him. He would have to go on until everything had been said between them, no matter what the consequences. He slumped on the bed and dropped his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me?” Her dark voice trembled with a plea. “What do you expect me to do when you cut yourself off from me?”
“I guess a man’s pride in his sexual powers is pretty basic,” he said, offering it as an apology. “The guy who can’t get it up is a joke.”
“You couldn’t be a joke to me. If you’d told me, we could’ve done something. We’d have found a way around it.”
He sat up and stared at her incredulously. “If you think it’s as simple as that, why didn’t you? Do I have to make an announcement? Do you think I want to turn it into a project, you working over me, trying to recapture something that’s always been marvelous and spontaneous between us?” As he said it, his mind countered with another question: Why not? The surrender of pride was a small price to pay for restored happiness. Yet wasn’t pride intrinsic to their happiness? They were neither of them grovelers. “I’ve tried to find a way around too many things. It’s time to meet them head on, fight through them or be beaten in the attempt. That’s what I intend to do now.” He sprang up and took a turn around the room and stopped behind her. He didn’t want to watch her while she lied. She did it too well. He would like to retain some scrap of faith in her. “I’m afraid we can’t get around the afternoon Mike was here. Was it only day before yesterday? It seems longer. What did you do after we left you?”
/>
“Don’t loom behind me like that, darling. It’s not nice.”
“I’m not trying to be nice. I’m trying to get you to tell me the truth. It might be easier for you if you don’t have to face me. I want you to answer my question.”
“What question? He couldn’t know, she reminded herself as she realized that she wasn’t going to escape an interrogation. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “You mean about the other afternoon? You know perfectly well what I did.”
“Yes, I do, but I think it’s important for you to tell me.”
“I took a nap. I—this is absurd. What do you expect me to tell you?”
“The truth.”
Had somebody seen her? She mustn’t say anything he could catch her up on. “I—oh, of course. I remember now. I went for a walk.”
“On the hottest day of the century? That sounds pretty eccentric.”
“That’s why. I woke up in a pool of sweat. The house was an oven, so I went out.”
“Where did you go?”
“Really, darling. What are you trying to get at? Just around. Up toward the school. Nowhere.”
“You know perfectly well what I’m getting at. Why do you want to prolong the agony?”
So he did know something. She was glad he wasn’t looking at her. She could control her voice despite the erratic beating of her heart, but she didn’t know what was happening to her face. She was aware that she was gripping the arms of the chair with her hands. She shifted in her seat. Had she gone too far to backtrack? She had no choice. “Oh, I see,” she said with a little laugh, as if she had been caught in a naughty prank. “Somebody saw me going into Pavlo’s house, or coming out, whichever, and couldn’t wait to tell you. People really are extraordinary.”
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 103
