Cocktails, Caviar and Diapers

by Duke, Renee

  “1941. No women all over the place then, they couldn’t even walk in the front door of the club.”

  Don’t know if I like that, he seems a bit anti-female. But then, things have changed a lot, what with the Navy guys here and women getting their degrees from Harvard[2]. I must say, I’ve had fun here, conventional women’s colleges are a bore. Vassar girls and their Daisy Chain[3]. Dull.

  “Do you think the Clubs will go back to the way they were? I’ve had such fun there with my friends in the R.O.T.C.” Goodness, I’ve done it again. Why do I always say the wrong thing? How he must hate the ones who stayed here while he was in the war with bombs dropping around him and people getting killed.

  “I hope so!”

  Now I have to find a new subject. I think it would be easier for me if I had a martini. They make me feel sick but better than sitting here like a bump on a log, with nothing to say.

  “Let’s have a drink.”

  “Great idea!” he says. “The red bucket is over there. I’ll get us both a drink. You know, I’m supposed to have a blind date with a girl here but I’d rather go out with you. Why not skip the drink and leave?”

  “Who’s the girl?” Gee he really wants me to go out with him. I hope the girl isn’t competition.

  “Andrée Magnus. Do you know her?”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, that’s me! Then you must be Evans Smokestone.”

  “That’s great. They’ve been trying to get us together for days! Won’t they be surprised! Let’s go!”

  “Go where?”

  “To my room.”

  “No, sorry.”

  I know that one. To see my etchings. I haven’t gone to bed with anyone, ever. All the guys think I have because I go out so much. I must look loose. It was a mistake to buy the transparent plastic shoes and the turquoise suit in Filenes’s basement as a joke and wear them to class. I should have known better. We all thought it so funny.

  He’s just another Harvard man who wants some tail. Too bad. If we go to bed, we get married. I’m tired of making a big effort for all these creeps.

  “Well, that’s okay. Let’s go have some lobster in Boston at Durgin Park. I was going to say, we’ll pick up the keys to my roommate’s car in the room.”

  He got out of that nicely. He still looks more interested in bed. This one’s a risk, he’s too handsome and we look well together. I’d better sober up and let him get plastered. All the men in his Club drink like fishes, so he probably does too.

  “Great!” I can say that again. “No one I know has a car yet. I get a bit tired of a bicycle, particularly when it’s wet.”

  Somehow, I feel I will marry this man. Right now, before I plunge, I must see him and hear him as he is, for he may be wrong for me ... oh, why bother? We’re all at the same college. He looks well dressed and seems to be from a nice family. He says the right things, likes France. My friends like him. We make a wonderful couple. It looks like he really likes me, too. He pays attention to me. He’s not always looking all over the room, like Barney. Wouldn’t they all be surprised if I suddenly got engaged? I’m tired of thinking about having dates and being entertaining. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be myself, with my mask off, someone to whom I can say what I think. Yes, whether he knows it or not, I will marry him.

  ***

  That’s what I did. I decided to marry him.

  How could I have done such a thing to myself? Maybe he really loves me and I’ll never know. I made him up in my head. Did he make me up in his head? I created a man instead of listening.

  Oh, my head goes around and around. I feel like a prisoner, I can hardly see these people around me. What have I done to myself? How can I ever get out of the mess?

  “Andrée, stop dreaming, do you hear me? Here’s the boat and our captain. I will talk to him and make sure of the arrangements to get to the coral reef.”

  “Yes, of course, Evans. Where shall we all sit?”

  It seems odd that Evans treats me like an idiot child. I have done so much and thought so much but he never seems to hear me. There seem to be big cotton clouds around me. When I write an article for my paper or interview a labor boss about Operation Bootstrap[4], he makes me feel it’s dangerous and wrong.

  Time will pass. Someday I will be old. Then I’ll be free to be with him or not. Then I will know who I am and why I am here.

  “Evans, wouldn’t Jock have loved it here! Maybe we can bring him another time. He loves ships and this is such a simple ship.” Actually, this ship is down to basic. The sail looks as if the Captain just took it off his bed.

  The old Captain certainly looks amazing enough. A pirate with a sunburned, wrinkled face and a toothless smile– I wonder if he knows what he is doing?

  “Evans, do you think he is a real Captain? I want us to get back in one piece to our little boys.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrée. He’s had the boat for years. We can put ourselves in his hands completely.”

  I am not so sure but I have no intention to be food for sharks. There’s been no horoscope or gypsy fortune teller that has predicted an early end for me. I’ll watch this Captain and see how he manages the boat and make escape plans as my grandfather trained me. If I can steel myself to be brave now, when I need to be brave, it will come easily.

  Evans and Pauline are hanging over the side of the scow, looking over the choppy water. What a long distance to the reefs. “Eric, have you been here before?”

  “Yes, on a calmer day we spent hours snorkeling. I know you’ll love it, Andrée, although the wind is coming up.”

  “Do the fish come up and attack you when you’re under water?”

  “The small barracuda are very curious and will snap, snap, snap by the side of your face mask but they can’t hurt you.” He goes snap, snap with his teeth barred right next to my face. Ugh.

  “Why can’t they hurt? If they give one little bite, then others will follow the blood and there I’ll be, alone in the water with the sharks.”

  “No, no, those are stories you have heard.”

  “Well, I’ve heard plenty; the man in San Juan with no leg, where the shark ate it. The armless man in Santurce–the barracuda got infuriated by the fish hanging on his diver’s belt–there are more, I’m sure. No thanks, no snorkeling for me!” I laugh self-consciously. Judging by the white lines around Evans’ mouth, I must be making a fool of myself. Well, it’s my life.

  “Andrée, don’t be childish. Such fears are ridiculous. You will snorkel.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Suit yourself. I shall be snorkeling with Pauline.”

  The reef shore is finally coming closer. Apparently the old pirate will lower us away in the dinghy and sit here, boozing it up. Look at the amount of beer! I wish I liked to drink more.

  I start to feel this whole expedition is a mistake and wish I were home. Thinking of the children, I wonder what Edna, the nanny, is doing with them. She does the strangest things sometimes.

  “Andrée, stop your dreaming and get into the dinghy.”

  “I wasn’t really. I was wondering about the children.”

  “Well they are too far away for us to do anything about it. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Get into the dinghy and I’ll hand you the things.”

  The water is choppy and this is the saddest excuse for a dinghy that I have ever seen. My lack of bravery is an enormous disadvantage.

  Evans and Pauline are certainly cozy but he’s like that with all new women. He gives them concentrated attention and shuts me out. I wish he’d be nicer to me in public but I do behave like a sap.

  We sit in the dinghy while Evans and Eric ably pull the oars.

  Oh, what the hell. The reef looks enchanting! I can hardly wait to explore it. It will be good to come home tanned and full of sea water. This isn’t such a bad idea. I’ve been stuck close to the babies for too long.

  The water is cold and deep and there are fishes all around but I’m not that timid. Life has become very frightening but I c
an see that I’m creating the terror myself.

  We splash to shore from the dinghy, unloading picnic baskets and thermos bottles and the plaid rug. The palm trees wave. I hear the island has been bought for a hotel and soon it won’t be a wild place.

  “Pauline, would you mind if I took a walk across the reef? I’ve never seen an island like this, a real desert island.”

  “Of course not.” She looks at me with new respect. I can see that I’m considered a sissy. “Take your sunhat, this tropical sun will cook you, even in the winter. Would you like a drink first?”

  “Thanks, no. I’m afraid I’ll frizzle my brains with good Jamaican rum, even with a hat!” It’s bad enough to have to drink but to drink when you’re doing something interesting seems a waste. “It’ll be fun to drink and eat when you all come in from snorkeling.”

  For some reason, I’d rather be alone. Perhaps I can find my younger self, when I would spend hours exploring the marshes at the beach, pretending to spy on convicts that had escaped from Devil’s Island. Evan’s thoughts bruise mine. He’s better off swimming.

  “Watch out for sea urchins, Andrée, remember how the spines sting.”

  Loving solicitude. He breathes so close to me. The hair on his chest waves slightly in the breeze. Strange I can never remember his face. So good looking. Trim. Predatory. I’m being shoved away, he’s taking good care of Pauline. For an older woman of thirty–five, she’s good looking. I have nothing to worry about. Eric is jealous enough for two. He treats her like property. Oh, I’m tired of people and thinking.

  The white sand blazes under the sun, the water glints in my eyes. Under my hat, I have my private world. On the beach when I was little, I would lie close to the sand. I’d smell its wetness and run the grains through my hands until they turned into rubies and diamonds and emeralds. I’d gloat over my treasure. This beach is made a different way. If I breathe and move with it I may find more treasure. Perhaps I could turn into a sea gull and fly away.

  I wade through the still water like a silent Indian, stepping around the spines of urchins and frightening schools of tiny fish, transparent flicks of light. My giant hand reaches down to part the water to look at coral plants. Pale green glass, it ripples around the bellows of the plant and makes small eddies and spirals as it moves. The living soft plant pulses with the sea.

  Some branches are white, others pink and they harbor small sea creatures, hiding from the beaks of predator birds. The little shells have arbitrary markings of brown, red and cream stripes. Larger shell creatures are mottled in pink, a good camouflage. A spray of sea urchins surround one side of the coral plant like an exclamation point. The coral lives, lifts and breathes in the water. Dying, it makes the coral rock and a new base. The coral grows and dies and the rock powders to pink and white sand. Over the centuries it has built the reef I’m standing on.

  I’ll move on, my feet huge and magnified as I look down at them. Giant drops of volcanic rock blackly protect the coral plants from the rough movement of the ocean. It tears at my groping hands and bare feet. My feet wince as they climb over a large rock and now I’m free on a ledge of soft coral and waving sea grasses.

  There! With no warning the raging ocean beats against the grey brown rock in giant sprays and fountains. It talks in clatters as it swirls among the small stones. The wind is always blowing on this side even when the palm trees on the other side of the island are still. Blue, green and white stand out against a sky filled with mounting white clouds flecked with grey.

  Here’s a sudden rush of water from an underground river! I could ride it. With no thought I belly flop into the current, riding it past the massed sea urchins and volcanic rock. The spines of the sea urchins threaten my bubbling sea monster body with it’s silly hat. I steer past. The rocks loom black but I can play with them.

  My fears erase as I become part of the sea. The hat floats away. I am a sea animal, those monsters out there in their world and I in mine. Life seems more real. I bore through waters of fear and come out the other side. The sky is all around me. Like a dolphin I roll over on my back. I am free.

  Back to the hot, waiting beach. Heavy sand pulls at my sea feet. The red plaid thermos bottle lurches in its sand mooring. My civilization. Now, how is it that I was so content and alive a few minutes ago?

  Am I too wild for these people? Have I got it wrong? Are the others the ones who are afraid? What do I do when a bubbling and churning of rebellious thoughts rise in my head like a volcano about to burst? I clamp them down. Instead of making a statement, contesting a thought I agree with a statement that seems wrong to me, like a sweet and shy convent girl. Do they feel the same way? Perhaps they don’t feel at all. How do you find out if no one will say? I must learn to look at people and feel them the same way I have just looked at the sea.

  All right, Earth! I will hang on to you and find life through you like a Scarlett O’Hara. Life is what counts. Until I know it and understand it, one husband would be like another, one friend like another. It’s inside me.

  Life. I missed the clues.

  Well, me, it looks as though my life has changed from that moment on the reef. Asinine, I was asinine this morning. I’ll probably be an ass again but never so dead.

  Like a sea plant I can breathe and bend with life in me and going through me. I’ll protect those near me who need protecting, create more life and in the end make a base from which others can spring. Nature, alive! I felt my feet on the sand and rocks. The clouds roil up above me, the wind blows and the sky breathes. From shallow plans and a broken up, ticketed point of view, I can branch out and make my life joyful, because it is.

  Such things can’t be said. I’ll write them to myself and stretch my mind by listening to others. I’ll read philosophy and sing songs to the children.

  Here comes Eric.

  “Hi!” I say, “Did you have a good time?” He looks as startled as if I had suddenly taken off my clothes. “Isn’t this a lovely day? I’ve had a marvelous time exploring.”

  I run to him in the water and on impulse pick up a handful of water. It rains down like silver coins and for a moment I forget what I was saying. He stands, still surprised, in the shallows.

  “May I borrow your mask?” I laugh at his surprise. He fits the mask on my face. The snorkel itself is too much, even in my enthusiasm. The water sloshes in and I feel briefly claustrophobic. He shows me how to fix it and I sink into the deeper water with a great gulp of air.

  Incredible, this dark and silent world! The fishes look enormous and I jump up and look at them from the air, where they look properly small and not so frightening. I plunge in again and feel my hair waving behind me like silk.

  Everything is magnified. Even the deeper reaches of the bay look like some vast secret cave in the ocean. I come up for breath and see that my natural element is the sun and air.

  Kicking back to Eric, I pretend to be a flat bottomed boat in glass and peer at the sand as I pass over it.

  “Here is your mask, Eric. It’s very beautiful but not for me.” Why, it’s quite easy to talk as I think. “Let’s go back to the beach and have our sandwiches. It looks like a squall coming up on the horizon and our captain doesn’t look too brave! “ I laugh and Eric smiles.

  Pauline and Evans rise up from the sea like gods, splashing shining drops from them. People are magnified when they are part of the water. That dark world, mysterious and airless, must be what Evans wants to understand. Can I understand him? I see now that I have a great deal to learn. It may not be possible for us to make it together.

  “Hello, you two! Let’s try the incredible Jamaican rum punch!” It tastes good and bubbles of laughter rise in giggles. No one will know that it has nothing to do with the alcohol but suddenly stepping out of some role I was playing and beginning to live again.

  “Saludo!”

  “Pesetas!” Pauline chimes in on the old Spanish toast. “And tiempo para gastarlas!” Eric and Evans clank plastic cups.

  The sun beats on
our heads and the water dances in the wind. Right! Let’s have health and wealth and time to spend it, waste it, use it!

  ***

  `”I wrote a story today, Evans. Tell me if you like it.”

  “Beach Scene”

  The sand burns his feet and the boy jumps and runs to the edge of the water. A sandpiper runs with him and then backwards, peeping. The boy copies him, teasing the waves, running back through dead foam. He shouts with the joy of wave hide and seek, the sun pulling his shadow back and forth.

  Suddenly bored, he drops to the hard, wet sand to dig a hole. Water seeps in and erases it as fast as he digs. To himself, he smells his hot skin and the smell of the water and he feels big under the sun. To his mother, sitting a few feet away, he is a brown baby; proud shoulders, long in the waist, baby square feet and a round four year old face.