I preferred to not give him the lurid satisfaction of seeing the contents. It would tarnish them. I did not want his mug to see what I had made. It would have been like having to strip to my drawers.
I suppose a look around is out of the question.
That is the first sensible thing youve said.
I was innocent. I was falsely accused. I know I’ve been an asshole about many things, but to pervert the effort of my painting, to consider it an act of espionage, well, this disappointed me. It vexed me that something so symbolic of my resolve to be good was being considered evidence of my double life.
18
Fall turned to winter. I was furious and immobilized. I did not like going into town. When Emily came to help with the children I lost myself in my studio. Kathleen felt ill with the pregnancy. She did not feel sexual. Part of me did not mind this. I did not mind embracing the ascetic life. I wanted to focus on work. I wanted to train myself to defeat this suspicion of my motives. I felt it important not to back down. To back down was to admit that I was doing something wrong. Instead my pride rose up. I was reckless with pride. There is nothing worse than a proud stoic.
Then the snow came. Old Man Pomeroy in a red sleigh laughed, pulled by his little daughter, Grace. He had this laugh — on one hand it was nice, I wanted to support the laugh. But now the sounds of the harbour were aggravating me. To me it was a colonial laugh that I derided. I tried to turn it around, to make the laugh pure again, as I’m sure it was. It was the laugh of a man being pulled around in a red sleigh by a girl. I was corrupted, and a wave of resentment poured over the dike I had built. I walked into Brigus and bought a small can of red paint at Chafe’s. Bud Chafe served me, but he no longer joked with me. I was just money now. I walked back and took out one of my old brushes. I painted the chest and profile of an eagle on my studio door. It was a German eagle with a serious brow. Beneath this I wrote, in Gothic type, BOMB SHOP.
19
We spent the Christmas season alone. We had the children. We snowshoed and tobogganed and on Christmas day we visited the Bartletts. We were surprised that they were having a party. We’re going to blow the pudding out of the pot, Bartlett said. He took the shotgun to the door and fired it off when the figgy duff came out of the oven. George Browiny played chin music. He made up these words, and he hummed while the children danced in the inside room. My children dancing with the other children. Then a crowd of mummers came in, one riding a hobby horse. The snock of the cloth horse’s jaws — it had iron nails for teeth.
Come in, Bartlett said, and get yourself a plate of gear.
We had to guess the mummers, as the men were dressed in women’s clothes and the women wore bed sheets and gauze over their faces. They spoke by inhaling, aspirating their words. There was a tot of rum when they were all guessed — Marten Edwards and Carmel Lahey and Emily Edwards and Bud Chafe and Rose Foley. Bud Chafe had an accordion. Give us a fiddle, Bartlett said. And Bud Chafe started up the accordion and Rose Foley sang.
We ate and the children chased the cat and Eleanor told them not to cram it. There was a big feed of salt beef and cabbage and turnip and pease pudding. Then Bob Bartlett walked us home and came in for a drink. He laughed at my German eagle. You know, he said, where the name Brigus comes from?
I did not.
They say it’s from the French for brigues. Which means intrigue. Let me know if youre forming a cabal, I might join.
We had a drink as Kathleen put the children to bed. Youre as stubborn, he said, as a log.
I no longer feel welcome, I said, in town.
He took a drink. Queer taste, he said.
It’s Jagermeister. A fine German liquor sent as a Christmas joke by my good friend Gerald Thayer in New York.
I’ve met him.
Of course you have.
Your wife’s cousin.
I nodded and he drank it off.
It’s good not to marry too far, he said.
Yes, you should know who youre marrying. Their people.
Was the bottle tampered?
Opened, yes, by our good man the shipping agent.
I’ll have a stain more, he said. To George Browiny.
We drank it all. He stayed and we drank everything. Kathleen went to bed and then we followed. I woke up with Bob Bartlett in my bed. He was nuzzled into me. Kathleen on the other side. He was an elegant sleeper, a man used to close quarters. I got up and let them sleep together. I looked out at the new snow over Brigus. I walked down to the brook for water. On the way back I noticed, in front of the house, a slight white mound. Like beaten egg white. And then a cracking through of the white, of yellow fur on the black guard hairs like butterscotch, and a dog breaking out of the meringue to hunch and shake the snow off his shoulders. Tom’s three-legged dog.
Come here Smoky boy.
He bounded over gleefully, he hurled himself against my knees.
Abandoned, are you?
I went back inside and made coffee. Then I brought the coffee upstairs. The two of them, back to back. I liked it.
20
New Year’s Eve was our wedding anniversary, six years. And in the early new year I decided to write Jenny Starling. We were out of money. I thought that the money we’d given Jenny, to raise George, a portion could be returned. Now that he was dead. I wrote this letter. A month later I wrote again. I asked, more officially, that the money I had given towards our child’s support be sent to us. Jenny wrote back. She was agreeable to this, but her husband, Luis, was not. She was back with Luis Starling. As if he needed the money. So I got a Boston lawyer, and went there myself to attend the trial. This may sound a little mean, but we were broke and I felt Jenny wasnt hurting.
Luis Starling did not like me. In his eyes I had had an affair with his wife. They were estranged then but not divorced. They were off and on and I had come between them. For Luis, the money we’d given Jenny was compensation for his grief. And now, with the death of George, he felt astonished that I should be sniffing at the perimeter, looking for reimbursement.
I visited the grave of my son. I had never seen him. Kathleen had refused it — when he’s older, she said. When we have to introduce him to his other family. And perhaps that is part of the guilt Kathleen had about his death. The cemetery was pretty. Jenny had made a triangular headstone with a roof, so you could put a candle in there. Your grandfather, George, died of typhoid on a ship at sea. I was not much older than you. The captain telegraphed to ask permission to bury him. Your grandmother refused it. To be buried in water. If you must, cremate him. Return his ashes.
After the verdict, in my favour — a portion of the total — I visited Gerald in New York. It was two in the morning. I was flush with money.
I said this to Gerald as we walked to the bar: The weather is mild.
His eyes slid over, under his straw boater. He delivered a punch to the ribs.
Gerald: We’re not gonna start describing the weather, are we?
We had a drink in a bar called the Aloha Room. It was a favourite of Gerald’s, with red swag lamps, a peacock feather in a vase. We lifted a glass to my dead son. The candles were lit with a blowtorch and the paintings had unnecessary texture. As soon as we sat down the table next to us left.
Me: We clear rooms, you and I.
Gerald, eyeing the waitress: I can give her five dollars and she’ll —
Me: They’ll kick us out.
Gerald: The Aloha Room is not gonna tell you to leave. That’s a sunny joke. Works well outdoors, but not in a room.
Me: The alcohol room.
So what about Jenny?
We’ve discussed this.
We have?
At the Green Dolphin. She’s holding a riding crop and wearing a Roosevelt mask.
Gerald: It takes too much effort to say the word effortlessly.
Me: The word inexhaustible e
xhausts me.
Gerald: I avoid words that end in an apostrophe. That a word should be owned by a word to come. Have I said I’m at odds with nature? Annuals, for instance. Now that’s an aggressive stance towards civilization.
Me: I would count you, Gerald, amongst my allies if I ever waged a war on mediocrity.
Your letters make you sound like Saint Sebastian. But I dont see the arrow wounds.
The arrows didnt kill Sebastian. He was still alive, so they beat him up.
What kind of man would it take to beat up a saint with a chestful of arrows.
He wasnt a saint at the time of the beating.
A window behind us was open. I leaned over and closed it.
That’s something the younger generation doesnt have, Kent — that ability to do something.
Close a window?
Not only the ability but the gumption.
Youre too easily impressed, Gerald.
All we’re doing, Kent. Is assembling the dark and light. That woman of mine, she will divorce well.
Is that what they say of Alma?
That’s what I’m saying.
I got up to piss. There were pitchers full of lime and lemon wedges sitting in a sink of crushed ice. A coal heater glowing orange. When I returned, Gerald: How could you urinate and wash your hands so fast?
His hands locked, and then he looked into his hands. The palms. Where the fingers lock in that ladder of knuckles.
Gerald: My father’s book. Do you know theyre using it now?
Who’s using it.
Our beautiful war department.
Theyre going to make our boys look like animals?
They’ll have dark spots on top and light on the bottom.
Little fuzzy ears would be excellent camouflage.
My father is now — do you know where he is? He is in the West Indies. Abbott Thayer is looking for a flamingo. He wants to lie in a marsh at dusk and see if it disappears against the setting sun.
Your father is pretending he is an alligator.
He wants to go unnoticed.
Well, may he blend in. I certainly havent.
You dont get it. For him it’s all to do with blending in. But the flamingo, he’s trying to find a mate. It’s all about sex.
I stared hard at Gerald. Is that, I said, what the world boils down to? Camouflage and flare?
We raised our glasses to camouflage and flare.
Gerald: I got drunk so fast I’m gonna shit my bed tonight.
Me: Do you think we drink too much?
It’s not a problem, yet. And if we drank this beer all the time we wouldnt drink so much.
The beer you’ll end up sipping like scotch.
It’s not very good, but it’ll get you drunk.
Another round. But I could see that Gerald was losing it. He was concerned with his weight.
Me: If youre heavy stay heavy.
So you think consistency is the plan.
You shouldnt change your body, Gerald. If you put on weight then lose it then put it on again, that’s worse than maintaining the weight. That’s how you live a long life.
You live a long life, Gerald said, by achieving a poise.
And we drank to that.
That woman over there, he said. She’s got that baby fat and a want.
Youre married, Gerald.
He wheeled to me: Dont fuck with me, Kent, or I’ll put on more weight.
He said theyre close to separating. Alma’s alienation is on a deep level. Gerald: Am I building up the alienation, or is it as serious as all that.
Me: That’s a pretty damn unhappy thought.
I’ve had a lot of difficulty with the children, Kent. I think they came too soon. My work is so important and it takes up a lot of time.
You guys dont spend time well together.
I smoke cigarettes, one every other day.
We both looked at the woman. We were reminded of Jenny.
Me: Dont you love getting your asshole licked?
It’s nice. It’s been a while. But I’ll tell you what’s nicer, Kent. And that’s the spot between your asshole and the bag of your balls. To have a woman’s tongue lick you there. Lick you like a cat.
Me: The thing most people have trouble with is loving themselves.
No, it’s not, he said. It’s allowing love to move them. Accepting the risk.
He wanted to bicycle home. He wanted to steal a bicycle.
Me: Youre gonna perambulate.
That’s not a word you hear very often in here. You hear paramedic, but. Jesus, let’s get out of here.
As we passed the woman he said this: Your earrings remind me of the lamps in Barcelona.
On our way back to his house he said, I think I might have syphilis.
I looked at the gleam on his coat buttons.
The rim of my foreskin. It has a puckered-eyelid look to it. I can’t remember if it always looked like that.
Me: Do you want me to look at it.
I’d like you, yeah. Let’s dart in here.
I watched his hands unbuckle his pants. The weather was growing worse. He heaved out a generous cock.
Jesus that’s some bit of dangle.
Just look at the crown.
I think that’s the way it looks, but my God youre a horse.
He said his legs had got skinny since he’d stopped bicycling.
We walked back to Gerald’s as a snow began to blow. It quickly turned into a blizzard. In the cold of winter, Gerald said, the buildings in a city are like hardwood trees that have lost their leaves.
Then we were sunk into a heavy dark. We had gone blind.
The power grid, Gerald said. The power’s out. The whole damn city. Look at Brooklyn. Come on, let’s walk down to the Hudson.
We walked to the river and out onto a wooden pier where large ferries stood moored and lit up. We witnessed the snow melt into the dark water. I admire, Gerald said, these bright ships with their independent light.
Theyre like floating towns.
We appreciated these city-states, and Brooklyn joyfully lit in the distance, while at our back the cold buildings stood mouthless, black, perplexed.
I was thinking about Jesus, he said, and if he ever asked for help. And there is one time. He asks this woman for a glass of water.
Because he’s thirsty?
He’s parched. But with Jesus you have to watch it. Because he’s cunning. He’s always looking for moments to preach.
Yes he never really talks except with an ulterior motive.
Living water. He tells her about the living water.
When we got back to Gerald’s I took a bath. I bent my knees at the faucets and let my ears sink under the suds. The sizzle of suds. I listened for the subway. For the shunk of heavy steel shuttling through underground passages. It comforted me, that intelligent transportation. Then I crashed on his couch. In the morning I saw him on his bed. His shoes still on. Alma was not around. I made coffee. The children came downstairs and I made them eggs. When Gerald got up, it was like a shell of him. His eyes opening up, his lips a crease. Barely alive. He grabbed a tin of oatmeal. Keeps me regular, he said. Then brightened. It’s not a dump, it’s an event.
There was a note on the table. His eyes blinking back flashes of wet. He was holding the note.
I hate it when my wife asks mechanical engineers to go to California with her. Tell me, last night, were there white tablecloths?
What?
At the Aloha.
Yes Gerald.
That’s me, isnt it, five-star. I’m so fucking five-star.
21
The children went to school and we had lunch in the restau-rant we’d first met Jenny Starling in. You cannot love without hating, Gerald said. And hating hard. It ha
s to do with someone you love leaving you.
He was thinking of Alma. I wondered who was leaving me. My father had left. And since then I had done the leaving. Everything that had happened to me was because of my choosing. And now this rebellion in Brigus. It was beyond my control, and it made me resentful.
I had a rosebud from my mother’s greenhouse. To bring back to Kathleen, I said. My mother had picked it. She pulverized the stem to allow it to preserve better. To retain water. She loved Kathleen.
I told this to Gerald and he said, I can’t understand the lack of repercussions youre facing. You seem to be getting away with it.
With what, I said.
With willing your life and hang the consequences.
I told him, then, of how it had come to be that I was considered a German spy. It all began, I said, with my attempt to blame the wrong man for the seal hunt. Then there’s been suspicion about the coal I bought. They seriously think that I have tools to make a bomb. That I’m supplying a German submarine. That I’m painting war maps. That I have money.
I said, But why do repercussions have to be negative? Why can’t I enjoy the positive fallout.
Pause.
You know, Gerald said. And you havent been at all deceitful. I think that’s an interesting point.
The one thing I havent mentioned, I said, is a woman.
He liked to hear this.
I said her name. Emily.
Yes, I know her, Gerald said. It was as if it didnt interest him. She loves your work.
You dont know her.
I know the type. Yeah. And I can tell from your eyes that youve slept with her.
I have not slept with her.
He laughed at me. I hated this laugh. His laugh knew that I was trying to be a greater man than I was. His laugh said, You will sleep with her.
Our job, Gerald said, is to marry our selfishness with our goodness. Poise. You hurt people, Kent, you betray them. Not because you want to, but because of an abundance of desire.
Which is another word for joy. How can that be wrong?
You have curiosity.
The Big Why Page 23
