by Alan Cumyn
“No, no,” she said. “Don’t tell me now. You haven’t time. We need to do it right. I’ll do the shopping, all right? But you need to –”
“The shopping?”
“Well, you don’t have your own things, do you?”
“No. No,” he said quickly. “No, of course not.”
“I’ll get some things together. But you have to do something too. Can you?”
“Yes! What?” He was nearly bursting.
“You have to shave, of course!” she said excitedly. His hand went instinctively to his face but she smiled, so sweetly. “Not just there!” she said, and kissed him again, playfully. “Everywhere. We’re going to make a stunning lady out of you. It’s what you want, yes?”
He could hardly speak. His heart was hammering. “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve wanted …,” he breathed.
“And I want you naked in your skin. For me. Will you? For after class on Monday? Will you? I’ll do everything else!”
“Yes!” he said suddenly, excitedly. “Oh God. Yes!” It was too much, too much to ever hope for.
“Go. Go!” she said, turning, grabbing his suitcase for him. He was muddled, could hardly think where to put his feet to step in the right direction.
“Bob. Wait!”
“Huh?” He turned back, took hold of the handle of his suitcase.
“You’re sticking out!” And she laughed, oh it was glorious, she laughed and tucked him back in, gingerly, it was hard to make him fit. Carefully pulled up his zipper. They kissed again and it was like nothing else.
“Go!” she said, and pushed him towards the door.
17
For the last twenty minutes Julia had let her mother worry the stairs. She would start up muttering to herself, get about halfway, then look around in bewilderment. Sometimes she would come down again and sometimes she’d continue up a few more steps before pausing once more. It was well past Matthew’s bedtime but he wasn’t going down, not with his Gamma like this. He stayed at the bottom of the stairs calling to her until she turned around, then he’d laugh and hide his eyes. But she didn’t seem to recognize him. Before reaching the top she’d start back down saying, “Bloody rot!” or, sometimes, “Why on earth would they ever, ever, ever?”
It was exhausting, nerve-straining to watch, to not say anything. When is she going to fall? Julia wondered. She imagined it over and over, the terrible thud, thud, then her mother smashing onto tiny Matthew.
Yet, on the other hand, Julia thought, her mother was pretty good with stairs and may simply have entered into a harmless loop that kept both her and Matthew if not happy then at least occupied. Once she interfered her mother would just get onto something else. So Julia held off as long as she could. Finally, when she couldn’t stand it any more, she said, “A drink, Mom? A martini?”
“Oh! A drink!” Sudden delight.
The door opened then and Bob walked in, dragging his suitcase. Julia stood stunned in the kitchen.
“Hello! I’m home!” he announced, and for a moment she was paralysed by two simultaneous thoughts: he takes up so much room, and, I’ve lost an entire day. He looked at her expectantly, then in disappointment, puzzlement. “Is everything all right?” he asked, struggling out of his coat, banging the narrow shelf in the hall but not knocking it down like he sometimes did. “I came home early. It just didn’t seem right to stay away when …”
“What day is it?” Julia blurted.
“Saturday,” he said. “Of course.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said and she started crying. It was silly, but the wave broke and there she was, sobbing into a dishtowel.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Bob enveloped her in a hug.
“Who are you?” her mother asked halfway up the stairs. “Where’s my drink?” Matthew ran to Julia and grasped her leg and told her not to cry.
“I’m all right,” Julia sobbed. “I’m all right. It’s so good to see you,” she said to Bob and pulled him close, kissed him hungrily. “And I’m not going crazy,” she said later, quietly, when they came up for air.
Julia closed the den door slowly, crept away, breathed easier when she got back into the living room. Bob had lit a dozen candles, was sitting on the sofa in the shadows with a glass of wine.
“She’s down. I think she’s exhausted,” Julia said, and curled up beside him, fit like a cat beneath his arm, head on his warm chest.
“Do you think she’s going to sleep?” he asked. He started kissing her hair. His hand fell naturally to her breast, which was so tender from all the feeding. He was very gentle.
“She just zonked out. But she’s been so agitated, poor thing. You should have seen her in the car. I got her to sleep. I do this whole routine, something she used to do with me …”
He started kissing her again, she had to stop what she was saying. He’d just lifted her until her mouth was against his and it was like falling into an oiled bath, her whole body felt turned to lotion inside and out.
“You missed me,” she whispered. He’d been drinking on the plane, the Scotch was on his breath, but she could smell a slight perfume on his skin – the hotel soap, it made him seem different.
“Oh,” he said, and grabbed her too hard, pulled her body right against his middle. “Did I ever.”
Afterwards he would tell her all about the conference, who was there, who wasn’t, who said what, who argued with whom. Not now, but when they were lying puddled in bed, satiated, bloated with after-happiness – a strange word; she’d read it somewhere, couldn’t remember where. After-happiness. When they were lying hot and still, snuggled yet separate, he’d start to talk, to tell her everything, all the stories. Where he went for dinner. Who’s sleeping with whom. Whose book got trashed, who got a big grant. All of it. He was always this way when he got home, wound up, flushed with the energy of the conference. Any other time he’d just fall asleep like most men.
“Slow down,” she whispered. He was going so fast. He seemed delirious with need. Not this time, she thought. Not so fast. Let me be the one delirious with want.
And she was, she’d been half-mad with anticipation all through feeding and cleaning and getting Matthew down, then dealing with her mother, steering her into her nightclothes, washing up, putting her to bed in the guest room off the den. Holding her, tickling, singing to her till her eyes closed in peace and exhaustion.
“Christ, I am in need,” he said. He’d negotiated several of her key buttons already.
“No – upstairs,” she said. He stood and lifted her in one motion. His hands on her buttocks, she wrapped her legs around his waist and they kissed deeply again. She closed her eyes, just wanted to be carried like this forever.
“Excuse me!” her mother said then, her voice like cracking glass. “But I don’t think you should be doing that in church!”
“Lenore!” Bob said, and Julia twisted around, slid off her husband, frantically adjusted her clothes.
“It’s bedtime,” Julia said patiently, and stepped towards her. “Why don’t I just help you back to your room?” She turned back to Bob and whispered, “Could you blow out these candles and wait for me upstairs?”
“Here we are,” she said when they were back in the guest room. “You must be exhausted. Here’s your new bed. It’s a lot nicer than the room you had last night, isn’t it?”
“I hate this room,” her mother muttered.
“Let me tuck you in.”
She climbed docilely into bed, turned her cheek to let Julia kiss her, then put her head on the pillow. “It was an awful birth,” she said. “Just awful.”
“Shhhh. It’s all right.”
“They pulled the baby out with a rope!” She sat up suddenly, looked around in agitation.
“No, no. Just be calm, please,” Julia said. “For tonight, please.”
Her mother looked puzzled for a moment, then it was as if she’d decided something, and nodded her head sleepily. Julia started in with the walk through the woods, the cleari
ng, the soft grass, the big willow tree in the distance. Her mother eased noticeably, then shot out of bed with surprising speed and power. “I won’t sleep here!” she said, taking three or four quick paces towards the door.
“It’s all right, calm down!” Julia rose, tried to keep the frustration from her voice. “Everything’s fine. It’s time to sleep. You’ll feel better.”
“There are snakes in there.” She was headed out of the room.
“No, no, Mom, there are no snakes.” Julia said. But her mother was pounding up the stairs now, stiff-legged and much louder than before. “Shhh! Don’t wake Matthew. Please, come down here. Please.”
Her mother kept going and Julia followed, not knowing whether to grab her. She seemed so tense she might try to fight back, so Julia held off. Her mother walked straight into Matthew’s room, snapped on the light. Julia turned it off again immediately. Matthew’s face remained unperturbed, serene in slumber.
Her mother made the little snorting noise again, marched out of Matthew’s room, and then into the master bedroom. Bob was sitting up in bed in his black silk robe; he’d lighted candles on the window sill, dresser, and bookcase.
“My God!” her mother said, and stopped short, stared at him. “He’s going to burn the church down!”
“Lenore, it’s just me,” Bob said.
“Well, Just-me! I’m Cleopatra!” Then she turned on her heel and walked past Julia out of the bedroom.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Julia said to Bob. He looked grim, didn’t smile at her reassuringly or tell her it was all right.
Tramp tramp tramp. Down the stairs again, Julia following briskly. “Would you like a drink, Mom?” she asked.
“It’s about time.”
“A martini? Would that do it?”
“That would be a wonderful start. Don’t give any to the minister.”
“I won’t. You sit here, all right?” Julia pulled out a kitchen stool for her. “I’ll just be a few seconds.” She grabbed a martini glass and some ice and soda, walked to the cabinet in the dining room, came back with the bottle of gin. Her mother was already up and wandering again.
“Wait!” Julia said. “I’m just pouring it. Come back!” She tipped a double shot of gin, added a whisper of soda, nearly spilled the glass hurrying off with it. Her mother was fiddling with the front-door handle.
“It’s been splendid, simply wonderful,” she said, turning the knob and pulling, turning and pulling. “I don’t have the code.”
“Here’s your martini.” But her mother didn’t take it, she was intent on opening the door. “Don’t you want your martini?” Julia asked.
“No, thank you,” she said politely, and nodded her head.
“I’ve never known you to turn down a martini.”
“You’re very kind. But I really must be going.”
“Where are you going?”
She didn’t answer, just repeatedly turned the knob while Julia stood behind her, holding the glass and watching.
“Why don’t you come stay with us for a little while?” Julia asked finally. “I have your room all made up. It’s late. We can sit for a moment and have a drink and then go to bed.”
“Oh, dear,” her mother said with a sigh, and her hand dropped from the knob in apparent resignation.
“It’s time for a drink, then bed,” Julia said. Gingerly she steered her mother back to the bedroom, sat beside her on the bed, handed over the drink. Her mother took it brightly, closed her eyes in pure pleasure with the first sip.
“It’s been such a nice visit, dear,” she said, took another sip, then leaned over and kissed her daughter. “I am so looking forward to Bermuda.”
“Are you?”
“Lovely. Just lovely,” she murmured, and sipped again, moved her head slowly from side to side as if in a trance. “You know we went to Bermuda on our honeymoon.”
“I thought you went fishing in Quebec.”
“It was gorgeous, the sky was just like tonight. Black!” She tittered at her joke. “Trevor was terribly nervous, you know. I can tell you, Mary, you’re all right, you know about these things. Don’t tell anyone else.”
“I’m Julia. I’m your daughter.”
“He’d never done it before, you know. Never. Well, except with some cousin, once, by the lake, apparently. And with the minister.”
“The minister?”
Her mother smiled suddenly, her face full of mischief. “Did I say minister?” she laughed.
“That’s exactly what you said.”
“Well, I didn’t mean the minister. I don’t know what I meant. What did I mean?”
“You said Dad slept with his cousin and some other one.”
“Oh, not Daddy!” her mother laughed. “Trevor! Daddy slept with maids and maidens.”
“Did he?”
“Oh yes, everybody knew! He couldn’t help himself!”
“Isn’t that interesting. But, Mom, finish your drink, will you? I have somebody waiting.”
“You do?” her mother said, and took a stiff swallow.
Julia whispered in her ear. “Can you keep a secret?” Her mother nodded. So Julia said, “The minister. He’s upstairs!” And they both laughed uproariously; it seemed like the funniest thing ever.
“The minister!” her mother said, and spilled some of her drink on the rug.
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Julia said, and took the empty glass from her, eased her into bed. “I’m going to lie down with you, just for tonight, to help you get used to things. You go to sleep, I’ll be right here.”
“What about the minister?” her mother asked, giggling, and Julia said, “Don’t worry, he’ll wait for me!” She turned out the light, kept a reassuring hand on her mother’s shoulder, then climbed in beside her and held her frail body. It didn’t seem like her mother, not like this, in the dark and quiet, this tired, drooping sack of flesh.
“What does the minister like to do?” her mother asked, chortling. “Does he prefer the missionary position?”
“Enough! Please!” Julia said, and hugged her, tried not to laugh too loud. “Go to sleep.” She feathered her fingertips down her mother’s arm and the palm of her hand, spent time on her neck and cheeks, felt the old body relax, her breathing deepen.
“Trevor was always a gentleman when I had my period,” her mother said dreamily.
Back up the stairs. Slowly, quietly. It wasn’t that late. Not yet. Just before midnight. Julia was tired but still tingling. The third stair from the top had a terrible squeak; she stepped over it, slid past Matthew’s room without even a breath’s noise. The bedroom door creaked and she froze half a minute, but the baby remained asleep, there was no sound from downstairs. She walked in.
The candles were low but still burning. Bob was asleep on his side. He looked so peaceful, but she could always wake him for loving. She shed her clothes quickly. It was cool. She stepped into bed naked, snuggled him from behind.
“Hey,” she murmured. “My mother thinks you’re a minister.”
“Uh?” he said sleepily, and then he said, “Oh, Sienna,” and rolled on top of her, had her legs spread in an instant and was hard inside her.
“Oh, who?” she asked.
“Oceana,” he said quickly, his eyes bugging out. “Oh God!” he said. “It was the lost city. I was right there in a dream. There were mermaids everywhere.”
“Oceana isn’t a lost city,” Julia said. “You’re thinking of Atlantis. And those mermaids must’ve been hot, mister.”
“You are hot. My God, are you hot,” he said, and started to thrust, was over-excited in a minute and had to slow down.
“Shhhh. Shhh,” she said, stroking him. “Slowly. Gear down.” And he did, he breathed out, kissed her deeply, stayed wonderfully still while she rocked and slid beneath him.
“Mama,” Matthew said, a whisper in the night.
“Shhhh!” Julia said and froze.
“Oh no,” Bob moaned.
It was utterly sile
nt. She counted to thirty, breathed, counted to thirty again. Bob was shrinking inside her, it felt so lonely all of a sudden. She tried squeezing with her vaginal muscles, but that seemed to hasten the decline, turned him into a soggy noodle. He pulled out, rolled over with a terrible sigh.
“He’s asleep,” she whispered. “He was just dreaming.” Bob’s back was to her now; he was curled up and his hands were covering his head as if he were expecting bombs to fall. “Hey,” she said, and felt his nipples through the silk of his robe. Both at the same time; he couldn’t resist that. He tried to pretend he was almost back asleep, but she persisted and then he was on top of her again, resurrected.
“Could you get a condom, please?” she asked. He leaned way over to the bedside table, pulled open the drawer. She could hear the rustling of the package as he tore at it, watched while he unrolled the rubber onto his penis. But he was already flagging. In seconds, it seemed, he was limp and small again.
She sat up and kissed him, rocked him, started to feel for his nipples once more.
“Mama!” Matthew said, with intent this time, there was no mistaking it.
“Damn it,” Julia muttered. Bob ripped off the slippery condom, threw it bitterly onto the floor in the darkness.
Matthew started to cry. “Mama!” he said. “Mama!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bob groaned, and rolled over stiffly, taking most of the blankets.
18
“Donnnn–ny.” His mother’s voice came down the stairs weak and tremulous, and yet thorny as a scrabby old bush growing out of garbage and gravel. Donny immediately lost his sung state of peaceful awareness, though his shoulders remained soft for now, his breathing deep and full, his arms rounded protectively in front of him.
“Did you get the coupons, dear?”
His tongue remained lightly touching the roof of his mouth just behind the teeth. His fingers were spread, but not rigid, in the “beautiful lady hands” posture, the thumbs and forefingers slightly stretched, the other fingers relatively more relaxed. His spine was straight, shoulders rounded, his pelvis tilted slightly, his knees bent, toes lightly curled. His eyes were open to the fullness of the cosmos, but not focused on anything in particular.
