A Ship Made of Paper

by Scott Spencer

  Later that night, Daniel waits downstairs before going to bed, poking at the logs in the fireplace and hoping that Kate will have fallen asleep before he ar-rives in their bedroom.He extinguishes his candle when he is halfway up the stairs;all he can see in the darkness is the beady red lights ofthe battery-powered smoke detectors.He feels his way along the wall, down the hallway, and as quietly as possible into the bedroom.He takes his shoes offand gets into bed in his clothes—a pair ofcorduroy pants, beneath which he wears long underwear, two shirts, and a sweater, all ofwhich he must wear for warmth, but which he also hopes will quarantine whatever evidence his body wants to give oflast night’s frenzies.He is operating on three hours of sleep, which he doesn’t fully realize until he quietly slides into bed and an overpowering sense ofexhaustion comes over him in slow, relentless waves.

  And Kate is not asleep.She rolls next to him and drapes her leg overhis.

  “What were you doing down there?”she asks.

  ”Hitting a log with the fireplace poker.”

  “Oh, you man, you.”

  “That’s me in a nutshell,”he says.She presses herselfagainst his hip, and he feels panic rising in him.Because it would seem strange and pos-sibly even brutal not to, he puts his arm around her, though the very act makes him feel compromised, and even jealous—ifhe is capable ofcom-mitting these little endearments, then Iris could surely be doing like-wise.At this very moment.

  “Do you really think I shouldn’t call the police about those runaways being here last night?”Kate says.

  “I don’t know.There’s not much they can do about it right now.”He really doesn’t want to talk, and he also senses that somewhere within this particular line ofinquiry there lies trouble.

  “You’re a tiny bit on their side, aren’t you?”Kate says softly, as ifit were possible to lure him into believing she is not furious at the idea.

  “Ofcourse not.I hate that that happened.It was obviously terrifying.

  It terrifies me to even hear about it.”

  “Then what are you saying?That I should stop talking about it?”

  “Kate.Ofcourse not.”

  “But it is.That’s what you’re saying, that I should stop talking about it.”

  “Well, it’s not what I meant to say.”

  “But it’s what you said.”

  “Kate, I don’t know what to tell you here.You’re doing the subtext?”

  “Yes, I’m doing the fucking subtext.”

  “Ah, thefuckingsubtext.”Shut up shut up,he tells himself.But exhaustion, the bourbon, and acute sexual claustrophobia are having their way with him.He forces his eyes open.For a second he feels he might fall asleep—right in the middle ofan argument.

  “What?”

  He tries to scramble back into the conversation, desperately.“If you want to call the police, call them,”he says.“Or I will.I’ll call DerekPabst.”

  “Derek Pabst is an idiot.”

  “Then I’ll call someone else.I’ll call the attorney general.”

  “It’s a big joke to you.”

  “No.It’s not.I don’t know what you want.”

  “I want you to care about what happened to me.”

  He wants to say that nothing really happened to her, but he manages to control himself.She continues with such vehemence, he may as well have said it.

  “It’s because they’re black, isn’t it?”she says.“You feel protective toward them.Like they’re the victims, and the people who try to keep them under control are the bad guys.”

  “That’s not what I think.”He digs his elbows into the mattress to raise himself, but he doesn’t have the strength.

  “You’re going to turn into one ofthose ridiculous white guys who secretly think they’re black,”Kate says.“Where’s this coming from any-how?You want to tell me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.I don’t think I’m black.”

  “But you wish you were.”

  “What I wish I was is asleep.”

  “It’s like the Simpson case.When did you start believing that fucking O.J.is innocent?”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “Really? Do you think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t know! How could I know? I don’t have all the facts.And the trial’s still ongoing.”

  “The trial’s still ongoing?The man butchered his wife, a poor girl who told her friends,‘Ifanything happens to me, O.J.did it.’Every rea-sonable person inAmerica knows he’s guilty, including his own lawyers, and all you can say is‘the trial’s still ongoing.’”These last words are delivered in that mocking rendition ofthe male voice that women do—the voice ofsomeone who’s just had a cinder block dropped on his head.

  Is that what I sound like to you?Daniel wants to say, in his eagerness to feel like the injured party.But even in the throes ofpassion, with all its atten-dant greed and narcissism, and with the self-centeredness and sociopathol-ogy ofa man on the great emotional crusade ofhis life, Daniel cannot quite manage the moral contortion that would place himself squarely on his own side.His awareness that he is betraying Kate is too corrosively present.He is not only in love with someone else but he is keeping it a secret, and though there are surely worse things in the world that a man can do, there is nothing worse within a marriage, which is, he must finally admit, basi-cally what he and Kate have.He would like to tell her that their time to-gether is finished.They may have made a pledge to each other to be Swiss bankers ofthe heart, but banks fail.Still, he knows he cannot, must not tell her—telling the truth right now would likely put Iris in jeopardy.

  “You know when you started thinking that O.J.is innocent?”Kate issaying.

  “I never said he’s…”

  “Right around the time you started talking about Iris Davenport.”

  “Oh, come on, this is insane.And:you’re drunk.”He immediately regrets the aggression ofthis, but Kate seems not to have noticed.

  “Does Iris think he’s innocent, too?”she asks.

  ”I have no idea.”

  “Really? No idea?The whole county is obsessed with the case and you two have never mentioned it?That’s interesting.What do you talk about, then?”

  “I don’t know.Nothing.”

  “Nothing?You talk about nothing?You were at her house for a day and a night talking aboutnothing?”

  “Don’t interrogate me, Kate.”

  “You can’t invoke your FifthAmendment rights in bed, buddy boy.All constitutional rights are waived between the sheets.”

  “Then maybe I should get up.I don’t like being without my constitutional rights.”

  “Ifyou leave this bed…”

  “Kate, this is insane.Can we please just sleep? O.J.’s asleep, the jury’s sleeping, the DA, everyone is.”He waits for an answer, counts to three, and then closes his eyes, and when he opens them again it’s morning, and he’s alone.

  Daniel and Kate collect buckets ofsnow, using some ofit to flush their toilets, and melting a portion to use as drinking water.Kate, who is usu-ally glad to allow Daniel to look after Ruby, is today somewhat posses-sive ofthe little girl;it leads Daniel to believe that she is trying to give him a sense ofwhat his future will be like without the love ofRuby as a constant in his life.But other than this, her demeanor shows little oflast night’s suspiciousness and anger.When they are collecting the snow, she is playful, throwing little handfuls ofit at Daniel.She makes him coffee.

  She is full ofpraise for the new morning fire in the hearth.Nevertheless, by eleven that morning Daniel is feeling so confined and isolated in their house, and so wild with desire to see Iris, that he feels his level offrus-tration is starting to become hazardous not only from a psychological standpoint but even from a medical one.

  He must get out ofhere.Living in these conditions, with these new dictates ofcommunality and wall-to-wall togetherness, makes it impos-sible to even call Iris.He casts desperately about in his mind, trying to think ofa way to absent himself and somehow make it into town,
and then, at last, at around noon, he goes upstairs to their sad and chilly bed-room, where there is a working telephone, and he calls Ferguson Rich-mond.

  “Ferguson,”he says,“Daniel Emerson here.I wonder ifI could ask you a huge favor? Ifyou’re going to be out and around on your snow-mobile, I wonder ifyou could come get me at my house and bring me into town.”

  “No problem,”Ferguson says without hesitating.“When do you need to go? Now?”

  Daniel is overcome by Ferguson’s generosity and lack ofinquisitive-

  ness.“Yes,”he says, sitting on the edge ofthe bed,“now would be fine.

  Anytime.Thank you so much.”

  He goes back downstairs, where Kate and Ruby are in the kitchen.

  Ruby is on the floor, playing with plastic horses, and Kate is melting some snow in a large cast-iron pot.She plans to fill the sink so that every-one can wash their hands and face.

  “Who were you calling?”she asks casually enough.

  ”Ferguson Richmond,”Daniel says.

  ”SirFerguson Richmond,”Kate says.She likes to make fun ofthe local gentry, but her own southern background, with its emphasis on fam-ily and gentility, gives her an enduring interest in such things, and Daniel has always suspected that she admires theWindsor County aristocrats more than she lets on.“So what is he?Your new best friend?”

  “He’s actually going to do me a tremendous favor.He’s coming out here on his snowmobile and he’s taking me into town.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “It’s very nice ofhim.”

  “Yes.It’s amazing.How far away is he? Eight miles, ten?”

  “I don’t know.I guess ten.It’s what people always say about him.He’s this total reactionary and a snob, but ifyou actually put something right in front ofhim, a problem, a person in need, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you.He’s got bad ideas, but good feelings.He’s got this deep, al-most heroic generosity.”

  Ruby looks up from her horses.Her eyes are blurred and her skin is mottled;she looks like an abandoned child.“Where are you going?”she asks Daniel.She furrows her brow, purses her lips, to let him know she is worried.

  “I need to go to work, sweetie,”he says.“I have to go to my office.”

  “I want to go, too,”she says.

  ”Do you want to?”Kate asks the child.“Take a ride with Daniel and see what’s going on out there? Maybe some stores are open and Daniel can get you some Jolly Ranchers.”

  Ruby begins to pick up her toys, in preparation for leaving.

  Daniel is appalled that Kate would use Ruby in such a cynical, manipulative fashion.

  “I’m just going to my office,”he says to Ruby.

  ”It’s okay,”she says.

  He smiles, relieved.

  ”Your office is fun,”Ruby says.

  ”What are you doing?”he asks Kate, lifting his hands in exasperation.

  ”What amIdoing? Whatareyoudoing?”

  “I am buried in paperwork.I have a dozen crises brewing, and a dozen more on the horizon, and I have no choice, I have to get to my office.”

  “Ofcourse you do.But Ruby’s not going to stop you from doing your paperwork.And that way she’ll be a little less stir crazy.”

  “I want to go, too,”Ruby says.

  ”And I’ll be able to get a little writing done,”Kate continues.“Or at least try.”

  “You’re going to put her on the back ofa snowmobile for ten miles?”

  “It was fun,”says Ruby.

  ”You put her on the back ofthe very same snowmobile,”Kate says,

  “driven by the very same Samaritan who’s coming to rescue you.”

  “That was an emergency.I was trying to get her home.I was trying to do the right thing.Jesus.”

  “Please,”says Ruby.“It was so fun.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.It’s just not going to work.”

  “I don’t see why not,”says Kate.

  ”Kate, you’re being ridiculous.Really.Enough.”

  “It’s so boring here,”says Ruby.

  ”No!”Daniel says, his voice rising with temper and desperation.In the stillness ofthe house, it sounds as ifhe has shouted at the top ofhis voice.

  Kate smiles a terrible, wounded, superior smile and shakes her head.

  “One question,”she says.“How are you going to get back home after your…um, paperwork?”

  “I’ll get back.”He is about to sayTrust me,but he stops himself.

  Daniel occupies himself while waiting for Ferguson by building up the fire and bringing in more wood.Nearly an hour passes, during which he almost loses hope ofFerguson arriving, but then he hears the manic whine ofthe snowmobile, and he races out to meet Ferguson, shouting his good-byes over his shoulder.

  On the way into town, Ferguson fills Daniel in on the recovery effort.Though no snow has fallen since yesterday, trees continue to topple.

  Highway crews and repair crews from the power company have made virtually no progress in clearing the roads.The trouble has not been the amount ofsnow—not much more than a foot has fallen—but that the thousands oftrees on the ground have made every emergency vehicle virtually useless.Squads ofmen with chain-saws are all over the county—they’ve come in from every county in the state, as well as Con-necticut, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Vermont, and New Hampshire—and they are cutting up and removing the slaughtered trees one by one.Estimates are that the middle oftown should be electrified either by tonight or tomorrow morning;beyond that, some areas aren’t expected to have power for another three or four days, though Ferguson guesses it’ll be longer than that.

  Ferguson is wearing a dark leather jacket, weathered and cracked, thick wool pants, and a pair ofboots that look as ifthey’d once belonged to a soldier in the FirstWorldWar.The smell ofgasoline and oil is all over him.He wears amber-tinted ski goggles that are so smudged and scratched it’s a wonder he can see anything through them.His ears are as bright as freshly boiled shrimps and his graying hair whips back and forth in the wind as he speeds across a pasture, dodging trees, and then onto what Daniel guesses is Route100,though all that indicates that it is a road at all are the occasional mailboxes standing iced and empty on their cedar stalks.

  “An awful lot ofpeople have been hurt,”Ferguson is saying, in hisfirm, penetrating voice.“And we’ve had fatalities.Traffic, fire, and heartfailure.”

  “Oh no, it’s so terrible,”Daniel says.

  ”It’ll be a field day for the lawyers,”Ferguson says.He looks over his shoulder and grins at Daniel.

  Two black-and-yellow trucks from the power company are parked near an extinguished traffic light further down on Route100.Two ofthe workers are standing around, drinking coffee and smoking, while the others cut an immense fallen oak into sections.A halfmile later, there is a second crew, engaged in a similar task, and a quarter mile after that there is a third.Further offthe road, the Schultz brothers, three long-haired, gray-bearded bachelors, who live in a hardscrabble compound in which they each own a trailer, and who drive fierce-looking pickup trucks with giant tires and furious bumper stickers directed against Pres-ident Clinton, are hard at work chain-sawing fallen trees into three-foot lengths and heaving them into the backs oftheir trucks.Ferguson waves atthem, and the brothers stare back expressionlessly, holding their saws like rifles, pointed down at the ground.

  “They’re making the best ofit.They’ll sell enough firewood to keep them in beer for the winter,”Ferguson says.“Fellows like the Schultzes, they’re the heart and soul ofthis county.They’re our muzhiks, our own God-fearing serfs, and ifall the city people coming out here drive up land prices—those crazy brothers are going to be swept right out ofhere.”

  Before reaching the center ofLeyden, Ferguson makes a couple of stops, both ofthem to run-down, ranch-style houses, one occupied by an extended family ofrecently arrived Poles, the other lived in by an even more extended family ofMexicans.He keeps the snowmobile idling as he makes his quick visits, and then, as
sured that everyone is sur-viving the storm and its aftermath, he takes Daniel the rest ofthe way into town.

  At the center oftown, the sidewalks have been cleared and some of the larger trees have been cut and hauled away.Except for one ofthe gas stations, every business is still shut.Ferguson pulls to a stop in front of the Koffee Kup;though it’s closed, a couple ofthe waitresses are inside, mopping the floor.Daniel slides offthe snowmobile and staggers back a little—his legs feel distorted and anesthetized.

  “Thanks so much, Ferguson.I really do appreciate it.”

  “Are you sure this is where you want me to drop you?”Ferguson says.

  He takes offhis goggles, rubs his left eye with a kind ofstartling vigor.

  ”I could take you to HamptonWelles’s place, it’s only a couple blocks.

  Your car’s still there, isn’t it?”

  “No, this is fine.”

  “Hey, look, ifyou need a lift back later on, give me a call.”

  “It’s really awfully nice ofyou.”

  “Is it? Susan says I act as ifI were the greatpadroneand it’s my job to look out after all my little people.I just like driving this thing around.And I don’t exactly despise being out ofthe house, ifyou know what I mean.”

  Daniel fusses with his car in Iris’s driveway, hoping to create the impres-sion that he has only returned for his vehicle, but soon she comes out, puts her arm around his shoulders, and steers him indoors.He is cold and wet;she makes him a cup ofcoffee, pours a little bit ofbrandy in it, and then takes hold ofDaniel’s chin and kisses him with fervor, open-ness, and engulfing warmth.They listen to hear ifNelson is busy in the playroom, and deciding that he is they begin to take chances.Thus begins the four days they will come to call the Rapture.He takes hold ofher hips and presses her closer to him, hoping the pressure ofher will relieve some ofthe agony ofdesire, and she lets out a soft moan ofpleasure di-rectly into his mouth.They sit at the kitchen table and keep an ear out for Nelson;they move their chairs closer so that they can touch each other, kiss, his hand is up her dress, she yanks her woolen tights down, opens herselfto him, she is so concentrated on her own pleasure, she squints, and then suddenly it’s upon her and her mouth opens and her breath comes in little puffs, it’s like someone doing Lamaze, and when she comes it’s convulsive.It seems to Daniel that his reliefwill have to wait, and he is fine with that, just watching her come is enough, but she quickly turns her attention to him, and he is fine with that, too.What does matter is that the next day is Friday and Hampton arrives in Ley-den.By now, the roads are cleared, and the power is sporadically re-stored;Red Schoolhouse Road is still dark, but Daniel has driven his car back home the day before through a multitude ofdetours and now he can drive himself to his office, where he and Iris meet, with the blinds drawn, and the heat cranked up, and the door double-locked in case SheilaAlvarez should decide to put in an appearance, which she does not.