Desire Provoked

by Tracy Daugherty

  A curtain of color bursts above his head. The aurora borealis. Cepheus, Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor, awash with red and green. An hour or so later the sun begins to rise. Ridges and gullies take the light inside their slowly forming ice, glow from within.

  He can see the camp far off, figures running toward him. The whole plain is lighted, like a tungsten bulb. He laughs. Stops to catch his breath. The last stars fade.

  Part Seven

  DADDY, how do fishes put their coats on? One fin at a time. What kind of jacket does a yellowjacket wear? A jacket made of rice.

  What do roly-polies do in the middle of July?

  Watch gangster movies in the alley, in the back of the horned toad’s home.

  What does a peach tree eat, Daddy, that it stays so thin?

  Shoe buckles left in the rain.

  What does a falling leaf wear?

  A lemonade T-shirt.

  Who are you when I’m not here? Daddy?

  The children’s questions get bolder. Does he hate Pamela? What happened to Jill? Was she nicer than Mom? (Jill is very happy with her job at Murray State College and her new live-in, a fellow est-ian who once met Albert Einstein.) Adams answers the best he can; he’s comfortable with the kids. There even seems to be less tension between Toby and the rest of the world.

  “Did you almost die,” Toby asks.

  “No. If I died, you’d get all my money. I didn’t want that to happen.”

  “I wish I could’ve gone along.”

  Deidre stops what she’s doing to listen.

  “Maybe someday you’ll be in a job where you get to go places.”

  “I can’t draw,” Toby says.

  “You can be a travel agent—”

  “A stewardess,” Deidre adds.

  “Or an interpreter. Essen.”

  “That means ‘eat.’”

  “Your mom’s been teaching you.”

  “She says the world’s going to blow up. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know. What would you like to eat?”

  “Ice cream,” Deidre says.

  “Besides dessert.”

  “Mom said you almost died.”

  “Peach ice cream and strawberries and Cool Whip. And french fries with catsup.”

  “One thing at a time. Burger King? And no, I didn’t almost die. Your mother jumps to conclusions.”

  “I don’t think she hates you anymore,” Toby says.

  “Good.”

  “Maybe she just doesn’t like you very much.”

  He moves the silver-framed photograph of Pamela and the kids to a place on his desk where it can’t be seen.

  At eleven-fifteen he receives an unexpected telephone call from Joseph E. Morgan, senior vice president of Comtex. Morgan sincerely apologizes for Adams’ mishap on the ice. If the team had been better equipped, etc. etc. Can Comtex make reparation?

  “Well,” Adams says. “Essentially it was my fault.”

  “I’m very impressed with the work you’ve done for us. I’d like you to know, we’re developing our own cartographic staff. Any chance you’d consider us?”

  “I don’t know,” Adams says. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’d like you to interview, of course, but I can give you a general range…” He mentions the low fifties. Adams promises to get back to him.

  At lunch Carter is jubilant. “We’re continuing to expand, Sam. Since you’ve been gone we’ve added two new data bases and increased our statistical and digital capacity.” The Deerbridge Road development has been a huge success and Carter has started a new housing district, early American to modern, geodesic domes.

  “I’ve been offered a job,” Adams tells him. “Oh?”

  “Comtex wants me.”

  Carter closes his menu. “Bastards. Goddamn headhunters. Lend you to them for six months, next thing you know—”

  “It’s a very attractive package.” “How much?”

  “It’s not just the money. I’d be happier in research and development. You know that.” “I need you on my projects.”

  “Several of the young guys are ready. Rakofsky, O’Connor, Lajoie.”

  “They’re kids, Sam. I can’t even speak their language, much less get a subtle concept over to them. Haven’t I given you what you wanted? You wanted an international assignment, I let you go.”

  “I have no complaints,” Adams says. “But when a better offer comes along—”

  “What the hell would you do in research and development?”

  “Expand our catalog. We can’t do fieldwork in deep space, but the computer can take us there. It’s an area we haven’t touched.”

  Carter shakes his head. “I’m not sure there’s a market for the stars, hmm?”

  “Oh, I think there is. Despite its setbacks, the shuttle opened things up.”

  “You’re squeezing me, Sam.” Carter picks up the check.

  I try to picture Austin but can only see the dead dry weeds in the field behind my house. It’s cold here. I miss you. Irrational, I know, but I keep hoping Jack has changed: self-centered, obnoxious, untidy. I don’t know how we’ll work it but I’m happy you want to keep the lines open. I’m used to fixing borders, closing things off.

  I can’t seem to get moving. The house is strange. Everything’s noisy. The refrigerator cutting on and off, the traffic outside … it was so quiet on the ice.

  When I was little I went into the fields behind my mother’s house and listened to empty grain silos howl with the wind that got inside them. Like the sounds of a dying animal. They frightened me. Coming into town tonight, watching the fields rush by, I felt nostalgic about those silos: attempts at order on the prairie.

  You once said the academic environment was it for you. It for me has always been the imagination. I believed we saved ourselves from the size of the world by mapping it, studying it, appropriating it.

  Since Svalbard I wonder. I was the dying animal out there in the snow, Carol, huddled inside the horse…

  He puts down his pen. Perhaps he’ll just send her some flowers. Probably she doesn’t see many flowers in Texas.

  Unless Jack gave her some, had a big bouquet waiting for her when she got home.

  He starts to call Kenny; as he lifts the receiver, weariness overtakes him. Too many people, too far away. He places the unfinished letter in the center of his drafting table and, turning off the lamp, goes to bed.

  Adams receives an Orb spider and a German chocolate cake in a ceremony announcing the expansion of On-Line’s Research and Development Wing, of which Adams will be the head. For the occasion he has bought a brand-new Brooks Brothers suit, tan, with a white shirt and solid red tie.

  Pinning the spider onto Adams’ lapel, Carter says, “This man has been a catalyst in our banner year. From local acclaim to international distinction, he’s an example of what we all strive to be.”

  Polite applause from his colleagues. In addition to more money, he’s given unrestricted use of a geodesic dome (Fuller’s most rigorous design) in Carter’s new housing district north of Deerbridge Road. The dome is equipped with a color television, a wet bar, fully stocked, and an IBM PC/XT.

  Rakofsky, O’Connor, and Lajoie each receive a bronzed Ixodes ricinus in honor of their promotion into Special Projects.

  Rosa’s been volunteering at the women’s shelter and has befriended Pamela. Recently the police asked her if she’d use her power to help them locate a missing baby boy. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and led two officers to an abandoned house, where they found the police commissioner’s fifteen-year-old daughter in an erotic embrace with a tractor salesman. “I kept telling them I’m a medium, not a psychic,” she says, although she knew before Adams even opened his mouth that he had lost a tooth. “What else is new?”

  “I’ve become a Black Muslim.”

  Adams stares at her. “But you’re white.”

  “That’s a problem,” she admits. “I don’t know if the brothers will officially accept a white woman, but
I’m a brother at heart, that’s what counts.”

  “What brought this on?”

  “The spirits told me the balance of world power is going to change very soon. The nation of Islam will rise and smite its enemies, the white supremacists.” Her voice intensifies, like a charismatic preacher’s. “Ike tried to talk me out of it.”

  “Ike?”

  “Eisenhower. A very conservative spirit. Refuses to admit the cosmic order’s shifting. Malcolm told me the malevolent spirits that have manifested themselves in white racism will soon be brought to their knees. And it’s not just the United States. You know who’s really being victimized in Central America? Blacks, Indians, women.”

  “Same old story,” Adams says.

  “You bet it is. Ever hear about female political prisoners? No. Women are the poorest people on earth. That’s why I joined the shelter. Grass-roots movements are important, but I’m more of an ambassador type. Hell, I’ve been all over the universe. I’ve got a broader view than most.” She leans back to catch her breath. “The spirits have plans for me.”

  Adams doesn’t know how to respond. Finally Rosa says, “Want to see a movie?”

  They go to a Shaft double feature at a second-run theater on the south side of town. Kids cheer as the detective empties his gun into the killer’s stomach. There are three other white couples in the audience.

  “Isn’t he great?” Rosa whispers.

  “Yes.”

  After the movie they drive to Adele’s, where Adams orders a sandwich. Rosa wants two poached eggs on toast. “I’m still middle-class in a lot of ways, but I’m working on it. You’re going to have to change your maps when the revolution comes.”

  “I don’t mind. As a cartographer, I’m supposed to be objective.”

  “And as a person?”

  “I’m not very political, Rosa.”

  “Beyond politics, that’s what I’m talking about, like caring for your kids—how are they, by the way?”

  “The most beautiful little people you’ll ever meet.”

  “You don’t sound objective to me.”

  “Let me ask you, Rosa, how’ve you managed since your husband died. Living alone, I mean.”

  “I can bring the old fool back anytime I want. I have the gift, remember?”

  “Ah.”

  “You’re lonely?” “A little.”

  “Well.” Rosa spreads her arms. “I make a hell of a spaghetti dinner.”

  “Pasta won’t be banned, comes the revolution?”

  “Lord, I hope not.” She touches the back of his hand. “You need to have faith in something, Sam. An idea, your fellow workers. When the balance of power changes—”

  “Forgive me, Rosa, if I don’t hold my breath.”

  “You and Ike.”

  Dear Sam,

  I’m slow adjusting—seems the cold left an impression on us both. Whenever I hear people talk about work or the goals they’ve set for themselves, their conversation strikes me as silly. I think of the ice; life here seems awfully easy—and empty—in comparison.

  You’re the only person I know who understands that.

  I’ve decided to re-enroll at the University of Texas. Ph.D. I suppose I’ll teach. I don’t know if that will make me happy, but I think, as I said to you, I’ll be more comfortable in academia.

  Jack is moving into my apartment again next week—can you believe I’ve let it come to this when I still don’t know how I feel about him? Anyway, he’s been very nice.

  I miss you, Sam. If you’d been here, my decision about Jack would’ve been much harder. But you’re there. A place I can’t even imagine. And I resent the hell out of you for it. (I don’t really mean that.)

  Twoo days latrr. I*ve gotten over being angry at you. Forgife the typos but this is Jacks new machine and I’ve just got contacts. Its like putting bugs in your eyes. Anyway I dont know whatt to say to you Sam but I don’t want to quit writing yet. Meeting you was a strange thing in my life. I keep thinking about the last few days, when I hadn’t shaved my legs, how delighted you were at the way the light caught the hair on my thighs. You’re weird Sam but it turned me on, too. What do I do with you?? I can’t picture us together in a η ormal American place. I’d be doing your dishes—it’s what youd expect—and that wouldn’t work. Still, I’d like to see you on solid ground.

  At the bottom of the letter she’s drawn a map of Austin, a small rectangle with rounded corners, like a piece of tissue, folded. A blue pencil line labeled Colorado River veering down to make the C in her name.

  The first thing he does in his capacity as head of R&D is draw a new world map, aided by the latest satellite photography. He studies records of the moon’s orbital path, which reveal irregularities in the earth’s gravitational tug. The world is pear-shaped, not round, its “stem-end” at the north. Moreover, in the Indian Ocean there is a deep depression. He arranges the information in a computer graphic based on Fuller’s Basic-Triangle-Grid, a far less distorted model than Mercator’s. Also, using data derived from optical, radio, and laser operations, he maps the earth’s gravitational and magnetic fields.

  After work, if the night is warm, he heads for the country, to sit at the stone table he has fashioned for himself in a clearing by the dome, light a kerosene lamp, and contemplate his options. Meteors arc slowly across the sky, above the soggy woods, like the boys’ rockets in the field behind his house. Often he imagines himself in an enchanted forest, leaves sparkling on the trees, streams winding like trails of smoke through scented shrubs. He is no Thoreau, he thinks. There is nothing mystical about his isolation. He is simply a restless man worried about his work (where does it lead), his desires (how can he satisfy them with the least amount of tension), middle age (is it really the wilderness it appears to be).

  Pamela informs him that Otto has smashed up his car in Michigan. He’s all right but it’s his third DWI. “Daddy’s checked him into a sanitarium,” she says.

  Adams is shocked and sorry.

  “I can tell you disapprove. Daddy’s just trying to do the right thing.”

  “The hell he is.” He notices a couple of pamphlets on her kitchen table: Breast Self-Examination and Five Facts About Mastectomies.

  She sees him looking at them.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Sam. I had a mammogram the other day and everything’s fine. I just happened to pick those up in the waiting room.”

  “Just happened to?”

  “Well, I am a high-risk case. My mother had breast cancer and so did my sister. That means my chances are very high.”

  “You’ve never had any lumps?”

  “No.” She turns on the TV news, very low. The children are getting ready to go with him for the weekend. “You want some coffee?”

  “No thanks.”

  “They’re doing preventive surgery nowadays. My doctor asked me to think about it.” “What does it involve?”

  “They cut out all the tissue and replace it with silicone. It’s called a subcutaneous mastectomy, but that’s a little misleading because you don’t lose your breast. The whole point is to keep your breast.”

  “You’re not considering it?”

  “I am.”

  “That seems pretty drastic, Pam.”

  “If there’s a chance I could lose a breast someday and I can prevent it now, it seems reasonable to me to at least think about it.”

  “Is this a common practice?”

  “It’s getting to be.”

  Adams sits at the kitchen table. “You mean healthy women are going in and having their breasts cut up …?”

  “They go in from underneath so the scars don’t show.”

  “That’s horrifying.”

  “I probably won’t do it, but it’s good to know the option is there. Anyway, I wanted to let you know about Otto in case I have to fly up and help Daddy with the details.”

  He used to think it was important to keep up with people. They plan new ways of pleasing themselves or endangering others. Their
large mobile homes sweep the land, microwave ovens tingeing the edges of their dinners. They buy new pets and have children, moving on.

  Why else would he stand here staring at the lines in the map of his palm? He used to think it was important. He used to think he’d live alone someplace and have severely important talks with himself.

  Kenny coughs into the phone.

  “Did I wake you?” Adams says.

  “No, no … just, urn. Sam? Who is this? Is this Sam?”

  “Hey, snap out of it, I’m talking to you.”

  “Jesus, I just crashed for a second. Nine o’clock?”

  “Your watch stopped. It’s ten out there.”

  “What are you … did I … so how are you?”

  “Just got back from Pam’s.”

  “Screw her.”

  “No, I don’t feel that way. Really.”

  “Well …”

  “Just kind of sorry.”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me about the ice, man. Were you a Popsicle?”

  “It was close.”

  “Dad told me.”

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “Last week. He scared the shit out of me. Said you’d phoned him from London about the trip, and your accident and all. He was really worried.”

  “I told him I was fine.”

  “It’s not you he’s worried about. He gave me the ‘old man’ routine. He didn’t say it, but he thinks I’m too fucked up to look after him when he goes around the bend, and he doesn’t know where you’re gonna be, running around the world tripping on ice and shit like that. He sent me his CD accounts and his investments. Said he couldn’t track you down.”

  “He knew I’d be home.”

  “I don’t know, man. You figure it.”

  “He’s been like this before.”

  “He’s never sent me his stocks before.”

  “Well, send them to me. I’ll take care of them. Mom still having headaches?”

  “Major pain. The migraine that ate Nebraska.”