B0042JSO2G EBOK

by Minot, Susan

  Mrs. Storey brought her dog who set his head on the bed next to Ann Lord’s limp hand. Hello old girl, she said coming in, and Good-bye old girl, when she left.

  Mrs. Roland, Elsie’s eighty-eight-year-old mother, came up with a cane wearing a purple skirt above her stick legs. You’re beginning to look Oriental, she told Ann. You’ll be fine, she said, and thumped her knee. Ann said, I know.

  They came to her bedside and talked about what was going on downstairs, out the door, out on the street, in other houses, out in the world. It had been hot that weekend, it didn’t rain in Dover but did in Beverly Farms. The beach was glorious. Camilla Shepley was getting married again, Penny Montgomery’s wedding in New Orleans was going to be enormous and she was organizing the whole thing. Nina was arriving on Friday, she had the second lead in this play, something about kids on the street in Brooklyn. Lila Cutler hoped to get down from Maine but her back was bad. The traffic on the way over was terrible, the Square was a mess. The Eastmans had telephoned and so had Mrs. Beegin and Mrs. Brocaw and Mrs. Weld and Dan Shepley. What else? they said, What else? There was an interesting article, they’d seen something stupid on TV, what was the movie they wanted to see? They’d had dinner at the Whites’, they were still not talking to the Brocaws, Peach Howe was visiting from Florida, she’d definitely had a lift, Ollie Granger had won the race with the Hallowells, they’d brought her a pillowcase from Kit Eastman’s store, Jared Brocaw punched out the starter at the golf course, there was a wonderful Winslow Homer exhibit at the MFA they’d not been to yet. Ann Lord listened propped against the pillow following the movement when a person entered and put down a vase on a surface which up until then had never seen a vase or picked up a newspaper before sitting down in a chair or leaned a briefcase by the door or turned on the lamp in the corner when it started to get dark.

  Someone held the cup while she tried to clamp her lips onto the straw but the straw swiveled away. A hand came forward to help and she waved it away, what else did she have to do but fumble with a straw? Everyone went silent and she had to say, Go on I’m listening, and continued fumbling, as if nibbling air. They did their best to talk on what else? let’s see but kept watching till her lips clamped onto the straw and she drew up a sip of lemonade and they could heave a sigh of relief. What else? It was important that someone always be talking otherwise the silence took hold like a Virginia creeper invading a garden and darkened the air with what was going on in the room, the battle with pain, the downhill journey. It was not discussed that they were all here to see her off. They brought in bits of the world and when there was silence the absurdity of conversation was too apparent.

  They knew how to get up in the morning and drive the car to work, to organize carpools, roast a chicken, cut back the roses, have a baby, dress the children, mix a cocktail, hoist a jib, dance a foxtrot, order in French, balance the checkbook, but they did not know so well how to do this. Sometimes she looked at them and thought not unkindly they’re just jumping over puddles.

  He must have a girlfriend. There must be someone back in Chicago. There was no one she could ask but Carl and she didn’t want to ask Carl. She could have asked Harris Arden himself as they stepped into the night. The moon passed in and out of clouds and the grass was wet and her sandals were wet through in the thick grass. A path cut into a field of high grass making edges like a box. She went first and he followed, she did not turn around or ask him anything. She felt him behind with his light-colored eyes and his half-light hair and his skin blending in with the night. She didn’t want to know more. They arrived at a place where the stones made steps leading down and she gestured with her arm and he grabbed her hand and pulled it to his ribs tucking it under, clamping down his arm and not letting hers go. They took careful steps pretending to concentrate on their feet but she was thinking of their arms and their hands. She floated in the darkness on his arm. They stepped awkwardly and slowly. She took a step too short and laughed and he steadied her. They inched along, feeling their way through the darker trees, bumping into each other.

  She smelled marigolds, she smelled pine. The grass sloped and her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. They reached the clearing at the end of the path, she could make out the shapes of light-colored rocks and light-colored flowers in clusters and the darker edges near the ground under bushes. She let go of his hand and he kept his arm on her shoulder loosely. She stayed near him to keep his arm there sort of balancing so he wouldn’t move. She felt odd standing in the center of the rock garden lawn not moving.

  He was relaxed touching her and must be used to girls, she thought, and therefore he must have a girlfriend. If there was a girl she was probably a strong independent girl back in Chicago, strong-minded, a girl who made something of herself. Some great girl. But did the girl slice into him? If Ann asked and found out about a girl there was a good chance he would take his arm away, his arm which she liked having there. There was a good chance she would then step aside which she did not want to do. If she learned about some other girl it would stop the thing mounting between them, and to Ann this mounting thing felt colossal.

  She ought to do something. What should she do? They were standing in the middle of the garden on the grass. Any minute he might remove his arm. She didn’t want that, didn’t want his arm to move away. She took hold of his hand dangling from her shoulder. Holding his hand like that felt peculiar as if someone else were doing it and after a moment she let go. There’s a bench here somewhere, she said, and turned and when she turned he pulled her back toward him. Ann, he said. His other arm came up so both arms were around her and her face was close to his chest. Ann, he said over her head. Ann. The way he said her name sent a thrill through her. It was even more thrilling than the way his arms felt. Her cheek was against his shirt and she could feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton. He was running his finger under the gathered elastic of her shirt at the neck and he pulled it back and bent and kissed her skin. Wait, she smiled. What? He didn’t stop and she felt his lips. They made small noises. It’s just—she began, still smiling and he buried his face in her neck making her smile more. She pulled back slightly, wasn’t it too fast? this is where they were supposed to be going but her heart was beating too fast. Wait, she said, and put her hand on his chest. What is it. He was not worried, he was already further than she, he was already further along. Nothing, she laughed, but do I know you? He kissed her neck, his hair brushed her face. Yes, he murmured. He pulled her up to him. You do. I do? His hair went across her lips, she reached up to touch his head and was surprised how soft his hair was. You don’t mind, he said. Do you. She could not answer. A force whirled through her. Who is he, she thought as a warm languor swept through her. Who is this Harris Arden? What was the house like where he lived. What did he think of and where were the streets he walked every day. What were these arms. Who did he know and what other girls did he kiss and where did he go.

  Do you know, he said, how good you feel.

  His hand at the back of her neck slipped under her shirt and slipped down her back. His hand on her skin. Do you mind? he said. He was smooth, he knew how to touch. She realized it with a little contraction inside, someone so smooth might not know how much it means, his hair in her face was darker than the night, the sky was light above the trees, all of it formed around the two of them, encasing them. He was taller than Ann and needed to crouch around her and when he stood up straight he lifted her in a tight grip nearly breaking her. She felt weak, she relaxed against him, his arms held her up. She had a sudden overpowering urge to lie down.

  Still it seemed fast. His arms around her were lovely, but she didn’t know where she was, his hand was reaching down her spine. Harris, she said. What? His hand moved further down.

  She pulled back and looked at him. His face was so close. Isn’t this strange?

  Is it? His fingers tidied her hair.

  Yes, it’s strange.

  No, it’s nice, he said. You’re nice.

  The sky was grey
stone with blurred clouds and the dark hill across the water was a sleeping animal stretched out. Her sandals were wet, she felt his skin under his shirt. How long did they stand there? Around them flat shapes had no color, only shades of grey and black. He pulled her shirt down off one shoulder then off the other and looked at her shoulders bare.

  Stay like that always, he said.

  He held out his jacket wing-like and enveloped her in it. Ann Ann Ann, he said. She was full of words but couldn’t speak, she thought without fear, where are we going? feeling her shirt off her shoulders, huddled against him, waiting, knowing there was something dangerous. He had not even kissed her mouth. She waited, protected by his coat, thinking, he is taking me somewhere, where will it be? She went along.

  Other embraces came vaguely back to her. It happened involuntarily, she was not thinking of other men but they appeared, others she’d touched, conjured up by this touching, the others she’d kissed in dark city living rooms with a yellow light glowing in the sky, the ones she’d hugged at the bottom of her stoop, Frank Fallon’s head was being cradled in the front seat of his car, Malcolm’s arm was around her in a cab. The faces appeared alongside this swooning feeling, lips on her neck being a most particular sensation and therefore recalling the other particular feeling of other lips. The images kept coming, vague and scattered, and she thought, how could one’s life keep going this way? with more and more images piling up in one’s heart and crowding and swelling like music. How was one to make room and to keep all of them? The answer which Ann Lord knew now having lived a life was that one did not. Things were forgotten. An astonishing amount of what one had known simply disappeared.

  You said it would always be there, she said. How could it?

  He didn’t answer right away. Once something’s happened it is there. It can’t be taken away. Nothing can change that.

  Even if it doesn’t last?

  It lasts in your memory, he said. Is that nowhere?

  It will be soon enough. She smiled.

  Don’t say that.

  I can say anything. That’s one thing about this. I can say anything now.

  And you couldn’t before? Were you so careful?

  I didn’t think so, she said. But it looks as if I was more careful than I thought.

  He did not speak.

  One thing though, everyone suddenly looks so brave.

  Do they?

  Yes. They know it doesn’t last and yet …

  And yet what?

  They all carry on as if it did.

  She removed the sharp black teeth imbedded in her side. It’s where the cancer was.

  She’d not had a great deal of physical pain in her life, it had been saved up for the end. Childbirth had been overwhelming and like nothing else but she got the babies out of it, the babies who looked at her with a complete look, rolling on the grass slightly damp with spring, lying across her chest like a prize. She felt their tiny heartbeats, their fine hair against her lips, rubbing their fingers going a little cold, closing her eyes to the sun bright on her eyelids.

  But the worst of it was where is the water what the weakness did to her thoughts help me God she could not push it away God. She had always been sure there was a God, she’d been taught by nuns, went to church, she used to go more. She did not doubt God, nor wanted to. Well she would find out in not too long a time. Had she been good enough in her life? Her fingers lay on the bedspread looking longer and thinner than they ever had. It was not a question she wanted to ask herself. It did not make the pain go away.

  A door slammed in the draft down the hall, rattling the bottles on the bedside table. Ted’s footsteps used to shake the floor from downstairs, rattling things, rattling things in her, she braced herself for his coming up. So much of life was bracing oneself make it go away she was not as she once was I can’t begin to explain the old way was not working, she was apart behind a glass pane, her thoughts were splintered in her cheek, she was not gone yet wait wait there’s something she wanted to be scattered she told them that, she thought dizzyingly of all the lives which had disappeared before her and how vast that was, she mustn’t think of it, it was too tremendous to think of, too tremendous and awful, she tried folding herself back, a tune played in her head don’t get around much anymore she just wanted it to go away spring will be a little late this year the light came in the window let’s just say you won’t see the leaves it was dark around her ankles, he was braiding her hair into the wet grass, it was still out of sight, the end of the road, the disappearance of herself, it was out of sight, she could not picture it, her imagination could not find it, herself not there I’ll never get out now she thought I’ll never get back down those stairs a moth batted against the ceiling against the ceiling against the ceiling

  She sat at the dressing table in a white slip, screwed on pearl earrings, plucked her eyebrows. She blotted fuchsia lipstick, crossed the carpet in stocking feet. The girls were folding themselves into the closet mirrors. Phil was gone, they’d just gotten Abbott, they were living in Elsie Roland’s carriage house. Where are you going Mummy? Why are you always going out? When are you coming back? There was someone the Rolands wanted her to meet. His name was Bill somebody. But Bill had brought a friend—Ted Stackpole. I’m going to marry that girl, Ted Stackpole said to the Rolands when Ann Katz left the room. He was big, filling his armchair, and rich. He did not need to work. Ted Stackpole liked to play games. Two weeks later he was carrying her off a porch away from the music. I have decided, he told her. Was it too soon? Don’t think, said her friends, just do it. They took a honeymoon. The girls stood in the hall affronted watching her count her bags. Abbott lured them back into the kitchen. We can make fudge! In Mexico the gondolas were covered with flowers. They went through the tunnel twice. There was a lost lamb outside a cave and inside thrones and asparagus. He bought her earrings and a blouse and a crucifix. They drank mango wine and the windows swung wide open in the morning. Ann watched him walk naked from the bed.

  They bought the house in Connecticut with the lawn stretching down to the water. There was a playhouse for the girls. They heard gulls cawing. They walked along the sea wall, raked leaves. At night it was black and quiet. Margie slept with the cat. There was a blizzard one spring. The eaves dripped. She planted tulips. On grey afternoons the vacuum hummed. A kite speared the ground like a dart. The girls were sprawled on the Sunday papers reading the funnies. She got a too short haircut. They shot clay pigeons, they shot ducks. They pulled her onto the bed. I will always, I will never The girls listened to her round belly. When is it coming? How does it get out? Constance wanted a brother, Margie wanted a brother too. When is it coming out? There were going to be two! Both boys. Ted had twins in his family. The scar would only show in a low bathing suit. He wasn’t there when she woke up, he had gone for a drink. When he came he kept his coat on. She could tell the babies apart, but that had happened yesterday, having the twins.

  Ted called her from upstairs. He called her from downstairs. Her life was checking off a list while he called. She changed diapers while he was calling. She fastened a bracelet against her rib. She tucked in the girls. When are you coming back? One more kiss She opened the window an inch, she left a crack of light in the door. She picked lint from their sweaters. Picked up the groceries. Picked out the fabric. Picked them up at school. Picked flowers. What did you do today? What did you do? Because you’re my wife that’s why. She ordered the liquor store to deliver Ann come here! Ann! Ann! She followed them down the dock. Followed them into the dining room. She fried bacon. She followed them into the darkness. They were at the office, they were playing golf. The children rode on their shoulders. They threw balls. She was in a box in the window. Nothings the matter why? They mixed drinks. Would you like another? She never turned to another place, she never turned away. Come here they said. She was their wife. Come here. They handed back the baby. It was crying. Someone was always crying. I’ll go see She laughed when he did the snaps up wrong.

&nbs
p; She went shopping. The girls picked out shoes. She lay clothes on beds, tucked them into drawers. She was not in any other life only this one. She folded towels, sponged counters, wiped stoves, opened the icebox, set out tea cups, poured sugar bowls, baked potatoes, made hamburgers. They took it in front of the television. She had her hair done you look nice tonight thank you their hand pressed the small of her back, they played Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, she wept, they drove home is anything the matter I’m just tired that’s all we’re all a little tired She slept on the left side, she slept on the right depending on which one it was. I’m sorry not now I’m trying to tell you! Alright I’m listening She lost what she meant, she could not find it, he was shouting. He was not saying I will always I will never He was furious. He was screaming. He pushed her down. He hit her on the back. Goddamn you don’t you ever—no it could not have happened to her, that was someone else because you’re my wife that’s why She ran a bath. They were expected at dinner, ice dropped in glasses, red meat bled on plates, bright eyes in candlelight you looked like you had a good time She was in bed in the dark. Come over here there you are

  She played tennis with the ladies. They lunched at the club—little white dresses, anklets with balls above the sneakers, bamboo sunglasses, bamboo pocketbooks. Four iced teas. Someone was putting in a new pool. Club sandwiches. Cottage cheese. Someone had a new sitter. Let’s split a dessert. Someone was going back to Bermuda. Someone spent the night in New York. Have you read—? Have you seen—? She threw a sweater over her shoulders. Sometimes there were bruises and in the morning Ted smelled of alcohol and rotten fruit. She did not mention it, they complained about their husbands, but she was quiet. She wished.

  Then it happened. It was a spring morning. They called her from the club and she drove straight to the hospital. The tennis pro met her there. Ted had played three sets then resting in the clubhouse on a bench slumped to the side knocking over the cage of tennis balls. The pro knew CPR. He called the ambulance. She listened to this story at the hospital and Ted was already gone. He left her but she had already left him. She did not mention that. She had wished for it and it had happened.