—David’s waiting for you, she said streaming away the ketchup smears under hot water gazing down through the window.—How early will you leave in the morning.
—On a trip I may never take? if you don’t go CIPAP you might as well stay home, paying a grown man a good salary to watch a Chinaman blow food across the room and fly three thousand miles to spoon feed a speech to another grown man so he won’t say Plato rhymes with tomato?
She put down the plate, motionless.—If you do go will you leave me some cash?
He put down his glass.—Forty? he dug deep in a pocket and opened a roll of bills behind her, twenty upon twenty, tens, tens,—I’ll only be gone a few days.
—Those suits you have at the cleaners will be more than ten, I don’t have . . .
—Well just ask, he said, pulling another ten.—Here.
—Just put it down, she said without turning.—I always have to ask.
And he had the ice tray again, scooping cubes into his glass and staring at them there, swirling them around and simply staring at them.—Davidoff had a woman in this morning, a gal he calls her, bringing her in to help jazz up our PR operation as project director with her topflight track record in curriculum management, as he calls it. Then he got me aside and . . . He gazed at the swirling cubes a moment longer and then reached for the bottle,—he asked me how I’d like working for a woman. And I told him.
She turned with her own emptied glass for the ice tray, and took the bottle where he put it down.—Why don’t you just quit then, instead of, instead of all this, your book’s being published again and when you get this award . . .
—And how long could we live on that? Just David’s nursery school, and the moving, the house up there, splitting a five percent royalty with those stupid God damned, that won’t even pay for David’s nursery school and that award, it wouldn’t even be just giving up the salary, these companies are so damned paternalistic with their deferred stock options retirement plans insurance medical benefits they finally have you tied hand and foot, just stop and remember when David was born and we could hardly . . .
—You know what I stop and remember Tom? She’d turned abruptly, resting elbows back on the sink’s edge, facing him.—I remember Doctor Brill telling us David needed his operation for double hernia when you first went to work there and you put it off, and put it off. There was that baby and we didn’t know what was going to happen but you kept putting it off till your company medical benefits took effect, so you wouldn’t have to . . .
—Marian you . . . you have a real instinct don’t you Marian, a real God damn instinct . . .
—And you didn’t want him. Did you, you didn’t want him in the first place.
—What, Marian what the hell do you think you’re saying?
—David. You didn’t want him in the first place.
—Marian you, you’ve said some rotten things but you, that’s the rottenest thing you could say isn’t it, so completely . . . dishonest and rotten.
—Well it’s . . .
—I wanted to wait to have children, didn’t I, I wanted to wait till we got ori our feet, that wasn’t David I didn’t want, there was no David and if you ever dare to, you know God damn well that when he was born when he was David you know God damn well he’s everything I . . . he stopped and got breath.—You’ve got a real instinct for the jugular haven’t you Marian.
—Well it’s true she said, elbows back on the sink’s edge, facing him.
—You’re like a, sometimes you’re like an illness Marian, you’re like a God damned long illness I picked up somewhere . . .
—You’re your own God damned illness Tom, she said coming past him with her glass for the hall and there, over a shoulder,—what are you going to do with these newspapers.
—I haven’t been through them yet, he came after her empty-handed—haven’t had the . . .
—You’ve got papers and clippings piled everywhere, I can’t even find a place to . . .
—All right Marian, I’ll . . .
—Take them into your workroom or, somewhere, you said you were going to store them uptown.
—All right! He got past her in the hall carrying them, got the door opened at the end of it and the light switch with his elbow.—What are all these curtain rods doing here?
—I had to put them someplace, she said past the door and he stood there turned one way, the other, finally put the newspapers on the chair drawn up to the typewriter, leaning toward it to move the curtain rods and turn the unfinished lines up on the roller.
And there, coming over the foot of that rise, three cock pheasants burst up from the ground with the terrible slowness of things in a dream. They wheeled, I fired, and they were gone. But there on the ground with a broken wing one of them struggled across the stones, I fired again, and it kept on, struggling till it reached a wall where it fought its head in amongst the stones . . .
—Papa? Which do you want to be, Piglet or Pooh.
—Yes I’m coming David . . . he snapped off the light and pulled the door closed, and came up the hall slowly.—Wait David, we can’t play there, here get your feet out of the laundry.
—I’m being Rabbit, I beat Mama four times being Rabbit.
—Here let’s, wait, there’s never any place to sit down.
—Mama was Piglet, do you want to be him or Pooh Papa.
—I just haven’t had time to sort it, she said holding her glass high, gathering the laundry to an end of the sofa with her free hand.—Did I tell you the Bartletts are separating?
—No. Here David just, here, just put the board on the floor. We’ll play here on the floor, he said spreading the board between his feet, looking up.—Maybe he finally had enough of that grinning pear she’s painted on everything they own. What about the children.
—I won Mama four times today Papa. I always win.
—You don’t always win David. Nobody does.
—She said he’s agreed to move out and get a room in town, he’ll come up to see them weekends, she says she just can’t live with someone she doesn’t respect. He lost his job, you must have heard that.
—Better to go down dignified, watch your foot David. Provide, provide here, sit over here.
—I want to sit beside you.
—All right but don’t climb. Now, shake the bag, really shake it.
—She said she just can’t respect a man who doesn’t respect himself . . . and she stood over them a moment longer swirling the cubes loose in her glass before she turned.—I’ll start dinner, you can eat when you want to.
—Papa are you being Pooh?
—Yes. What did you get.
—I got blue. I go all the way here.
—You skipped one David.
—What?
—You skipped this blue back here. You’re back here.
—Oh.
—And I got green. Here. Now really shake the bag.
—I did. I got red, Papa if you got black you’d go all the way there.
—That’s why there are only two blacks in the whole bag.
—Why.
—To make it harder to get. And I have . . . green again.
—You only go here. Shall I move you?
—Yes now, wait, now wait David.
—I got yellow, I go all the way to . . .
—No, no you can’t take two out of the bag and then decide which one you want and put the other one back.
—I didn’t take two out. They just came out.
—All right, then put them both back in and shake the bag again, and when you reach in just take one.
—I got yellow anyway, see? I don’t even have to close my eyes, do the rules say you have to close your eyes?
—Yes, so nobody will be able to . . .
—Who made the rules?
—The people who made the game. That’s what a game is, if there weren’t any rules there wouldn’t be any game, now sit up.
—If you get yellow the next time you’ll get in the Heffalu
mp trap. Papa do I have to close my eyes even if I hold the bag way over here and look over here?
—Yes now sit up David, it’s my turn.
—Papa?
—What.
—Papa was Jesus a regular person?
—Well he, he was a person yes but, he . . .
—Did he grow up to be an Indian?
—Did he what?
—Did Jesus grow up to be an Indian?
—What makes you think that.
Twisted away from the bag at his arm’s length, he faced the wall opposite where as art an ikon hung unapproachable behind a chair.—He has no shirt and he has those red marks on him.
—Those are blood David, you know that.
—Then why is he wearing that hat?
—That’s not a hat, it’s a crown of thorns, you know the, you must know the story about Jesus being crucified when they mocked him about being a king? and made him a crown out of thorns to . . .
—Then where did he get that blood on him.
—Well he, when he was crucified. You’ve seen the crucifix and the pictures of Jesus on the cross with the nails through his hands and feet, so his blood . . .
—Papa do those nails go right through his hands?
—They, yes, yes, they . . .
—I always thought he was holding on up there. Papa?
—Let’s, sit up now, if you . . .
—Is it my turn?
—No it’s my turn, David if you’re not careful of your feet you’re going to kick the pieces off the board and we won’t know where we’re supposed to be.
—I know, I’m here and you’re way back here, if you’d get black you’d get way up there.
—Blue.
—You only go three. Red. I got red. Look. Look Papa look where I am now and look where you are.
—Yes all right let’s . . . yellow.
—You got in the Heffalump’s trap. Mama Papa got in the Heffalump trap. Mama?
—She can’t hear you David. Don’t shout.
—If I get red now I’ll, yellow. I got yellow too look, I always win look, now look where I am and . . .
—David you don’t always win, nobody . . .
—I won Mama four times today. Mama?
—Stop shouting David . . . He held the bag down,—and I . . . got . . .
—Black! You peeked. Papa you peeked!
—Peeked?
—You peeked in the bag Papa I saw you. You peeked.
—Come on David, you . . .
—You peeked in the bag, I saw you.
—Look David you, nobody always wins, every time you play you can’t expect . . .
—No but you peeked.
—There’s the doorbell, listen. Do you want to answer it?
—No.
—Maybe it’s Jack, don’t you want to go open the door for Jack?
—No.
—Tom . . .?
—Come on help me up, then we’ll come back and finish the game.
—No. You peeked.
—Tom it’s a policeman, she came on ahead—David . . . and she held him aside in a stare that dropped from the height of the badge peaked on the cap to the holstered gun swept past his face toward the windows.
—We’re just checking your building.
—Yes but what . . .
—Nobody here went out a window?
—Out a, what? What do you mean.
—David come along now.
—Out a, David go with your mother. What do you mean out a window.
—We got a call somebody might have fell or jumped.
—Here? But who, but wait a man? Was it a man?
—That’s what we’re trying to find out Mister, why. You know a man here that might have went out a window?
—He, but no, no I know . . . no. No what makes you think . . .
—Look down there, see where the pipes of that awning frame’s all bent down there? We got a call there’s somebody on the sidewalk out front here, see the blood on the sidewalk down there? by where that car fender’s dented there? We get here but there’s no body down there, just that awning frame bent like that and where that car fender’s . . .
—No, no but listen a friend of mine, a friend of mine was here and he’s, he just left, he just got out of Bellevue and he’s, he left a few minutes ago but I’d talked him out of it, I’d just talked him out of it.
—Out of what.
—Out . . . out of this.
—He lives in the building here?
—No he lives uptown he, that’s where he was going and I’d . . .
—After you and him talked you didn’t leave him alone here?
—No I went to the, Christ look do you think I wouldn’t know it if he’d . . .
—Okay don’t get excited, he went out the door? What about out by the elevator in the hall there, there’s a window there?
—Yes but he . . .
—You saw him go down the elevator?
—No but, no the God damned thing’s broken he . . .
—You know where he lives, we’ll take a ride up there.
—That’s where he was going yes but, yes so he couldn’t have done this, he’d be, still be down there on the sidewalk . . . He came crowding the uniform down the hall before him,—Marian when Jack gets here tell him . . .
—Yes I heard, she came after them.
—We’ll ride up and have a look. People can do some funny things.
—And Tom . . .?
The door slammed and she turned, more slowly, to the kitchen, to the ice floating in the ice tray, and rinsed a milk glass.
—Mama?
—I’m coming, she called, unscrewing a cap, shaking a pill into her hand.
—Mama hurry . . .
—Yes I’m coming David. She poured the drink and came back up the hall with it.—David come away from the window.
—Mama Papa’s getting in the police car. Look!
—Yes, come get your pajamas David. He’ll be back.
—Where are they taking him. Mama where are they taking him.
—He’ll be back in a little while David, come get your pajamas.
—Can I stay up till he comes back?
—We’ll see now, get your pajamas, if you hurry I’ll finish the game Papa started with you.
—I don’t want to.
—David don’t climb in the laundry, what do you want to do then.
—Read.
—All right, if you promise to get into pajamas right afterward. Now where’s your book.
—Here . . . he surfaced thrashing from the sheets—we were here, he said holding it open.
—Right here?
—Here, he burrowed in beside her, the delicate black crescent of a nail on Nana.
—Nana had filmy eyes, David be careful of my glass. Nana had filmy eyes, but all she could do was to put her paw gently on her mistress’s lap. They were sitting thus when Mister Darling came home from the office. He was tired. Won’t you play me to sleep on the nursery piano? he asked. And as Mrs Darling was . . .
—Why does he want to sleep on the nursery piano?
—No, he just wants her to play him something that will make him feel . . .
—Mama?
—What is it.
—Mama if God called you doesn’t that mean he would have to kill you first?
—David I explained that to you. That was just your teacher’s way of trying to explain to the class why the little Priftis girl’s seat is always empty now. You know she was a very sick little girl, and Miss Duffy used to teach in the parochial school so she . . .
—Mama?
—What David.
—I hope he doesn’t call me.
—David he’s not going to call any of us . . . Suddenly she had him close.—Do you love me?
—Yes.
—How much?
—Some money . . .? She was holding him so when the doorbell sounded.—Is it Papa?
—Or Jack.
—Jack!
he broke free, and down the hall to work at the door lock.—Mama? Mama it’s Jack Mama. It’s Jack.
—David, she came after him—don’t climb David, don’t . . .
—It’s all right Marian . . . up! Watch your head David.
—David, Jack be careful, you . . .
—It’s all right Marian just a, a little problem with a shoelace, he came steadying himself, dragging one foot slightly.
—And you’ve torn your pocket, David if you hold Jack’s throat like that he can’t breathe. Jack? Can you have a drink?
—Yes I’ve, don’t mind, not so tight David, just been the guest of Seaman Third Class Stepnik, prefers vodka . . .
—Good, that’s all we have. David that’s enough now, get down and go get your pajamas.
—You said after we read, Mama you said . . .
—After you get into pajamas and pick up those shoes in the hall, she said dropping ice.—Jack and I want to talk for a minute.
—I just stopped down to pick up a key, isn’t Tom here yet? key to Ninety-sixth Street, I have to go up there and look for that manuscript I . . .
—I’m sure, she said handing him the glass—hurry David, if you hurry you can come out and talk to Jack for a minute. She turned in the door.—I hope you brought cigarettes?
—I was going to ask you the same thing, he said following her up the hall.—What happened to Tom I thought he’d be . . .
—That’s what I want to talk to you about, she said rounding the sofa. She pulled the heap of laundry to the floor there, pushed the book aside and sat, at that end of it.—Jack. I’m going to leave Tom.
—Oh? He’d reached the windows, about to raise his glass, and he lowered it.—What’s Tom’s ah, what does Tom . . .
—I don’t know.
—I mean have you told him?
—No.
He brought his glass up and drank half of it off.—Last I heard you were going to move, I thought he’d just rented a house for you up near the . . .
—For me? She raised her own glass and drank.—There’s nothing I can do to help Tom anymore. Jack I’m doing this for him.
—And David?
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