Holy Water (15 page)

Shuffling into the kitchen, scanning the cereal cabinet, he figures he has an hour, maybe an hour and a half before Rachel returns home. Just to be sure, he determines to be gone within the hour, before nine. Now is certainly not the time to have the most important conversation of your marriage. Indeed, right now his mind is incapable of forming fully developed concepts and sentences. Just staccato thoughts of disjointed anguish.

He mixes health-food-store raisin bran with supermarket Cocoa Crisps. The benefits of the former, he figures, cancel the consequences of the latter. But life is a series of trade-offs, right? Compromises and concessions. Bending but not breaking. Treading water. Sinking. Avoiding. Lying. Feigning impotence, then jerking off.

On the kitchen table he notices the witchcraft book again and assumes that
’
s where she was last night, bitching about men, conjuring and executing pagan rituals. Coming up with new ways to rid them of their sanity, their dignity, their semen. Last week, after he
’
d had an especially trying day, only to come home as she was walking out the door, he asked what she did at the witches
’
group.

“
It
’
s a women
’
s group,
”
she answered.

“
One person
’
s women
’
s group is another
’
s coven.
”

“
We discuss womanly things.
”

“
Like how to use black magic to destroy men.
”

“
Only the ones who deserve it, Henry,
”
she said, smiling.
“
So you really have nothing to worry about, right?
”
-

~ * ~

The night returns in crude flashes. The Osbornes tumbling onto the bluestone, locked in mortal ideological combat. The piles of bloody meat. The embarrassing chick music. Telling Gerard he has no soul and Victor he has no guts, or was it the other way around?

And of course everyone knowing about his vasectomy.

And then babbling in the driveway to Marcus. How much did I say? he wonders. Who should get the first letter of apology? Whom should I call? Or how about an e-mail? The same e-mail to the entire group—apologetic, contrite but not without a bit of humor. Maybe something like
It was the ostrich talking,
or
Who did I thin
k
I was, the third Osborne brother?
Would that suffice? Or how about this, he thinks, finishing the final bit of soggy cereal, lifting the bowl to drink the last of the brown, sugary soy milk substitute. How about cc-
ing
every adult male in the United States on a memo with this for the subject heading:
We are an embarrassment.

~ * ~

The calendar on the wall next to the refrigerator has a large red asterisk
Sharpied
across today
’
s date. Beneath it, in Rachel
’
s bold red handwriting, is written:

Sperm Day! Sample #3 Due! No cheating!

Hispanic men at the train station, waiting for contractors to put them behind a wheelbarrow, a lawn mower, a toxic spray gun.
Insourcing
. The 9:02 is gliding away from the platform while he is still looking for a parking space. He can wait an hour for a local, or he can drive in, or what?

He puts the shift in park and decides to think about it. A
politician handing out fliers for an upcoming primary is talking with an aide, wondering if it
’
s worth it to stick around for the next train. A mason
’
s dump truck pulls up to the curb, and after a brief negotiation, three day laborers climb onto the back. Henry wonders what the politician thinks of this. Shit, what does
he
think of it? As the truck passes, he sees that one of the laborers is wearing an FDNY hat and a
Vote for Pedro
T-shirt.

He fiddles with the radio. Hate rhetoric, liberal and conservative. Contemporary Christian death metal.
Doodoo
jokes from the wacky morning crew. Lionel Richie on the best of the old and the hottest of the new.
“
Truly.
”
Should
’
ve charged the iPod. Suddenly it becomes extremely important that he find NPR.

Henry locates it just in time to hear the newswoman finishing up the national segment announce that today is the day that the world has used up its allotted resources for the year and it is operating at an environmental deficit. From now on it will be borrowing against next year, when the deficit day will arrive even earlier. And so on, earlier and earlier, every year of the foreseeable future, until there
’
s nothing left to borrow.

He decides that he doesn
’
t want to go to work, or to the city, but he can
’
t go home and can
’
t think of anything to do here. Lost in the suburbs and lost in the city, and it
’
s funny how residents of each place assume that he
’
s distinctly of the other.

A train that he didn
’
t know about comes and goes. His phone buzzes on the empty passenger
’
s seat. Rachel.
“
How
’
d it go?
”

“
Splendidly. I just hope they don
’
t check for alcohol content.
”

“
You got drunk with the boys last night! I thought I heard you banging around by the pool.
”

Her happiness jars him. What
’
s the motive for that? He considers telling her that he insulted every one of
“
the boys,
”
that he vomited into said pool, destroying its briefly perfect balance, and that he
’
s done with Meat Night forever, but it
’
s too complicated. He
’
s afraid he
’
ll start babbling and tell her everything the wrong way.

“
So did the doctor say anything?
”

“
No. This was strictly a drop-off. Splash and dash.
”

“
Where are you?
”

“
In the parking lot at the train station. I just missed two trains.
”

“
How is it possible to just miss two trains?
”

“
It
’
s an acquired skill, Rachel.
”

“
So you
’
re still going in?
”

He thinks. What the hell.
“
Unless you
’
d like a little company.
”

Nervous laughter.
“
I
’
m . . .
”

What? He thinks. Swamped? Crazy? Trying to make me crazy too? Anything but interested.

“
... sorry. But today
’
s bad, Henry.
”

“
Sure. Actually, it
’
s not looking so good on my end either.
”

He clicks End and stares at the phone.

~ * ~

He thinks, I can go to the beach. I can go for a hike. I can go to the library. I can go bowling.

~ * ~

During his research he came across several stories of homosexual men who had vasectomies.

~ * ~

He calls Meredith.
“
What
’
s the good word?
”

“
Who is this?
”

“
Your soon-to-be former coworker.
”

“
Giffler came by. Tried to peek through the smoked glass to see where you were.
”

“
Did you have the Henry Tuhoe life-sized action figure placed in the hard-at-work position?
”

“
He didn
’
t buy it. Lingered for a minute, spraying just enough executive pee to let you sense he was here.
”

“
Did he say anything?
”

“
He had me put you down for an eleven o
’
clock with him tomorrow morning.
”

“
La fin du monde.
”

“
Only to the self-absorbed and melodramatic among us.
”

“
Easy for the self-absorbed and still employed to say.
”

“
I know too much to be fired. So are you not going to accept the transfer?
”

“
Not a chance. This is the best thing to happen to me, Meredith. I had a drunken epiphany last night, actually a series of them, and I
’
m going to do something with my life that matters.
”

“
The other line
’
s flashing. Anything else?
”

“
How
’
s Warren?
”

“
Still pissed at you, but very excited about India. He
’
s already tracked down his
Bangalorian
doppelg
ä
nger job.
”

“
You know what? I would like to take you and Warren out to lunch tomorrow. No, how about drinks after work? A sort of going-away party in my honor, given by me.
”

“
Wow. Drinks with two recently laid-off middle-aged men. Can
’
t get any better than that.
”

“
How about Ginger Man at five?
”

“
Will you be in today?
”

“
No. I don
’
t want to see Giffler yet. Plus I have a doctor
’
s appointment.
”

He thinks he hears Meredith cluck her tongue, her audio equivalent of the skeptical eye roll.
“
I see,
”
she says.

~ * ~

Two black vans claim the last of the day laborers. The politician is long gone. No votes left to court. Off to record telemarketing messages, Henry thinks, about immigration, or the tangible evil his opponent stands for. Such as telemarketing, campaign finance reform, and mudslinging. He shuts off Lionel Ritchie and lowers the windows to better soak in the late-morning commuter rail station silence. At 10:37 a northbound train stops and more than a dozen black women in white nurse
’
s outfits get off. A small bus pulls in seconds later, ready to drive them to hospitals and nursing homes, the lonely residences of the affluent and infirm.
Insourcing
for the soon-to-be permanently outsourced.

Before his grandmother died six years ago, while she lived alone in an apartment in White Plains, he tried to convince her to let a nurse come in to visit once a day. But she wanted no part of a stranger in her house, and sometimes he felt that included him. The day before she died, he called to say he was coming by on the weekend and asked if she needed anything. She said yes.
“
Get me the
vitamin drink where the old couple on the rowboat in the
middle of the lake are laughing and drinking and saluting the feeble, no-vitamin-drinking couple languishing onshore.
”