In the King's Arms (20 page)

“Want some beer?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

She tapped her crimson nails on the brass railing.

He drank his bitter, and waited.

“How’ve you been?” was what she came up with.

“You’ve changed a lot since school; you look quite chic now. Say, those boots are dead cool.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jackie’s lids were coated with a shiny blue cream, which clumped here and there in a fold. Her lashes were blue, too.

Nicola said, “Julian’s been to Dublin, to an acting academy. Tell her about the actors, Julian.”

“Well,” he said, “they’re all ever such a lot of fun, but. . . .” He felt his face get tired of holding whatever expression it was straining to hold.

“But what?” said Jackie. “I’ve heard they’re all on the odd side.”

She took Julian’s glass from his hand and drank a long swig.

“God, that’s awful,” she said.

“Look, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“I’ll walk you home, if you like.”

This was Nicola, at whom Jackie glared.

“No, really, I’ve got to go.”

He began walking out by himself, not quite knowing where he was headed. Jackie came scampering, breathless, after.

“Coming along then, are you,” he said, walking faster and faster. “What a treat.”

“Sure. I fancy you like crazy.”

She ran alongside, having a grand time. Her bright blue eyes were ferocious.

After a few minutes, she thought to ask, “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer.

“God, you look like a murderer,” she added, impressed.

Grabbing her plump arm he marched her, fast, down the lane, and over into the wood. After a few minutes he saw it: there, in a clearing, was the tree stump he’d lain on with Lily.

“Lie down,” he said.

He could not believe how fast she did so.

“Isn’t this a terrific spot?”

“Oh, yeah; it’s fab!” she nodded, scared, excited.

“Cold?”

“Just a bit. It’s O.K.”

“Want me to cover you?”

“Have you got a blanket?”

“With my body, I mean?”

She did not answer, but stretched herself out, like a sacrificial victim, and lowered her lids.

Julian lay down on her, but did not move.

“What’s the matter?” said the girl, what was the name? Jackie. “What’s the matter?”

A deep, hysterical sound came out of his gut.

“What are you doing, laughing? Huh? What’s the matter with you!”

She tried to move his heavy body.

“You’ve always been off,” she spat out, shoving him off her. He fell to the earth, heavy boots and all. She stood over Julian, screeching.

“You’ve always been off your head; you’re just pathetic!”

She ran and ran away from Julian, toward lighted windows. He remained in the darkness, alone, on the ground.

A
FTER SUPPER, Lily sat with Peter in front of the fire and wept in his arms.

“Why doesn’t he want me?” she said.

Peter honestly didn’t know. She looked into his eyes, her lashes bright with tears.

“It’s over, then,” she said. “I’ll go home and have an abortion. That’s what they all want, anyway.”

She didn’t tell him what she’d heard Helena and Archibald talking about. It didn’t seem to make much difference, anyway.

“We could never have made it. It was silly to dream about it happening. It’s just that that I can’t b-bear the thought of killing something that was made of him and me, because—”

“I understand.”

“Because I love him, even—”

“Even now.”

“Yes, Peter.”

“Would you—”

“I can’t do it all myself,” she interrupted. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Would you consider letting me help you, Lily?”

“How could you help me?”

“I could, you know, help you raise the baby. I’ve got quite a lot
of money saved up, and I’m fairly sure I’ll get a good job next year, so—”

She was slowly shaking her head.

“No?” he said. “You don’t want that?”

“I’m finding it hard to think about, that’s all. We’re talking as though, as though Julian were dead or something.”

“I’m sorry.”

She took his face into her hands and kissed him. His lips were thin and dry. She kissed him again, as though that would make his lips blossom, full and moist with love.

“Mmmm,” he said politely, “that’s good.” There was no desire in him.

She began crying.

“You’re such a good person, you know that, Peter?”

“Oh, yeah, I know. Crème de la creamy.”

“Because of you, I drink my milk every day.”

“It’s doing you good,” he said, “you’re getting huge dugs like dear old Sabina.”

Lily looked down.

“You know, you’re right,” she said, smiling. “My baby won’t starve.”

They sat quietly, in sympathy, and night ticked on.

When Julian came home that night, he raced upstairs to Lily’s room, and whispered her name fiercely. “Lily! Lily!”

Timothy, half-awake, answered, “Fix tummy now!”

But Lily was not in her room. And Peter, Julian discovered, was not in his, either. Slowly going back downstairs, Julian saw a horrifying tableau: his brother, older and cleverer, cozily slumbering with Lily in his arms.

After a moment, he trudged to his room and looking in the mirror,
found nothing. No one. Just a fop, with the sad look in his eyes of a chronically lonely child. The Abbey was a dream, a delusion. They had responded favorably to him, but it was all vanity, foolery. Their encouragement had tricked him; he’d tricked them back. A show of bravado. Soon they’d see through him, and he’d be off to work for Archibald, or someone like Archibald. He had no talent, really; he’d never had anything but luck. And luck could not be counted on. Good luck had brought Lily to him; bad luck was washing her away.

Peter was down there, stepping into his life as though he, Julian, were a ghost. Taking his lover away from him, as though he were nothing.

Julian came back downstairs and stood by his brother and Lily.

“Give me back my life,” he said, so quietly that only Lily heard him.

She woke up from a bad dream, and saw her lover standing in the room.

“Would you come upstairs with me?”

They went upstairs into her room.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said, looking away.

“Lily,” Julian hesitated for a moment, and then the words rushed out like a waterfall. “I know only one thing, and that is that I love you. I was hiding from you, and my punishment was an immense emptiness. I used to think you were born on my doorstep. Now I’m willing to travel to you. If I’m a coward, I’m a brave one now. You can easily, easily, break my heart.

“On the way back from Dublin, the train had an interesting bunch of people on it, including an extremely polite Nigerian gentleman who was talking to a Dutch woman about his family. She in turn was talking about what an excellent standard of living there is in Amsterdam.
I don’t care where I live, Lily, as long I’m with you. I’ll speak any language. I’ll pray to your God. Lily, these things don’t matter.

“A lady sat opposite with a big baby on her knee. The baby seemed to be very precariously balanced on the knee so that I thought every corner of the track would bring calamity. But no. While Mummy read
The Daily Mirror
, the big baby amused himself pulling faces at all the delighted fellow train riders. He stuck to that knee, as though by some supernatural glue force. What a thing this love we speak of is!

“There is slavery in love too. So we must be careful not to overwork the chains. Please don’t harden your heart. You have a part of my soul. Not for a minute have I feared your custody. I have been careful with my own precious charge. You are inside me, and I am tender.

“I’m glad there is a baby growing in you. I’ve been reading Deuteronomy, Lily. ‘Countless as the stars,’ eh? Brilliant as the stars, anyway.

“And now there is one more.”

Julian had never said so much at once, and for once, Lily couldn’t speak.

“Does your tummy really hurt you, darling?” he asked. He had wanted to call her darling, but doing so made him blush. They both started laughing. It would take some practice.

“No, it’s fine.”

He sat down beside her and touched her on her stomach, where it rounded.

“Hello, in there,” he said, bending his head toward their child. Lily closed her eyes and stroked his hair.

Some minutes wafted by, into their past, to be remembered. Time was slow again, and luxurious, because they were together.

“How was Dublin?” she said.

Julian told her about Dublin. It had gone well for him at the Abbey.

“First of all,” he said, enjoying it for the first time, “it turns out that Fanning’s reference means a hell of a lot, because she hasn’t pushed anyone for years and years.”

“I knew you were special,” said Lily, calmly.

“And they loved my audition pieces, too,” he went on, “and one of them said—I told them I was going to do Caliban in Oxford next term, you know, and he said—he wanted to be there ‘to see history made.’ Can you imagine that being said to me?”

“You can do anything. Look what you did to me.”

“Look what you do to me. Look at my face. Do you know what they saw, Lily? Do you know what they saw? They saw a man in love, moonstruck and desperate and off my head!”

“I’m here,” she laughed. For the first time in two months, she was happy. “It feels like you’re going to die when you’re not sure, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about that, because I won’t let you die. I’ll take care of you forever.”

“Well, well, well,” she smiled, leaning back against the bedpost.

“Just wait. You’ll see.”

He noticed a picture of her parents on her night table. So that’s who they were. Lily turned around and saw them through his eyes. Gretta’s face seemed to be cracking slightly, showing the sadness below. She was craning her neck, as though for crucial information; her eyes were alert and her smile, strained. Josef was more genial. He had a face so full of ancient innocence that she wondered, as she would about a sick child, “Must he, too, die?” She couldn’t stand to think about the death of either of them. Surely, after all
they’d been through, couldn’t God spare them the final blow of annihilation?

“It’s a nice photo,” said Julian gently. For a moment, she thought suspiciously of Julian’s own photographs of the retarded teenagers on their outing. Was he being condescending? Were her parents, too, sad “specimens?”

“There is something about film, isn’t there?” said Julian, not seeing her mood darken. “Maybe I’ll do a film, in time, as well. You never know. A lot of actors do. We all want to live forever, I guess.”

“Yes. We do all want to live forever. And some people deserve to. After all the effort to smother their small flame, they should never be snuffed out. They—they should be revived, and—”

“Lily—what’s wrong?”

“These old people, these are my parents, and if you love me you have to love them, too.” She had planted their photo there, in the Kendall house, out of loyalty. Still, she heard her voice came out more apologetic than defiant. What did she have to apologize for? The fact that she was born of mortal stock, not stone, not celluloid?

“They are my past, and I am their future.”

“What are you saying?”

“What do you think?” she shouted, facing him as though he personified every obstacle to Jewish survival. “These are my parents! My people! The Jews are not going to die out on my watch!”

“Lily, I love them for giving you to me. What is it? What’s troubling you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I miss them.”

He took the photograph in his hands and searched their faces. “They were very brave to let you travel, after all they’ve been through.”

“I never thought about it that way. They showed me more love
than I ever believed possible. But how did I repay them? By leaving them.”

“You haven’t left them, and you won’t. They were very generous, to trust you to the world. I will repay that trust.”

“How, exactly?” Lily couldn’t help smiling at the simple way Julian saw things.

“I will love you like family, Lily. And I will always honor them, for giving you to me.”

“That’s nice. But how?”

Julian stood up. He took the photo in his hands and spoke to it:

“We will raise the baby Jewish. I’d be proud to.”

Lily was moved, but (being Jewish) a part of her mind remained skeptical. It had to ask questions and get answers before it could settle into solace.

“What do you know about being Jewish?”

“I know you—complicated, curious, insatiable you. And I want to know them. I’ll stand among you. It’s a start.”

 

 

C
ALIBAN WAS HIDDEN IN THE LEAVES of a great, old tree, but when the cue came, he dove into the water, then rose onto the land, shaking off droplets into the first three rows of the audience. His skin was covered with green, and brown; Lily was thrilled to hardly recognize him. And his voice was different, loud and coarse, and defiant with innocence. When Julian bellowed, “I cried to dream again!” he pounded his own face with frustration, and Lily cried for him. His face, when he cried, seemed to be crying out and away a lifetime of frustration.

During intermission, under the wooden bleachers, he smothered her with kisses, and she became, like him, covered with water, and green and brown. His eyes, up close, looked paler for being ringed with black, and, with one hand on Lily’s shoulder, he nervously searched the milling audience. He fixed on a man with a highly animated expression on his face.