The Child (14 page)

“Right.”

“So let’s enjoy it. This moment, I want to enjoy it.”

“So do I,” Eva said with stuff on her mind. “Let’s enjoy it.”

Stew stood in the doorway, guilty, as Victor brought his relations their food.

“Mom, I’m worried about Sam. He’s depressed.” Carole put out her cigarette.

“Your father is always depressed. Just don’t blame Sam, it’s not his fault. Pass me that ashtray, will you?”

“It’s not my fault, either. Thank you, Victor.”

“No, but you can make it worse. Your father always blames himself. He blames himself for what happened to Stew. That’s what scares me. If he’d blame Stew, we’d all be a lot better off.”

Stewie molested the smashed egg, lying like a corpse in his pocket.

“Mommy!” Carole bleated. “Are you saying that Sam’s a lazy bum because of me? Victor, where are you sitting?”

Brigid put the plate before her daughter, as she had all of Carole’s life. Just as her own mother had done for her, in that same house, until the day she died. Marty’s house.

“Sam is just like your father. Don’t try to upstage him. It kills them. Don’t take him for granted; anything is better than being alone. Victor, did you make these sandwiches?”

“No. It was Uncle Stewie.”

“You know, Ma?” Carole tucked a napkin under Victor’s chin. “I’m thinking about going back to work, part time. I hope it helps. Afternoons…. I think Sam would be more interested in me if I got home after he does. Here, honey, let me cut your sandwich.”

“If there’s no one to come home to, he’ll never come home. He’ll stop off for one drink and that’s it.”

“Victor, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to eat it.”

“Why not?”

“Uncle Stewie said not to. It’s a secret.”

Brigid reached over and cut her daughter’s sandwich. “What’s a secret?” She was looking for the Diet Coke.

“Grandma, Stewie and I have a secret world.”

“What kind of world? Mommy, the soda’s right there.”

“I can’t tell.”

Stew was standing apart, watching his demise unfold. He knew what was coming, and he knew he should put an end to this right away, but he couldn’t. Any choice would be the wrong choice. His life had fallen apart so quickly, and for what reason? He couldn’t explain. He couldn’t explain any of it. Every scenario seemed designed with him in mind, to tell him how awful he was and what was wrong with him. But he still couldn’t figure out why. He would do something fine, and then something inexplicably, horribly, irredeemably wrong. But that calm between the two countries was so disconcerting. The danger was always there, apparently, but he didn’t notice it. He just felt a tension, a light turn in the room–that was where the mistake occurred, when he went for things. If he followed a pleasure–or less, something that just felt right–suddenly … it was wrong. Then he’d look back, for one split second, to when it had been simultaneously wrong and right. When he felt right but they knew he was wrong but hadn’t told him yet. To go from
fine
to
irredeemable
took a moment. But the aftermath of these mistakes, they were so long and slow. The punishment seemed to go on
forever. Here it was, happening again. A slogging toward inevitable punishment for one moment of one bad natural decision.

“Stewie!” Victor was worried. He couldn’t take the pressure.

“What’s going on?” Carole was very still.

“I can’t tell you.” Victor was losing it.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?”

“Uncle Stewie said not to.”

Carole looked at Stew. He knew his expression was wrong. Insolent and hopeless.

“Well,” she said coldly, “I say that you need to tell me.”

“Victor?” Brigid asked, calmly. “What’s the matter?”

“Stew!” Victor just started blubbering. It was awful for everyone.

“Stew!” Carole lunged. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing.”

She slapped him.

“What the hell is wrong with you? What did you do to Victor? What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me
nothing
. Don’t tell my child to keep secrets from me. What did you do to him? There is nothing my child can’t tell me. What did you do, Stew? Did you molest him? Oh my God. What did Uncle Stewie do to you, honey? Tell mommy. Did he pull down your pants? Did he touch your penis?”

Victor was staring blankly. He put the apple to his mouth.

Stew did not have the resolve to fight her. He had the courage, but not the skill. But he needed to say something. Everyone was staring at him, like they always were, demanding explanations, but for what?

“I told him there’s a secret world where there are no bitches.”

“Secret? What kind of secret?” She didn’t get it. “Don’t bullshit me, Stewie, or I’ll have you locked up.”

There it was. She’d let the cat out of the bag. All along everyone had been trying to get him locked up. They were dying to do it. They all said so, openly. They were just waiting for the right chance to pounce. It didn’t matter what he said or did. It was inevitable. They wanted it that way.

“It’s a secret world.”

Carole looked at him with confusion. She was making a decision. She could have just understood that nothing bad had happened and been okay with that. Been his friend. But then she would have lost all that special ground she’d gotten with her mom. All the conspiracy. She’d have lost all the points she’d gotten for getting pregnant, just like her mother, and then getting Sam to marry her, just like Brigid had with Dad. She could have that special status if Stew was twisted, a pervert. If he was okay, she’d lose everything.

“Mommy,” she screamed. “Mom.”

Stew looked up and saw his wary mother. Her worn, sagging face. He could tell that she’d wished Carole had not called her to duty, but now that she had, his mother had to play her part. That’s how it went for Brigid. She took what she could get. If Carole and his father didn’t pressure his mother to hurt him, she wouldn’t. But once they expected it, she had to come through. That was the decision she had made, and now it was too late. She was getting older. She was fatter than before, but not so fat as Carole. Her face was more wrinkled than ever. She had no patience anymore, because she’d learned that there was no payoff. Ever. She’d tried to be flexible
when Marty had that affair, and look what happened. Now she knew there was no more room for flexibility. No allowance. Everyone had to stick to their role.

“What did you to that child, Stew?”

Stew knew it was all over for him, because everyone else’s positions were at stake.

“Please help me,” he said. They could do it, Carole and Mom. This could be the moment when they could just decide to help.

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, defend yourself.”

What did that mean? He couldn’t figure it out. How can he defend himself if he didn’t do anything wrong? It had nothing to do with him at all. He didn’t cause it, so he couldn’t control it. The attack had its own willpower. He couldn’t stop it.

“I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t know what would work.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shouldn’t have said
boner
to Victor. He should have just kept his big trap shut. Of course Victor liked guys, but Stew just shouldn’t have said so. That was the problem with everything–that it’s true. Why couldn’t Stew ever learn the lesson–that what is true must be kept a secret? To say anything true is wrong. That’s the point. What’s right is wrong. It was all his fault.

“There’s something wrong with me. I’m wrong.”

Brigid looked so tired. She was too tired for this.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, Stew. If Daddy were a fly on the wall in that kitchen, would he be upset at what he saw and heard? Yes or no?”

“Help me, Mommy.”

Carole grabbed her mother’s arm. She owned her.

“All right, Stew.” Brigid was disappearing in front of him. “You made your decision. You had all the power to make this family work. Now the rest of us have to react. It’s over for you, Stew. Nobody wants you here.”

Mary was right. Her life was going to turn around now, so Eva’s had to, too. This was it. Things were finally going to go their way.

All night Eva thought about David Ziemska and how to get his charges dropped. She imagined the final courtroom scene, where the judge would realize that Dave shouldn’t be sent to jail, how happy they would all be.

She imagined going to the pay phone in the hallway and calling to share the news with Mary—and then not calling her mother, because Nathalie would be offended. Or calling her anyway, hopefully, and then confirming that she was in fact offended. That she considered Eva’s victory to be depraved. That she looked at what was right and thought it was wrong.

How did this happen? It was in many ways an accident of history.

When Eva was sixteen, her father caught her lying on a bed with her high school girlfriend, Ilse Goldfarb. He ranted and raved all over the house, he was so mad. He said Eva was a homosexual because she had hit her head a lot when she was little, playing rough in the schoolyard. It was caused by her concussions.

He screamed at Nathalie, in front of Eva and twelve-year-old Ethel, that it was Nathalie’s fault. She had turned their daughter into a homosexual by loving her too much. He said Nathalie and Eva were too close. All of his pent-up rage from years of feeling excluded was unleashed on the three females who stood watching their family fall apart, having to make choices. He said Nathalie
had wrongly taken her to hear Martin Luther King, thereby causing her deviance.

None of these females were ever the same again. Nathalie stopped loving her daughter immediately. The consequences were more than she could handle. Choosing her daughter would have meant being a failure, a failed ex-wife with a damaged child. Ethel vowed to never be the object of criticism, no matter what the price.

And Eva? At first Nathalie privately hoped that by no longer loving her child the homosexuality would wear off. She hoped, subconsciously and semiconsciously, that if Eva had no mother to count on, she would turn to men and become normal. There were a couple of times over the years, but not many, where Nathalie suspected uneasily that Eva might be right about something, but she would never say so. She just could not take a public stand for Eva. It was too painfully reminiscent of that homosexuality that everyone knew was Nathalie’s fault.

Later, after her husband’s death, Nathalie came to believe that homosexuality was not caused by bad mothers but was instead a genetic mutation that can’t be helped. This brought her some relief. But she never fully let go of her late husband’s bitter words. After he died she phoned Eva from time to time, when she felt lonely. That was the best she could do. Anything else would have meant she and her husband had been wrong, and she couldn’t live like that. They had to have been right, to have had the best marriage and the most incredible life. Anything else was unbearable.

On the night of this original accusation, twelve-year-old Ethel sat on the floor of the living room behind the couch, crying. She watched hers sister be humiliated by their father. This was the sister who babysat her, who took her to the park, who watched out for
strangers, who took her to museums and movies, who had held her hand as they crossed the street. This was the sister whom Ethel had always asked, “What’s going to happen?” when they watched television shows. This sister had stayed up late at night telling Ethel about the world and sharing philosophical discourse. Ethel had worn her hand-me-down dresses and shoes. This was the sister responsible for buckling her seat belt.

Now this sister was tainted. She was bad news. Eva was now a very frightening person, because what had happened to Eva was the worst thing Ethel could ever imagine.

The only way to have a family was to shun Eva. After a while it became a habit, the way things were. Then everyone got used to the new family of three. In fact, it turned out to be better for Ethel in the long term, no competition. Soon, letting Eva back in seemed absurd, unnatural. Eva’s world became further and further away. Ethel had no curiosity about it. The equation was closed for good. That’s how those things go.

To get in with the parents Ethel had to be anti-Eva on all questions, no matter what. It all turned on that moment when their father criticized Nathalie for too much love. If she stood up to her father, Ethel would not have a family, either. Eva wasn’t getting one. If she stood up for Eva, Ethel would be the second child for the rest of her life. The choice was clear.

Eva’s removal from the family benefited Ethel on all fronts. Strangely though, as happens with this sort of thing–the intimacy of the subject toward the object–Ethel followed in Eva’s rejected footsteps, even as she colluded in keeping her out of the family for the next twenty-four years. Ethel also became a lawyer. The kind that does divorces.

The next time Eva and Mary made love the television set was on. There was a story in the background of their pleasure and both of them were secretly listening to it. It was about a doctor who had won a prize for a new invention. He diagnosed a mental health condition called
Folie à Trois
. It was based on a family that had been brought into his hospital by the police. The family members all thought they were lions. They growled and walked around naked on four paws and ate raw meat. The doctor discovered, though, that when he separated the mother, the father, and the child, only the father really though he was a lion. The others just imitated him. When they got away from him, they had the chance to act normally again. They just wanted to be with him so much that they imitated what he did, took on his flaws. That was the situation with Nathalie and Ethel. They lived in a closed system inside a world of possibility.

Many times Eva had wondered what would have happened to her life if she had actually done something wrong so many years before. Could it have been worse than what they did to her for being gay? This particular sleepless night with Mary by her side, Eva could still not imagine a worse result, even if she had stabbed her teacher. At least then her family would have come to visit her in jail. Now she looked at what was happening to David Ziemska. What if she had had sex with an adult instead of Ilse Goldfarb? Probably it would have been better. They could have blamed it on the adult. That’s what happened to Lord Alfred Douglas, or that kid in the Edmund White novel, or David Ziemska’s little boyfriend. All those guys turned in their lovers under pressure. That’s what happened to Ilse Goldfarb, to Nathalie, and to Ethel. Pressure. Ilse got married immediately at the age of eighteen in a time when no one like them did such a thing. But this was a quarter of a century in the past.