The Four Temperaments (23 page)

RUTH

R
uth Fass
Kornblatt was angry. She had never been so angry in her life. In fact, angry didn't even begin to describe it: she was enraged, furious, seething, boiling. She didn't know how to contain all her anger and she didn't care. That in and of itself was unsettling enough. Usually, when she was angry, she looked for ways to turn it around, to calm herself. Not this time.

Ruth's anger was not a sudden thing. It had needed time to gather and grow. At first, she was just sick at heart, for Penelope, for Caroline, for Gabriel, but most of all for Isobel, who wouldn't even remember the awful day her mother died. But once the plane took off, the questions had started, tumbling over each other in her mind, like clothes in the dryer. How could Gabriel have lied like that? How was it that while Penelope's life was ending in that hideous, violent way, he had been with Ginny? What had Isobel seen and heard?

It was the dream that gave Ruth the clue: she was in the kitchen of her apartment, opening cabinets and methodically removing stacks of dishes, which she then sent flying across the room, just to hear them break. When she woke up, the pilot was announcing that they were flying over the Great Salt Lake. Oscar was dozing, but she was awake and seething.

She was angry at Ginny, of course. That was a given. But Ruth was angry at Oscar too, for bringing Ginny into their lives, and at Gabriel, for making sure that she stayed there. Ruth was even angry at poor Penelope, for not having looked before stepping out into the street.

Finally, they arrived in San Francisco. Ruth's anger retreated a little when she saw him, her firstborn, looking gray and drawn in a way she had never seen before. Then they all looked in on the baby, and it was impossible to feel angry while peering over the railing of her crib.

When Gabriel started talking about Penelope's wanting to have her ashes scattered, Ruth's anger rose again. “Someplace wide open . . .” he was saying. Of all the ridiculous, thoughtless ideas! What would Gabriel tell Isobel when she asked, as she must someday, where her mother was? “She floated out to sea” hardly seemed like an answer a child could comprehend. At least if they buried her, there would be a spot, a marker, a tangible place for Isobel to go and mourn. So Ruth uttered a word that she was sure she had never said in front of her husband, let alone her son.

She was deeply gratified by the shock and horror they both registered. Good! Let them know how angry she was. Furious and proud of it. Then something in Gabriel's expression made Ruth turn away. She had to. She wouldn't apologize, not then. But she couldn't keep looking at his hurt, confused face.

“Your mother is very upset,” Oscar said to Gabriel, his hand awkwardly on his son's shoulder. Ruth turned to leave the room. “She's upset,” she heard him saying, “she'll be herself again soon.” Don't count on it, Ruth thought. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. She splashed cold water on her hot face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The attractive, middle-aged woman who looked back at her might seem, at least to her family and friends, the practical, sensible Ruth they had always known. But she knew differently. For one thing, she had just said “fuck” in front of her husband and son and wasn't the least bit sorry. Something had changed.

Isobel woke up a little while later and Ruth was busy taking care of her, so it was easy to avoid her husband and son. There were many phone calls to be made, and Ruth said a few halting, inadequate words to Caroline, who sobbed quietly into the phone. Oscar seemed to take Gabriel in hand, which was good, and the two of them drove off for a while, perhaps to Gabriel's office, where he needed to get some things, or perhaps just to get out, away from Ruth and her scalding, furious glances.

Oscar and Gabriel picked up some Japanese take-out food on the way back, which they all tried to eat for dinner, though no one was very hungry and most of it ended up in the garbage. Ruth was too occupied trying to feed Isobel to eat anyway. A few spoonfuls of yogurt, a bite of bread. She licked a banana but wouldn't actually eat it; the tiny sections of tangerine Ruth offered were squeezed delightedly in her hand and then thrown against the wall.

“Penelope didn't give her citrus,” Gabriel said, sounding apologetic. “She probably doesn't know what it is.”

“What about milk?” Ruth was worried that Isobel would want to nurse and that when she did, only milk would satisfy her.

“Just Penelope's,” he said miserably. “She's never had cow's milk.”

“Well, tonight will be a first.” Ruth heated milk in a pot and poured it into the plastic baby bottle she had instructed Oscar to buy. She squeezed a few drops on her wrist, just as she had done when the boys were babies, to make sure it wasn't too hot. Then she handed the bottle to Isobel.

Isobel seemed intrigued, waving it around and lifting it up over her head. Some milk dripped on her hair and in her eye, which she didn't like and she threw the bottle down, her face clouding. Ruth quickly picked it up and tried to bring it to her lips. Maybe the smell would entice her to taste it. No such luck. She threw it down again. Her face screwed up and the tears were gathered in her eyes when Ruth handed her the milk once more, this time in a small white cup she had found high up in the cabinet. Isobel's eyes opened and she grasped it with both hands, staring down at its contents. Then without any help, she drank the milk. It ran down her chin and her upper lip was wet.

“She likes it!” said Gabriel, sounding better than he had since Ruth and Oscar arrived. “She wants more!” Anger set aside for the moment, Ruth looked at him and smiled too.

That night, Gabriel insisted that Ruth and Oscar sleep in his room; he would sleep on the living room couch. Ruth discovered that there was something strangely intimate and discomforting about sleeping in the bed that her grown son had shared with his wife. Oscar went to sleep almost instantly, but Ruth remained awake for a long while, keenly aware of the feel of the mattress, the softness of the pillows, the smooth sheen of the white cotton duvet cover. In most marriages, it was the wife who dressed and made the bed; her bed was a window onto her soul. And now Penelope's soul had left her ruined body and was flying untethered through the heavens. Ruth was still here on earth, touching Penelope's blankets and trying to imagine the life she had constructed here, between these sheets, with Gabriel. Had they made love often? Had she wanted to have another child? Was she a late sleeper or did she rise with the sun? There was a light over the bed; did she read at night and, if so, what? Magazines? A novel? Ruth used the sheet to wipe tears from her face. There was so much about Penelope that she would now never know, but Ruth could say with certainty that her daughter-in-law had selected these linen pillow shams with their discreet border of lace, this comforter, these pillows, the soft white mohair afghan at the foot of the bed to guide and soothe the passage of night into day.

In the morning, they were all a bit amazed to find that Isobel was still asleep. She did not awaken even once during the night, which Gabriel said was highly unusual. Ruth was actually hungry and Oscar said he was too. He volunteered to go to the supermarket while Ruth stayed with Isobel. Gabriel said he had an appointment and would eat later. He took a long shower and disappeared into the bedroom to find some clothes. He emerged looking significantly better: he had shaved and his hair was freshly washed and combed. He wore a shirt that brought out the color of his eyes and a wheat-colored jacket. “I'll be back early this afternoon,” he told Ruth.

“Your father went shopping,” Ruth said. “We'll have supper here. I'll fix a salad and some pasta.” Tomorrow, they would all fly to New York. Penelope's body was being flown back this morning. The funeral director in Greenwich was taking care of everything. Ruth thought she heard stirring, and peeked into Isobel's room to check. Still asleep. When she came back, Gabriel was standing at the door. His aftershave left a fresh, citrus smell in the air.

“Bye, Mom,” he said. His eyes didn't meet hers.

All at once Ruth understood that he was going to see Ginny. She was still in San Francisco and he was on his way to see her, kiss her, schtup her, for all Ruth knew. And Penelope not even buried yet. My God, was this the son she had raised? She was shocked, offended and most of all ashamed. Before she was able to tell him any of this, the door had closed quietly behind him. He was gone.

Ruth looked at the spot where he had stood. It was a good thing Oscar wasn't there, because she just might have taken out her anger on him. Then there was a sound again, and, this time, Isobel was awake and standing a little unsteadily, her hands grasping the slats of the crib.

“Mama,” she called and Ruth felt stabbed hearing the word. “Mama!” She hurried in to pick Isobel up, hold her tightly. When she did, she was suddenly seized by the most outrageous desire she had ever felt in her life: to leave Oscar, to leave Gabriel, Ginny and Caroline. She knew how impractical and even insane such a desire was. Which made it all the more compelling. Everyone else had gone and done what they wanted without thinking about the result. Ruth thought about everything that had gone on in the past year—Oscar's infidelity, the gnawing worry about her son's marriage, the sorrow she had felt at Penelope's rejection, the knowledge that it was, of course, too late to ever make it right with her—and all these feelings rose up, with the force of a tidal wave. But instead of running for cover, a new and entirely unfamiliar Ruth just stood there and waited for it all to break.

She walked to the window and looked out at the street. She was pleased to see that people were walking along calmly, totally unaware of the seismic shift going on inside this apartment, inside
her.
Abandon her family. The thought, once formed, shone dangerous and alluring as a knife. Ruth did not let herself think about the consequences.

She would take Isobel. They would go somewhere else, somewhere far away, like Mexico. Ruth would raise Isobel alone. She had always wanted a daughter; maybe this whole awful sequence of events was God's way of granting her wish. Ruth realized she even had her passport. She always took it with her when she traveled. Of course Isobel didn't have a passport, but Ruth would find some way around that.

The improbable plan quickly took shape in her mind. She would need money, but that wouldn't be a problem as her wallet contained both cash and credit cards. This should get them through the first few days at least. After that, Ruth would contact Warren Greenberg, who had been their attorney forever, about getting more money. Surely after all these years of marriage, she should be entitled to something. The bag she brought from New York was still packed. Isobel would need a few things, but Ruth could buy the rest as they went along.

It was only when she was taking the remaining pairs of Oscar's underwear and his shirts—shirts that she herself had packed—out of the bag that she stopped. How long would it take him to realize she had left him? Would the worry about where she had gone break him in two? She found paper and wrote a quick note. It would be better than nothing.

The next step was renting a car. Ruth thought of the stroller parked by the door. Isobel could ride in it while they walked to a car rental office. Good thing she had brought along some really comfortable shoes. With all those hills, she was going to need them.

Ruth looked at Isobel, whose head was snuggled just under her collarbone. The baby's clenched fist was beating lightly on her chest. “You must be hungry,” Ruth said as she carried her to the kitchen. “Well, we'd better hurry up and get you fed before Grandpa comes back.” She seated Isobel in the high chair, where Isobel guzzled her milk and gummed her banana. Meanwhile, Ruth pulled out the telephone book and began to search for the number of a car-rental agency nearby.

As she made her plans, Ruth felt as if she were observing herself. The old Ruth watched the new one with disbelief and admiration. What daring this new Ruth possessed. What spirit. The new Ruth confidently held the receiver to her ear. She took it as a sign, another good sign, like having the passport, that someone picked up on the very first ring.

GABRIEL

G
abriel knew
that he frightened Ginny. He didn't mean to, but when they were at that motel, he was desperate, he was wild. He wanted to blot out the image of Penelope lying on the morgue table. So he wound her newly blond hair tightly around his fists, sucked her skin hard enough to leave marks. And scared her. He could tell she was eager to get up, get out, leave him to go to her rehearsal. When he talked about seeing her in New York, she looked alarmed. Not that he could imagine any kind of life for them together. He couldn't see Ginny preparing a meal, changing a diaper, remembering to renew the subscription to the
New York Times,
all the things Penelope did that made his life harmonious and sweet, all the things he had taken for granted, and now had lost.

After Ginny left, Gabriel got up, dressed and drove home. He found his father in the apartment, clumsily making himself a roast beef sandwich, but both his mother and his daughter were gone.

“Where's Mom?” he asked, looking hungrily at the sandwich. He realized he hadn't eaten yet today and it was close to one o'clock.

“I don't know,” said his father. “I went out for groceries and she was gone when I got back.”

“Maybe she took Isobel for a walk. The stroller is missing.”

“Maybe,” said Oscar. “Anyway, I waited for a long time and finally decided to make myself something to eat.” He looked at Gabriel eyeing his food. “Would you like a sandwich? I can make you one.” Gabriel nodded and Oscar spent the next few minutes assembling the rye bread, the mayonnaise. Together, they took their plates into the dining room.

“Where do you think they could have gone?” Oscar asked between bites.

“There's a playground a couple of blocks away. Maybe they went there. Isobel really likes it. Maybe she's having such a good time Mom wanted to let her stay.”

“Could we take a walk over there? See if we can find them?”

There were lots of children in the playground. But Isobel was not one of them. They stood there for a moment, watching other people's children run and slide, swing and climb. Gabriel remembered coming here with Penelope and Isobel, pushing her in the swing, guiding her down the baby slide.

“I wonder where she could be,” said Oscar, more to himself than to Gabriel.

“Are you worried about her? She was pretty upset last night.”

“She was,” Oscar agreed. “Can we sit down?” The bench was clammy with condensation from rain the night before, but Gabriel still felt good to be sitting there with Oscar. He thought of the day at the beach last November, and how angry he had been. That anger was gone now, replaced by something else Gabriel was still trying to decipher.

“There's something I've been wanting to say to you,” Oscar began.

“What's that, Dad?”

“I want you to know that what happened with Ginny happened only twice. But those were the only two times in my life I've been unfaithful to your mother.”

Gabriel did not want to hear about Ginny and Oscar. But he didn't want to look at Penelope's body beneath the sheet either. If he could stand that, he could stand this. Especially since Oscar seemed to need to tell him. Gabriel stared straight ahead, at a little girl toddling toward a man who seemed to be her father, and suddenly he wanted to see Isobel.

“That's all right, Dad.” He stood up. “Let's get going. Maybe Mom is back at the apartment.” He waited for Oscar, who seemed to be having a hard time getting up. Gabriel felt a pang: Oscar was not old, but he was not in the best physical shape and this whole thing must have been pretty wearing on him. He gave his father his arm. Oscar took it, looking up and straight into his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, and together they left the playground.