Wives and Lovers (18 page)

“I don't think it was silly. I was pretending, it was a game, you see. As long as you keep your eyes closed I can pretend that you love me and we have some sort of chance of going on together.”

“I do love you,” Elaine said. “I've always loved you. As for going on together, we haven't much choice, have we? We're not the kind of people who do foolish things on the spur of the moment. We have a sense of responsi­bility.” She turned her face away from his in a gesture of impatience and withdrawal. “Oh, let's sit down. What's the use of dancing, what's the use of coming to a party at all if we've got to talk about things like this.”

The dining room was half-filled by this time. Elaine paused to greet two of her bridge-club friends, reminding Gordon by pressing his hand that he wasn't to forget to ask them to dance. Gordon returned to the punch bowl, while Elaine explained to her friends that Gordon was keeping an eye on Judge Bowridge for the evening, he and Gordon were such pals, and you know how Bowridge gets sometimes, stiff, my dear, positively stiff. I know he lost his wife, but
still!

Bowridge had sat down on a bench behind the punch bowl. He had taken his spectacles out of his pocket and was cleaning them with a handkerchief.

“Ha,” he said, breathing air on the lenses. “Ha, ha. Didn't think you'd be back, Gordon.”

“Here I am.”

“Sit down. Do you feel anything?”

“No.”

“Nor I. A little in the eyes, perhaps. My eyes are my weakest part. Those damn lights in the courtroom, not enough of them. Have to peer and peer to distinguish the defendant from the prosecution.” He pinched his spec­tacles on the bridge of his nose and glanced around the room. “In my opinion this straight alcohol is vastly over­rated, unless we're diluting it too much. Do you think that could be it?”

“Possibly.”

“Then let us mend our ways.” The judge rose. He walked steadily and ponderously, without a tremor. Gordon saw Elaine dancing with Dr. Lavery. She was talking very gaily, shaking her head and laughing, but he knew very well that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. She was watching Bowridge too, as he ladled the punch and spiked it with alcohol from the bottle. Gordon felt like a little boy who is aware that he is doing wrong but keeps on doing it because he knows he won't be openly reprimanded or punished in front of strangers. There'd be only the sweet steely smile, the secret pinch on the arm, the whispered wait-till-I-get-you-home, Junior!

And, like the small boy who knew he was doing wrong, Gordon pretended he was not afraid. His face smiled, while the fear pressed on his chest, stifling his breathing. Wait-till-I-get-you-home, Gordon! He knew now that he had always been afraid of her. This was no new fear that had sprung up because of Ruby, because he had finally given Elaine a weapon. It was an old growth, its multiple roots buried twenty feet under the ground, crossing and re-crossing each other, a maze of roots and at the core, Gordon's personal minotaur.

“Wake up, Gordon,” Bowridge said.

“I wasn't asleep.”

“Pardon?”

“I—wasn't—asleep.”

“I didn't say you were. You were dreaming. Some­times I dream too, and I can look very alert when I'm dreaming but this takes practice.” The judge sat down on the bench and handed Gordon his glass. “In court, some­times I dream, and sometimes I worry, about fifty-fifty. I worry about people, I try to clarify issues. I boil them down in a crucible, I boil and boil, and when I've finished there isn't a thing left in the crucible, not an ash, not a drop of liquid. I also worry about my cough. Have you ever heard my cough?”

“No.”

“It sounds like this—
chmm
—there. Very dry. It could be anything. What do you suppose it is, Gordon?”

“Phlegm.”

“That's no answer. Why do you suppose I have phlegm?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, there you are,” Bowridge said with gloomy satisfaction. “You don't know and I don't know.”

Gordon frowned. “I don't get that about boiling the issues.”

“Ah, well, you boil off the extraneous matter, you va­porize the irrelevancies, and then what have you got? Nothing. It's very clear, a child could understand. For a child there are no irrelevancies, everything is equally important, a fire, a bowel movement, a caterpillar on a leaf, the pattern of a print, a kiss, a bruise, a passing motor scooter, the smell of a certain cake of soap. I have no children, I am only making this up by the method of contrasts. I'm old. I'm too tired to be interested in fires or caterpillars. I don't notice prints. My sense of smell is feeble, my bowel movements difficult. No one has kissed me for years. I hate the noise of motor scooters. You see?”

“I don't know.”

“Ah, even a child can understand, it's very clear.” The judge coughed twice,
chmm
,
chmm
, very dry. Then he put his glass down, took off his spectacles again and cleaned them, blowing on them, ha! ha! ha! and wiping the mist off with his handkerchief. He began to hum with the orchestra. “Catchy tune that. Spirited.” Escalante sang “Chuy, chuy,” and the Judge sang too, “Chewy, chewy, chewy chewy!”

“I feel,” Bowridge said, “that I'm getting into the spirit of things.”

Gordon took off his hat and put it on the floor. “It's getting warm in here.”

“I like warmth. You and I could sing a duet, Gordon. That fellow up there can't sing. Who ever told him he could sing? Someone should apprise him of the true facts. Come along, come along, you and I will sing a duet.”

“I don't know the words.”

“They're very simple, just chewy chewy, chewy chewy.”

“I don't know the music either.”

“No matter. Just follow me.”

Gordon looked around for Elaine, but there were too many people on the dance floor and they all looked rather vague and trivial.

Gordon and the judge raised their voices in song.

10

Gordon hung onto the palm tree with both his hands. The tree was swaying, so he knew there must be a high wind. Against his forehead the bark of the tree felt harsh and dry, like the skin of a very old man. He decided to sit down under this tree and rest.

“Get up,” Elaine said.

“I lost my hat.”

“Get up. I'm warning you, Gordon.”

“A little rest, that's all.”

“You disgusting fool, humiliating me in front of all those people. Get up, we're going home. After the exhibition you've made of yourself you'd think you'd want to go home. Do you hear me, Gordon?”

He heard her, of course, but he was listening to other things as well, trying to give them equal importance as the judge said. He heard the engine of a car starting,
za za za za za oom,
and the faint click of heels on the distant side­walk. He heard Miguel Escalante and his Latin American Rhythms, and the noise of the palm tree. It didn't make the same kind of noise as other trees did. It crackled an incantation, waving its arms in grandiose sweeps like a demented evangelist. What a remarkable woman Elaine was—the wind that swayed the tree left her untouched.

“I lost my hat,” Gordon said.

“I have it. Can't you even
see?
”

He peered up at her very earnestly, and of course she had the hat. Elaine never forgot such things. She would, after the Fiesta was over, pack the hat away in mothballs until the next Fiesta. It was a way of measuring time, counting Fiestas instead of birthdays. Next Fiesta he would be one year, three pounds and two moth holes older.
I'm old,
the judge said.
My sense of smell is feeble—I'm too tired—I don't notice—I hate—no one has kissed me—

“Are you going to sit there all night?” Elaine said.

“A little rest. You could rest too, Elaine. The grass is damp but it's not very damp.”

“Thanks. I'll stand up.” She took a step nearer to him and leaned over, staring at him. Her face was white and furious. “All my life I've had to apologize for you and make excuses for you, and I'm sick of it, do you hear? I'm sick of it! I've apologized to the children because they've never had a decent father to play games with them or spend some time with them. I've apologized to my friends because every time we go out together you sit in the corner like a lump of lead, and don't open your mouth. I swear, sometimes you act half-witted. Well, the great silent act wasn't enough, oh no! Tonight you have to put on another one. You get drunk as a lord and sing,
sing,
mind you, in front of all those people. Out of tune, too.”

“I didn't know the tune, I had to make it up.”

“That's lovely! That makes everything all right, I suppose. Yes, and I've had to apologize to my mother, too. Little did she think that I'd be living from hand to mouth, without a maid or a car of my own. She thought you'd have enough gumption to go out and make some money the way other men do.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I'm trying to be reasonable, I'm trying to control myself, but there are limits. You just don't seem to have any character, Gordon. You can't resist things, you have no will power.”

Answers formed in his mind, rather cleverly, but he remained silent. Whatever he said, she could say more. It could go on all night and all tomorrow, it could go on until one of them died. Gordon, beloved husband of Elaine—

The thing to do was to attach equal importance to all sounds, the car, the heels on the sidewalk, the music, the mad tree. But the car had gone, the heels were silent, the tree drowsed. The music that seeped out of the windows was melancholy and sensuous. It whispered of love and betrayal, Perfidia. The notes ground into his wounds like salt. He thought of Ruby, and the tears welled in his eyes.

Elaine went on talking. She hadn't raised her voice, it was flat, controlled, reasonable: now let us both admit, calmly, that you lack character, will power, earning power, social graces and fatherly instincts; in brief, let us admit that you bear no resemblance to a man.

“There's one more thing,” Elaine said. “I swore for the sake of my own pride that I'd never discuss this with you. But I haven't got any pride left any more. You managed that, all right. You were with your girlfriend this afternoon, weren't you?”

Gordon shook his bowed head, not trusting himself to speak for fear Elaine might hear the tears in his voice.

“So you're still going to lie about it, are you? I suppose you're even going to deny that you have a girlfriend.”

Gordon shook his head again.

“They say a wife is always the last to know about it. But I wasn't, I was one of the first. How you could hope to get away with it, in a town like this where everybody knows you—you, a man your age, with three children— Everyone's laughing at you. Not at
me
, because they know I know. If they don't know, I tell them. Everyone was laughing, and it was a case of me joining in the laughs or getting laughed at along with you. So I joined in.”

Gordon looked up at her, his mouth open with shock. No matter what happened to him she would always be on the opposite side, joining in the laughs.

“Surprised, aren't you?” Elaine said harshly. “You didn't think I'd do it, did you? I laughed with the rest of them. Yes, and if they didn't know what the joke was, I'd
tell
them! I'd say, ‘Gordon? Oh, Gordon's fine. Of course I don't see much of him any more, he's got a new interest in life.' Then I'd smile, like this. You aren't watching me, Gordon, don't you want to see how I'd smile?”

She was leaning far over now, her face only a foot or so from his, and she was smiling viciously, her mouth drawn back from her teeth, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“You poor slobbering idiot, you thought you could make a fool of me, didn't you? But I got there first, I turned the tables on you! When we were invited some place, you know what I'd say? I'd say, I'm sorry we won't be able to come tonight. Gordon has a date. I haven't the faintest idea whether it's the same girl or not. You know how men get at that age and poor old Gordon needs a little fling. Heaven knows it's better for some girl who gets paid for it to bear the brunt of it rather than me.”

He struggled to his feet, clutching at the palm tree. One of the shoulder seams of his coat ripped. He began to run clumsily across the grass to the driveway.

Elaine stood there under the tree, watching him. It was only when she heard the engine of the car start that she realized his intention, and she began to run after him, waving the hat. The car streaked out of the driveway with Elaine stumbling along behind it. Gordon didn't look back.

She returned to the club, limping. She had turned her ankle while she was running, and it was already beginning to swell. Judge Bowridge was at the checking counter putting on his coat and still humming.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to,” Bow­ridge said. “What's happened to Gordon?”

“He's gone,” Elaine said curtly.

“Gone?”

“He took the car and left. We had a disagreement.”

“I hope I didn't precipitate it.”

“No.”

“You must let me drive you home.”

“No thanks, I'll call a cab. Do you think I should report it to the police?”

“Report what?”

“Gordon. He's drunk, he shouldn't be driving around in his condition, he might wreck the only car we have. And who knows where he's gone? I could report that my car was stolen, couldn't I?”

“Is it registered under your name?”

“Gordon's.”

“Then it isn't stolen, obviously. Now, if a divorce was pending and the car was listed as community property, Gordon could be enjoined from removing it from the premises without your consent, until the community property was equably divided.”

“There's no divorce pending, I assure you.”

“Then if I were you I'd go home. You'll probably find Gordon there ahead of you.”

The checkroom attendant called a cab, and Elaine waited for it outside. It was a long time in coming, and her ankle throbbed, but she couldn't go back inside and face the smiles of her friends. She stood haughtily on the stone steps, holding her head high. She had done what she thought was right in bringing up the subject of the girl, but now that it was done she felt a slight anxiety at the back of her mind. Gordon hadn't reacted as she thought he would. He had made no denials, no protestations of shame; he hadn't promised to give the girl up and never see her again. He simply got in the car and drove off.

She half-expected that the judge was right and that she'd find Gordon at home, already asleep, when she got there. But when the cab stopped in front of the house she saw that the garage doors were still open and the garage was empty. Judith had left her scooter out. It was on the front lawn propped up against the pyracantha bush. Elaine picked it up and put it on the veranda beside Paul's little bicycle. Judith's one-legged doll, Nancy, was seated on the bicycle, draped in one of Paul's sweaters. Elaine looked down at the abandoned toys of her sleeping children, and her throat thickened with regret and a growing fear.

In the dim light of the front room she saw Ruth asleep on the davenport. She had her tweed coat flung over her as a blanket, and she had spread a newspaper on the end of the davenport so that her shoes wouldn't soil the slip­covers.

Elaine knew how nervous Ruth was about intruders, so she turned on another lamp in order that Ruth might see her immediately when she woke up.

“Ruth?”

“Who— Oh, dear.” She sat up and put her feet hastily on the floor. “My goodness, you're home early. It's not even midnight.”

“A quarter to.”

“What happened to your leg?”

“I turned my ankle on the dance floor,” Elaine said. “I thought I'd better come home. There was no sense in spoiling Gordon's good time. I took a cab. I'll call you one, when you're ready to leave.”

“Oh no,” Ruth protested. “I can walk, it's not a bit far.” It wasn't, actually, very far, but the nights were dark, and all along the way there were high, dense hedges and massive shrubs. In the daytime they were pretty, with their bright green foliage, but at night they darkened to deep slate and black, shadows within shadows. The least sound, an exploring snail, a gopher, a bird threshing about in the leaves, would send her charging down the street seeking the shelter of the next street lamp. “I can walk,” she repeated stubbornly.

“No.” Elaine's tone was final, and Ruth felt a deep gratitude toward her. No matter what some people might say, Hazel, for instance, Ruth had always found Mrs. Foster a lady, with a lady's sense of obligation. It was hard for her to believe that the Fosters had quarrels, yet she knew it was true. Not only had Hazel told her, but Judith gave her detailed reports every Saturday night. The child had a wonderful memory, and sometimes she mimicked her mother with appalling cruelty. Ruth would try not to be shocked: “Now, Judith, it isn't nice to imitate people.” “Well, she said it, she did so, didn't she, Paul?” “She did so,” Paul agreed. “Well, you know,” Ruth said, “when we hear something we're not supposed to hear, we must close our ears.” “Yes, but my ears won't close,” Judith said earnestly.

Ruth got up and folded the newspaper and carried it out to the kitchen. When she returned, Elaine was sitting in the wing chair staring straight ahead of her at the lamp beside the davenport. Ruth glanced at the lamp too, to see if anything was wrong. No, the shade was on straight and there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen.

When she had put her coat on, she said hesitantly, “Well, I guess you won't be needing me any more tonight. Let's see, I've been here three and a half hours, but we needn't count the half, and you don't have to pay me to­night if it's not convenient.”

There was a long pause. Ruth kept buttoning and un­buttoning her coat, nervously. She was beginning to fear the worst—that Mrs. Foster had been drinking.

Without taking her eyes off the lamp, Elaine said, “Why don't you stay here overnight?”

“Here?” Ruth said, immediately flustered. “Over­night? Oh, I couldn't. Hazel's expecting me, and what will Dr. Foster say when he gets home?”

“I don't know. I don't even know whether he's coming home.”

“A party can't last forever.”

“He isn't at the party,” Elaine said in a cold, dry voice. “He took the car and ran away.”

“Oh dear.”

“He was drunk and we had a fight.”

“What a shame.”
We must close our ears. Yes, but my ears won't close!
“If he drives around, the air will sober him up.”

“I said some things I shouldn't. Some of them were lies. I only lied to protect myself. I didn't want him to think that he'd made a fool of me. I didn't—I tell you I never did say anything to other people about Gordon and his—girl. I pretended she never existed. I never mentioned her, I don't even know her name.”