After the Fall (11 page)

KATE
•

Cary had first taken me up onto the roof. Once, long ago, before we were married. It had been fairly early on in our relationship, when we were still self-consciously dating, sizing each other up, committing no more than a week in advance. We’d met for lunch. I’d caught a tram across from the museum, then taken the elevator to the sixth floor, hastily applying my lipstick in the steely reflection of its double doors. As usual I was running late, and Cary was glancing at his watch as I entered his office.

“Glad you could make it,” he’d said, looking up, smiling.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I began, as I had done so many times before. “The meeting ran overtime; then I got a call from a curator in Portland—”

“Forget it,” he interrupted, though kindly. “There’s a case conference at two I have to be at, so we don’t have time to go far. We could try the staff dining room, if you’re game.”

“Don’t bother,” Steve called out from the adjoining lab, where he had been unashamedly eavesdropping. “The special today is tripe, which is all they’ll have left by now anyway.”

“I don’t mind tripe,” I volunteered untruthfully.

“Well, I do. And I’ve got a better idea,” said Cary, steering me back toward the elevator.

The hospital was seventeen stories high, perched on the edge of the city and surrounded by gardens on three of its four flanks. The elevator went only as far as the fifteenth floor; then an internal fire escape finished the journey. Cary paused at the top, his hand on the heavy fire door leading out onto the roof.

“You ready?” he asked before opening it.

I nodded, out of breath from all those steps. He pushed on the door, and air and light rushed into the musty stairwell like bubbles up the neck of a champagne bottle. I was momentarily disoriented, intoxicated, and Cary took my hand. For the size of the building there was surprisingly little space up there, the hospital having tapered at its apex. Most of all, the roof reminded me of the pool deck on a ship, but without the pool: bare open space with a cavernous drop on either side. There was a low wall around the perimeter topped by some sort of Plexiglas that reduced the wind and discouraged suicide. Beyond that the roof was unfurnished and unoccupied, save for three empty sun lounges lugged up there by resourceful staff and a few hardy plants clinging to the concrete.

“Come and have a look at the view,” said Cary, pulling me toward the edge.

I gazed through the glass and drew in my breath. Below me acres of green stretched out to the suburbs, verdant fingers seemingly pressing houses and roads back into tight lines. Out to the left a navy sea tossed and threaded its way into port, while at my back grape-purple hills sat cloaked in their afternoon shadow.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” asked Cary. “All the way from the Dandenongs to the bay. I come up here sometimes when I need to clear my head.”

I said nothing, drinking in the scene, silent except for the faint hum of traffic and the throb of the autumn wind.

“See those trees?”

I laughed at the question; there were so many below us. Cary stepped behind me and pointed one arm over my shoulder.

“Down there. Where the leaves are falling.”

I followed the line of his finger to a knot of bare limbs and bright colors, orange canopies like small bonfires against the surrounding green.

“Most of the gardens are native now,” he said, arms warm around me. “That’s all that’s left of the original planting, when the city was first settled.”

“What are they?” I asked.

“Plane trees, oaks, maybe an elm or two. Descendants of those brought over here by homesick settlers. Maybe some of them are even the originals themselves.”

“Really?”

I felt him shrug. “Certain species can live for hundreds of years. It’s not inconceivable.” He paused. “Just imagine that. All the way from London or Liverpool or Dartmoor. Acorns tied into handkerchiefs in Cornwall, damp and dusty from months at sea, still shooting now on the other side of the world.”

I shivered in Cary’s arms. I had felt this before in my own work: all that time, all that distance, the lives that had elapsed while some trinket lay buried. The continuity of objects—jewelry, pots, seeds—never failed to move me, to give me hope. My new boyfriend kissed the top of my head and spoke into my hair.

“And aren’t they beautiful now? It’s amazing how things can endure.”

I’d been up to the roof since then, but never at night. And never, of course, with Luke. We barely looked at each other in the elevator, moving to opposite walls, afraid perhaps to break the spell or to have to think about what we were doing. On the fifth floor the elevator stopped and a trolley was wheeled between us. A small figure lay upon it under a starched sheet, immobile and with eyes closed. I couldn’t tell the sex, or even if it was breathing. The child was accompanied by a theater technician anonymous as an astronaut, only his eyes visible under the surgical garb. He stared at the floor for eight levels; then the elevator jerked to a halt and he soundlessly wheeled the body out again into a dim and silent corridor.

Luke kissed me on every stair of the fire escape. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind us his mouth found mine, and we stumbled to the staircase locked in the embrace. By one flight up my blouse was undone, his shirt pulled open, my lips bruised and starting to swell. We held each other, panting, on the landing while he removed my stockings, still kissing me and without even looking. For a moment I felt we might just slide to the floor and climb no higher. My hair came undone and Luke muttered into it, “How much farther?”

“One floor.” I gasped as his hands moved back to my breasts, lifting them up and together before he bent to kiss the cleft he’d created. His hair felt like silk against my throat, his body still steering me upward as he touched and tasted.

I suppose the night air must have been cool, as it was still only spring. But I can’t say I noticed it, can’t say I noticed anything except the stars peeping in and out in the sky above and the static spark from the Plexiglas as Luke slid me against it. All I was aware of was heat: heat from his skin, heat in his eyes, heat rising inexorably through my system, my belly, my thighs. “Kate,” Luke murmured against my forehead, his mouth leaving mine for the first time in minutes. Later I wondered if he’d been giving me a chance to escape, a moment to cry
no
or push away. If so, I didn’t take it. When I stayed where I was he whispered my name again, this time slowly, with promise. I felt the weight of his body move against mine, felt my own body soften and sigh and accommodate him, opening up against the length of his thigh, the pressure of his chest. With one strong hand he was holding both of mine, pinioning them lightly at my side; with the other he slowly, deliberately traced his forefinger down the curve of my face. I felt his breath on my cheek, heard my own breath coming in gasps. His finger outlined the contour of my mouth: up, down, up, over the bow, sliding slowly over my shaky bottom lip. For a moment I felt dizzy, thought I could hear the band playing all that way below us. In one small corner of my mind there was Cary; there was shame. But everything else was here, caught like a fly in amber in the fullness of the moment. Finally, irrevocably, his lips were again on mine, my mouth open before they even met, his tongue sliding inside me like a serpent. Lower, I felt the same thing happening between our bodies, easily, fluidly, without force or strain or resistance. For a second I was shocked by the speed with which he had taken me. But then there was only pleasure, the hiss of the jungle, the undergrowth, and I was kissing him back, moving against and in time with him, hands, now released, in his hair, everything concentrated on the warmth and the want between us.

Afterward, opening my eyes, I saw the lights of Melbourne flickering beneath us like a thousand tiny candles, like a church on Christmas morning.

LUKE
•

Afterward, what struck me most was how easy it had been. I was thirty-four, with probably more than my fair share of conquests, but none of them had transpired as effortlessly as that. In my experience, there’s a degree of bargaining, of contract making, that goes into any sexual encounter, usually unvoiced. Everybody knows the rules, but no one articulates them. People don’t just meet and sleep together, even if the attraction is mutual. Something has to happen in between, usually instigated by the male: a meal, maybe, a drink or a dance, a pledge of marriage or the promise of a phone call. Even the most tawdry of my one-night stands didn’t just happen without a string of compliments or cocktails, something to pave the way. It’s almost as if sex is too vast, too frightening or too wicked to exist by itself, and purely for its own sake.

And that was what was so unique about Kate. There was no game playing, no pretense. I didn’t have to tell her she was beautiful; I didn’t tell her anything at all. Or take her out, or buy her flowers, or scheme to get her alone. The attraction was there from the moment we first danced together at the wedding. I’m sure we would have made love then if circumstances had allowed. But they didn’t, and I didn’t spend the following weeks plotting or phoning or promising. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not as if I don’t enjoy those things; in fact, I often found pursuit more satisfactory than plunder. It’s just that for once it was so refreshing, so simple. She wanted me; I wanted her; we had sex. Easy.

Easy, too, even in the most practical details. For one, no one saw us. Early on I was careful to be circumspect, but once we made it to the stairwell I don’t think I would have noticed if the fire brigade had turned up. Really, either Cary or Cress could have finished what they were doing and come looking for us, but they didn’t. The day hospital was empty, and so was the roof. It wasn’t raining, and Tim wasn’t following me around the way he normally does. Even the architecture was on our side. It gives me chills now to think of how I trusted our combined weight to a single sheet of Plexiglas seventeen stories up, suicide repellent or not. But it held, as did our luck.

Then there were the actual mechanics. Without wishing to sound too technical, I hardly ever make love standing up. Quite frankly, it’s too difficult. Your partner has to be just the right height, and light enough to lift if necessary. There’s all that maneuvering for the angle, trying to ensure you stay coupled when gravity and pretty much everything else is working against you. It wasn’t what I would have planned for a first time with someone new. It wasn’t even something I’d attempted with Cress, who preferred sex lying down and by candlelight. But somehow it just worked. When I leaned against Kate her body clicked into mine like a joint in a socket and I couldn’t bear to move away, couldn’t bear even to lose the time it would take to lower her to the concrete. Thank God she was wearing a skirt.

We made it back to the trivia night by the middle of round nine, and before we were even missed. Kate giggled all the way down the fire escape, pulling her hair back up with practiced hands, smoothing out stockings and buttoning her blouse. She smiled when I caught her eye, looking flushed and soft, like a child not long woken up. The elevator was empty and I kissed her again, surprised at how much I still wanted to. As we drew apart it occurred to me that I hadn’t even seen her naked.

Outside the dining room Kate paused and indicated the ladies’ room.

“I’m just going in here. You go ahead.”

Then she disappeared and I was left loitering uncomfortably, as I’d done not an hour ago. I wondered if I should wait, until it dawned on me that she was being cautious and trying to avoid our being seen together. It felt almost sneaky to be slipping away like that—no good-bye kiss, no words exchanged, sincere or otherwise. Another first.

On the way back to our table I scanned the crowd for Cress’s familiar face. I needn’t have worried, as she still wasn’t back. Tim was deep in conversation with a sharp-eyed brunette, and barely looked up as I resumed my seat.

“I couldn’t find Cress,” I whispered to him as casually as I could. “She didn’t turn up while I was gone, did she?” He shook his head, no longer even bothering with the trivia questions. Glancing to the stage I could faintly make out Cary in the background, fiddling with some piece of equipment. It appeared that no one had cared about my absence, that I’d gotten away scot-free. I was tempted to go back and find Kate again.

CARY
•

Despite myself I enjoyed the trivia night. I’ll admit I didn’t expect to, and it certainly didn’t begin well, but by the time I returned from helping with the sound system the table had finally clicked, people were laughing and Kate welcomed me back with huge and glowing eyes. I guess, too, I was feeling better: useful, successful. I enjoy using my hands, working things out. I think I would have liked to have been a surgeon, if I’d had the grades.

The competition was essentially over when I did get back, though, and I felt a little guilty for missing it all. Still, it wasn’t as if the team had been winning, or I could have done much to change that. Kate didn’t seem to have suffered either. After our seven years together she knew quite a few of the hospital staff and must have moved around to speak with them, because she wasn’t at our table when I’d glanced out from the stage wings once or twice. Besides, she also had Sarah, Rick and Joan, though when I looked Joan wasn’t at the table either. I suppose the two of them were off somewhere together, doing whatever it is girls do two by two in bathrooms. Anyway, the main thing was that I knew Kate wouldn’t be upset by my absence, that she could more than look after herself socially. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about her.

Considering our loss, she was in high spirits when I returned to my seat. Kate has a competitive streak, and I remember her anger all the way home after the first hospital trivia night she’d attended, when Steve fluffed the capital of Panama and blew our chance of coming in second. The funny thing was that she hadn’t known the answer either.

Tonight, though, it appeared that she couldn’t care less, her mood so good that I risked a gentle jibe.

“Thirteenth out of fifteen teams? What happened? I’ve obviously been propping you up all those other years.”

Sarah started to reply but Kate quickly interjected. “They were silly questions,” she replied airily, jumping out of her seat to kiss me. “Let’s go out and console ourselves with a drink.”

I looked around at the others, who’d been silently preparing to leave: pulling on coats, fishing car keys from their bags. None seemed as if they were particularly keen to prolong the evening.

“Come on,” urged Kate, sensing the reluctance. “I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you all night, Steve.” She flashed him a smile so intense that I almost felt it make contact. “Or you, Sarah,” she continued, gathering her friends around her. “And Rick! You must tell me how that lovely daughter of yours is. Does she like school?”

One by one she was winning them over. I saw Sarah peek down at her watch, then exchange glances with Rick.

“Well, I suppose one wouldn’t hurt,” he conceded. “The babysitter’s booked till twelve thirty.”

“Fantastic!” Kate bubbled. “You’re coming too, aren’t you, Mark?” she entreated my defenseless friend. “The Redback’s not far from here; we can easily walk. Steve, you’ll bring your friends as well, won’t you? Cary, see if there’s anyone from orthopedics who wants to join us. Now, where’s Joan?”

But despite Kate’s organizational frenzy Joan could not be found, and we left without her. Others had had the same idea, and by the time we got to the pub it was packed, hospital staff and their partners crowding doorways and spilling drinks on one another in the crush. I volunteered to buy the first round, though it took nearly twenty minutes. Finally successful, I spotted Kate in a corner and headed toward her. She was talking with Sarah, or rather to her, the other girl simply nodding now and then as Kate’s lips moved on and on. So absorbed was Kate in the conversation that she didn’t notice my approach, and jumped when I held her cold drink to the small of her back.

“God, you scared the life out of me,” she scolded, momentarily angry. I handed her a glass in reply.

“What were you two discussing so intently?” I asked, curious. Sarah colored. Maybe she and Rick were having problems.

“This and that. Girl stuff,” Kate said breezily, then took the drink with glee. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to have any of this?”

“After the team’s performance tonight I figured you’d need cheering up.” She smiled, delighted, opal eyes ablaze. On impulse I leaned down and kissed her.

“Cut that out,” said a familiar voice, though one I hadn’t heard in a while. I straightened up to find Tim smiling and extending his hand. The other one, I couldn’t help but notice, was holding fast to Joan, who lurked like a smirking pixie at his shoulder.

“You’re here!” exclaimed Kate, rather obviously. “We couldn’t find you, so we left. I’m so glad you’ve turned up. And with Tim,” she added, her surprise almost comical. “Have you two been introduced?”

They laughed, and Tim’s clasp on Joan tightened. “Not by you, thanks very much. No, I bumped into her at the hospital; we got to talking and then realized we both knew the two of you.”

I rapidly surveyed the crowd around us but couldn’t see Luke or Cressida. Hopefully Tim had come without them. Kate wound her own arm around my waist, distracting me.

“Well, that’s great, isn’t it, Cary? Now, Tim, this is Sarah and Rick, and Cary’s friend Mark. Joan, you’ve already met Steve, haven’t you?”

One drink turned into two, and it was four or five by the time the pub closed. Sarah and Rick had long gone, but the rest of our group had stayed on, as had most of the evening’s participants. Even as we left some of them were suggesting moving on to a club, determined to drag every possibility out of the night.

“Are you interested?” I asked Kate, feeling surprisingly wide-awake.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head and slipped a hand inside my jacket for warmth. “It’s been a big night. Let’s just go home to bed.”

It was cold inside the car, but the roads were empty and we didn’t have far to go. Kate was quiet, tired, staring out the passenger window. As the heater came to life and we crept through the sleeping suburbs I had the distinct sensation that we were the only two people in the world, a unique partnership protected and enclosed in our warm metal capsule. It was a pleasant thought. Kate yawned and stretched, her thin arms brushing the roof of the car, and I felt a sudden rush of love and gratitude. Gratitude that she was here, with me, unbelievably my wife. And with the gratitude the first sharp stirrings of desire, familiar but rare in this intensity. More than desire. Something I’d been thinking about for a long time, perhaps without even realizing it.

We were stopped at a traffic light, though there were no other cars to be seen. Outside a discarded can was being blown around in the gutter, jangling like a tambourine. Kate was looking out the window again, the lights of the opposite signals reflecting green in her hair. I reached over and tucked a strand behind her still-cold ear.

“Kate, I’ve been thinking,” I started, suddenly nervous. If I’d planned my proposal this was how it would have felt. “I know it’s been a bit tough between us lately, but that’s all over. I love you madly; I always will. You know that, don’t you? I hate it when things aren’t right.” She nodded, still looking away. I felt tears thickening at the back of my throat and hurried on. “Let’s have a baby. A little girl who looks just like you. Or a boy. Twins, I don’t care, three or four or five. What do you say?”

She finally turned toward me, eyes deep green and wet. With joy, I supposed, or hope, or love. Wordlessly she held out her arms. As we embraced she cried into my hair, and we kissed and held each other as the lights cycled from green to red and back again.