“I’ve been so busy,” said Lyle. “How’s John?”
“I hardly see him. When he’s not in the garden, he’s building a stone wall in the meadow. He goes out in the woods with a wheelbarrow and digs up big stones and drags them back. It’s a complete waste of time and energy, but it keeps him busy.”
“He’s not looking for another job?”
“No. He says maybe in the fall, but I doubt he will. If you don’t need a job, and you don’t like working, and you hate the city, what’s the point?”
“One needs to be occupied.”
“Well, this wall should keep him occupied for a couple of years.”
“And Roland? How’s he?”
“He’s fine,” said Marian. “He misses his godfather.”
“Is he talking yet?” asked Lyle.
“Goodness, no,” said Marian. “He’s barely a year.”
“Well, I wish he would hurry. I really prefer babies that talk.”
“The thing about babies is that they don’t talk,” said Marian.
“Then I don’t really get the point of them,” said Lyle.
“You’ll get the point of Roland when you see him,” said Marian.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine. It’s been a really lovely summer.”
“You’re feeling O.K.?”
“Yes,” said Marian. “Better than O.K. Very calm and stable. Knock on wood.” Lyle heard a faint knocking sound, and then a gush of Marian’s laughter. “Oh, isn’t it awful,” she asked, “to aspire to stability? It’s really pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Lyle, “not at all. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.”
“The only thing that’s wrong is my missing you. What have you been up to?”
Lyle heard the toilet flush and Robert descending the stairs. “Actually, lots,” he said. “But I’ll tell you next weekend, all right?”
“What? No, no, no. Tell me now,” said Marian.
“No,” said Lyle. “When I see you.”
“Try to make it Friday, will you?”
“I’ll try,” said Lyle.
“All right. Have a good breakfast.”
“You, too. Bye.”
He hung up as Robert entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” said Robert.
“Would you like some coffee?” asked Lyle.
“Yes,” said Robert, “but I’ll get it.”
Lyle watched him get the coffee. He was wearing his black waiter pants and no shirt. “How did you sleep?”
“O.K.,” said Robert. He stepped out on the terrace with his coffee. There was a woman sitting at a table in the garden below them, reading the newspaper. Most of the garden was paved with
moss-mottled slate. Around its perimeters were beds of ivy in which stood copper urns full of lipstick-red geraniums. In the middle, near the woman, was a stone birdbath.
“Who’s that in the garden?” Robert asked, stepping into the kitchen.
“Daphne,” said Lyle. “She lives below me. She rents the basement apartment.”
“Do you own this building?”
“Yes,” said Lyle. “Now I do. It was Tony’s.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Robert.
“I know,” said Lyle.
Robert stood by the terrace, studying the garden.
“Come here,” said Lyle. He indicated his lap.
Robert considered a moment and then sat on Lyle’s lap. Lyle wrapped his arms around Robert’s chest and held him.
“Who were you talking to so early?” asked Robert.
“A friend of mine. She lives upstate. I’m going to visit her next weekend,” he said.
“That sounds nice,” said Robert.
“Does it? I suppose it does. I’m not really looking forward to it.”
“Why not?” asked Robert.
“Oh, it’s a long story. It’s complicated.” Lyle rested his chin on Robert’s shoulder, so that his mouth was beside Robert’s ear. “It was nice to sleep with you,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Robert.
“I haven’t slept with anyone in ages,” said Lyle. “It’s awful how nice it can be.”
“Why awful?” asked Robert.
“Because then you miss it,” said Lyle. He strummed Robert’s
bare chest, feeling for his nipples. “Would you do it again?” he asked.
“Sleep with you? Yes,” said Robert. “I would.”
Lyle waited a moment, his thumb reading, over and over, the simple Braille dots on Robert’s chest. “Would you sleep with me now?” asked Lyle.
Robert arched his back a little. “Now?” he said. “Yes.”
JOHN HAD MADE BREAKFAST and was bringing it down into the garden. They had an old round table beneath the mulberry tree, which in the morning they dragged out into the sun. John had hung a bassinet from a limb of the tree, in which Roland was very content to have his naps.
Marian strode up the lawn from her morning swim. “Oh, good,” she said. “I was hoping we could have breakfast outdoors. It’s such a beautiful morning.”
“Yes,” said John, “one in a series.” He was shaking the mulberry-stained tablecloth. It was damp and smelled of the night.
Marian took Roland out of his basket, which swung back and forth in the air, buoyed by his removal. He had been a weak and sickly baby yet everyone had said what a good baby he was—how
little he cried, how content he was—but now as he got older his goodness and docility began to alarm Marian. Secretly she worried that perhaps he was not quite right in some way, although the doctor did not share her alarm: she told Marian to thank her lucky stars that she had a quiet baby. But Marian would have been delighted if Roland had screamed or thrown things. She spent hours with him, reading or singing or talking nonsense, and though he did not seem to get bored, he never seemed to be particularly engaged. Sometimes he would smile, faintly, as if he remembered something, from another life, that was amusing.
“What time did he wake up?” asked Marian.
“Just a while ago,” said John. He replaced the cloth on the table, smoothing it out. “We should really get a new cloth. This one’s a mess.”
“It’s fine for breakfast,” said Marian. She put Roland back in the basket. A woodpecker clung to the tree trunk. “Look,” she said to Roland, pointing: “bird.” Roland looked. “Bird,” she repeated. “Birdy.”
“What?” asked John.
“There’s a bird in the tree. A woodpecker, I think.”
John looked up. The bird flew away.
“Gone,” said Marian. “Bye-bye.”
“Are you going to take a shower?” asked John.
“Yes. But quickly. I’m starving.”
“Will you bring the coffee out? And the paper, if it’s come?”
“Yes,” said Marian.
She went upstairs. Their bed was unmade and the room needed to be straightened. Later. She took off her nightgown, which was damp from her swim. From the bathroom window she looked down to see John feeding Roland. He was talking to the baby; she opened the window and leaned out to hear what he was saying
but John heard her and looked up. He stopped talking. She waved and shook her nightgown out and draped it over the windowsill. As she got into the shower she could hear the telephone ringing down in the kitchen.
When she came back out with the coffee, John was digging weeds from the lawn. He had a pronged tool to assist him, and the vehemence with which he drove this into the ground often concerned Marian. Roland was crawling about the lawn beside his father.
“Did you get the telephone?” asked Marian.
“Yes,” said John. “It was Lyle.”
“What did he want? He’s still coming, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said John. He sat up on his haunches and pulled his shirt off. He threw it toward the baby. It landed on top of Roland’s head, shrouding him. He stopped crawling. “See if he takes it off,” said John.
“No,” said Marian. “You frightened him.” She lifted the shirt from Roland’s head. He looked up at her. “There you go,” she said. “Daddy’s shirt.”
“He’s bringing someone,” said John.
“Lyle?” asked Marian.
“Yes,” said John.
“He’s bringing someone? For the weekend? Who?”
“He didn’t say. A friend, he said.”
“He just called up and said he was bringing a friend?”
“No,” said John. “He asked if it would be all right. And I said of course.”
“What friend?” asked Marian.
“He didn’t say.”
“Did he ask for me to call him back?”
“No,” said John.
“He didn’t mention anything about a friend when I spoke to him last Thursday.”
“Well, maybe it’s a new friend. Maybe he just met him.”
“It’s a man?”
“I’m not sure,” said John. “Yes, I think he said he.”
“Why would he bring some man he just met here? Don’t you think it’s strange?”
“I didn’t say he just met him. Maybe it’s an old friend.”
“Yes, you did. You said he just met him.”
“Well, I got that impression. I could be wrong. It’s probably an old friend.”
“But we know all of Lyle’s old friends. He wouldn’t refer to an old friend as a friend. And … well, Lyle comes here to get away from his friends. He wouldn’t bring one with him.”
“Well, he is,” said John. “Tomorrow on the 11:40.”
“This … this messes everything up.”
“What does it mess up?”
“I had invited Laura Ponti to dinner.”
“Who’s Laura Ponti?”
“Don’t you remember? That Italian woman we met at Derek and Granger’s. She said she knew your mother.”
“That old lady?”
“She wasn’t old,” said Marian. “She was very interesting. And she was eager to meet Lyle, so it was all just perfect.”
“So what’s the problem now?”
“Well—now it will be five, instead of four, with this mystery friend of Lyle’s.”
“And what’s the problem with five? It’s not as if you were trying to set up Lyle with the old lady.”
“That’s not even funny,” said Marian. “No, it’s just that—well,
there’s a difference between four and five. Four is intimate, and five isn’t. Everyone knows that.”
“I don’t,” said John. “I really don’t see the problem.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem. It’s just—odd. It’s very odd. For Lyle to call up like this and say he’s bringing someone. I don’t understand it. I wanted everything to be perfect this weekend, too, because …”
“Because why?”
“Because … do you know what this weekend is?”
“No,” said John.
“It’s the anniversary. Of Tony’s death.”
“Oh,” said John.
“And that’s why I wanted to have Lyle out for a quiet weekend.”
“Well, I’m sure it will be a quiet weekend. It’s no big deal. Lyle’s just bringing a friend. You should be happy.”
“Do you think he remembers?”
“What?”
“About the anniversary.”
“Of course,” said John.
“Why? You didn’t.”
“Tony wasn’t my lover.”
“He was your brother,” said Marian.
“Yes,” said John. “He was.” He inserted his weeder into the ground and stood up. “Let’s eat,” he said. “Did the paper come?”
“I forgot to check,” said Marian. “I’m going to call him.”
“Lyle? What about breakfast? You said you were starving.”
“I am,” said Marian. “I’ll be right back.”
“What do you think I should do about beds?” Marian asked John that evening. They were in the living room: John was reading the
newspaper on the sofa; Marian was sitting on the floor, folding laundry. Insects skidded across the ceiling and threw themselves at the lightbulbs.
“About what?” asked John. He spoke through the scrim of newspaper.
“Beds,” said Marian. “Beds for Lyle and his friend.”
“I don’t know,” said John. He finally put the paper down. “What do you mean, what should you do?”
“I mean,” said Marian, “are they sleeping together? Should I make up one bed or two?”
“Two,” said John. “And leave it to them.” He returned to his lair.
“In different rooms?”
“I don’t know,” said John. “No. The same room should be fine. Put them in the yellow room.”
Marian watched him for a moment, and then said, “He never called me back.”
“Perhaps he’s been out all day. What time is it?”
“It’s ten,” said Marian. “Twenty past. Maybe I’ll try him again.”
John did not respond.
“Do you feel all right?” asked Marian.
“Yes. I feel fine.” He didn’t lower the paper but peered around one side. “Tired.”
“I don’t,” said Marian. “My stomach feels odd. I wonder if it was the fish.”
“Come here,” said John. He patted the couch beside him. “Lie down.”
Marian went over and lay on the couch with her head on John’s lap. He was wearing a pair of shorts that smelled of sweat and the garden. His face was once again hidden by an awning of newspaper.
“Put the paper down,” Marian said. “Please.”
“Just let me finish this,” said John.
Marian waited. Finally he folded the newspaper and tossed it on the floor. He turned out the light. He stroked the hair off Marian’s face, gathering it into a tight coil. “You’re upset,” he said, as if he could feel it through her hair.
“Yes,” said Marian.
“Things are bound to change with Lyle.”
“I know,” said Marian.
“You shouldn’t let it upset you,” said John.
“It’s not a matter of letting,” said Marian.
John dropped the coil. Marian felt her scalp relax. She reached up into the dark for John’s hands, and found one. She held it with both of hers, felt it, as if it were an object she was trying to identify. Then she placed it on her forehead.
“I’m worried about something else, too,” she said.
After a moment John asked what. It was a strange suspended moment, a moment like skidding in a car, the world turning around and around slowly and quickly all at once, the horizon losing its grip. But John’s
What
stopped it.
“I’m worried about Roland.”
“The doctor says not to worry,” said John.
“Doctors can be wrong,” said Marian.
“Yes,” said John.
“I shouldn’t have had a midwife,” said Marian.
“What do you mean?”
“I should have had him properly, in a hospital.”
“Why?” asked John. “It was fine. Everything went fine.”
“No,” said Marian. “I don’t think he got oxygen quickly enough. He was turning blue.”
“She said that was normal.”
“I think she was lying.”
“I don’t think we should let ourselves think like this. The doctor would know, Marian, if anything was wrong. She would know, and tell us. The more you worry, the worse it seems, and gets. You’ve got to relax with him. He was very funny with me at bedtime.”
“Was he?” asked Marian. She sat up. “How funny?”
“He didn’t want me to put his pajamas on. He was kicking his feet and laughing.”
“Was he really laughing?”
“Yes,” said John.
“You should have called me,” said Marian.
“I know this sounds weird,” said John, “but I understand him in a way. I mean, I think he’s fine. I do. He’s just shy. He’s reserved, like his father.”
“I can’t bear it,” said Marian. “All these reserved men.”
“Well, Lyle is coming tomorrow,” said John. “That should liven things up.”
“I’m going,” said Marian. She was standing by the garden fence. John, who was on his hands and knees, weeding, didn’t respond. She repeated herself, more loudly.
John looked up suddenly and said, “What?”
“I’m going to pick up Lyle. Do you want me to leave Roland with you or take him?”
“Why don’t you take him?”
“All right,” said Marian. “It means I have to move the car seat.”
“Then leave him here.”
“You’ll keep an eye on him?”
“Of course I will. You like to help Daddy garden, don’t you, Roland?”
Roland did not reply. Marian lowered him over the fence, onto the ground inside the garden. He crawled toward his father.
“You’ll stop at the liquor store?” John asked.
“Yes,” said Marian. “What did you decide about beer?”
“You might as well get a case, so we have it.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know,” said John. “Bass, or something.”
“I thought I’d stop at Elmer’s and see if they have any tuna or swordfish, and we can grill it.”
“That sounds fine,” said John. “You’d better go. You don’t want to miss the train.”
Marian looked at her watch. “I’ve plenty of time. Darling?”
“Yes?”
“You won’t hide in the garden all afternoon, will you?”