To Artie’s surprise, Evelyn decided to invite Harold’s family to come for supper on a Saturday. He didn’t like Myra and he knew Evelyn didn’t like her either. But Evelyn thought she should invite them, and when Evelyn thought that, things happened. It took a few tries to set the date, and by the time they came, Myra was almost ready to give birth. Evelyn made a roast. Myra came into their apartment a little ahead of Harold and Nelson and sank into the chair near the door, rubbing her belly. She said, I thought we might have to cancel, but it was a false alarm. Then Harold and Nelson came in, holding hands and looking around shyly, as if they were both six.
Myra looked good—stylish, no less, in a loose brown coat—even though she was nine months pregnant and was leaning sideways in her chair in an awkward way. Evelyn! she said in a firm voice, deeper than the voice Artie remembered. It’s good to see you. Thank you for inviting us.
Politeness was big with Evelyn, and Artie knew that direct thank-you would look classy to her. Evelyn liked finding reasons to think well of someone. She stepped forward in her apron and leaned to kiss Myra’s cheek. Together, they made a soft, pretty shape.
—So Nelsy, what’s new? Artie said to the little boy. Sit down, sit down. It was a couple of months since their race in Central Park, and he wondered if Nelson remembered.
—For heaven’s sake, take their coats! Evelyn said, and everyone stood again. She gathered the coats and thrust them into Artie’s arms.
They had no hall closet. He laid them on the bed. Evelyn self-consciously offered drinks, and Brenda stood in the doorway, with Carol behind her, looking at Harold and Nelson, who were still squeezed close together, with Nelson leaning on his father’s legs.
—You girls want to show Sir Nelson some of your stuff? Artie said.
—I want to stay here, Brenda said.
—Sir Nelson! Carol liked that. She ran into their room, emerged with the checkerboard, and set it up at Harold’s feet, explaining as she worked. Nelson was prevailed upon to play, leaning against Harold’s well-polished shoe.
—So, Nelson, Artie said, are you for the Dodgers? What about that game? Tragic! He meant the play-off game with the Giants, which the Dodgers had lost at the last minute.
Nelson didn’t answer, but after a while he got interested in the checkers game and bounced on his knees with pleasure when he took Carol’s checkers. When they lost interest in winning, they made piles of checkers, then knocked them down. Then Myra heaved herself to her feet and brought her drink into the kitchen, and Artie said, What happened at the church?
—The meeting about the cop? I went.
—What’s going to happen? Artie said.
Harold shrugged. Probably nothing. It wouldn’t bring Kenneth back anyway.
—So, in that case, Artie said, what are you knocking your brains out for?
Harold turned his glass around as if examining it for defects, then sipped. I couldn’t tell you, he said.
—You’re crazy, Artie said lightly.
—Let’s forget it for one night, Harold said. Brenda, what are you doing in school these days?
—Just regular, Brenda said.
—She’s in a play, said Artie.
Brenda said, I’m Benjamin Franklin. It’s about the Declaration of Independence.
—Do you mind playing a man? Harold said.
—The whole thing is dumb, said Brenda, but speaking of school reminded Harold of his recent efforts to teach A Tale of Two Cities. His students, he told Artie, had thought Sydney Carton was a fool to die for Charles Darnay. Especially because it was the guillotine, he said.
—I’d rather be in a play about that, Brenda said, and left the room, following Evelyn and Myra into the kitchen.
She had to force herself to leave the room. She wanted to stay and figure out a way that Harold would hold her as he had in Central Park, the day he had a fight with her father. Today, Nelson had leaned against him as if he was sure Harold’s legs would not move, and that was something to envy, though she would not want to be Nelson, and not just because she’d have to be six again. Since that bad day at the zoo, Brenda had a story she told herself late at night. She ran away from someone evil, who chased her. Harold waited, his arms wide, and Brenda ran into them. He closed his arms around her and walked to a river, then carried Brenda across. The water came up to his knees and then his waist. On the opposite side, Harold sat down and Brenda leaned against him.
It was more painful to talk to Harold and know that maybe he wouldn’t pick her up and carry her across that river—maybe he’d be too busy with Nelson—than to walk out of the room. But walking out of the room was not a simple matter.
In the kitchen, her mother snapped the tips off string beans at the table while Myra slouched against the wall. So he broke it on purpose? Myra was saying.
—Not exactly, said Evelyn, glancing at Brenda. No, not on purpose.
—Then what? Myra said, but her mother didn’t answer. Would you like to help, honey? she said. She gave Brenda the bowl of string beans and began taking plates out of the cupboard. The good dishes were on a high shelf.
Adult conversation was sometimes mysterious, not because she didn’t understand but because Brenda didn’t know why it mattered or how it could possibly not matter. Adult unhappiness—she came to the word unhappiness only for a moment, then forgot it—was unlike her own. Brenda felt so different from the two women in the kitchen that it seemed she could laugh or cry and they wouldn’t notice or wonder why.
She asked Myra, What are you going to name your baby?
—It’s a secret, Myra said.
—Why? She had a feeling it hadn’t been a secret until she asked. Can I guess? Will you tell me if I guess?
—Can she go play? Myra said.
—I want her to help, her mother said. So she stayed but didn’t try to guess the baby’s name. Her mother didn’t care about the string beans—she could have done them in a minute. Maybe she liked to show Myra that Brenda helped, or maybe she didn’t want to hear what Myra would say if Brenda went away. Brenda tried to think how to find out what that was.
Then Myra said, Harold said he lent Artie that record. I’m supposed to remember to ask for it back.
—I didn’t mean he broke it on purpose, Evelyn said.
—Oh, I know. I know what you mean.
—He could have . . .
—I know.
—They have a funny way of being friends, Evelyn said.
—I know, I know.
Brenda let the bowl of string beans fall on the floor, not quite on purpose, so as to see what that would be like. It did feel like something her father might do.
—Oh, God, I don’t have another vegetable, her mother said.
—Wash them off. Myra roused herself in this emergency, and when Evelyn had picked up the string beans and brushed them off on her apron, Myra put them into a strainer and washed them thoroughly. The incident woke Myra up. She said, When I was a kid this kind of thing happened all the time, and your floor is cleaner than ours ever was. Don’t worry about it, Brendy.
Evelyn stopped what she was doing and watched Myra wash the string beans, flicking each one quickly between her long fingers. She said, When you go to the hospital, I’ll take care of Nelson.
—I wasn’t worried, Brenda said. She liked being called Brendy. Her mother didn’t like nicknames, but her father sometimes said Brenny. I have to go to the bathroom, she said then, and used that as an excuse to go into the bedroom and read until it was time to eat. Carol was still playing with Nelson on the living room rug. They were now building something using checkers, Tinkertoys, and their shoes and socks, while the fathers shouted about McCarthy, a name she heard often. The broken record, whatever it meant, seemed to have been forgotten. Harold didn’t notice her walk through the room. Having him sit on the green squashy sofa in her house, his big hands on his fat knees, was unbearable.
Harold’s parents were supposed to take care of Nelson when Myra had to go to the hospit
al, but when she went into labor, his father was in bed with a sore throat.
—Evelyn offered to keep him, Myra said. She was repacking the bag she’d already packed for the hospital, leaning forward at intervals and holding her belly. She looked scared, young without makeup. It was Saturday morning, and she’d begun having contractions in the night. Harold was scared too. He hadn’t been this scared when Nelson was born, but he hadn’t known how important—if difficult—Nelson would be. Now he worried about all three: Myra, the baby, and Nelson, as if the poor kid had to go and be born a second time.
He disliked leaving Nelson with his parents; the boy puzzled Harold’s mother, and that made Harold feel responsible. Harold was angry with Myra daily but had never been angry with Nelson. Myra hated having Nelson lean on her constantly, but Harold liked having that loosely jointed body pressed into his own—and yet it made him uncomfortable, as if children weren’t supposed to love their parents, which was absurd. He knew he resisted Nelson.
When he dialed Artie’s number, Evelyn answered and readily agreed to have Nelson stay with them. She said, He can sleep on pillows in the girls’ room, and Harold said no, he’d pick him up in the evening, before going home himself. Spending the day away from his parents would be hard enough for Nelson.
Off the phone, he called, Come on, big boy. Uncharacteristically, Nelson had been playing alone in his room. You’re going to visit Carol and Brenda.
—You too? Nelson said, coming out with a toy truck in his arms.
—I’ve got to take Mommy to the hospital. Today’s the day when you get a little brother or sister.
—I don’t need one, Nelson said.
Harold looked at his rumpled son. He was tall for his weight, and his clothes were invariably too short or too loose, though Myra tried, spending more than Harold would have thought necessary. Today his pants were too short and were also twisted in an odd way. Don’t you have a belt? Harold said, picking Nelson up and trying to sort him out. Let’s bring some toys.
Nelson agreed to go to Carol and Brenda’s house when Harold emptied the briefcase he used for teaching and put toys into it. The boy looked comical tugging the thing. Harold hurried him into the car. When he drew up to the curb in front of the two-family house on Van Siclen Avenue where Artie lived, he beeped the horn lightly, rather than take the time to go in. Myra was in the passenger seat, her head down. She hadn’t spoken since they left the house, except to say “Damn it God damn it!” a few times. He lifted Nelson out of the back seat and set him on the curb as Evelyn came out. She looked as if she had something to say, and Harold tried to think what he’d do if she’d changed her mind, but she said only, Hi, Nelson. She straightened up, looked hard at Harold, who was setting the briefcase on the sidewalk next to Nelson, and then said, How’s Myra?
—Is something wrong? Harold said.
—It can wait. Go.
—I want to go with you! Nelson said, clutching his father’s leg. Evelyn looked at Harold, who was helpless. She pried Nelson’s hands off his leg. He’ll be fine, she said. We bought a television set. He can watch with the girls.
Nelson was screaming as she carried him inside, leaving the briefcase on the sidewalk. Harold didn’t want to lose it. He’d been using it since college. He was annoyed with himself for thinking of something so trivial with his new child on the way.
—Harold! Myra said sharply, and he put aside thoughts of Nelson and his property. They had to drive over the river—the hospital was in Manhattan.
Harold and Myra’s new child, Paul, wasn’t born until one in the morning, and Nelson spent the night at Artie and Evelyn’s, in Carol’s pajamas. Evelyn scolded Harold on the phone for not putting anything but toys into that bag. Of course they had retrieved the bag. This was in the first phone call, when it was ten o’clock at night and there was no baby and Harold couldn’t leave. This possibility had not occurred to him.
Evelyn said, He’s already asleep. I talked him into it.
—Is he all right?
—He’s all right, she said. Things aren’t so good here, but he’s fine. I won’t lie to you and tell you he ate anything but mashed potatoes.
After he got off the phone and was stuck in the waiting room again, Harold remembered the way Evelyn looked when she came out of the house all those hours earlier; something was wrong.
At last a nurse brought Paul to him. Harold took the new boy in his arms, looked at his creased, mottled face, and experienced unalloyed joy for the first time in his life. He would still love Nelson. He would not love him any less, and he did love him, if with backward, upside-down love. Paul was not superior to Nelson—he was a shriveled blob of a kid at present—but Harold (oddly, he thought of Kenneth Duggs) had somehow learned to care when he should care. The kind nurse sneaked him in to kiss Myra, but after that, Harold had to tell someone, and he called Artie from a pay phone in the hospital lobby. This time he answered. We have a son, we have a new son, Harold said, choking back tears.
—You woke me up, Artie said.
—I’m sorry. I had to tell you.
—Nothing wrong with girls, Artie said. Harold could hear Evelyn in the background saying, It’s a girl?
—No, Artie said, now to Evelyn. Not a girl. Another boy. Nothing wrong with our girls. He’s showing off, having boys.
—Give me the phone! she said, and her voice became loud and happy. Harold, honey, that’s wonderful! A boy! Everything’s all right? Forgive Artie, he’s upset, but he’ll be fine.
—I won’t be fine, he heard Artie say. Harold didn’t have time for one of his friend’s elaborate grievances. Of course there was nothing wrong with girls—the point was, Paul was a healthy baby. Harold had thought he wanted a girl, but he now knew that Paul was the baby he had wanted. He felt an ease he didn’t recognize, walking to his car and driving through the dark streets, which seemed simpler: supernatural traffic engineers had widened and straightened them in the hours Harold had been in that waiting room. It was easy to travel home, and he parked on his silent block, where everything looked subtly different.
The next morning Harold woke up later than he’d intended and drove straight to Artie and Evelyn’s. Maybe he’d just visit Nelson; maybe he’d bring him along. He wondered if Artie might come with him and stay with Nelson in the waiting room while Harold went to see Myra. Maybe the nurses would let him sneak Nelson in.
Brenda opened the door. Congratulate me, Brenda, I’m a daddy again, Harold said, and held out his hand. Brenda took it. Her hand quivered in his, and he had a sudden sense of her distinctness as a person, her keenness. And here came Nelson, laughing because Carol was holding him back. He fastened his arms around Harold’s leg.
—We’re in the kitchen, Evelyn called. She was reliably friendly, which made Artie easier to take. She was not pretty, and that made her seem even more trustworthy. Her eyes were too close together, but they looked straight at Harold. Sit down, she said. How’s Myra?
Artie was at the table with coffee, buttering a roll, scattering crumbs. Harold sat, pulling Nelson onto his lap. Artie looked down at his coffee, and so Harold looked again at Evelyn. To his surprise, she looked away. What’s wrong? he said. What did my kid do?
—It’s not your kid, Artie said. Look at this. He stood up. Ev, where’s that letter?
—In the living room. Just tell him.
—All right, I’ll tell him. I got a letter.
—A letter?
—From the Board of Ed.
—From the Board of Ed? said Harold, baffled, and then he understood. It couldn’t be. It was terrible—how could something terrible happen today? He put Nelson on the floor and put his hands on the Formica table as if for balance. Artie, he said. Then, They called you in?
—In three weeks. The assistant superintendent.
—Oh my God, Harold said. Oh my God. What are they going after you for?
Teachers were made to come to the Board of Education and were asked if they belonged to subversive organizations. A
rtie could truthfully say no, but then he’d be asked if he knew other teachers who were Communists. If he refused to answer either question, he’d be suspended. Next came what they called trials, and the teachers were fired.
Harold had thought it wouldn’t happen to Artie, it wouldn’t even happen to him. There were so many lefty teachers, mostly Jews, City College graduates like them. Everyone knew Communists in the thirties, when joining the party hadn’t been extraordinary. He and Artie weren’t officers in the Teachers Union. There was no way even these fanatics could hunt down everyone in the school system who had Communist sympathies or who knew Communists, and it had seemed probable that he and Artie—especially Artie—would be overlooked. He couldn’t imagine what had brought him to their attention.
Nelson climbed back into his lap, and Harold put his arms around him, rocking him gently back and forth. He had to get to Myra. Artie glared. His black eyes glinted with rage, and he tore his roll into pieces and rolled the pieces into crumbs. Then Artie shoved the crumbs toward the center of the table and put his face down and sobbed.
—Don’t, Harold said.
—I’m not going to save your ass, Artie said. He was crying like a child, and Nelson whimpered. Artie stood. His face was red and his black hair flopped on his forehead as it often did. Wait a minute, he said, and hurried out of the kitchen.
—Daddy? Nelson said.
—What is it, honey?
—Did Mommy die?
Harold stood. He carried his boy to the window that looked out on the ordinary Brooklyn street, where a car drove by and a man walked a dog. No, baby, no, Mommy’s fine. We’ll go see her in the hospital. You know you’ve got a brother?
—What’s his name? Nelson said.
Harold heard water running in the bathroom. Paul, he said.
—Will Paul take away my toys?
—No, baby, Paul can’t play with toys yet. Don’t worry about your toys.
—I brought the truck and Laddy and the horse, but I forgot some other toys. Can we go home now?
Artie came back. His face looked damp and his hair was slicked down, which made his nose look big. I gotta talk to you, he said.
When We Argued All Night Page 12