Harvest

by Belva Plain

  “Oh, yes, just a couple of wars and Hitler and—”

  “I mean before that happened. You have to admit life was different. The father was the head of the household, the mother ran it, and the children obeyed. I don’t say it was all better, but it was less confusing. Now things are fluid, with all the divorces—” She was prattling and she was pleading.

  “We’re not divorced, are we?”

  “But there are other things. He’s the oldest son. Maybe he expects too much of himself, maybe he’s grown up too fast.” She tried to speak before he should stop her. “It’s very complicated. I’ve read—well, you’re a doctor, I shouldn’t have to explain to you—”

  “Yes, yes, one can find an excuse for anything if one looks hard enough. Words. Fashionable words that say nothing.”

  While we stand here talking, Iris thought, what is happening in Chicago? In the heat of the August night she began to shiver.

  “Ever since the Bar Mitzvah,” Theo began.

  “For God’s sake, you’re not going to bring that up again, are you?”

  “I can bring up a few dozen other things instead, if you’d like it better.”

  “Thank you, thank you for that,” she said with bitter sarcasm. “But never mind, you really don’t have to drag up the past, last year and the year before that and the year before that. Just do me the favor of telling me what you’re going to do tonight.”

  “I told you, I’m not going to do anything. If you think about it, you will see that doing nothing is the kindest thing I can do. I have one last faint hope that a touch of harsh reality will bring him to his senses.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to abandon him! How hard, how hard you are!”

  “Am I, Iris? Am I really a hard man? Think what you’re saying.”

  “Right now you are. You refuse to see that even though these kids may be going about things in the wrong way, they are making a good statement.”

  “You make your statements with a ballot, not by throwing a bag of feces into people’s faces. All they’ll accomplish with these tactics is to tear up the country. And when there is no law and there is no order, what then? I’ll tell you what: a rampaging mob and no one will be safe. Don’t tell me about it. I saw the mobs in Austria. You didn’t.”

  “This is different. Can’t you understand?” She screamed now. “I’m going to Chicago myself! If you won’t go, I will.”

  All at once a stream of energy surged through her, and she started upstairs for her pocketbook and a jacket. She’d sit at the airport and wait for the first plane out in the morning. Damn him! What kind of a father was he? Then, remembering something, she came back.

  “I need cash,” she demanded. “I haven’t got enough.”

  For answer he turned out his pocket and emptied his wallet.

  “Two tens, a five, and three ones. If you want them, take them,” he said coldly.

  “That’s all you have? There’s never any money in this house.”

  “Right. It goes out as fast as it comes in.”

  “That’s not my fault. Who spends like a drunken sailor? I? This skirt is five summers old.”

  “Don’t play the martyr. No one asks you to wear a five-year-old skirt.”

  It was idiotic the way this dialogue was veering away from the subject and out of control.

  “Then I’ll get the car and drive up to my mother. It’ll take three hours to get to the Berkshires, she’ll have money, and I’ll fly from Boston in the morning.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll leave your mother out of this. What can you be thinking of, scaring her to death, spoiling the first real vacation she’s had since your father died—”

  Theo grabbed Iris’s arm, she pulled away, and in doing so upset the vase with her elbow. Water, splintered glass, and drenched flowers fell onto the pale carpet.

  She burst into tears. It was not that she cared so much about the carpet or about any possessions, it was just—just the mess, the last straw. And she sank down on the desk chair.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, what next!”

  Theo went to clean up. Knowing exactly what to do, he fetched cloths from the cleaning closet and carefully sponged the puddle so as not to spread it. Then he gathered the glass in a newspaper.

  “Anthuriums,” he grumbled. “I hate them, dammit! I’m sick of everything, problems, kids, tears—isn’t there someplace on this blasted earth where a man can have a little peace for a change?”

  Iris tried to pull herself together. “For the last time I ask you, Theo, to be sensible. Pretend we’re two sensible, ordinary people. Let’s go to the bank first thing in the morning and fly out to Chicago.”

  He looked up from the floor. “Even if I wanted to, and I don’t, I couldn’t. I have two operations in the morning, and they come before the shenanigans of my idealistic son.”

  She jumped up. The chair caught on the edge of the scatter rug that overlay the carpet and crashed against the desk. The lamp swayed and fell.

  “I can’t stand this!” she screamed. “I’m a wreck!”

  “I can’t stand it either,” he responded.

  He went back to the kitchen to dispose of the broken lamp and the wet cloths. When he returned, she had sat down again, huddled, and was staring at the dark circle on the carpet.

  “I’m going out for a while, Iris.” He spoke coldly, under control. “I think it’ll be better for us both. We’re just flying at each other.”

  “Go,” she told him.

  “I’ve got a pile of unsigned reports in the office. I might as well do them and get my mind settled if I can. There’s no sleep in me tonight here, anyway.”

  “Go!” she told him again.

  He slammed the door.

  Even with the top down the night was sultry, and the rush of wind did little good. He squared his shoulders against the heat and tried to think constructively. Yes, he had done the right thing. Let the boy stew awhile, overnight or maybe another day, and then he would have his lawyer call Chicago and get the picture. Yes, that seemed best.

  But God help the boy! God help them all. The last couple of years had been too hard, what with Steve’s behavior and Iris’s losing her father. They’d been so extraordinarily close. And he began to feel soft pity for her, with her tear-swollen face, curled up and defeated in the chair. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out. For a second he thought of turning the car around and going home, but then thought better of it. When people were overwrought, they brought up foolish grievances that had nothing to do with the problem at hand. Better for them both to cool off.

  When he stopped the car in the parking lot, the long, two-story building was dark except for a light in the window of the cardiologist’s office. Someone was working late, undisturbed by people or telephones.

  Or something else might be going on. That secretary, the one with the invitation in her eyes, might well be having a good time with the doctor. He wouldn’t be surprised. She must be a sight to see around one’s office every day.

  In the dead stillness of the deserted corridor his footsteps were loud. Behind him a door opened and a clear soprano voice called out.

  “Hey, there. You slaving away tonight too?”

  He turned and answered, “It’s a peaceful place to work late.”

  She smiled. Her peach-colored mouth stretched into a glossy curve. Her white uniform, in all this soggy heat, was cool.

  “You look as if you could use a cold drink,” she observed.

  “Oh, have you got one by any chance?”

  “A thermos full of fruit punch. I made it myself. Nice and tart.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “I was just about to put out the lights here, but you can take it to your place and return the thermos in the morning.”

  “That’s awfully good of you, but I really don’t want to take your thermos.”

  “Please. I don’t need it overnight.”

  He had been in his office only a minute or two when sh
e reappeared. She set the thermos down on his desk and filled a glass.

  “There! Enjoy it. I’ll be running off.” She paused. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? This weather’s awful.”

  In the lamplight her light brown hair glistened with blond streaks. No doubt they were made in a beauty parlor, but they were very attractive nevertheless. As she kept standing there, it seemed necessary to say something, so he asked whether she often worked at night.

  “No, only once every few months when I get a yen to catch up with papers and billing. It’s a terribly busy office. But they pay well, so I can’t object to being overworked.”

  “They’re lucky to have you, I’m sure.”

  He felt awkward making such a dull remark, but somehow she had tied his tongue. He had to keep staring at her. Even from the other side of his desk he could smell her fragrance; it was not one of those musky Oriental perfumes designed to be aphrodisiac, but faintly sweet like talcum powder, and this was infinitely more aphrodisiac. The crisp white cloth flared and clung to her in the right places. Beneath it she would be compact. She would be slippery, like hard rubber. He pulled his thoughts up sharply.

  “I don’t know your name.”

  “Alice. Alice Meredith.”

  “An old-fashioned name. You don’t meet many Alices these days.”

  “That adds a little interest, don’t you think so? Because I’m not an old-fashioned girl.”

  “I can see that,” Theo said.

  They regarded each other, he tilted back in his chair and she standing with one elbow resting on the bookshelf.

  Not an old-fashioned girl. Definitely not. And he waited for what she would say next.

  What she said next was: “You work hard, don’t you? You look tired.”

  He thought, You’d look tired too, if you’d just left the scene I left at home. His spirits wilted all over again at the image of Iris weeping. God only knew what the next few days would bring; regardless of what he’d said, he would probably in the end find himself forced onto a plane and going through hectic, humiliating hours in Chicago.

  “I hear they’re going to make you chief of the surgical staff.”

  “That’s the rumor,” he said, trying to sound casual.

  “You’re very modest.”

  “I wouldn’t say so.”

  “Well, that’s what everybody says about you.”

  Back and forth the ball went over the net. He continued the game.

  “Who says? Who’s ‘everybody’?”

  “My bosses. People. Everybody.”

  “You talk to everybody about me?”

  “Why? Do you mind?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I noticed you the first day I came to the building.”

  “I noticed that you noticed.”

  When, where, and how was this game going to end?

  “You did? So why didn’t you do something about it?”

  This ball was in his court. It bounced and he missed it. Why, indeed? Tell her he planned to be utterly faithful to his wife? Certainly not.

  “There was no opportunity,” he replied.

  “Opportunity? One makes one’s own, doesn’t one?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He was thinking: She probably lives in one of those new garden apartments across the river. She would have a dinette and always something good to eat in the kitchenette. There’d be comfortable chairs, a good record player, and peace, no children, no commotion. That was the life of the unattached, the uncommitted. While he—he had a weeping wife, a rebellious son, and endless bills along with the need to be calm, well rested, and alert before he went to the operating room to take knife in hand. Calm! That was a good one. Calm.

  There was a painful knot at the back of his neck. He reached for it, straining to knead it, pull it, and ease it away. Alice was watching him.

  “You look all done in,” she said. “Nerves have got you, haven’t they?”

  Embarrassed to be caught in weakness, he dropped his hand. “It’s nothing. Just tension. In this business we all get it now and then.”

  “Why don’t you let me do that for you? I’m very good at back massages. Honestly. I’m a nurse, after all. Hey, I can’t do it through your jacket, can I? Now, loosen your shirt collar and lie back in the chair.”

  Her fingers were strong and supple. They gave incredible relief, as if she were actually separating the knotted nerves that had been aching from his shoulders down through his spine. He breathed deeply with the pleasure of it.

  “Ah, thank you. That’s good. Really good.”

  “If you’d lie face down, it would be better.”

  He saw that she was looking through the open door at the big leather sofa in the back room that housed his records and his library. His mind was divided. It was queer that he was able to understand so clearly how it was, that part of him saw exactly what was to happen, while part knew he must not let it happen. In the mesmerized part of his brain he didn’t care, he had no will. Things were simply progressing according to an age-old pattern. Sunk into a dreamy haze, he got up and lay face down on the sofa.

  She took off her clothes with practiced delay, tantalizing him almost to frenzy, with glimpses first of a long, flat back made rosy by the sun and marked with the creamy outline of a bikini, then of full, rounded thighs, perfect breasts, and a hard, flat stomach.

  He turned over to make room for her, and she, now hurrying, slid to her place and clasped him. There was no lingering, there were no words, only a fierce and fevered, a devouring, haste. It was frantic, hungry, thirsty, and too quickly finished.

  She smiled. “You were great,” she told him.

  He murmured something. It was said: Man is always sad afterward, but that was not true, because the afterglow could be a sweet contentment. It was not, now. He looked down into flat eyes without depth, and that mechanical smile. After all, they were nothing to each other.

  He got up, arranged his clothes, and had to wait, concealing melancholy and impatience, while she dressed herself and painted her mouth, repairing the luscious, peach-colored lips.

  Seeing him through her mirror, she explained, “I’m only going home, but you never know—you might run into someone important on the way. I feel absolutely naked without lipstick.”

  I didn’t even like her, Theo was thinking. Then he started: Someone was knocking on the door. Alice paused with the hairbrush in midair.

  “Who the hell do you think—” she began.

  “Quiet, will you?”

  The knocking, loud enough to be heard at a distance of three rooms, persisted.

  Alice looked scared. “Who can it be, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Could it be, was it possible, that Iris would come here at this time of night? No, he decided. She wouldn’t be driving around alone so late. She’d wait until he came home to say whatever she still had to say. It wasn’t Iris. Presently the knocking stopped. They waited for five minutes, then ten minutes, and when it was not resumed, Theo was satisfied.

  “It was somebody’s mistake. Not a burglar. They don’t knock. Probably a medical emergency. They saw the light on in a medical building and took a chance. Come on.” And as she hesitated, “I’ll reconnoiter. I’ll call you if it’s safe.”

  All that he could see in the parking lot were Alice’s car and his own, both right near the entrance. So he went back to his office, put out the lights, locked the door, and followed Alice to the cars, telling himself all the while that he would make very sure never again to come back to the office at night. A situation like this could get to be sticky. Damn! He was angry, ashamed, and puzzled at the change in himself. He’d never used to think twice about an episode like this once it was over.

  He waited until Alice unlocked her car and was about to open his mouth to say good night, when she turned and put her arms around his neck to give him a long kiss.

  “You’re sweet, and it was wonderful,” she was saying, when t
hey were blinded by the fiery headlights of a car that sped past them around the corner and, a second later, was gone.

  “What a goddamn nerve!” she cried. “Well, ‘night, now! I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Sure. Good night.”

  Not if I see you coming first, he thought. His anger at himself was mounting. All they needed in the family was another problem. How the devil had he let this happen?

  For a long time after Theo had slammed the door Iris had cried. Cramped in the chair with her feet drawn up and a wet handkerchief balled in her hand, she began to feel disgust. She got up, ran cold water over her face, sponged her eyes, applied some makeup, combed her hair, and took stock.

  They had both been beside themselves. At a time when they should have stood together, they had flown apart. She regretted now her own loss of control. Possibly, after all, Theo was right about Steve. He loved the boy as much as she did. It was almost eleven o’clock, and Theo was not home yet. A few hours from now he would have to be on his feet, alert and responsible. The strain of a night like this one was too cruel for the man. And she felt a compelling need to speak loving words, to let him know that they were together, that neither Steve nor anyone must come between them.

  She called the office number, and when the answering service responded, understood that of course he wouldn’t be picking up the telephone at this time of night. He had gone there for solitude. So she went down to the garage and drove to the office. In her mind was a picture of herself putting her arms around Theo.

  There were two cars in the parking lot. The building was dark except for a dim light, as from a single lamp burning in Theo’s office. He must be working in the library. There was a sadness in the thought of him sitting there so late, alone with his troubles. She went in and knocked at the door.

  There was no response, and she knocked harder, then rattled the knob. It seemed strange that he didn’t hear such a noise in this dead stillness. Fear struck her; he might have been taken ill; he might have been held up. Maybe she ought to get help somewhere, even call the police.

  She went back to the parking lot. There stood his car, his new beige Mercedes. If it was a holdup, surely they would have stolen a costly toy like that. And what about the other car? It looked like a woman’s car, of some inexpensive make, but sporty, and painted baby blue. So there must be someone else in the building.