by Cauble, Don
Her real dad had been a preacher. His name was Virgil. He had a kind heart and played the guitar. She'd sit on his knees and he'd sing to her "You Are My Sunshine." He'd tell her stories. He wrote poetry too. They had been best buddies until he died. She felt betrayed. She felt angry at him for leaving her. Her mother had tried to explain that it wasn't her fault he had died, but no matter what her mother told her, she still felt guilty, as if she had done something wrong. As if he went away because of her. The child inside her clutched this feeling tightly to her heart, as if, somehow, if she carried this feeling around long enough, her dad would come back and everything would be all right again.
But things only got worse.
She hated her step-dad. He was not at all like her real dad. Clyde worked hard, long hours at his job and he drank a lot. When he drank, he and mom almost always got into a fight. Clyde had his own construction company, but no social skills. He built restaurants for a fast food franchise. They would send him to Colorado for two years. Then to Georgia. Then to California. Her family was always moving. Clyde made good money, but he had a tight-fisted heart. He acted as if he was doing the kids a big favor, taking care of them.
Her mom had been sixteen when she married Virgil. She was ignorant. She didn't know anything. But Naomi remembered only good things about Virgil. Even if she couldn't believe in his God. There had been other men in her mom's life, after Virgil's death. They drove motorcycles and didn't have jobs. Here, Norma had five kids. What was she thinking?
Then there was Jules. Jules seemed safe at first and kind-hearted. He befriended her mom and for a brief time they were lovers. But for some reason, Jules had to go out of town and that's when her mom met Clyde. Later, Jules came back to visit them, pretending to be an old friend.
Naomi was fourteen then. For some reason, Jules felt Norma had betrayed him. Naomi didn't understand his reasons at the time. All she knew was that one night, when her mom and Clyde were out for the evening, Jules came to her room. Jules warned her not to tell anyone about what happened between them that night. Naomi kept quiet. She never spoke of this to her mom, ever. She felt sure than Norma would blame her. Jules came to her room many times after that first night. He taught her ways of pleasing a man. She liked Jules. He paid attention to her. He didn't treat her like a stupid teenager. At times, the idea of having sex with her mother's old boyfriend had excited her. At other times, she felt guilty and scared. When Jules left for California, he told her how she could get in touch with him, if ever she needed help. She never told anyone about Jules, not even Marcus. The whole thing left her feeling weird. Men didn't feel safe anymore. No matter how much you loved them, they betrayed you, they used you, they left you.
*****
Marcus had helped her out of a jam. He gave her a job in the pizza place he was managing in Atlanta and he never said anything out of line to her. He thought she was a virgin when they met. That was almost eight years ago. The summer of '66. Slowly, those old feelings of trust and friendship she had felt with her real dad began to re-surface. She knew she could trust Marcus. He wouldn't hurt her. They shared a real bond of love and friendship. She knew, however, that it had been the wrong thing for her to marry him. She didn't really want to, but she couldn't come up with any real reason not to. After all, they were living together. He certainly loved her. What else do you do?
At least Marcus wasn't an alcoholic. He would never hit her and he wouldn't cheat on her. He was a good provider and he felt a deep responsibility to their marriage, after his first two failures. But… and this next thought terrified her… she felt no passion between them. What romance she had felt in the beginning, even that was gone now. There was just a feeling of deadness there. Even the little, extra things that she used to do, like hanging stockings at Christmas, she stopped. Marcus didn't know what to do. He would never ask for help or go to a marriage counselor. Our problems are our private business, he said. She knew he knew about her feelings for David. She had wanted to go with David and Melina Foster to the Vortex rock festival at McIver State Park. This was the famous rock festival sponsored by the State of Oregon in order to diffuse the potential street violence they feared might erupt in Portland between war protesters and the national convention of the American Legion. Governor Tom McCall had officially ordered the state police to stay out of the park during the three festival days. She pleaded with Marcus to let her go, but he wouldn't budge. He had no desire to go and he didn't want her there. He knew her real reason for going was not to smoke pot and mud wrestle or walk around naked in front of thirty thousand people or drop acid and dance all night inside a womb-like circus tent to a rock group playing "Love Is Just A Kiss Away." She wanted to go because of David. She wanted to be near him in the wild uncertainty of what might happen at that festival. And who knows what might have happened between them… inside that womb-like tent? But Marcus didn't want to deal with her feelings for David. Just like he didn't want to deal with the deadness in their marriage. He would agree to talk about it later. Later would come, and nothing would be said. This happened again and again. He believed that if you just didn't talk about a problem, somehow it would go away. Or fix itself. But it wasn't going away. David was going away. But not the problem. God, David had said they might even stay in Europe.
She left the kitchen and walked into her bedroom. She started to make the bed and then remembered she was alone in the house. Marcus was working overtime this Saturday till noon. Such an awful job, welding. It hurt his back, his eyes. She would be glad when he found another job. The bed was unmade. The house was unmade. Her whole fucking life was unmade. She thought of painting the outside of their house green. From the road it would blend right in with the grove of pine trees. Maybe then she would feel safe. The world would just pass her by. She longed for a child. A female child. A friend, a sister. Years of taking fertility pills hadn't helped. Marcus certainly wasn't to blame. Something was always wrong with her system. First her mucus was hostile to his sperm. And then…
Now they were talking about adopting a baby.
She lay down on the bed. She still had her nightgown on, the blue one Marcus had given her for Christmas two years ago.
Her thoughts drifted to David. She felt a sudden panic. What if he should stay in Europe? This idea terrified her. She wanted to be near him, even if he was married to Angie. That would be okay. She smiled, thinking of the last time they were together. The four of them were taking a Sunday drive along the Columbia River Gorge. They were all riding in the front seat of Marcus' old pick-up. She and David were sitting in the middle, their legs pressing together, ever so tightly. It felt so intense she thought for sure EVERYONE knew. She stared straight ahead, afraid of looking at him.
"How can you hide something THAT BIG?" she wanted to tease him.
Suddenly, her whole body got hot. She lifted her nightgown and pushed down her panties before they melted. She thought of David as she closed her eyes. She thought of the times he would make love to her while she slept peacefully in his arms. He would touch her so very lightly and carefully with his finger until the moisture came, then he would slowly enter her, so as not to fully awaken her. The next morning she would linger in bed, wondering. Had she only dreamed he had come? Touching herself, she would find his seed inside her. She prayed they would make a baby together.
*****
A postcard from Paris arrived and a card from Rome. Then a card from someplace in Greece called Monemvasia. The card had a picture of a little fishing village on the Aegean Sea. With a pen, David had circled a red-tiled house near the harbor. On the message side of the card he wrote that he and Angie had rented this house from an old sea captain and his wife. Naomi studied the card, thinking of him and thinking of his modesty and those ragged cut-offs he wore sometimes and no underwear and she was about to go up the walls, that bastard.
Months passed and summer came again. She and Marcus sold their house in Portland and bought a house and five acres in the country. They put their name
s on a list at an adoption agency.
Then came the telegram from Angie.
David had been arrested for growing marijuana plants.
To be in jail in a foreign country—Naomi's imagination filled with dreadful images of what it must be like. She knew about the military junta in Greece. She knew the ruler of Greece was a petty tyrant. David had written to them about how the police had thrown some German guy in jail for playing a forbidden song. What would they do to someone for growing ten marijuana plants? The court wouldn't even let David post bail. Angie said the judge was afraid David might skip the country. "Of course he would skip the country!" Marcus said. Marcus talked about going to Greece and breaking David out of prison. "If necessary," he said. What was he doing now? Naomi wondered. She thought about his last visit. Just before taking off for Europe, he and Angelina had gone to a party a stone's throw from her house. David had taken a break from the party and walked over to say hello to Marcus. Naomi had answered the door; she was half-asleep.
"I was napping," she said.
Marcus wasn't home.
David quickly walked back to the party.
A few days later, David stopped by to drop off some financial papers. Marcus was at work. Naomi poured David a cup of coffee. They got to talking. She told him that when he knocked on her door that evening he woke her from a dream. In her dream, they were about to make love in the back seat of a car. Then Marcus showed up in her dream and interrupted them. This happened all the time in her dreams she said.
David didn't know how to take this news. So he asked her about that night in San Francisco. No, his feelings had not lied. She had wanted him just as much as he had wanted her. Naomi asked him about the night he and Marcus got so smashed and drank everything in the house and then swore she had hidden the last joint and wouldn't tell them where. She had to drive David home in his VW with Marcus following them. David had put his head in her lap and wouldn't leave her alone and he wanted to kiss her there. Naomi couldn't say the word. She blushed even as she told him this much.
Oh, yes, David remembered that night quite well.
He remembered the other nights, too, the nights he was stoned and tried to touch her. Naomi studied him, but said nothing more. For her, this new information changed everything. All those years she thought he was just between women when he made passes at her. She never dreamed, even when she lay in her bed almost unable to breathe, her body so hot thinking of him, that David could really desire her. She allowed herself now to imagine David wanting her. He wanted her so much he couldn't keep his hands off her and she loved every moment. She wanted him in the mornings before crawling out of bed to go to work at the bank, and she wanted him at lunchtime in her car at the Mary S. Young State Park (if she thought no one would see them). Even with other cars in the parking lot, his large hands would slip under her dress and inside her panties and she would get so damn wet with excitement. He would teasingly lick the sticky wetness from his fingers as she watched and, looking into her eyes, he would smile so sweetly and tell her he loved her.
"Strawberries," she said, touching his lips with her fingers. "Your kisses taste like strawberries. Like ripe strawberries in the sun."
She saw that her words pleased him. That made her happy.
All those years she had thought he was too romantic, impractical, a dreamer. How could any woman live with him? He was too idealistic. Don Quixote dashing here and there with a sword in his pants and a rose between his teeth. All those years wanting him. Maybe prison would change him. Maybe he wouldn't want her anymore. Thank God she was pregnant. That would give her at least another nine months to keep her feelings out of sight. When Angelina flew back from Denmark over the Christmas holidays and talked so proudly about their free style of living in Copenhagen, and all that stuff about free love, and then went off with Eden Maldek, Naomi felt all kinds of weird feelings. How could Angelina do that? David was still in Greece in jail.
And then came the miscarriage; her second one.
Rushing to the Emergency at three in the morning. All that blood and disappointment and loss. To lose the baby really hurt. It scared Naomi, too. She knew now that she had to do something about her marriage. She couldn't stay much longer. No matter what. But what would she do? What would David do? What if he stayed over in Europe? The thought of not being with him felt like a dead weight in the middle of her heart.
They had such a big house. David and Angie could live with them. They could have the downstairs bedroom next to the kitchen. David could put in a vegetable garden and he could dig out the blackberry vines that were taking over the grove of pine trees in the front yard. Naomi wanted to look at him now. She could see his face so close to hers, but his kisses felt so delicious and warm and kind on her skin that she couldn't keep her eyes open. As she lay in bed with him for the first time, her heart pounding and her hands covering her vagina, ashamed that he would find her ugly, he gently took her small hands into his large ones, calling her beautiful and beloved and kissing her with his soft, sensual lips. His kisses lingered on her crushed mouth and on her throat and nipples as he searched out secret places. Places never kissed before. Places that caused her to burn with both shame and excitement. She almost giggled. He had such soft animal noises as he hovered over her. She had never felt so looked at. Or so appreciated. She felt like some strange flower. She pictured him a hummingbird, the delicate tip of his tongue darting inside her, tasting her, sucking her, as if her whole body were nectar. She shivered suddenly. She wanted to speak but couldn't. She wanted him inside her. Now. Oh, please. She reached out instinctively. She found him and wouldn't let go. Later, she expected him to turn away from her and fall asleep. Or go make tea. Or read the morning paper. But he surprised her. He didn't leave. Instead, he wanted to talk, he wanted to hold her, he wanted to kiss her.
"I eat crackers in bed," she told him.
"So?" he said.
"And I wear socks in the winter time."
By now he suspected she was teasing him. (Although she did have awfully cold feet.)
"My boobs are too small," she protested.
"But that's not true!" David assured her.
He meant it. Naomi had lovely, exquisite breasts. He was astonished at her admiration for bigness.
"And my legs are funny. You said so yourself."
"Aw, I was only teasing you, Naomi. I know how sensitive you are." But did he really?
Being away in Greece, David would have no idea how much things had changed in her marriage. Now, she almost never undressed with Marcus in the same room. She even went into the closet, closing the door, to change her clothes. She hated wearing a bra, but she never went outside the house without one. She knew Marcus wouldn't approve. Marcus even thought she was frigid.
"The space between us feels like home," she murmured.
David smiled knowingly. "Your body is my home."
"More," she whispered in his ear. "Oh, please, please."
This time she didn't cover herself.
Thinking of you
I am without words
but these in my heart
that come and go,
without elegance or
arrangement, and
leave me as I am,
thinking of you.
Where do I stop
and begin again?
There are poets who
seem to know pre-
cisely the moment
and what to say.
I am alone,
thinking of you,
and I have a sore back
your hands could heal,
and I could tell you
how the sun came up
over the hills and through
the kitchen window
this morning,
as I stood making coffee,
and, thinking of you,
I would not pretend
or even try to be
a poet.
I would be as I am,
thinking of y
ou.
Just like that, I am born
A thousand times a day
I give you up. And
a thousand and one times
you come back.
I cannot explain myself:
who I am, how I come
and go, why I love you.
Does the wind apologize
to the scientist on the street,
and does the heart stop its beat
in order that we may understand
the universe?
Just like that, I am silent.
Surrendering
He undressed as she waited in the candlelight
of the bath,
and the hot, very hot water
steamed up the length of his body
to his face,
as she eased him into the tub,
lovingly,
with her hands.
They spoke of how she looked
with her breasts
naked and her long dark hair braided
into thin braids
over her forehead,
and her almond eyes.
(He loved her eyes!)
He wondered if she were Asian,
perhaps Tibetan,
or Native American,
as her hands gently swam
and caressed his legs, his chest
and genitals,
healing the tenseness in his mind,
savoring his male body.
Afterwards,
he built a warm fire
with spruce and apple and cherry woods.
They smoked grass
and he drank a cup of tea.
They talked of the Jedediah Smith River
and the redwoods and shamrocks,
the rope bridge
and wading across the river.
He lay with his head in her lap.
She gave him her breasts
and for a long time
he lay there,
tender as a child,