“Johannes Scotus Erigena?”
“Ah, the Irishman! Okay, I’ll talk about Johannes Scotus. He was, of course, a Neoplatonist—”
“—shaped by his knowledge of Greek.” For the first time I could relax sufficiently to be aware of my surroundings and I saw that like Cornelius, Vicky had dispensed with the antiques that had surrounded her for so much of her life and had furnished the apartment in an ultramodern style. Long low couches upholstered in white vinyl reminded me of the departure lounges of airport terminals. Two pink fish swam in an aquarium by the window, and three modern paintings, all geometrical abstracts, adorned the plain white walls. Above the aquarium someone had taped a primitive drawing of a fat woman with yellow hair, and stepping closer I saw the artist had written in black crayon: “MY MOM by SAMANTHA KELLER, aged 8.”
“Johannes Scotus Erigena,” I heard myself saying casually as Vicky stooped to take a cigarette from the box on the glass-topped coffee table, “held that man in his fallen state had lost his power of direct insight into the truth and that man was able to know the truth only through the experience of the senses … and that leads me exactly to what I came here to say—”
“My God, you’re a smooth operator!”
“—which was this: Vicky, from my experience of the senses with you I’ve reached a truth which I was completely wrong to deny in that letter I left for you—”
“Do you have a light?”
“Of course not, I don’t smoke.”
She snapped the cigarette box shut and walked out of the room. When she returned with the cigarette burning between her fingers I tried to resume my speech, but she cut me off.
“Look, Scott, I have enough problems of my own without having to deal with your problems, too. If you choose to run away to avoid any kind of emotional commitment, you go right ahead, and good luck to you. That’s your problem and I’m not mad enough to believe I could ever solve it. But don’t, please, try to intrude in my life any further. I don’t want to get involved with someone who doesn’t want to get involved. I can think of no bigger waste of my time and energy.”
“I thought … on board ship … you weren’t interested in permanent involvements.”
“That was one world,” said Vicky, “but this is another. I couldn’t live here as I lived on board ship. It’s too self-destructive. I’ve tried it and I know. In New York I want a commitment, I want someone supportive, I want someone who’s more than just a good lay. You don’t fit the bill. Sorry. It was great, but it’s over. It has to be. You said it all in that letter, and now there’s nothing else to say.”
“But you misunderstand! The situation’s far more complicated than it at first seemed on board ship! I assure you I didn’t come here just to go to bed with you—”
She laughed in my face. “Oh yeah?”
The telephone rang.
“Let it ring!” I said, exasperated by the interruption.
She immediately grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”
There was a pause, and as I watched I saw a softer expression creep into her eyes, while the hard line of her mouth relaxed. She turned away to block me from her vision.
“Oh, hi. … Yes, Alicia told me you were arriving today. … Recovering from the flight? I sympathize. I had a hellish flight back from Puerto Rico last Saturday. … Oh, just a vacation. Lots of humidity and frightful people—I never want to see another palm tree again. … What was that? A present for Postumus? Oh, he will be pleased! You must come over tomorrow. … Oh, anytime. Postumus gets up at five-thirty, six on his good days, and goes to kindergarten at a quarter of nine. Then he comes home at eleven-thirty, gives Nurse hell till four, and afterward watches TV until he has to be forcibly removed. … Yes, they’re all well, thanks. Eric goes to Choate next year—isn’t it amazing how time flies? Well, listen, dearest, I … Dinner tomorrow? I’m not sure. … Would it be a good idea? We’d probably get overemotional, and then … Okay, you stop by with the present for Postumus and then we’ll see how we feel. … Yes, it was terrible about the president. Look, I have to go now—something’s boiling over on the stove. … Okay. ’Bye.” She hung up and stood looking at the phone.
“Sebastian?” I said at last. “What’s he doing back in town?”
She looked at me in surprise. “I thought you’d know about it. Alicia said it was a business trip.”
I had a distant memory of Cornelius promising to recall Sebastian to discuss the trouble in London with Reischman’s. “Why, yes, I remember now. It’d gone clean out of my mind.”
She moved to the sideboard and started to fix herself a drink. “Can you go now, please?” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve had enough of you prowling around the room like a character out of a Tennessee Williams play. Why the hell do you have to look so sexy? I thought you were always sexless celibate Scott as soon as you set foot in New York!”
“Scott died.”
The martini spilled. She spun round to face me, and we stared at each other, but she never asked me what I meant.
I moved to the aquarium where the pink fish were chasing each other in an obscure courtship ritual, but when I turned to look at her again, all she said was, “That statement has no relation to reality. It’s just words.”
“But what is reality?” I said without a second’s hesitation. “We seem to have come full circle back to William of Ockham. He believed the individual was the sole reality. He believed that everything else existed only in the intellect. He believed”—I found myself right beside her at the liquor cabinet—“he believed in the power of the will.”
“The power of the will,” she said. “Yes.”
Her clear eyes were brilliant with some powerful emotion which refused to be checked, and suddenly I realized the emotion was mine, projected into her thoughts and reflected at me by the mirror of her mind. The impression of an electric current running between us was so strong that I even hesitated to touch her for fear I might trigger some explosive force beyond my control.
“The hell with you!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Walking out on me like that and then expecting me to—”
“We all make mistakes.”
“You bet we do, and I’m just about to make the biggest mistake of my life, you … you … you …”
Words failed her. She was shaking with rage.
“… son of a bitch!” she finally shouted through her tears as I drew her into my arms, and then the next moment she was pulling my face down to hers and kissing me violently on the mouth.
Chapter Five
I
“MOM!” SHOUTED A CLEAR, fierce treble far away, and I heard the short sharp burst of an electric drill.
At first I thought the interruption came from my brother Tony. I could see him clearly, six years old, with my father’s curly hair and blue eyes, and I knew he was up to his usual tricks, borrowing my toys and breaking them, endlessly getting under my feet and in my way. It was a severe burden for any civilized nine-year-old to have such an untamed younger brother.
“Mom!” came the fierce treble again, and I knew there was something wrong, because my mother had always insisted that we called her “Mother” as soon as we were old enough to pronounce the th without lisping. The electric drill buzzed again, and suddenly I knew it was no drill, but a doorbell; suddenly I was wide-awake, sitting bolt upright in bed in Vicky’s apartment while Vicky herself was struggling frantically into her robe.
“What the hell …?”
“It’s okay. It’s just Benjamin stopping by to say hello on his way to kindergarten.” She ran out, banging the bedroom door so clumsily that it rebounded from its frame, and I automatically jumped out of bed to make sure the view of the bedroom was cut off from anyone entering the hall. But before I could close the door completely, Benjamin had galloped into the hall and was piping, “Hi, Mom! Surprise! Here’s Uncle Sebastian!”
I froze. A few feet away from me, Vicky was speechless. Eventually Sebastian said in typically monosyllabic fashion, “H
i. Looks like I goofed. Dumb of me. I’ll come back when you’re dressed. ’Bye.”
“No … wait, Sebastian! I’m sorry, I was just so surprised … I didn’t expect—”
“I’ve been awake since five. Jet lag. Then I remembered Postumus got up early, so I thought I’d pay you an early visit.”
“Of course. Yes. Well …”
“Hey, Mom!” shrilled Benjamin, interrupting this awkward exchange. “Look at the great present Uncle Sebastian’s brought me! It’s a tank that shoots real bullets!”
“Oh, Sebastian, do you really approve of war toys for children?” She was making the mistake of prolonging the conversation while making no effort to invite him across the threshold. Sebastian was going to guess she was not alone in the apartment—if he hadn’t guessed as much already. I wondered why she didn’t behave more naturally by inviting him into the living room, but the answer hit me as I backed noiselessly away from the door and looked around for something to put on. My clothes were missing. They were littering the floor of the living room, where Vicky and I had first made love on the couch under the baleful gaze of the pink fish.
“War’s a fact of life, isn’t it?” Sebastian was saying. “Do you want Postumus to grow up without a sound knowledge of what goes on in the world?”
“Don’t call me Postumus, Uncle Sebastian! Mom, can I take the tank to school?”
“Sebastian, that thing doesn’t really fire bullets, does it?”
“Of course not! What a question!”
“Mom, can I …?”
“Well, I don’t know if—”
“Oh, Mom!”
“Oh, okay, yes, take it to school. Sebastian, let me call you later when I’ve had time to wake up properly and get myself together. Right now I—”
“Hey, Mom, can I feed the fish?”
“You’ll be late for school!”
“Oh, please!”
“But they don’t need feeding just yet!”
“Oh, Mom!”
“Hey,” said Sebastian, “you make a lot of noise for a little kid your size. Tone it down.”
“Uncle Sebastian, come and see the fish! They’re called Don and Phil after the Everly Brothers!”
“Ben, wait … Ben, I’ve got some lovely new cookies here in the kitchen—”
“Gee, Mom, what are all these clothes doing all over the living-room floor?”
“Ben, will you do as you’re told and come out of there at once! Oh, there’s Nurse calling! Now, here you are, here’s a new chocolate-chip cookie—”
“Can I have two?”
“Well …”
“Oh, Mom!”
“Oh, all right! Anything for a quiet life. Now, run along, darling.”
“Vicky, does that kid always get exactly what he wants?”
“Oh shut up, Sebastian! I can’t cope with both of you harassing me. Now, out, Benjamin, before I get real mad! Oh, and don’t forget to thank Uncle Sebastian for—”
The door slammed as Benjamin made a triumphant exit with a tank and two cookies.
There was a silence. Unable to stop myself, I moved back to the door and looked through the crack between the hinges. Sebastian was standing on the threshold of the living room, and as I watched, he picked something up from the table that stood just beyond the door.
“This is nice,” he said politely to Vicky. “Where did you get it?”
It was my silver medallion from Ireland.
“Mexico,” said Vicky after a pause.
“Yeah? It looks Celtic.” He put it back on the table, took another casual look around the disordered living room, and then turned aside as if what he saw was of no importance to him.
“Sebastian …”
“Okay, I’m going—you don’t have to throw me out. Sorry I embarrassed you by walking in at the wrong time.”
“Sebastian, I just want to say—”
“Don’t bother. It’s not my business whose clothes you pick to decorate your living room. Don’t think much of his taste, by the way. Levi’s and a black leather jacket, for God’s sake! Looks like you finally tempted Elvis Presley to swivel right out of the silver screen! No, don’t answer that. Forget it. Dinner okay for this evening? No, I promise I won’t get emotional—there won’t be time, because I’ll have so much to talk about. There’s going to be a big scene at the bank today, and I think I’m going to be able to blitz Cornelius into recalling me from Europe. He doesn’t want to, of course, but I’ve deliberately made London too hot to hold me, and since he can’t fire me in case Mother takes offense and starts locking her bedroom door—”
“Sebastian, I’m sorry, but I just can’t cope with all this right now. Would you mind …”
“Okay, I’m on my way. So long. See you. Sorry.” The front door closed abruptly. Footsteps retreated into the distance. Sitting down on the bed, I waited in silence for her to return to the room.
She came. My clothes and my silver medallion were dumped on the floor at my feet. I looked up, but she had already turned away.
“Vicky, I’m sorry. I can see you’re upset. But he must surely realize you haven’t lived like a nun since the divorce!”
“Making commonsense assumptions is one thing; seeing the sordid evidence to confirm those assumptions is quite another. Could you please go?”
I said in a voice which I tried hard to keep neutral, “Sounds as if you still love him.”
She spun round to face me. “Yes,” she said, “I love him. I’ll always love Sebastian. He picked me up when I was down and out and he saved my life—I mean that. I’m not exaggerating. Before that I just existed. I was no one, just an adjunct to various people who made me over into whatever they wanted me to be. Now, will you please leave and allow me some privacy? You’ve already overstayed your welcome by approximately six hours.”
“What do you mean?” I said, startled.
“I didn’t invite you to stay the night, did I?”
“Well, I naturally assumed—”
“Yes,” she said, “you would. That’s the trouble with men who are too successful with women—they can’t imagine there are times when they’re resistible!”
“Now, wait a minute—”
“No, I won’t! I feel mean and shabby and upset, and I want to be alone! For God’s sake, are you completely insensitive?” shouted Vicky, in a great rage by this time, and slammed the bathroom door in my face. A second later the hiss of the shower drowned all further attempts at conversation.
I stood there stark naked and was aware of a wide range of emotions, none of them happy, elbowing for a place in my mind. I was angry, hurt, irritated, and jealous. I also felt in some obscure way guilty, although I told myself this was unnecessary, since Vicky was no longer married to Sebastian. Struggling into my shorts, I pulled on my T-shirt and told myself Vicky was behaving unreasonably, but this only made me feel more angry, more hurt, more irritated, and more jealous. This onslaught of violent emotion confused me. I was unused to it and found it hard to handle.
I was just thinking how horrified Scott would have been by my disordered feelings when I caught sight of the clock on the nightstand, and the next moment all my introspective thoughts were wiped out by panic. It was after nine o’clock. I was supposed to be at the office. Scott would have been at the office, because Scott was never late for work, and if I were late now, it would be a disastrous start to my new career as an actor playing Scott’s role.
Dragging on the rest of my clothes with lightning speed, I ran back to the bathroom door. “Honey, I’m sorry for everything!” I shouted. “I’m truly sorry, I swear it! I’ll call you later, okay?”
There was no answer, but I thought I heard the shower increase in volume to drown the sound of my voice.
I dashed to the front door and then remembered what Sebastian had said about maneuvering his return from Europe. That had to rank as valuable information, and if I used it skillfully I’d score. I dashed back into the bedroom, grabbed the phone, and dialed the Van Zale trip
lex, but of course Cornelius wasn’t there; he had already left for work. I ran a hand distractedly through my hair and wondered if I was going out of my mind. This was no time to go crashing around and making a mess of everything. I had to calm down and be Scott, but I wasn’t Scott, not anymore, and although I tried to be calm, I only felt more distracted than ever.
I ran out of the apartment, fretted by the shaft when the elevator failed to arrive promptly, and was just about to dive down the fire stairs when the red light flashed above the doors to signal that the elevator had at last reached my floor. I dashed inside. After an eternity it reached the ground. By this time the sweat of impatience was streaming down my back, and as soon as the doors opened I began to sprint across the lobby.
The next moment every muscle in my body snapped taut. I stopped. The shock dropped like lead to the pit of my stomach. Sebastian was standing by the doorman’s desk.
I started to back away, but it was too late. He had been watching the elevators for the first sign of a man wearing the offbeat clothes Scott would never have worn and making all the mistakes Scott would never have made. He saw me immediately.
We both stood transfixed. Other people from the elevator walked past me, said good morning to the doorman, and walked outside onto Seventy-ninth Street, and every time the doors opened, the reflected sunlight shone on the silver medallion Sebastian had examined with such care. No error of identification was possible. In three seconds I saw him try, convict, and sentence me, and in three seconds our long friendship came brutally to an end.
There was nothing to say, so neither of us spoke. He must have been just as shocked as I was, but in the end it was he who turned his back on me and walked out. I arrived on the sidewalk just in time to hear him say to the nearest cabdriver, “Willow and Wall.”
I had one thought, and one thought only. I had to get to Cornelius first. For a long moment I stared at the slow-moving rush-hour traffic, and then I ran all the way to the corner of the block and dashed down the steps to the subway.
Sins of the Fathers Page 61