Private Affairs

by Judith Michael

  Seated alone in the middle of the sun-washed square, Matt smiled. I know what she meant by that. And she was right.

  He wandered through the city, past museums, churches, and palaces, dodging the life-threatening Roman traffic, turning at random into private cobblestone lanes that were barely more than passages between old brick buildings shining apricot and gold in the sun, dark brown in the shade. Again he thought of Rourke, this time at their first meeting, in Aspen, when he had expressed amazement that Matt and Elizabeth had never been in Europe. He'd dangled Europe before them, just as he'd dangled a wallet before Matt, with two hundred million dollars for buying newspapers. But in all the time I was with him, I never got to Europe. I was always too busy.

  He came out of a shadowed street into sudden brightness, and realized

  he had made a full circle and was back at the fountain in the Piazza Navona. It was immediately familiar---just as every place had been, all day. This is the first time I've seen any of them, he thought, struck by it, but every one has been familiar.

  He sat on the bench he had occupied that morning, absently gazing a group of American tourists clustering nearby. "The Fountain of the Four Rivers," their guide said. "Representing the four corners of the earth. . . ."

  Genghis Gold had sketched portraits of tourists here, Matt thought, remembering Elizabeth's description of him. And then it came to him: he knew why the scenes of the day had been familiar. Without being aware he was doing it, he had visited every place that Elizabeth described in her "Private Affairs" stories from Rome.

  "Designed by Bernini," the guide said. "And completed in 1651."

  One of the tourists wandered restlessly from the group and stopped beside Matt. "Do you know how many dates I've heard on this trip?" he asked as if they were old friends. "If I never hear another one it'll be too soon for me."

  Matt smiled and nodded.

  "And my feet hurt," the tourist added, and sat down. After a moment he asked, "Are you an American?"

  "Yes," Matt said.

  "Where's your tour group?"

  "I'm here alone," Matt replied.

  "Seeing Europe alone? How come?"

  Matt contemplated him. "Because that's what I want."

  "Sorry," the man said hastily. "None of my business."

  Silently Matt agreed. But he knew that even if he had wanted to reply, there was no simple answer. I'm here because I lost my balance, he thought wryly. I couldn't keep the things of my life in order. I didn't know when to say I'd had enough. I had a chance to find out what I could be, and I found out; I had a chance to see how far I could go, and I saw it. But once I'd started, I couldn't stop.

  There ought to be a time when we trust ourselves enough to say, That's enough, if that's the only way we can balance the important parts of our life and not lose some of them.

  The shadows were lengthening across the square. On an upper floor of one of the buildings facing him, a woman's white hand reached out to pull a shutter closed. Matt kept his eyes on the shutter long after the graceful curve of the wrist had disappeared.

  I want to share it with Elizabeth, he thought. No one else. That's why I

  went to all the places she wrote about; it was a way of sharing my first day in Rome with her. That was why I was always too busy when Nicole suggested coming to Europe. Thousands of sights and sounds around the world waiting to be discovered. And I want to discover them with Elizabeth.

  He stood and absently said goodbye to the man beside him before walking across the plaza and finding his way to his hotel. He was going back to America. It's about time I asked my wife, for the second time, to be my traveling companion.

  ♦♦

  c

  hildren raced through the empty houses of Nuevo, making them echo with laughter for the last time. The townspeople followed more slowly, in each room recalling who had been born there and who had died, who had been married, who had carved or woven or painted, who had dreamed. As they left each room, they poured a thin stream of gasoline around the base of the walls, and soon the odor hovered over the whole town.

  Elizabeth and Isabel stood in the empty street, listening to the excited children's voices rise above the murmuring of the adults. "Three hundred years," said Isabel, shaking her head. "There's been a town here for three hundred years. And now it's dead."

  "Only the shell," Elizabeth said. "The people are still together; even the ones who moved away are coming back now that they know they can get jobs. Aren't they the real town?"

  "My head says yes. My heart says I'm burning my town and whatever I build, up there, will never be the same."

  "You don't want it to be the same. You want it to be better."

  "True. And I want to burn this one to show it's still ours: we'll wipe it out before the bulldozers do. I know all that. But . . . look at it."

  Everyone else had left; they were alone in the dusty street. Beneath heavy clouds, the rock wall of the dam loomed above the silent wooden houses. The laughter of the children drifted down from the trailers and tents above; the air was so still Elizabeth heard even the sounds of dishes and silverware being set out. "Dinner," she said, her arm around Isabel's waist. "A good way to end one story and begin another. Who's going to start the fire?"

  "Padre." Isabel put her arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and they turned away from the town. "We used to walk here with our babies. And everyone called us opposite sisters. Hermanas contrarias. Remember?"

  "Of course. We still are."

  "That's probably the best of all," Isabel said. Briefly she tightened her clasp around Elizabeth's shoulders.

  Elizabeth nodded; suddenly she didn't feel like talking anymore.

  At the top of the slope, Holly, Luz, and Maya were helping set tables; Saul was unpacking boxes of cookies and cakes they'd brought from Santa Fe, while Heather helped Spencer and Lydia take cases of soft drinks from their car. Peter, who had arrived that morning, was taking pictures of the empty town below and the crowded clearing where dinner was being prepared; children played hide and seek in the cluster of tents and trailers; Jock Olson unreeled a long fuse that stretched from the last house below to a chair where Cesar sat, brooding.

  "All ready," Jock said, and Luz banged a spoon against a pot.

  Cesar stood as the crowd fell silent. "When I light this fuse, I want everybody quiet, thinking about Nuevo, because it has been good to us. And because it is good to remember what was our home, even when we leave it, even when it is gone." He waited a moment, then knelt and held a match to the fuse.

  There was absolute silence until, half a minute later, the end house burst into flames, with a soft whoosh, as if a wind had come up. The children cheered. The second house caught the flames and was engulfed, and then, down the main road and the side roads, so quickly it seemed to happen all at once, the houses burned. Flames leaped to the sky.

  A great sigh went through the crowd. "By God," said Cesar. "By God, that is one hell of a fire."

  Everyone began to talk and mill about. Soon the cooking fires were once again being tended, the food stirred, the tables set. "And we go on," Elizabeth said to Isabel. She felt like crying, but there was something incredibly powerful about the fire below, as if its heat and light could create a world as well as destroy it.

  " 'I would mould a world of fire and dew,' " Peter said, beside her. "A poem I read in school. Are you all right?"

  She gave a small smile. "Yes, thank you. A little melancholy."

  "I'm not surprised." He put his arm around her and when Maya joined them he held her with his other arm, and the three of them stood watching the fire, already feeling its heat.

  "Look!" Maya cried, looking up. The leaping flames lit the low-hanging clouds. "It's like a sunset!"

  "Or sunrise," Peter said, and smiled into her eyes, looking so much like Matt that Elizabeth's throat tightened and she swallowed, to hold back the tears. "Starting again," he added. "Fire and dew."

  Everyone was looking at the sky: the firelight
was like a river of gold and copper spreading across the low clouds, making them shimmer as if they, too, burned, and when Matt saw it from miles away as he drove toward Nuevo he thought it was a forest fire somewhere beyond the old iron mine. But then he knew it was much closer. My God, he thought, speeding up. It's the town.

  Where the road once went straight, it now bore to the right, around the new dam, turning in a wide U as it climbed to higher ground. As Matt drove around the last curve, he saw, first, the roaring cauldron below, and, then, just ahead, a festive crowd—two hundred, he thought, maybe more—sitting at long tables beneath the trees. Small fires burned in pits, with cast iron pots suspended above them; the tables were covered with large bowls and platters of food; some distance away were trailers, tents, and parked cars. It was a town.

  Matt pulled off the road and stopped the car. No one seemed to have heard him; everyone was talking and the fire was as loud as a windstorm. He left the car and walked toward the group. He saw Isabel first, standing beside a chair. "To the greatest lady I've ever known," he heard her say, her strong, warm voice filling the clearing. "Who fought hard for us and never gave up."

  They were all there, seated around the table: Lydia and Spencer, Heather and Saul, Peter, Maya, Holly, Luz, Cesar. A stranger sat beside Isabel, never taking his eyes off her. And then Elizabeth stood up. Matt drew in his breath as a wave of love and longing swept over him.

  Her beauty was like a beacon in the crowd. She wore a long white peasant skirt and an oversize sweater, bright yellow, its sleeves pushed to her elbows. Her hair was like honey; her face was flushed in the firelight. She was a golden flame. Matt had a brief memory of a stunning woman always in black and white, starkly dramatic, her skin cool even in passion, and wondered how he could have thought that was what he wanted.

  "I think we should toast the people of Nuevo," Elizabeth was saying, her voice softer than Isabel's. "And all those who came to help: Jock Olson and the men who made such good use of the construction company's equipment"—the man at Isabel's side laughed, and with him a group of men at the next table, and all the rest, laughing together, then growing quiet—"and the people who have come from all over the country, helping in every way they can. We're like a family building a house, but instead of one house we're building many houses: a whole town. And I think you're all wonderful."

  Matt heard applause and someone beginning another toast, but he didn't hear the words. He was walking toward Elizabeth. He couldn't remember deciding to do that, but he was halfway to her when he realized it. Peter saw him and nudged Holly. He said something to Elizabeth. And when she whirled about, Matt saw the light in her gray eyes and that was all he saw.

  She moved into his arms and held him and opened her mouth beneath his. Their bodies met, fitting together as easily as if they had never been apart. "I love you," Matt said, his lips against hers. "Elizabeth, I love you. I don't know what happened to me, how I could have—"

  "Matt," she said. "Don't talk. Not yet. I haven't kissed you enough."

  He laughed, and the laughter stayed inside him as they kissed again. He held her slender body in his arms, loving her, learning again the feel of her, the long line of her back, the silk of her hair, the curve of her breast.

  "My love," Elizabeth murmured. "I need to take a breath."

  They smiled at each other. "I want to know what's going on with this crowd," Matt said. "But I don't want to talk; I just want to look at you and hold you."

  She put her hand against his face. "It can wait a few minutes."

  Matt saw Peter and Holly watching them. Wait, he mouthed, and they smiled, first at him and then at each other. He and Elizabeth walked among the trees; hearing voices and laughter though the clearing was no longer visible. "I guess I want to say a few things after all," he said. "You should know ... I may not be a good risk. I failed with Rourke and I haven't decided what I want to do next—"

  "You'll go to bed with your wife."

  He grinned. "As soon as possible."

  "And then we'll talk about tomorrow."

  "No, some things I want to say now. Do you mind? I did so much thinking in Europe; I want you to know how I got here. I sat in the Piazza Navona and thought of Genghis Gold, and you, and then realized I'd spent that whole day going to every street and piazza and cafe you

  Private Affairs ?}5

  described in your stones. So I knew I wanted to share Rome with you. and Europe, and all of America . . . and the rest of my Life."

  She was looking at him and he stopped walking to hold her again. "I've u. Even when I was blind to it. I was missing you."

  "I wish I'd known that." she said somberly.

  Matt waited for her : .?out Tony, but she said nothing

  more. He'd never know about Tony, for sure, he reflected: but he knew that Elizabeth would never ask about Nicole. They were beginning again, on equal terms, and that was enough.

  "I do have some ideas about what I might do next." he - they

  walked on. "I want to talk them over with you."

  She smiled. "I like that. But. Matt. I don't think they should include the Chieftain Saul still wants to buy it. and so does Heather, and I thought, if you don't mind—"

  "We'll give it to them." he said.

  She looked quickly at him. her eyes bright. "You've been thinking about it."

  "That was one of my thoughts in Rome. Saul made the paper his long ■go; I couldn't imagine taking it away from him. The Skill either. Do you remember when he predicted he'd be publisher in a km > ea:>2 I like the idea of making it come true." He fell silent as they walked. "Another thought I had m Rome was that we might get some backers and start a

  -izine."

  She stopped. "I didn't know you ever thought about magazines. What kind?"

  "Regional, probably: the southwest is what I know best. Mainly people: the kind of thing you do best. Could I interest you m being half a pub-Usher and editor-in-chief? .And frequent contributor?"

  "Yea

  "Can it be so simple?" he murmured. "For years everything has seemed so complicated."

  "It will only get complicated if we have to start by mortgaging the house agam—"

  "No, we won't have any trouble. Mitch Laidlaw was the one who suggested it to me: he'll bring in others. In fact, there might be enough to go national. If we did that, as soon as enough advertising came in. we could start regional spinoffs—smaller, more involved with their communities, using local writers. . . ."

  Elizabeth began to laugh and after a pause Matt laughed with her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to 20 running after another brass ring before we'd even settled down from the last one."

  "No, don't be sorry," she said quickly. "You made it sound wonderful. I'd like to go after it with you. If we can do it together—"

  "I promise you, that's the only way we'll do it. And whatever peaks there are, we'll conquer them together." He took her in his arms again. "Back where we started: living in Santa Fe, in love, working together ... Or did you want something more exciting? Do you want to live somewhere else? New York? Paris? London?"

  She smiled. "I want you. Anywhere."

  Their lips met. After a long moment, Matt said, "Shall I take you deeper into the forest? Better yet, can we go home? Would anyone mind if we leave?" His head came up. "Elizabeth, do I hear a bell, or is it in my head?"

  "You really hear it. Let's join the others, Matt. They're going to dedicate the town."

  "Is this the site? The land Rourke gave them?"

  "Yes. Thanks to you—"

  "To you first, for your story, and then to Mitch Laidlaw—"

  "I wrote you a note, thanking you for your story, but it came back . . . Oh, Matt, we have so much catching up to do!"

  "And only a lifetime to do it in. My God, there's the church."

  They were back in the clearing, on the other side of the trailers and tents. Straight ahead, on a small rise, was the shell of the church, on its new foundation. The people stood in front of it in a half
circle; Cesar was in the doorway, studying his shoes. He looked up, at the silent crowd. "I asked Isabel to make this speech but she said I should do it because I am the oldest here. So. This is the first day of May, a good time for a beginning. Nuevo is gone. But we have a new home where we stand, with the church at the center. And I name it now. Renacimiento Nuevo. Reborn Nuevo."

  "Reborn," Elizabeth murmured. "I love you, Matt."

  He put his arm around her and they were holding each other close when Peter and Maya joined them. Peter rested his forehead on his father's shoulder for just an instant; then he straightened and held out his hand. "Welcome home."

  "We will make this town a home," said Cesar. "We will welcome those who are homeless because we were nearly homeless ourselves. We will make it a fine place to live, we will protect it and keep the wonderful feeling we have this minute because so many people cared about us and helped keep our town alive . . . and now it is the caring that we must keep alive." He stopped, then put out his hands. "I don't know what else to say."

  Matt moved forward and began to clap. Peter followed, others took it up, and suddenly everyone was clapping and smiling and crowding up to Cesar to tell him it was a wonderful dedication. Matt and Elizabeth held back, their arms around each other again, sharing one more small mo= ment before becoming part of the crowd. And as they looked at each other, seeing in each other's eyes the wonder of rediscovering what they had almost lost, they heard the first notes of a song.

  Softly, tentatively, the song began, and then grew stronger, the silver notes rising above the voices of the crowd. Everyone fell silent, listening, as the notes rose higher, pure and clear in the mountain air. We've come home, a thousand miles. Down the road, the winding road ... We've come home. The joyous song soared into the night, filled with love, and everyone in the clearing reached out to take a neighbor's hand.