Four o’clock. It’s getting cooler now, the sun hidden behind higher hills off to the west. I’m stiff and achy, and my back is complaining about this length of time, over three hours, seated here on this stump, with no support.
He never came out. She never appeared again, either, after that walk. I can catch a glimpse of their driveway from here, and neither of them used the car today. I don’t know what GRB looks like, and I don’t know what his car looks like.
This day wasn’t wasted, not entirely wasted. I’ve learned how to get near the house. But it’s frustrating, nevertheless. I want to get this over, over and done with.
Tomorrow I won’t be able to come here, because of the counselor, Longus Quinlan. So it’s Wednesday, while Marjorie is again working at Dr. Carney’s office, that’s when I’ll be back.
When I stand, bones crack all over my body, enough to scare any snake in the county. I’m tottering, having trouble making my feet work. But it’s time to go, get back to the Voyager, drive homeward, get to the mall by six o’clock to pick up Marjorie.
Staggering like Frankenstein’s monster, I make my way along the path, back toward the Voyager. In this direction, it’s uphill.
26
Yesterday, at the counseling session, Marjorie said, “When Burke first lost his job, I thought it was a kind of opportunity. I thought things were too good for us, we always had whatever we wanted, and so we never had to struggle together for anything, we never had to prove ourselves to each other. I thought this was going to be some little short time, and it wasn’t really going to mean anything in the long run, but I could prove myself to Burke, and I guess to myself, too, to be honest about it, just to prove I was the perfect wife, the perfect partner. We’re in this together, and this is my chance to prove it. So I immediately started all these little economies and showed how we could save money here and save money there, like I was Mrs. Noah on the Ark, going around finding little leaks, plugging them up, keeping the water out. I never thought it was going to go on this long. I don’t think Burke did, either. I think at first he took it a little more seriously than I did, because he knew a little more about what the real situation was, but I don’t think he took it really really really seriously then, at first. I think after a while he did, and instead of turning to me and saying, ‘Marjorie, we’re in a jam, this is a tougher situation than I thought,’ he just closed down inside himself, more and more. I thought for a while he was blaming me for what was going on, that he thought it was my fault he still didn’t have a job, we didn’t have any money, but I’ve thought about it some more, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and now I think Burke’s been doing the same thing I’ve been doing, trying to prove what a perfect husband he is, perfect provider, keep the little woman safe and happy, don’t let her see how bad things are. I mean, I can see how bad things are, but we can’t talk about how bad things are, or what we’re going to do about them, or what’s going to happen next, so I never actually know what’s going to happen next. Burke’s gotten more and more secretive, more and more silent, more and more cold, and sometimes when he’s looking at me it’s almost as though he hates me, just for being there and seeing the situation he’s in, it looks in his eyes as though he could kill me for being there, just because he feels like he can’t protect me the way he’s supposed to, and I don’t want to be protected like that, but how can I say anything? He keeps that wall up. The wall is supposed to be his strength, I guess, but I never thought that was why he was strong. When I met him, I was still in college, I was a completely useless Liberal Arts major, but I also took typing and shorthand, and summer vacations I did temp jobs to help out, make some money for myself, and I always thought I’d work in industry someplace, as a secretary, something like that. I actually did work for an insurance company for about six months after I graduated, and got one promotion and raise, and I could have stayed, but Burke wanted to get married right away, and then he wanted a family right away, so I dropped out of the job market. The magazines I used to read were always full of pieces about women dropping out of the job market, and then what happens when you get divorced or widowed, and I was never afraid of that. This they didn’t talk about. This is worse than divorced or widowed, because I’m still with Burke but he’s wounded. I’m with a wounded man, and we both have to pretend nothing’s wrong. About half the wives I know have jobs or careers, one’s a speech therapist, one’s a librarian, a lot of them I know, but it seems just as normal either way, if the wife works or doesn’t work, and I’ve always thought that was the woman’s decision, except with us it’s mostly been Burke’s decision, and he makes it plain in different ways. Like, a few years ago, at Christmastime, he bought a computer, a personal computer for the home, he said it was for the whole family. It was really for Billy, our son, but I knew why he said it was for the whole family, and why he teased me about learning it and putting the checkbook in it and all. The children were growing up, almost out of high school then, and I’d been talking about looking for a job again after all these years, wanting to do something with myself, and Burke didn’t want me to. This was before he was laid off, before anybody thought he could be laid off. So he wanted to be the provider, the protector, the same as always, and he brought that computer into the house just to let me know I didn’t have the skills any more. When I got out of college, it was typing, but the computer isn’t typing, it’s something else, and he wanted me to know I’m hopelessly behind. But actually, he doesn’t know it, but I’m farther along with the computer than he is, because I’ve been doing the billing for this dentist we know, Dr. Carney, so I’ve been using his computer, and his regular nurse showed me what I had to know, and I’ve taught myself some more on my own, so I’m not so hopeless after all. But I couldn’t tell Burke how happy I was and pleased that I was learning the computer, because he wouldn’t like that. I had to keep it to myself, and pretend there wasn’t anything I was happy about, or anything I could possibly be happy about, until he got a new job, and the exact same kind of job again, of course, even though we read in the newspaper every day that people don’t get the same kind of job back, especially if they’re over fifty. We know a man, a neighbor of ours, he was always considerably more wealthy than us, he was a bank executive, he only had to commute in to the office in New York three days a week, he was that important, and there was a merger, and they let him go, it must be three years ago now, and he was out of work for almost two years, wanting to be a bank executive again. And now he works at a Mercedes dealership in Hartford, he sells cars, and he works six days a week and he doesn’t make anywhere near as much money, and Burke, did you notice? Their house is for sale. But a lot of houses are for sale, you’ve probably noticed that, Mr. Quinlan, so I don’t know how long they’ll have to wait. And I don’t know if we’ll have to try to sell our house, too, or what is going to happen. I can’t find a full-time job now, because I was out of the job market too long, I’m too old, I’m not that skilled, and nobody knows when Burke will find another job or what kind of job it will be or when he’ll agree to settle for it. It isn’t fair for the children, but that isn’t Burke’s fault, even if he does take the blame all on himself, but they have to live with it the same as we do, and usually I think they understand that, though Billy did get himself in trouble. But that’s not the point. The point is, it’s so hard to be happy at home, and you have to have some place in your life where you’re happy. And you have to have some person you can talk with, open yourself with, laugh with. Or even cry with, I don’t care, just something. But Burke’s been so— He’s like cryogenics, he’s frozen himself, he won’t thaw out until he gets a job, and in the meantime I’m living with this frozen thing, and finally, four months ago, a man I know acted tender toward me and I responded, and something started between us. Burke’s off on his own secret mission all the time, for a while I thought he was having an affair, but I don’t believe that any more, I believe he’s doing strange like magic things, like going off and reading entrails or so
mething, I don’t know, he has some kind of mysterious project with papers in his office and mysterious trips, and lying to me about where he’s going, and I wouldn’t dream of asking him what’s going on. Because he wants to shoulder it all himself, shoulder the burden, shoulder everything, the family, the responsibility, and I’m left out here, and I turned to this other man because at least he’d talk to me, and he’d let me talk to him. And he has problems, too, but he isn’t afraid to talk about them or say he feels weak when he gets up in the morning, he doesn’t know what to do next. I could console him, he was somebody I could put my arms around, I could find some way to make him laugh. I can’t do anything with Burke, he’s like a rock or a dead person, he’s like a stone, you can’t put your arms around a stone. You can’t get anything from a stone. So when I realized that it wasn’t this other man I wanted, it was Burke I wanted, but it was Burke when he’s alive, when he isn’t all shut down and cold and waiting for a miracle, and I thought, I have to use dynamite. So I told him we needed to see somebody like you, and he fought that idea, and I knew he’d fight it, of course he’d fight it. Talk about things! When he fought it, I told him about the man, because I thought that would be sink or swim, kill or cure, and I thought, I can’t go on like this. I either want Burke back or I want it over with. And thank God he said all right, let’s come here, because I could-n’t say this to him without you in the room. And he knows I’m not seeing the man any more, but the truth is, I’m not seeing Burke either, and I want to see Burke, I want my husband back, and I don’t know what to do.”
Quinlan looked at me, with a gentle smile. He’s a great absorber, Quinlan. He said, “You’d like to thaw, Burke, wouldn’t you? Knock down the wall?”
“I didn’t know I was doing that,” I said. “I thought I was just trying to hold myself together.” But it’s true; I’d caught glimpses of myself, here and there in her description.
He went on smiling, and said, “You didn’t buy the computer to insult Marjorie, did you?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “That never even occurred to me.” That had been part of the description where I had not caught sight of myself, and I was grateful to Quinlan for calling attention to it.
His smile now moved over to include Marjorie, who was sitting there looking exhausted. No, not exhausted, not like somebody who’s just run a long time, but drained, like somebody who’s just had an operation. He said to her, “We’re all of us paranoid, Marjorie, you know,” and shrugged. “Like right now,” he said, “I’m wondering how you feel about taking advice from a black man. Are you just humoring me? Do you laugh behind my back, in your car together?”
“We don’t laugh about anything,” Marjorie said, which I thought an overstatement, but kept my mouth shut.
Quinlan smiled more broadly; he has a very broad smile, when he wants. “Paranoia is not a good guide,” he suggested, then looked back at me and said, “But Marjorie was right about the cryogenics, wasn’t she? You’re frozen, waiting to be thawed when there’s a cure.”
“That sounds right,” I admitted, “though I’m not sure what to do about it. I mean, it’ll be hard to retrain myself.” Retrain; retraining. The sick joke of downsizing, and now I’ve volunteered to try it in my home.
“We’re in no hurry,” Quinlan told me, and looked at Marjorie again, to say, “Isn’t that right? As long as we know the problem’s out in the air, and progress is being made, we’re in no hurry, are we?”
“I feel much better,” Marjorie said. “Just being here, just talking about it.”
I couldn’t tell them, of course, that the situation is going to change for the better, the much better, pretty soon now, no matter what we do in the counseling. Two resumés and Upton “Ralph” Fallon, that’s all that’s left. I’m a short-timer now, in cyrogenics.
But I’m glad Marjorie got to say all that, and I’m very glad I got to hear it. I don’t want to lose her, any more than I want Billy in jail. I don’t want any of the extra bad things that happen to people in our situation, I don’t want the fringe banes.
We’re at sea, that’s my image, not cryogenics. We’re lost at sea on a raft, and it’s up to me to keep the raft together, ration the supplies, keep us afloat until we find shore. That’s my task, my position. If it’s made me cold to Marjorie, then I’m wrong, I’m trying too hard. Hurting her can’t help me, or anything else. I’ve been too focused, that’s what it is. I have to try to relax, even though all I really want to do is keep my guard up twenty-four hours a day.
In any event, now we know who the guy is. James Halstead; always James, never Jim. Banker turned Mercedes salesman. Now we know, and we don’t care.
That was yesterday, and today is Wednesday. I’ve just kissed Marjorie goodbye at Dr. Carney’s, warmly, with love. Now I’m on my way to kill GRB.
27
The weight of my raincoat is more balanced today as I walk through the woods, with the Luger in the right pocket and two apples in the left. Today I’m prepared for a long wait.
It’s not yet ten in the morning when I reach GRB’s house and take up my position, seated on the stump at the edge of the woods, behind the pool house. The house over there beyond the lawn seems shut up tight, as though the owners have gone away forever. But she, at least, was here the day before yesterday, when I saw her hike through the woods, hitting trees with her shillelagh.
I settle down, trying to find a position that’s more comfortable for my back, on this stump, and I wait. And after a while, I find myself thinking about this or that part of yesterday’s session with Longus Quinlan, and how all of that history just came pouring out of Marjorie. I must be a different person from the one I always thought I was, if she had to keep so silent around me for so long, if she had to create this entire scenario, an affair, counseling, before she could suddenly blurt it all out like that, like a dam bursting.
I remember what I said yesterday about retraining, that word from when I got the chop, bubbling to the surface all at once there, and I think I’m serious about it. I’ve just been going along, doing my best to take care of my family, but ignoring the effect I was having on Marjorie, taking it for granted she was happy with me.
Retraining. That was part of the separation package at the mill, what they called retraining, and what they called retraining was so miserable and false that I really ought to find some other word for the reappraisal I want to make in connection with myself. What they called retraining was…
I don’t suppose they actually meant it to be insulting. I think what they were trying to do was keep us all calm and hopeful until we were well out the door, and that’s why we had the severance packages and the inspirational meetings and the offers of retraining, all this crap.
At first, I was even hopeful about the idea of retraining. I’d read all the stuff about it, the same stuff we’ve all read, how it’s going to be necessary in the brave new world of tomorrow for people to move on from job to job, learning new skills along the way, and how males older than fifty have the hardest time giving up the old skills in exchange for the new skills, and I was absolutely prepared to prove that particular generalization false, here’s one guy can adapt, just try me.
And so they tried me, all right. They offered me air conditioning repair.
Where am I, in a vocational high school or a minimum security prison, which one? Air conditioning repair? How is this a brand new skill to carry anybody into the brave new world of tomorrow? And what does air conditioning repair have at all to do with my entire work history? I manage assembly lines, that’s what I do.
Okay, forget specialized paper processes, just talk about assembly lines, the management thereof, and that’s what I do. Retrain me to run a different kind of assembly line, all right? I’m adaptable. The product lines are still out there, the products are still churning out the factory door. I’m happy to retrain, if it connects with me in any way at all, if it makes any kind of sense.
Let’s say you’re the owner of a company that s
ervices air conditioning units in large office buildings, and you have an opening for a repairman, and thirty guys apply (and thirty guys will apply) who have had years of experience repairing air conditioners, and I show up with a certificate of two months’ training in air conditioner repair and a quarter century of experience in manufacturing specialized paper products. Are you gonna hire me? Or are you not that crazy?
Take James Halstead, the banker turned car salesman. Is that retraining? He looks like a banker, which means he looks like a Mercedes salesman. He already has the suit. Is he where he is because he actively welcomed retraining, or is he where he is because he failed? Did he seek for solace in Marjorie’s arms because he’d made a successful transition to the brave new world of tomorrow, or because he was discarded like last year’s computer? Can it be he’s unhappy because he just found out the bank didn’t need him after all? Those complacent days of plenty, riding the commuter train three days a week to what turned out not to be his actual life, but just a game they were letting him play, for a little while.
When one of his old bosses comes in to buy a Mercedes, using the money they’ve saved on his salary, do they recognize him? They do not. But he recognizes them. And never lets on. And smiles, and smiles, and sells the car.
That’s retraining.
Eleven-fifteen; she appears, in the same hat and cardigan and corduroys, but a different blouse. The last time, the blouse was light blue, this time it’s light green. She carries the shillelagh again, and she marches across the lawn like the commander of a prisoner-of-war camp on inspection. She goes through the gate in the electric fence, and strides off up the path: crack… crack… crack…
Is he in there? Do I dare try it? I have at least half an hour, probably more, before she gets back, judging by last time. I can’t sit here forever, day after day, on this stump, like a leprechaun.
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