by Marge Piercy
He was used to looking out for his own, and she had proved to be his, loyal to him, openly admiring, trusting him. She was his hidden weapon in this long struggle to hold on to this sleepy village he had made known to the rest of the world. He would reward her.
That afternoon, he called Crystal into his office. “I want you to take another look at those lots along the river. Come on.”
He drove her out there again, taking the road across the dike. She perched forward on the car seat chattering about her son, his good teachers and his bad teachers. He nodded and made encouraging noises, planning his approach.
He talked about what the land here meant to him, although he was sure she was only half listening. Then he got to the clincher. He parked the car in a cul-de-sac and went around to her side to open the door for her, with a courtly little nod. “This is a prize piece of land, Crystal. Can you imagine a house here?” It was hot, but a brisk breeze was blowing off the bay. That was lucky, because his pitch wouldn’t go so well if they were both slapping mosquitoes. This near the river, some days they hung in the air like a living fog bank.
Obediently she stared around her. “Right at the end of a road so that you wouldn’t worry about your kid being run over. And a nice view of the river.” She was trying to sound interested, and he appreciated the effort.
“Near the river. It’s too shallow here to worry about your son. Wouldn’t this be a lovely spot for him to grow up?”
“My son?” She turned to him as if she didn’t understand. “I don’t even dream about something like this.”
“Crystal, you’re working so hard to save this land. I want to show my appreciation. I could sell you this lot so cheap that you and David could afford to build on it. I could arrange a mortgage. I could make sure that you can raise your son in a proper house on your own land.”
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. “Would you really do that?”
“Don’t you deserve it? Doesn’t your boy?”
Tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She hurtled forward and hugged him, raising her face as if to kiss him, then caught herself. She stepped back, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean—”
“You were showing your gratitude, child. You make me feel young again. But of course this can only work if we win the battle. If those maniacs open the dike, this land will be waterlogged. It will be wetlands again and nobody can build on it. And I won’t be able to sell it to you, because I’ll have less than half my lots buildable …. But don’t fret. We’re going to win. For you and your family. For all the young families that deserve a home.” On his shirt and linen jacket he could smell the flowery perfume she wore, still clinging. He could feel her soft big body against him. His member rose in his pants. He smiled in surprise. There was a bit of fight in him still, and a bit of life too. It had been four years since the last time he had used his old friend, a quickie with Maria at the cottage.
There were women whose touch could raise the dead. Crystal was one of them. He would see that she got married. There was always time by and by for a little pleasure. She would owe him, and she would know it. He would see to her as he had arranged for so many of his people to get what they really needed. Crystal walked back to the car with him, almost dancing.
“Mr. Lynch,” she said softly, “you’re like a father to me.”
“And you’re my good girl, Crystal. The one I count on. And I take care of my own. I always have.”
JUDITH
It was the sort of weather tourists, summer people and motel owners liked, and regular residents and the keepers of shops and galleries hated. One sun-baked day followed another under an aluminum sky. Every day was a beach day. The grasses parched to brittle straw the color of rabbit fur. Little ponds dried up and bigger ponds were surrounded by a wide margin of heavily trampled beach. Judith had to water constantly. Her tomatoes were half their normal size. All afternoon Trey, the three-legged dog who preferred to be outside, moved from patch to patch of shade around the compound. The cats stretched in the deep cool under the porch, bellies to the earth, all except lo and Portnoy. lo, with long white fur, lay on the bathroom tile. Portnoy spent all of his time in Gordon’s bed or on the porch with him, when Gordon could be helped out there. Portnoy had appointed himself a caretaker. He was careful not to sit on Gordon but was never more than a foot from his side. Portnoy was a solid gray cat with a dignified air, a little chubby and extremely affectionate. He had been hit by a car when still a kitten. Natasha had heard about him. Judith paid his bills and Natasha brought him home. His name was Thousand Dollar Bill until Gordon renamed him.
Judith was summoning all the family members and Gordon’s closest friends now for Rosh Hashanah. It came early this year—the second week of September. It did not matter if the children were back in school, it did not matter what kind of arrangements each of them must make on the job. They were to come. Gordon was dying and this would be the final gathering. The doctor thought he would last that long but not much past September. So Judith was giving them six weeks notice to make their arrangements.
She suspected it would be her next to last public duty as Gordon’s wife; after that would come only the funeral. She lived with death now in a daily, intimate way, something never entirely out of mind no matter what she was doing. She only hoped that the doctor was right and that Gordon would make it through mid-September. She urged him to stay in his room with the air conditioner, as that spared him the heat and filtered the air.
Gordon was sometimes entirely silly and seemed drunk from the painkillers. Sometimes he disappeared into himself and his eyes did not register her presence. Sometimes he was happy as a puppy. Sometimes he was nostalgic about friends long dismissed or dead, epic demonstrations, mythical parties, journeys to Kyoto and Budapest. Sometimes pain took him over and occupied him like a hostile army. Sometimes he was bitter with anger. He would be silent an entire day and then words and stories would bubble from him. Other days he slipped into heavy sleep or unconsciousness and was gone from her. His fever rose and fell. The doctors changed his drug regime constantly. They were just tinkering.
She copped a plea for Betty; she got a divorce for the woman who had been abused and hustled her off to a new life where she hoped the ex would not find her. Preliminary motions were occupying both her and the prosecution in her defense of the doctor who had assisted a suicide. The roof case kept being postponed: the least of her cases would drag on the longest from that batch. She had a new custody case, a drunk driving case, a tenant suing because lead paint poisoned his daughter. There was never an end to human troubles with the law or each other. She kept busy.
Natasha was down in Florida, learning to care for feral birds, pelicans fishermen had maimed out of hostility, tearing off half of their beaks; herons that had taken fish with hooks in them; a gull shot in the wing; a wood stork hit by a car. Judith wondered in trepidation what discarded pet or lame animal Natasha would bring home with her this time. But the animals were company for her this August of Gordon’s slow departure. She lavished attention on all of them. Beppo the Crow was healed and ready to depart, and she let him go. He circled her on the dune once, twice, and then beat off steadily to rejoin his tribe. The next day he came back, but only to visit. Then he was gone again. She expected that she might see him in the winter, when rations were scarce. Would she recognize him, seen with his fellows like Hasids dressed all in black? It would be like seeing David in town and remembering intimacy.
They had less company this summer than ever, for she had made clear (without telling Gordon what she was doing) that people were to come for the holiday to say goodbye to Gordon, but not before then. All summer vacations on the compound were canceled. For the first time since she had visited that July fourth weekend when she had connected with her Bashert, her predestined husband, they were alone—except for his nurse, Mrs. Stranahan, and for Jana Baer, who came in to help and cook. The doctor asked if she would not prefer for Gordon to move into the local hospic
e. She did not even ask Gordon. Anything that could be done for him would be done right here, with her in attendance. Their marriage would end, but it would end with them together.
She spent all the time she could manage in the compound, even if it meant getting up in the middle of the night to beat the tide across the bridge when she had a court date in the morning. She would not lose any of their remaining time together. She would not waste it. She forgave herself for the time she had spent, yes, spent like mad money on David. She had honestly thought it might work for the three of them and later for her and David. She cut her losses, striving to forget him. At least she and Gordon had accomplished something politically—unless Crystal succeeded in subverting David to Johnny Lynch’s will. That was a possible outcome, and it would be ironic indeed—but not irony she would appreciate. If David did betray the people who had elected him, she hoped he would wait until Gordon was gone, so her husband would not lose that sense of accomplishment that had so pleased him; the sense that he had finally changed the rules of politics in Saltash and opened up the government. If David took that away from Gordon, she would get even.
Mattie had shown her the letters in the papers from Crystal. By that point they were two weeks old. Mattie was embarrassed to explain how she had noticed them so late. “Well, it’s just that I pile up old papers by the toilet …” Another month had passed since then. Basically Judith saw almost no one outside her office, except family.
The second week in August, David showed up at her office just as she was about to leave. He stood close to her, his eyes insisting she meet his gaze. She remembered that intensity of desire, from before Crystal. Searching for a way to keep her distance from him, she brought up the dike letters.
“When I confronted her, she said she felt sorry for the animals and birds, and she thought that area where the houses were going up was just beautiful and perfect for families. That’s a quote.”
“Did you think to point out to her that it is contradictory to save the land for herons and foxes, then destroy it by building houses there?”
He winced. “I asked her as long as she’s living in my house please to show me any more letters she writes to the local papers.”
“She’s working for Mr. Politics and she’s living with a selectman …. I hope this doesn’t mean you’ve changed your stand on the dike.”
“The more I try to understand the dike issue, the more complex it gets. Now the state’s involved too.”
“David …” She risked touching his cheek for a moment. “Don’t turn against the people who worked so hard to elect you. Don’t turn this town back to business as usual.”
“You think Crystal can make me do that?”
“We haven’t come to the end of what she can make you do, David Greene.” She picked up her purse and her briefcase.
“Are you leaving? I thought we might have tonight.”
“David, you’re living with Crystal.”
“I am at the moment. I’m working on that.”
“I’m not someone you can have on the side. I didn’t do that to you. I tried to be clear that this was a major commitment for me—not some fling. Would Crystal approve of your spending time with me?”
“She hates it. But she knows I won’t give you up.”
“David, you already have.” She headed for the door and Gordon. If she drove quickly, she could just make it across the bridge before the 6:45 P.M. high tide covered it. When she pulled into the street, she could see him in the rearview mirror standing in the parking lot, handsome and forlorn. Heat touched the back of her eyes as if she would cry, but she had cried too much this summer. She squinted hard and regained control. As she crossed the rickety bridge, she felt safe. This island was where she belonged, with her only love, her husband.
DAVID
Letters from Florida addressed in Vicki’s hand had a way of turning my stomach inside out. I usually tore them open immediately, right there in the post office, to get the bad news over with. But this one was from Terry.
Dear Dad,
Mom said to write you to tell you I’m a pitcher now. Not like you were but just in softball. I pitched for the color war in my camp (we were the Blue team) and I won the game. I miss you. I can’t wait til November when you come to visit. I still have the books you bought me at Epcot last time. My cownslor’s name is Ted and he says if my real father was a baseball pitcher then I have a strong arm in my jeans to be one too. Granpa Wynn died of a heart attack. We were all crying and stuff. Mom had to sell Valiant Prince. She says maybe I can visit with you if you want but school is starting soon and she says your probably busy but I miss you. If you want to write me back we’re moving to an apartment. Mom says she doesn’t know the address yet. The baby and Suzi cry a lot but mom says the new apartment will have a pool. Please write me back as soon as you can. I miss you and want you to teach me to be a pitcher like you.
Your son,
Terry
I didn’t go back to the nursery from the post office. I went straight to my house. Crystal was working and Laramie was at the summer rec program until three. Vicki should have been at work, but I don’t why, I had a feeling. I dialed her home number. “It’s David,” I said when I heard her voice, bracing myself as always for an unpleasant response.
“Oh,” she said, more surprised than annoyed. “Hi. You got Terry’s letter. That was fast.”
“He said your father … Wynn … I’m sorry, Vic.”
“Well, it was his second heart attack. Then he had a third one in the hospital.”
“I didn’t know.”
Silence. How would I?
“Anyway, Terry sounds like he got through it okay.”
“Oh, he’s great. He told you about his baseball?”
“Is something wrong, Vicki? I don’t want to pry into your life or anything.” The truth is, I never had. The less I asked, the less I got hurt. As the conversation went on, however, Vicki’s voice seemed to soften and almost die away. “The letter said you were moving?”
“Well, there’s legal stuff. Some bullshit lawsuit. They were hounding Daddy. Anyway, yeah. We’re moving. Me and the kids. Mom had to sell the house. She’s moving in with my brother, Junior.”
I don’t know why it was so hard to ask. I thought I’d gotten over Vicki a long time ago. But pain sticks, I guess, like the question itself in my throat. “And your husband, Cesar. How’s he taking all this?”
“Cesar and I split up in May.” She sounded annoyed, as if I was indeed interrogating her. “He moved up to Jacksonville.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Right.”
“Listen. Terry said in the letter he might want to visit. That would be great with me. I’ll pay the airfare. It wouldn’t cost you a thing.”
“Not right now. I think the little ones need him around. He’s a really good big brother.”
“I know he is,” I said, but the truth is, I had no idea.
“I think we should make the move,” Vicki said. “Get settled. Then we’ll see.”
“Is he there?”
“He’s at camp. They’re doing this overnight thing in the Everglades. Him and his cousin Justin are in the same group.”
“I bet he loves it.”
“I’ll tell him you called, David. All right? He’ll be excited.”
“He can call me anytime.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Collect!” I said, but Vicki had already hung up.
I didn’t go back to work right away. I did something I hadn’t done in years: nothing. I simply sat there on the couch. No TV, no radio, no one arguing, no Laramie sprawled in the living room or Crystal rubbing my back. The quiet seemed to wrap around me like a blanket. I read the letter over and then over again. I even laughed: a strong arm in my jeans. I felt so full of hope I actually knocked wood the way my mother did—three knuckles against the coffee table to ward off the evil eye. Judith had said she could help me bring him home. Part-time, vacations, summers, it did
n’t matter, it was a start. For years Wynn had built a wall around my son and there was no way through. I’d always hoped Terry would reach out to me; and now he had. I wouldn’t hound Vicki, but I wanted some real time with my son, finally. But not here, not in this house. I thought I understood what kept me with Crystal: pity, guilt about leaving Laramie, the complete submission of a woman and her body. But I couldn’t subject my son to my mistakes, to a woman who used pleasure and pain as hard currency. Not if I ever hoped to have my son with me. If I was going to make a move, it had to be now.
“Please, Crystal, put your clothes on. We have to get Laramie up. You have to get to work.”
“What do you care? You’re leaving. You don’t love me anymore. You think I’m fat, is that it? I disgust you? That’s why you don’t want to make love to me?”
“That’s not true, any of it.” It was impossible for me to speak my mind. My eyes kept drifting over her breasts, the little gold rings in her nipples, even her belly, which she hated, the delicate hill of soft flesh. “Just please get dressed.”
“Why should I? It’s my bedroom. Oh. Sorry. Your bedroom. Which I took away.”
“No, it’s still your bedroom. Our bedroom. I’m only moving over to my mother’s for a few nights a week. I’m trying to keep her off her ankle. You know what the doctor said. Until it heals.”
“She has help.”
“Mrs. Falco is only part-time. She doesn’t get there until after nine. My mother wakes up early. Crystal, this is no big deal.”