by Marge Piercy
Nini Sparks, Donkey’s wife, had sung in my mother’s choir. She was a soft heavy woman who wore sweatpants and tee-shirts emblazoned with the names of places they’d gone on vacation. She stared at me, her jaw locked, doing her best to threaten, absently chewing her stringy brown hair. Everybody knew about Donkey’s temper; everybody saw the bruises on her arms. When Donkey lost his job, how much of his anger would fall on her?
Although he never strayed from the square of space in front of his seat, Donkey made me think of an animal pacing his cage. What hair he had left was clipped close to the scalp, the same texture as the stubble on his cheek, so that his whole head looked to be cast in shadow. Inarticulate, uneducated, crude, as my mother had described him, he stared only at me, alternately offering me certain death and sugarcoated favors. What could I expect if I voted his way? Snow plowing up my mother’s driveway to her door? A water view lot in Johnny Lynch’s development? First dibs on all the hardwood his crews cut down?
Ralph called for the vote. “Fred?”
“I vote for Mr. Sparks and I hope all of you do the same.”
“Lyle?”
“No.”
“Sandra?”
“No.”
Ralph would cast his vote last, but everyone knew what it would be. There wasn’t a sound in the hall. “Davey?” The diminutive now; the guy was practically adopting me.
Harlan Bowman in the sixth row back was bent at the waist, appearing ready to sprint up the aisle. He looked to be coaxing me, eyes wide and hopeful and welcoming. If I came through for them this once, he was trying to tell me, I’d be one of them, as good as native born. And why not? I had to ask myself. Did I imagine I had more in common with retired college professors? With the people whose yards I maintained? Why not prove myself to the locals? Donkey wasn’t even the problem. He was a puppet. He jumped when Johnny Lynch pulled the strings. How many department heads would I have to cut off before I killed the hydra? Would I have to retire Abel Smalley? And the town manager? And the health inspector? And the harbormaster? Would I have to knock off Johnny’s minions one by one and in the process fire every native-born man and woman in town government? Bring in administrators with advanced degrees, people who at best had vacationed in Saltash, who saw the town as a step in their career path? Was that the only way to get to Johnny?
“Davey? The question on the floor is to reappoint Mr. Duncan Sparks as superintendent of Roads, Bridges and Waterways. How do you vote?”
If Gordon or Judith were here, I’d have a moral anchor. I’d know the way I was about to vote was right. So many things about this job reminded me of Judith. I missed her clarity, her tough legal mind. I had never felt so public and at the same time so alone. I looked from Nini Sparks to her husband’s fists. From Harlan Bowman back to Johnny Lynch himself, arms folded, rocking back and forth in his seat. Join us. His smile was soothing. Our side is your side. Join us.
But Johnny read my vote in my eyes, and before the word no could leave my lips he was out of his seat, striding to the microphone. “Chairman Petersen!”
“We’re voting, Mr. Lynch.”
“As Mr. Sparks’s attorney, sir, I’d like the opportunity to speak.” He didn’t wait for permission from the chair. “I believe there may be a conflict of interest here. I believe Mr. Greene has had a personal dispute with Mr. Sparks and I question whether he can be fair and impartial ….”
Sandra and Lyle looked at me with steely impatience. Didn’t I know this was one of Johnny’s tricks? Had I expected him to go down quietly? Answer yes, of course you can be impartial, and then let’s cut the bastard’s legs off. What are you waiting for?
“Isn’t it true, Mr. Greene, that on the afternoon of April six of this year you accused Mr. Sparks of covering over a scandal in his department? The town manager was in the room at the time, Mr. Greene. Isn’t it true that you accused Mr. Sparks of impeding your landscape business? As you well know, this is not a court of law. You are not required to answer, but I suggest that if you do not recuse yourself, you are opening this town to legal action.”
Before I could form an answer, Fischel’s hand shot up. “Mr. Chairman, I move we indefinitely postpone the motion to reappoint.”
“I’ll second for the purpose of discussion,” Petersen said. “The motion is open to debate.”
“Mr. Chairman, we obviously need to talk to legal counsel.” Fischel glared at Lyle Upham. “Anyone who doesn’t support the motion is clearly exposing the town to risk.”
Upham glared at me.
No one in the crowd was sure exactly what had transpired, except Johnny Lynch, who seemed to nod, Well done! to Selectman Fischel and to wink at Donkey Sparks.
JUDITH
Judith wondered sometimes if she shouldn’t just take a leave of absence from her law practice so she could spend all her time with Gordon these last weeks of his life. But the bills not covered by insurance piled up and piled up. Her clients could not put their lives or their troubles on hold. So she went on, with half her attention always focused on Gordon. Not that he exactly kept track of when she was there and when she wasn’t. She knew he drew comfort from her presence, but he drew almost as much from close friends. He was heavily drugged and high, kiting through internal skies on winds she could not perceive. Sometimes he was back in 1952 or 1967. Usually he recognized her, but now and then he confused her with some previous wife or girlfriend, wanting to reminisce with her about events that preceded her birth. She never corrected him; what would have been the point? Occasionally he realized what he had done, and then he told her he simply could not help imagining she had always been with him, that she was his real wife and the others had been mere preparations, false attempts, approximations.
Dr. Barrows told her that Gordon would last at most another month. He did not tell Gordon, but she suspected Gordon knew. It could happen at any time, was the way Dr. Barrows put it. Again the hospice was discussed and dismissed. She wanted Gordon to have the New Year’s celebration he had requested. That week she was taking off as best she could, for she would have a full house of guests. His second oldest son, Dan, came with his family over Labor Day, since he could not come for Rosh Hashanah. They had left the day before. Now Judith was beginning preparations for the meals she would be providing the guests, but especially the dinner on the first night of Rosh Hashanah. Gordon scarcely ate, but he enjoyed the sight of food, and this feast was of enormous and terminal importance to him.
Gordon was lying in bed, gray against maroon sheets. “Did you invite David?”
“No, I did not. Have you forgotten I’m no longer seeing him?”
“Don’t be bitter. I’ve made messes every bit as destructive as David has got himself into.”
“I’m only bitter because I let myself count on him.”
“I pushed you.” Gordon fell silent, his eyes closed. After several minutes she thought he had fallen asleep, as he sometimes did in mid-conversation. But when she was halfway to the door she heard his hoarse whisper behind her. “I want him here. No matter how he may have disappointed us personally, politically he’s vitally important. We have to stay in touch with him. We have to keep him on our side.”
“You really want me to invite him? He probably goes to his sister’s, the same as at Pesach.”
“No.” Gordon had a fit of coughing and they both waited until he could once again gasp out a sentence. “Marty told me he and Holly go to his parents then. Invite David. I want to see him one last time. After all, he’s my project as much as yours.”
“Your half of the project was far more successful … I’ll ask him. Do we have to entertain his girlfriend too?”
“I think he would understand a request that he come alone.”
David had left two messages for her, but she had not called him back. She knew what he had to tell her. According to Judith’s sources, which included Mary and her daughter Jo, Mattie, Enid Corea, and Jana Baer, David had changed his address and phone and was living part-time in his moth
er’s barn. However, he was still spending at least three nights a week with Crystal. Crystal was reported irked at this development and wanted him back living with her. Judith sighed. At least he was trying to disengage. One thing David had never understood was that while Gordon and she were always minor scandals, they were also deeply linked into the town. They had many friends and many supporters, people for whom one of them had done a favor, people she had represented or helped to services they needed. Like Johnny Lynch, they had multitudes of enemies and multitudes of friends. And like Johnny, they knew there were no secrets in this town. There was always an observer, a witness, a leak. If you wanted to know anything, you had only to wait and someone would come and tell it to you; if you were impatient, you just had to know who to ask. She knew, for instance, that Crystal had leaked David’s election morning letter to Johnny Lynch and hence to Blossom. She had heard it from Mary who had overheard Johnny’s secretary and his bookkeeper talking about it in the tea room. Nonetheless, she had never told David, but only suggested to him he might be wise to remember that Crystal was on Johnny’s payroll. When he moved all his files to his mother’s barn, Judith guessed he had figured out a few things.
She still wished him well. She had contempt for women who hated men they had been with for no further reason than that they were no longer lovers. It was undignified; it was petty. She had met the other Mrs. Stones; men had erratic tastes in women. She must pick up the phone and call David. She sat at her desk in her office by the harbor and made ugly doodles on a legal pad. Or could she run into him? That would be easier. She had to invite him at once, before the day was out, or he might make other plans and disappoint Gordon. She had never been capable of disappointing Gordon, even in minor things; but now it was passionately important not to fail him.
She picked up her purse, rushing past Mattie, who called after her, “Where are you going? You have an eleven o’clock.”
“On an errand. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”
She drove straight to the nursery. She would buy two bronze chrysanthemums. She would do it, that is, if she saw his red truck outside. If he was out on a job, she would make a new plan. But she saw the truck and then she saw him, helping Doris Fisher load a birdbath into her station wagon. Judith parked and caught him as he was walking back into the building. She didn’t even have to buy the chrysanthemums.
“David, Gordon’s dying. He wants to get all his family and friends together for Rosh Hashanah dinner. He views you as a friend. I hope you won’t let him down.”
He mumbled an answer, caught by surprise, his head bowed, hardly looking at her. Then he finally raised his gaze. “Do you really want me to come?”
“By yourself. Or do you need to bring the family?”
“I’ll come alone.”
“Good,” she said. “Gordon expects you. He really wants you. It’s his goodbye.”
His sister was standing at the plate-glass window glaring. Marty had detested Judith ever since he had tried to kiss her at a party years ago and she had given him a hard push. Holly should have appreciated Judith’s response, but who knows what she thought had happened? Judith turned on her heel to march back to her car.
“Judith!” David called after her. She swung back, waiting. “Is he really dying?”
“Yes. He knows what’s happening. I think he’s almost ready for it.”
“Judith. I want to talk to you about my son. Once you said maybe you could do something about how things are. Well, I think this might be a good time.”
“If you want to consult me as a lawyer, you need to make an appointment at my office, David. I’m not taking on any new cases right now—for reasons I hope are obvious.” She had given the invitation for Gordon. She would continue to be friendly, remote and untouchable. Her feelings were her own business.
Gordon had many bad nights now, when the pain was uncontrollable, when his fever rose and convulsions took him. Then the demon would withdraw a bit. He would slide into sleep or unconsciousness. It was hard for her to tell the difference.
Fern had come early from the ashram and settled herself into the shack she had painted pink years ago. She began spending afternoons in Gordon’s room. “You seem almost ready to pass over.”
Judith, standing in the hall, overheard Fern and came in at once, fearful that Fern would upset Gordon.
“I’m not ready to die … but it seems I have no choice … I’m game for it, but … I had so much else I wanted to do and see. I feel as if I’m … walking out on a very good show.”
To talk with Gordon required great patience, because it could take him up to five minutes to finish a sentence. His mind was quick, but his breathing was labored and his strength failing. However, Fern was nothing if not patient. When she was not with Gordon or helping Judith, Fern would sit with her hands open in her lap. Judith assumed she was meditating. Sometimes she forgot Fern was in the room. She admired Fern for her patience. She herself sometimes finished Gordon’s sentences for him, and then felt bitterly ashamed of herself.
“No, I’m not angry,” Gordon was saying. “I’ve … lived the life I wanted … I’ve had so much … it would be gluttonous … not to … be satisfied.”
But I’m not satisfied, Judith thought, lurking outside their conversation. I have not had enough of him. I will never have enough of him. How am I going to just keep on after he is gone from me? Suppose I was offered a bargain, you can’t ever touch him but you can talk with him, you can sit with him just one hour every day. Even that would be something. Even that. I would pay for it in blood. But I am going to lose him altogether. Knowing the pain he suffers and the convulsions and the difficulty of simply surviving by now, how can I argue with death? No one wins that argument, not even a crack lawyer.
She came to the doorway but did not disturb them. Gordon lay back on his pillows with Fern sitting beside him in a straight chair, one hand on his. This was one of the moments when her beauty shone out. Judith stood there unseen and thought about how much Gordon had been loved and still was loved, yet that love was weak against the dissolution taking him.
DAVID
I was at my new place, what Crystal called the barn, when I heard Judith’s voice on the answering machine. Ceilings, walls and floor: I had painted the whole place white so that it felt vast and clean and pure. And quiet. I fell in love with the quiet, the padding of my footsteps in socks across the floorboards, the chatter of squirrels in the locust branches, the rain on the high-pitched roof above the loft. My bed was a mattress on the floor. “Like your uncle Georgie,” my mother said, when I helped her upstairs. I couldn’t bear furniture clogging the place, blocking the light and my ability to glide across the glossy white floor like a skater. I often lay on that floor to read, to write, to do nothing but stare: at the spiders walking the rafters, at Georgie’s old stereo speakers, at my life, which seemed as full of possibilities as this fresh wide-open room. I was listening to one of my handful of CDs and reading when I lunged for the phone. “Judith, wait!” I said. “I’m here.”
“Oh, David. Good of you to pick up.” This was her lawyer voice. I had sat across her desk and heard it. I had heard her switch it on in bed, when she used the telephone after sex. I had seen her features sharpen as she paced the floor naked, trailing the telephone wire behind her tight little buttocks like the tail of a Siamese cat. I had heard her discuss rape and disfigurement and medical malpractice in the same tone she used with me now.
“You’ll never guess what I was reading,” I said. “Robert’s Rules of Order. Since I’m getting clobbered every week I thought I might as well figure out how they do it.”
She ignored me. “It’s about Rosh Hashanah, David. There’s a problem.”
“About you and me?”
“David, there is no ‘you and me.’”
“Sorry.”
“Rosh Hashanah falls on the new moon, one of the highest tides of the year. It’s scheduled to peak at about eight-thirty that night.”
&n
bsp; “Which means trouble getting over the bridge.”
“More complications: I just saw on the Weather Channel that they’re predicting a cold front coming in tomorrow night, preceded by a big storm. Those will be winds from the west that tend to push the water in early and keep it in. I’m asking everyone to cross the bridge by six at the very latest. So if you’re intending to come—”
“I told you. I’m coming.”
“Then come early. I don’t think the bridge will be passable after six.”
“Judith, can I talk to you about something?”
“I really don’t have time, David. I only caught the weather report two hours ago and I’m still calling relatives from out of town.”
“Judith, I’ve missed you.”
“Tomorrow night, then. Gordon will be happy to see you.”
I told Ralph Petersen I’d be absent from the Monday night meeting. He said Fischel would be out of town too. With just three selectmen—meaning two others who would probably vote against him every time—he’d keep the agenda to a few housekeeping items. But if Judith had a storm to worry about, I still had Hurricane Crystal.
How could I announce I was going to Judith’s? The mention of her name would cause a fight. I was apologizing all the time for insisting on condoms, for sleeping at my place four nights a week. Reading Crystal and Laramie the letter from Terry had only made things worse. Crystal asked if I was going to stay in my ex-wife’s apartment when I went down to Florida. She was now deeply suspicious of Vicki, convincing herself that since Vicki was getting divorced, she would be interested in me. Laramie thought he was being replaced. He sat in the kitchen drawing pictures of houses burning. He slumped on the couch with his knees drawn up staring at the TV, his mouth slightly open. When I turned off the TV, he didn’t move.
Crystal would throw a shit fit if she found out I was going to Squeer Island without her; no less for a Jewish holiday. Everything Jewish was associated with Judith. Crystal didn’t like Laramie to question me about Jewish holidays, or even why I was circumcised when he wasn’t. She got nervous if she heard him asking Holly’s daughters what they learned in Hebrew school, or if they showed him how to write his name in Hebrew letters. My religion was a subject off limits, a battlefield on which she couldn’t compete. It had been easy to avoid the issue over the summer. But I couldn’t tell her I was going to celebrate the Jewish New Year with Gordon and Judith. Without her.