Second thing, a few minutes later: when I came up Main Street on the way home, I saw my nephew Tommy across the street heading toward the village center with a black man. My nephew was gesticulating and the other guy was walking fast with Tommy trying to keep up.
Third thing: as I approached the house, I noticed a movement in the bigger of the two tents out back, its green darkened by the rain. Walls bulging like something being rolled around inside. I happened to remember this morning kids in the kitchen giggling like Keep your eye on the tent hee hee. I’m sure you know more about this than I but I’m not totally dumb.
Fourth thing: old Aunt Edna sits in the living room. My sister Patty comes in out of the rain. Edna says, Ann (calling Patty Ann) there you are. Who was that Negro you were talking to at the airport?
African-American you mean? Why I don’t know Aunt Edna. That was just some stranger who wanted to know the way.
Again, this afternoon, I heard the crying.
Here’s a poem I thought of while walking in the rain, based on my middle name, which is James.
I am known as Henry James, Henry James,
I have claims on all the dames, all the dames,
If you ask me what I do It is likely I will sue
For I’m sick of all your games, all your games.
PHILIP WESTERLY: Recalculation
Necessitated by word that Professor McKarron Balsam will attend the funeral representing the University. Arrive late ferry tonight.
Mother complaint: Couldn’t they have picked somebody a little livelier?
No room at the Inn.
Taxed to the limit, all these Westerlys.
Old Islander Hotel: single for M. Balsam. Why that’ll cost a fortune. University’s paying, Mother.
Meet the ferry? Conflict visitation. Call Mrs. Grummond. Backup, Jeffcoat.
PATRICIA WESTERLY: To Pete Arena
I’ll write you instead. After lunch I went for a walk, this chilly desolate rain. Down to the Harborside expecting you. You weren’t there. Where could you go on a day like this?
I went on walking. Past the hardware store and the school to the firehouse, then the fishing docks. I stopped at the ferry pier, the big three-decked boat easing in, the rain heavy now, feet wet, umbrella hard to control in the wind. All the way my mind was at work arguing fiercely as if even you were but a piece of imagination.
I went to look at the coast guard boat at the next dock. Mounted guns, brass fittings, clean pilot house windows. Radar going round on the roof, though the boat was tied up. I remembered my desire to be a sailor, how I imagined myself altered to make it possible. Then the heavy sea with me behind glass on the bridge, the charts and compasses and clean shiny instruments, knowing what to do.
I went to the jetty, where I walked out to the steel pyramid with its flashing red light, though the wind tried to push me into the sea and the umbrella was no good against the rain. I assured myself that wind is just wind, it has no body and my flat canvas shoes would hold me. It was pressure and I was scared, but even this was play and walking the stormy weather close to the sea was a game. I decided to tell Mother.
On the way back I considered whether it was cruel to do it at this hard moment in her life. Yet the decision has been made, the moving schedule is settled. The alternative would be to write her later, which would be cold and cruel in a different way.
I thought of asking William to join me but decided to tell her my own way. Back at the house, I saw my nephew David writing in the living room, and another game with the children on the sunporch floor. I peeked in the study where Philip was reading. He saw me and said, Grapevine.
Grapevine is rumor, he told me, circulating among the kids that you’ve got a lover on this island.
Wow. I acted surprised. Grapevine he met you at the airport. Ridiculous, I said, I didn’t come by the airport. So you didn’t, he said.
We had a good look at each other while deciding what to say. Not true? he said. I gave it a thought and said, Not wholly.
Partially? Partially then. How partially? he asks. Or don’t I want to say?
I told him William and I were splitting (sorry to hear that, he said in his Philippy way, but not totally surprised) and there was somebody else. And true this somebody else came to the Island. I told him he came without my permission and I ordered him out of sight. I told him I wanted to tell Lucy in my own way.
He agreed.
I did not tell him your name, nor what you do, nor the thing you’re worried about. I didn’t tell because he didn’t ask, and I believe in one thing at a time.
I found Mother in her room, which Aunt Edna was now occupying. Aunt Edna was lying on the bed and Beatrice (Philip’s wife) was in the other chair, so I had to stand. The little girl Nancy who is Beatrice and Philip’s youngest daughter was leaning against Beatrice’s front. Family scene. You said you’d tell me a story, Nancy said to Beatrice.
Yes I did. Is it time?
Telling time, Nancy said.
Ah so it is. And what time is it?
The little girl laughed. It’s five o’clock.
Like an old mother-daughter joke between them. Let’s go out and let the ladies talk while I tell you the story, Beatrice said.
I’m giving you a picture of my family. I heard a commotion in the living room and an angry male voice, Goddamn it brat can’t you see I’m meditating? I don’t know who that was, maybe my nephew Gerald who’s been skulking. Aunt Edna said, If you don’t discipline the young, who can you discipline?
Finally Mother excused herself and we went up to the bedroom to which she had been displaced. We shut the door and I told her the William part.
She was afraid of this, she said—which meant we haven’t been good concealing. She felt it, so did Thomas, she said.
When I told her why, she did look surprised, a little shocked. She said, And is he willing to let that destroy his family and his home?
I told her it’s not a question of choice. She said he seemed like such a decent person, and I said it’s not decency, it’s the set of his mind. She suggested we send him to a psychiatrist and I said you don’t cure that kind of thing. I heard myself saying he was born with it.
Patricia, she said, you have two children. How did that happen? I told her it happened in the normal way.
Oh dear, she said, and she liked William so much.
I told her she could go on liking him. He loves her; more than me actually.
She wondered if she could say something to him? I told her no. She said, You think I’m a dumb old lady, and I kissed her to show that wasn’t so. I never did get around to telling her about you. One thing at a time.
TOMMY KEY: What to tell Angela
There was this guy at the playground talking to Mickey and Joe giving out free samples. When he left Mickey looked at the envelope and said, Hey I’m crazy, I don’t want this stuff. So he gave it to me and I put it in my pocket, this small folded envelope, and went back to class, and then the problem. I didn’t know what to do with it. I had this stuff which was probably good although not necessarily, and I didn’t know. How you take it, I mean. I think you smoke it, but how, I don’t think you wrap it in cigarette papers, and even if you do, I didn’t have any and don’t know where to get them. Probably the drug store, but I couldn’t see myself facing the drugstore man asking what was wrong with regular cigarettes. And if it’s not smoked in cigarette papers, which is what I’ve heard, how is it smoked? I needed to find out before I did anything.
The obvious solution was to ask one of those guys who hang around at the end of the playground. The trouble is they’re not my friends, I don’t want to get involved with them. If I told them what I wanted they’d probably help but they’re not good company to be associated with. So I had this stuff in the envelope. I put it in the back of my drawer hoping Mother wouldn’t snoop around. I kept it there while I was thinking who to ask. I only intended to use it once. No ruined life for me. I would use it once, if someone would show me
how, so I’d know what it was like and stay clear of it forever after.
That was a long time ago. Last October and now it’s May and it’s been sitting in the back of my drawer all that time because mainly I forgot about it. Until we came here. I got a notion. I thought here with all these cousins someone safe could show me. So I packed it and brought it along.
There was Pete Arena on the plane. I saw him and thought if anyone knew he would. At the same time, he’d be nice about it. He wouldn’t let me get hooked, yet could understand the need to know what things are like. He’d keep me out of trouble and would appreciate having me on his side in his dealings with Mom.
But there was Mom’s warning to ignore him and after the airport I didn’t know where he went. And I forgot about it again. But today we have all this rain, which drove me crazy for something to do. I had another idea for this afternoon, but David squelched that. He made me sit on the floor and do puzzles half the afternoon while he wrote letters about the history of the world. But in the middle of the afternoon I happened to see Pete Arena going by in the rain. Right by our house. I guess he didn’t know it was our house, he was just walking, but when I saw him I remembered what I wanted to talk to him about. So I slipped away from David and went looking for Pete.
He was on the next street and I caught up with him. We walked a lot. Drizzly rain, glum stuff, but okay, we talked about Mom and William and garage work and night school and he did his best to get in good with me. So I told him my problem. I told him how I never used it and only intended to see what it was like and only this much because it was free. He didn’t interrupt and I thought he was listening to me. I said I had it with me and maybe he could show me how to use it. Why me? he said. I said because he’d be sympathetic and not tell anybody and not get me into trouble with bad company and such.
He says, What makes you figure I know?
Don’t you? I say.
What makes you think so? he says.
I assumed you would, I say. Don’t you?
He says, You sonofabitch.
Now why did he say that? All of a sudden he’s giving me hell. Right there on the street by the docks. I can’t remember all the things he says and it embarrasses me to repeat them. Just hell. Hell for asking him, like I asked him because he was black, like I thought all black guys—that kind of talk which I never thought of though he says I did. And hell for the stuff, for accepting it and for my dumb talk about trying it for educational reasons and hypocrisy and putting my life in jeopardy and the stupidity of hanging on to it and about being only fourteen and his responsibility to Mom and giving me a lesson, and in the end he’s telling me to get rid of it.
He sort of convinced me.
I decided all right, I’ll give it away. I wondered if we couldn’t make a little something, its monetary value, but he says that’s even stupider than what I’ve already said. Okay. It brings up the question how you throw stuff like that out. Valuable stuff which people would kill for, there must be a way of doing it, like getting rid of used motor oil, you don’t just throw it down the drain. But he says this stuff you sure do throw down the drain, flush it down the toilet, get it into the sewer system. I wonder about the undesirable effect on rats or fish which would reach the seabirds eventually, and he says I’m stalling. He says we’re going to throw it away and we’re going to do it now. He’ll supervise and if I don’t do it, he’ll do it for me. Meanwhile he’s leading me out one of these long docks with the boats, the big oceanographical ship and diving equipment at the end, and stops in the middle and says, Here. Give him the envelope. Looking around now, making sure nobody’s watching too close because this stuff could get you in trouble if it happens to be the law. So he opens it and kneels down. The gaps between the boards of the dock, the harbor water underneath. You do it, he tells me. I squat down and empty the envelope through the crack where I can more imagine than see it dispersing as it floats down into the water for the crabs and fishies and snails to get a kick if they can appreciate it. Last Pete tears up the envelope and drops the shreds through the crack.
We stood up and he put his hand on my shoulder and said some Boy Scout type thing like Good boy. I felt better though dumb. Rescued from dumbness, relief perhaps though I still think I ought to know what it’s like if I’m going to be against it the rest of my life. I won’t find out from Pete Arena though.
That’s not the end unfortunately. When I came back to the house I ran into our cousin Gerald. He came in from the sun-porch with the kids and invited me out to the kitchen. Started friendly. Who was that guy I was chasing down the street? You know what Mom told us, all I could say was, Just a guy. Just a guy. That made Gerald sarcastic, like why would I chase a black guy on this island where I don’t know anybody if he’s just a guy? I said I can’t tell him, I’m sorry, I’m not allowed. That’s all right, he tells me, he knows already. Knows what? Quit kidding around, he says, the guy’s a dealer and I was going out to deal. Don’t be an asshole, I say, denying, but the more I deny the more sure of himself and meaner he gets. He asks me what happened to the stuff I brought to the Island. How did he know about that? Jesus. There’s only one possibility, which is that it leaked through Minnie Cordage because I swear she’s the only person I told. That was another big mistake. She’s so quiet and shy I thought she wouldn’t tell, which shows how little I know, doesn’t it? How supremely dumb I am. Because now this Gerald jerk, who really is a jerk as you are about to hear, thought I had some and was getting more from Pete the drug dealer on the Island, who identifies his business by being black. He wanted me to find Pete so he could get some for himself. He wouldn’t believe anything I said. When I wouldn’t help him with Pete he asked me to share some of my own stuff and I made the even worse mistake of telling him I threw it in the harbor.
I told him I scattered it through the cracks in the dock. If he wants to collect harbor water and filter it he’s free to do so, only I didn’t say that because he’s bigger than me. When I asked why he wouldn’t believe me he said it’s too dumb to believe. He said my story was proof I was keeping it from him because any other reason I would have told him. If I’d used it already he’d believe me because that would make sense. But if I said I threw it away, it could only mean I still had some. He wasn’t going to put up with that game so I’d better hand it over.
He twisted my arm. Literally. He grabbed my forearm where we were sitting at the kitchen table and pulled it back. He’s stronger than me. I didn’t want to fight and I was afraid if this got out I’d have to bring Pete Arena into it, which would double-cross Mom. So I sat there and you could call it passive resistance. He twisted my arm around back of my shoulder until I thought it would break. When I didn’t do anything, he twisted the other arm. I thought they would both break. I said Ow. He laughed. Say Ow, he said. I said Ow again. Say Owowoo. I said Owowoo. Say my cousin Gerald is the Prophet Messiah and I am just a jerk. I said, My cousin Gerald is the Prophet Messiah and I am just a jerk. He put his big fist up in my face. He said, Are you going to give me some of your stuff or am I going to smash your face? He took my glasses off my nose and looked at them. Swap you, he said. You give me what you’ve got and I’ll give you this pair of glasses. I said, I’m not above telling on you. He said, I’m not above telling on you either kiddo. I’m not above a little mayhem too. You know mayhem? What happens to brats who don’t respect their elders in the month of May. Then I yelled. I said, Let go of me you fucking bastard and he let go. You probably heard me through the house. The only thing he said was, You tell anybody and there’ll be a dead body on this island. I believe him. There already is a dead body on this island, so then there’ll be two.
There’s nobody I can tell but you and Pete Arena, and Pete isn’t here.
ANGELA KEY: What to tell her mother
I told Tommy to tell you. Our cousin Gerald attacked him this afternoon and almost broke his arms. He thought Tommy had drugs and tried to take them from him and wouldn’t believe when Tommy denied it. He’s an addic
t and a bully. He threatened to kill Tommy and scared the shit out of him. He’s not the nice little boy people used to think though I always knew better. Somebody should be told if only so he can be forced to get help.
I told Tommy if he didn’t tell I would. He’s afraid you’ll give him hell. Because he had stuff which a man gave him last fall but he never used. Pete Arena made him throw it into the harbor. Tommy’s afraid that if you don’t give him hell for the stuff you’ll give him hell for seeing Pete. So I told Tommy I wouldn’t tell you, and I won’t unless I have to.
But somebody should know. Tommy says there’s nobody. He can’t tell Dad because then he’d have to tell about Pete. Aunt Ann and Uncle Frank aren’t here and probably wouldn’t believe it about their son anyway. He doesn’t want me to tell Beatrice, because she’ll think it sordid. I want to tell Larry but Tommy’s afraid he’ll be in cahoots with Gerald.
I doubt it. Larry’s like an older brother to me. But Tommy asked me please just forget it. So I won’t tell you unless I have to. But somebody should. It’s wrong not to tell somebody.
THOMAS WESTERLY: As skimmed by Philip
When I’m dead I won’t know it. That’s supposed to be a comfort. The world goes on without me, as unknown as before my time. Bees do it, birds do it, dog and cat, grandfather, great women of history. Only the invention of value is what makes death bad.
At seventy-one I thank you how good life has been good luck, disgrace free, children, Who’s Who in America how bloody and cruel this job the gory benevolence of this university in the name of The Good standards discipline etcetera dripping blood.
The culmination of civilization is on this island what is civilization, name some attributes living together bonds and loyalties cultivation of mind consciousness is mind good? is it good to be human?
Telling Time Page 17