It's Not About Sex
Page 28
“When we were cleaning up in the kitchen, I asked if she knew yet if it was a boy or a girl. She said, ‘No, I don’t even know for sure who the father is.’”
“Jesus, did she say that? She didn’t mention if Lennie’s sperm-count readings had gone up, did she?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, she did say that part about not being sure who the father is. I should have been appalled, but instead my heart went out to her. There was more. She opened up to me. She told me that after Ray was killed she wanted to die too—not only because of her part in his death but because of her betraying Lennie. She said that when she’d learned she was pregnant she knew she had to have the baby, no matter whose it was. She wouldn’t help kill Ray and kill his unborn child too, and if it was Lennie’s baby, if his sperm count had actually gone up . . . well, she still loves him very much. And Lennie told her he’d be lost if she left him. I know it all should have sounded hollow, but I believe she’s struggling to regain some shred of integrity.”
“You’ve certainly come around to her side, haven’t you?”
I held out my hand and she took it carefully. Her touch was warm and soothing. Other than the times she’d cared for my broken fingers after the surgeries, we’d rarely touched since I’d moved home. We walked the rest of the way holding hands and discussing Lennie’s business offer.
We entered the apartment quietly so as not to wake Mary, and I gave Luzia money for carfare. I didn’t want to worry about her on being on a subway to the Bronx at this time of night. Then, anxious to see this thing Nora had given me, I went into the living room, turned on the lamp next to the sofa, and opened the shopping bag. I couldn’t imagine what was in it.
After removing the object from its white cardboard box and placing it on the coffee table, I still wasn’t sure for a moment what it was. Then I realized it was the lacquered display stand for the little Japanese sword Lennie had given me. I went to my bedroom closet and brought the sword back with me into the living room. It rested perfectly on the two black lacquered prongs of the stand. Linda came into the living room after checking on Mary, and she immediately noticed it on the table.
“Why didn’t it burn in the fire, Bradley?”
“Lennie had sent all four of the stands to an engraver.”
I picked up the sword, clasped one hand around the scabbard, and with the other drew the blade. I felt a momentary resistance and then it slid out easily. Light from the lamp caught the honed metal point in a starburst. What had Noboro said about these blades? That they were “true blades”?
Linda picked up the stand and read the plaque on its base. The engraver had done his work.
“Look,” she said.
There were tears of perfect sadness and wonder in her eyes as she handed me the stand, and I read the inscription.
The End