Since the burnt pot confrontation Thaw and Natalie had been together only a few times. But nothing in Natalie’s behavior cued Thaw to the deeper concerns she continued to harbor when she contemplated how she and Thaw might relate as a couple to her friends and family. And Thaw, not liking confrontation, and not caring to create an issue where none existed, decided to chalk Natalie’s outburst that day at his more-than-just-chemistry comment to some kind of flirtatious teasing designed to get them to the loft twice in one day. But he was wrong. And the problem was neither to be simply stated nor easily resolved.
Natalie raised herself on one elbow to better observe Thaw through the railing before her in the loft. He was using a broad brush and large, horizontal strokes and quickly covered the outer edges of a canvas with shades of green, blue and purple. Natalie watched silently. She noted that centrally among the leaves against a lake-view, a naked woman ran laughing, her body and head at such an angle that her face turned to show three-quarters of it over her shoulder. A small dog trotted beside her. Both seemed about to be absorbed into the arch of the trees before them. Above the trees and beyond the runner’s sight, a small white bird spread its wings in the purple sky. Natalie wondered at whom it might be that the woman laughed so invitingly. “Mornin,” she called down.
Thaw’s below-the-shoulder-length straight hair hung freshly washed and combed. He did not turn. “Mornin’. Sleep well?”
“I couldn’t have slept better.” She smiled sleepily toward the back of his head. “How long hav’ya been up?”
“Forgot to look at my watch.” The rhythm of his strokes remained constant.
Natalie closed her eyes and shook her head slightly from side to side. “You could turn and look at me when you talk to me.”
“Why? Don’t you think I know what you look like?”
“Well, how can you have a wakeup conversation with a woman and not even look at her.”
“Must be chemistry.”
Natalie was quiet for a while, but now she moved to sit upright. “All right. You win. It is more than chemistry.”
Thaw continued to paint.
Crossing her legs so that her knees pointed outward and her back remained straight, Natalie continued. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it. Here I’ve been schlepping up here on weekends these last six or so years, spending my holidays in this dumb cabin in the woods, giving up chances to go dancing and to the theater and to elegant parties with rich and famous people, just so I can be with you.”
Thaw dipped his brush into a vivid blue and mixed it with a green already on his palette.
“Everybody back home thinks I’m nuts. They can’t believe how I stay faithful to some artist who probably when all is said and done is just an older druggy-hippy who likes to fish and make love and if I am really lucky will let me watch him paint.”
Thaw did not rise to the bait.
“And what do I get in return?” Natalie’s pitch and loudness rose abruptly and then rapidly began to bump down again. “I get to cook the dinners, scour the burnt potato pans, clean the fish, wash the linens, and…if the weather permits… take a turn around the woods with the guy.”
Silence.
Natalie chuckled. “And not one of them will believe me when I tell them you won’t even share reefers with me. Or that if I am really lucky I get to have a cold beer, or if it happens you decided to bring some into the house, a glass of red or white Rioja.
“No, I have to explain, you don’t know a word of Spanish. And you are not Spanish. And you are also not a Sephardic Jew…you’re not even Jewish…which, if you were, might have proven that you had at least one endearing attribute. And you never mention marriage and here I am thirty-four and you somewhere near forty and not a fuckin’ hope of us ever marrying let alone me becoming a mother when the man with whom I choose…I use the term loosely…I should say am driven to be with by the chemistry if nothing else, lives in a cabin heated by a wood stove and supports himself by selling fish, face painting and doing caricatures at flea markets and occasionally…very occasionally I might add…selling one of his works of art.” Natalie paused and chuckled again, “What the hell kind of an explanation would that be?
“You know, Thaw, not long ago I bumped into Melanie Goodie Two Shoes. You know. The born again.”
Thaw kept his pace. But his very quietness suggested he was listening so Natalie rolled out her version of her conversation with Melanie. “Yes, Melanie. I enjoy his company two nights and two days a week. We fish and talk and walk. Anything else? Yes, Melanie. We fuck. Oh, really? Yeah. We fuck. We fuck in the loft. We fuck in the woods. We fuck when it rains ‘cause we like the sound on the roof. We fuck when it’s sunny because the day is so cheerful. Yes, Melanie… No, Melanie…We haven’t talked of marriage. It’s all temporary. Well, what I mean is, it’s the chemistry, Melanie, the chemistry! Chemistry? Yes, Melanie. Oh, chemistry. No, Melanie he is not a fucking scientist.” Natalie’s voice raised. “He’s a fucking artist and he doesn’t have a pot to piss in! Does that answer your question, Melanie? Well, in a way…”
She paused and went on in a calmer, softer voice. “So no. I don’t try to explain it to anyone. And long ago I gave up trying to explain it even to myself. If anybody asks, I just tell them we have chemistry and after that nobody has ever asked another question.”
Tears began to trickle silently down Natalie’s cheeks. She began to laugh and cry at the same time. “It’s as if they know what I mean. Know what I mean? And now you…you of all people…want me to say it is other than…more than…different from…less than…combined with…caused by…causing…has caused…will cause…might have caused but is not, is not, I say, just chemistry.” A loud sob wracked Natalie’s body. Thaw turned. There was Natalie cross-legged on the edge of the bunk, red hair corkscrewing out in every direction and cascading down over her slender shoulders while her arms hung at her sides, one hand lying limp in her lap and the other clutching the sheet against her breast, crying like a three-year-old who just found out she can’t go to her best friend’s party.
“Natalie!” He dropped the brush he was holding and ran, tearing off his apron as he went, taking the stairs to the loft two at a time. “Oh, baby…baby…” He dropped to his knees before her and pulled her shuddering shoulders toward him, holding her hard against him. “Oh, baby. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’ve never seen you cry. I hate to see you cry. Please, don’t cry. I didn’t know. How could I know. You never told me. Always so flippant and sure. Always with a quick laugh and a quicker answer. How could I have guessed that chemistry was a code word for all the unhappiness it covered…all the hurt…all the misunderstood understandings. Natalie. Please, Natalie. Don’t cry. I love you. For me you are much more than chemistry could ever be. All week I wait for you. When you leave I paint and paint so as not to notice how much I miss you. Then just about when I’m feeling comfortable again, you call to let me know when you’ll be coming up and I start painting again like a storm. Natalie’s coming. Natalie’s coming. My heart sings. The day seems brighter. I can’t wait for you to arrive. I can’t figure out why you come. I’m just glad you do. I love you, Natalie. If I could be other than I am for you, I would be. If I thought marrying you would help, I’d do it in a minute. If I thought marrying would help, and you wanted to marry, I’d do it in a second. But what’s a man to do? What’s a man to do?”
Gradually the frequency and size of the sobs subsided. Natalie lay against Thaw. Her hand had not left her lap and the one holding the sheet had dropped to the blanket. “I don’t know, Thaw. I don’t know.”
13. Ariana, April 11, 2020: Fires in the Distance
Weekdays until a bit before five when their mom arrived home, Jason was in loco parentis for Marty. Jason would enter high school next year and wasn’t sure what his parents would do with Marty in the after-school hours as once there, he would try out for the soccer team, which everyone was sure he would make.
Lou Matters had been a star soccer player at Ar
iana High and again later in college where he had studied first electrical engineering and then nuclear physics. Lou was shorter and stocky, whereas Jason was tall and had his mom’s side’s slimness of build. But this difference did not lessen Jason’s soccer ability. Unlike his younger brother, early on Jason had exhibited considerable skill in controlling the ball with his feet, his knees and even at times, his head. Beginning when he was seven, each summer when the schools were closed and his mom was home, Jason had attended soccer camp, and each summer he had returned with a trophy for excellence in his age group. Last summer he had excelled as his soccer team’s center. And he was sure he would do well again this summer. And as Jason knew everyone in the area who played, he thought it likely that he was about the best player around and would play center again in high school. The only drawback would be that as a freshman he would probably be consigned to the Junior Varsity team. Still, just to play with a school team would be a thrill.
Jason Matters’ animal of the week was a garden snake. Not long ago it had been an enormous house spider he had snagged on a trip to get his bike from the family’s dusty, unfinished cellar. Other critters that had enjoyed the terrarium included: a turtle, some hermit crabs, a host of salamanders, toads, and various-size snakes. Only the house spider had been thought to be poisonous, and for that his mom had insisted that the terrarium be moved downstairs to the boiler room. Jason soon lost interest in it there and whisked it away to a spot on the far side of the stream that ran behind their house. When the arachnid was quickly replaced by Toby Toad, the terrarium had been restored to the family room. But that was before the arrival of its current incumbent, Rocky, the snake.
The terrarium base was lined with moss-covered soil. Except for Rocky’s watering place in a small white saucer, the moss and scattered sticks and stones lent the terrarium’s internal environment the appearance of a natural habitat. Jason had named the snake Rocky after the stony area in which he had found it basking in the spring warmth of a morning sun.
From a book on reptiles, Jason had learned that snakes have taste preferences. In the presence of a preferred meal a snake supposedly indicated its desire for it by darting its tongue in and out more quickly. In this way the snake could more fully enjoy the preferred prey’s scent. The way it was suppose to work was that as the reptile’s tongue retracted, it pulled some of the aroma closer to the olfactory receptors embedded in the roof of its mouth.
Jason had been unsuccessful to date in his efforts to observe the difference in the speed with which Rocky darted his tongue to express his preferences. As they squatted down beside the terrarium, he tried to explain the problem to Marty.
“Yeah, he doesn’t care if it’s a fly or spider or a hunk of meat or a dead worm.”
Marty gave his older brother a sideways quizzical look. “Do ya’ blame him?”
Jason responded with a small push to Marty’s shoulder that caused the younger boy to reach his hand to the floor to maintain his balance. “Give me a break. It’s a snake. I’m making a study.”
“Well, it’s not gonna work. Even snakes got pride.”
“I know. That’s why I keep changing what I give him to eat.”
“You’re not going to give him any of our frogs!”
“No, knucklehead. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Better not.”
“Right. I’m trying a slower moving thing with a faster moving thing to see if he sometimes prefers the slower one. If he does, then I know he’s going by smell.”
“How do you know slower things smell better to him?”
“I don’t! That’s what I am trying to figure out.” He gave Marty a look.
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, if he always goes for the faster thing when it catches his eye first, then that would rule out smell as the ruling factor. It would be a factor, but not the strongest one.”
“So what’ll you use?” Marty asked.
“Different kinds of bugs, worms, snails, and maybe a tadpole or two.”
“No tadpoles.”
In three tries Jason had already determined Rocky’s preference for tadpoles over bugs and worms. He hadn’t liked the trials, but science was science. At least to a point. So with some sense of relief he went with his brother’s notion. “Okay. No more tadpoles. Now all I want to find out is if he goes more often for the worm if it moves or more often for either the bug or the worm if neither moves.”
“I like watching the tongue better.” Marty stood to leave. His knees were getting that scrunched feeling.
Just as Marty had guessed might be the case, based on his observations to date Jason had already concluded that the earthworms seemed to catch Rocky’s eye sooner than the caterpillars because they moved faster. This indeed did seem to obliterate the potential effect of any olfactory preference Rocky might have for caterpillars. But then there was the factor of distance from the snake’s head that Jason really could not control well. So the problem again had boiled down to observing which creature caused the snake to dart his tongue more rapidly. But Jason had given up the hope that with continued practice he would eventually be able to see tongue speed differences. During the first week of his tongue speed observational training period, he had remained mildly optimistic that the ability would eventually develop and emerge. But by now, he had stopped hoping to observe it and was going as a last hope for comparing choices most likely to be made by Rocky and the relationship of those choices to his observations on the speed of movement of the two prey presented and general pattern of preference.
Today Jason used his gloved hand to drop in the last two critters he had: once again, an earthworm and a caterpillar. As he secured the screen over the terrarium, the snake helped himself to the worm. Last time it had gone first for the caterpillar.
Jason had had the snake almost a week and a half now and he had failed to develop the skill necessary to observe differences in the snake’s tongue speed and, to complicate matters, the snake’s choices between creatures less tasty than amphibians seemed no more than random in pattern. So, while he was losing interest in the snake, Jason also was sure that Rocky would soon need a frog or a toad to keep healthy. Yesterday he had determined that on the very next nice day, he would let the snake go as he simply was not up to feeding it a frog. By so doing, the snake could do his own larger game hunting and Jason would not have to be its witness. Today looked like the day.
Turning, Jason picked up Prissy, the cat, held her against his face and then near to his ear to listen better to her purring. He held her against his chest and petted her, carrying her upstairs to his bedroom. He called to his younger brother.
Marty’s voice sang melodically in response. “Yeah…yeah…yeah.”
Jason loved his younger brother for his irrepressible enthusiasm. Marty was eight, Jason’s junior by five years. Sports held little interest for Marty, but he beeped and bopped tirelessly all over the house. He had an Ipod with which he listened to his favorite music, singing and dancing as he did. He had all the moves down. So if he was home and in the house, that’s what he would most likely be doing: singing and dancing. That is when he wasn’t drawing and writing. Or watching for the umpteenth time the video, E. T. or Where the Red Fern Grows.
Given the importance Marty placed on listening to music and making his moves, it would be easy to assume he lacked a serious side. But Jason knew better. He saw it most clearly at the end of the day, when their mom would come through the door and Marty would beep and bop up to her, kiss her on the cheek with a smack so loud you knew he was both intent on welcoming her and eager not to look too eager. Then, still bobbing to some secret music as his mom headed for her hand-washing routine, Marty would head for his book bag. He would drag out his homework, put away his Ipod, remove the earpiece and settle in immediately to work. Periodically Marty would interrupt his labor to grab a snack or to ask for guidance or to tell some true or far-fetched story designed to impress or entertain anyone within hearing distance, most especially his mo
m. But in between, he fixed his eyes on his books and papers, worried his flaxen hair back with his hand a dozen times in succession and within forty-five minutes or so announced, “Okay, inspection time.” With this as a cue, his mom would come to peruse his work, offer a few suggestions, hug him for his “super job,” kiss him on the cheek and suggest some way he might make himself useful before supper. Sometimes she asked him to set the table. Other times she’d ask him to use his newly acquired skill and roll socks. But as soon as the gardening season began, Marty’s main responsibility would be watering and weeding. Since he had been knee-high, he’d been able to scan their garden and tell one vegetable plant from another, the weeds from the veggies, and the unripe from the ripe.
Jason smiled at Marty’s response and shook his head. “Never mind the yeah-yeahs,” he called as he carefully put Prissy on the floor. “I’m gonna take Rocky down to the stream and let him go free. If you wanna come, let me know when you’re changed.” Prissy rubbed against his legs, purring and giving half-meows. “Then we can go bike riding.”
The cat gave a more definitive meow and half jumped, half walked to the top of the stairs where she stood with an arched back before she gave her last mmrow-wah and skittered down the stairs, full speed ahead.
Marty entered the room at an angle, thumbs up and sawing back and forth in front of him. “Yeah…yeah…yeah.”
Jason roughed the smaller boy’s hair forward over his blue-crystal eyes and with closed fists took a couple of jabs at the air in front of Marty’s face, only to pass then around him through the door and head down the stairs leaving Marty to follow. Prissy had preceded them and was circling with her tail raised near the front door. Jason opened it to let her out. He knew whatever she did between now and dinner time, at 6:30 sharp she’d be back and ready to meow in the kitchen for him to open a can of cat food.
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