Other people

by Sol Stein

  "It's raining," I said. "Besides, I want to stay right here."

  "I have to dress."

  "I'll watch you dress."

  "Please, George."

  I wasn't getting it until I noticed that the door to the bedroom was closed. Probably a mess.

  "Please give me half an hour."

  I guess it comes from having been a lawyer for the worst sort of clients, from handling matrimonials, from my instincts about the human race. I went to the door and before she could stop me, opened it.

  The kid in bed was terrified. She'd obviously warned him.

  "Who the fuck are you?" I said.

  "Bill Acton."

  Francine was right behind me, saying, "It's not his fault. I invited him. We can talk about it. I can explain it."

  I turned to look at her. For a split second I thought of Koslak, who had forced her in this bedroom. The kid hadn't forced her. She'd invited him. He was her age. I was so afraid of the billowing anger inside me, I was careful not to slam the outside door.

  Forty-six

  Widmer

  Saturday is my day of rest. Sunday is my day of peace. Priscilla and I had lazied around on Saturday, gone to an early evening showing at Cinema Two. When George woke me Sunday morning, I didn't go back to sleep. I was ready to commune with the out-of-doors. I planned to put on my chino pants and a T-shirt and see if I couldn't transplant the Exbury azalea that was being crowded by a fountain of weigela without mucking up the root system, the kind of thing I could do perfectly if my mind was at ease. As it was, until I pulled the drapes and saw the rain streaming down against the evergreens. Dear God, You had all week long to water the lawn and You, in Your wisdom, saved it for Sunday. The lengths You will go to to get a few reluctant parishioners into church!

  In the shower, soaping myself, I thought why not take the bar of soap out-of-doors and shower in the rain? No one would see. It wouldn't be dotty. Showering in the shower was unnatural if it was raining outside. Was the peace I felt attributable to Sunday? Or to Francine going out with that nice young man again? Or to learning that Thomassy had reported that Koslak's lawyer would plead his client and the trial I didn't want to imagine would now not have to take place? I had started it with the phone call. Now it could all stop. I wish I had the talent to write a ballad, a song that could tell it all.

  "You were singing in the shower," said Priscilla.

  "Oh was I? I don't recall."

  "Who was that who phoned so early?"

  "George Thomassy. Looking for Francine," I said, toweling myself dry, wondering if I was a visual temptation to Priscilla as she was to me when she gentled a bath sheet around her.

  It was early afternoon when Francine phoned. She sounded upset. "You should be in a celebratory mood," I said. "Aren't you glad you won't have to go through with the trial? By the way, did George Thomassy reach you?"

  She started to cry. I couldn't make the connections, but I invited her to come over.

  Priscilla poured tea for the three of us. "Damn rain wiped out my gardening for the day," I said, but I could see Francine was not up to small talk.

  "What is it, Francine?"

  "I seem to have mucked up my life."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Yes and no."

  "You should be very pleased about Koslak going to Jail. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

  "I didn't think what happens when he gets out of jail. I can't go on living in the same apartment, waiting for him to get out. Do I move to a different part of the country? Do I change my name? I'm determined to make a career for myself in broadcasting, how the hell do I do that anonymously?"

  "Koslak," I tried to reassure her, "is likely to be chastened by his punishment."

  "Are you kidding?" she exclaimed. "He's a nut! He'll want revenge!"

  I had thought the story was over. It was apparently not to be.

  "First things first," I said. "Thomassy has got to get you out of that place."

  "I thought leases were unbreakable."

  "No contract is unbreakable if your lawyer is good enough. I'll speak to your friend Thomassy."

  "I guess you might as well know. George and I are no longer… friends."

  I had to conceal my delight. "He's still your lawyer."

  "I don't know if that's possible."

  "I'll have a word with him. Now do have another cup of tea."

  I had to think.

  Forty-seven

  Koslak

  I knew a guy what did time for knocking off cars. He came to me last winter when his regular fence had the flu to see if I could lay off a Buick quick. He was the one told me the clink, when you get used to it, it's like anything else.

  "But they don't let you do what you want to do," I told him.

  He laughed like I'm some nut.

  Well, it's worse because they make you do what you don't want to do. I wrote to Mary: Tell Brady the hacks are nothing in this place compared to the other prisoners.

  When I'd asked the guy with the Buick about sex, he said, 'They ain't gonna cut your hand off."

  He must of knowed. He was just stringing me along, figuring I'd find out soon enough.

  Comment by Mary Koslak

  The last day Harry was out on bail, that was the worst. I thought we ought to take the kids out in the park, you know, for a walk, kind of to say goodbye. I told him private before we went out that he shouldn't let on where he was going, a business trip, he would be away awhile, et cetera. The kids hear about other fathers going on business trips, so it wouldn't seem so different.

  So we're in the park with Mike and little Mary. Harry sits down on a bench, the kids are standing in front of him, he brings their faces real close. I'm like turning away because it's his private discussion with them, and he says, "I got something to tell ya."

  You know how kids are. They look fuzzy-faced, what's so special, you're telling us something all the time.

  Harry says, "Pay attention."

  Mike's a restless kid, he's ready to go running off, and Harry's got his hand on Mike's arm. Mike says, "You're hurting me," and Harry says, "I'm sorry. Look, kids, I'm going away on a business trip."

  He looks at both of them, waiting for them to say something. Finally, he says, "I'm going away for a long time. Say something." And Mike says, "Goodbye," and he goes running off to play.

  Harry says to little Mary, "Aren't you going to say something?" And she opens and closes her hand the way she waves bye-bye, and that's it.

  So we go stash the kids with my mother, cause I figure Harry, he wants to be alone with me for a while. Last chance, and all that.

  When we're going back upstairs, we pass the landing on the second floor and I'm thinking if it wasn't for the Widmer woman, we wouldn't be a family splitting up. I seen her around, her nipples showing through her dress like a whore, what did she expect?

  "Listen," I say to Harry when we get up to the apartment, "you coulda won the trial."

  "Who says?"

  "All the women I talk to, they say rape is something you just can't prove without witnesses."

  "What are you talking to them about me for?"

  "They don't know I'm talking about you, Harry. Just in general. I don't know why you pleaded guilty to whatever that charge was, the other one."

  "I did what I did," said Harry.

  "What's that mean?"

  "I pay a lawyer to listen to his advice, right? He says it's a crap shoot. If we go to trial, I could get ten years in the jug. That'd finish me. You'd be old when I got out, you wouldn't want that? This way, with good behavior, I might be out in two, three years."

  "You could have won. You could stay out!"

  "Now, Mary," he said, taking me by the shoulders, "Brady told me they had something, the lawyer for the other side."

  "Had what?"

  "Proof I guess."

  "What kind of proof? I don't believe it. Maybe Brady's just too lazy to do the whole trial."

  "Brady's not that kind
of guy."

  "How do you know?"

  "I know. Anyway, I did it, it's too late."

  I wasn't convinced. I watched Harry moping around the kitchen. We don't want to be arguing, this being his last day.

  "What are you thinking?" I asked him.

  "I was thinking," he said, "it'll seem funny not driving a car. I mean for a couple of years."

  Well, I blew. "What about money?!" I let loose at him. "What am I supposed to do, go on welfare, turn tricks, what?!"

  "You could get a job."

  "What do I do with the kids?"

  "Your mother could take care of them. It's just a couple of years."

  "What about the kid in the oven," I said, tapping my belly.

  "You could work for a while."

  "Two months. Three months. Doing what? I have no experience."

  That's when he told me about the money. "There's five hundred in each envelope." He told me where to find the first one. "Go get it," he said.

  It was there. I counted the money.

  "When you visit me, I'll tell you where there's another. I got enough of them stashed away."

  "Why don't you tell me now?"

  Harry looks at me. "How do I know I can trust you? If you had it all, you could do anything, run away with some fellow, leave the kids—"

  "Are you crazy?" I shout at him. "I'm pregnant."

  "So what. Lots of fellows don't care if a woman's pregnant. Listen, Mary, I want you to be faithful, you understand?"

  "I'm not going to be doing anything different than what I been doing," I said, thinking of Jason. Damn Harry, anyway, he does something and I'm getting punished. Suppose he decides not to tell me where the other money is. Suppose he gets killed in prison, I'll never know where the money is.

  "Oh Harry," I said to him, "what was so special about her cunt? If you stuck with mine you'da stayed outa trouble!"

  That was when he whacked me across the face hard. Later, he tried to put his arms around me, to make up, but I wasn't going to fuck around with him, not after that whack in the face, not even on his last day.

  ~~~

  Once I was in the can, I thought a lot about that last day. The kids would be nearly twice as old when I got out. Slapping Mary was all wrong. Maybe in here is a good place for me to learn to control myself better.

  Trouble is, there are guys in here who don't leave you alone. I figured Badger for trouble when I first seen him. Six of us sitting in the can, three facing three, and this six-foot guy with the bald head comes in, looks around, and says to me, "Hold it!"

  "What do you mean hold it?" I says.

  "Get up."

  I'm not one of these people can let go by snapping a finger. I gotta work up to it. And here I was about ready, but I look at the other guys and get the feeling I ought to do what this guy says, so I get up, and he sits down on that pot and I gotta wait till there's another one.

  I ask around about Badger. They say don't ever challenge something he says.

  When I run into Badger again it's in the shower. I figure it's best to be on his good side so I say, "Hello, Badger."

  I'm being friendly and what does he say?

  "Hello, Cossack," he says.

  There are four or five other guys in the shower, so I says slow so he can hear every syllable, "My name's Koslak."

  Like he didn't hear me he says. "You know what a cossack is?"

  Maybe this guy thinks I'm dumb like some of the others. "Sure," I says. "Cossacks and horses."

  "What about cossacks and horses?"

  "They ride 'em," I says.

  "You ever ride a horse, Cossack?"

  "Koslak," I say.

  The other guys in the shower are like mummies. They stop soaping. They just stand under the water watching.

  "Hey Cossack," Badger goes on, "you ever get ridden?"

  One of the guys makes a little laugh. Badger looks at him and the guy freezes.

  "I see you don't understand too much, Cossack," Badger says. "That's okay. Just lean over. Put your hands on that bench."

  "Now wait a minute!" I say. I've beaten up bigger guys than Badger. Places where you can swing a bottle. I'm looking at the other guys. I don't want a couple of them grabbing me. Badger, he reaches up to the shower head. He's got something taped up there. He yanks it free of the tape and opens the blade, running his thumb on the edge.

  "You copped your plea before you got here," Badger says. "Now put your hands down and spread."

  I stood where I was.

  "Hey, fellows," says Badger. "This virgin's shy. Why don't you all get out of here."

  They jostle each other getting out, even the ones with soap still on them. The last one out is Steve, and Badger says, "Steve, hold on to this outside, okay?" and he closes the knife and flips it to him.

  "We don't need that, Cossack, do we?"

  "What are you going to do?" I says.

  "I'm going to seduce you."

  "I ain't queer," I says.

  "Nobody's queer, Cossack." He puts his fingers on my shoulder and kind of runs them down my arm. It feels funny. I don't like the way it feels.

  It's like as if he's reading my mind, he says, "You're gonna like everything after a while, Cossack," and suddenly he slaps me on my ass real hard.

  "What'd you do that for?" I says.

  "You want me to be gentle, huh?" He puts his hand on my ass and just holds it there. I move away. He puts it there again. I quick like steal a look at his dong, which is getting hard.

  "You cold, Cossack?"

  "Nah."

  "It gets real cold sometimes," he says, "I can make you feel warm."

  "I told you I'm not queer."

  "Look, Cossack, if you got your eyes closed and somebody's sucking you, how do you know it's a woman or a man? I want you to be good pussy to me, right? Steve!" he calls out.

  "I'm here," says Steve from outside.

  "We don't want Steve with us, Cossack. Just you and me. Like a private date. Friends. Fucking good friends."

  Badger has talked himself into one big hard on. Holding it he says, "Would you like to suck it?"

  I shake my head.

  "I didn't think so," he says quietly. "So just turn around and put your hands on that bench and spread."

  "I don't want to."

  "I don't want to," Badger imitates me in a squealing voice. He grabs my hair, twists so hard I thought my neck was going to snap. "I don't care if you want to or don't want to. I want to, understand!"

  I'd kill this guy if he wasn't so big.

  "Steve!" he yells. "You want seconds?"

  "No," I say. "Just you. Just once."

  "That's a nice pussy," he says, and puts his hand on my cock, all of his fingers stroking, and I don't like the idea. His thing is purple now, looks bigger than anything I ever saw, then he grabs my hips and twists me around.

  "Hands on the bench," he orders, and then I feel him, it can't get in, it hurts like anything, he's shoving, shoving, and then he's in and moving in and out, and I'm thinking never again, never again, and he yells, "Hey, Steve, this virgin's got a real tight ass, come look," and I shake my head no, and Badger's saying, "Cossack, you're so good you're going to be my steady pussy, real regular," and I know when I get out of here I'm gonna find Widmer wherever she is and I'm going to kill her dead for ratting on me!

  Forty-eight

  Francine

  I am lying on the familiar couch, listening to the familiar sound of Dr. Koch breathing, waiting for me to continue talking. I'd been telling him about the botched weekend, about Bill and Thomassy. I don't want to talk any more, to him or to anybody. Finally, I tell him I'm fed up, I don't want to be in therapy, I want to be back in life.

  "You do not stop living," he says, "when you take time to stop and think."

  "You just want the money."

  "What money?"

  "The money you get for listening to me."

  "If you want to attack me," he says, "that is your prerogative. But right now
you are not attacking me."

  "Who am I attacking?"

  "Yourself. Perhaps you do not like the way you have used that boy."

  "Bill can take care of himself. He's my age."

  "Here you have always talked of him as a boy."

  "I didn't rape him."

  "That's an interesting choice of word."

  "Oh come on now. Dr. Koch. I didn't even seduce him."

  "You make it sound as if rape and seduction are part of the same thing."

  "Rape is force. You know that."

  "Yes. Is seduction never a kind of force?"

  "I didn't seduce Bill."

  "You tempted him."

  "I told him it was there and he took it."

  "It. It. Inanimate. We are talking about people. Perhaps this Bill is like ninety percent of humanity, a weakish man you turn to as a pot to cook something in. Perhaps he does not seem very individual to you. Someone else will find him so. Perhaps someone less complex than you are. If you tempt him, he cannot resist. You are taking advantage of him. It is not the same as rape perhaps, but akin to it. Not as dangerous, but possibly, in this case, a bit inhumane also, don't you agree? Perhaps you should leave him alone."

  I sat up. "I know what you'd prefer," I told him.

  "Please lie down."

  "You'd prefer that I give him up and Thomassy up and anybody else except you."

  "I am not your lover," he says.

  "You wish you were!"

  He hesitated only a moment. "Yes," he said.

  Comment by Dr. Koch

  That "yes" was perhaps the most emotionally expensive word I have ever uttered, for now, as is just, I can no longer continue as her analyst. I have admitted a personal feeling of such consequence she cannot continue her transference. I have lost her. Perhaps it is to the good. What is there possible between us? Even for my own sake it is to the good. I must redirect my libido. I cannot be so impractical. I, too, still have life to live.

  ~~~

  I couldn't bear the eye contact, so I lay back down on the couch, hoping he would speak, and, after a time, he did.

  "There was a period not too long ago, Francine, when the young tried to revolutionize our conception of eros by pretending that one could live successfully in a commune in which one can turn to the left or the right at night, to a man or a woman, and it would make no difference. If there were no differences, we would not need all the complex physical paraphernalia God has provided, eyes to differentiate, hands to differentiate, but most importantly a mind and sensibility that makes us feel differently about different people. Anyone who is not us is different, but it is the mind-boggling differences among all the rest that lead to our pursuit of simplicity, do you follow me?"