Luke put his eyes on Byron; they got dark. “Okay. But we can’t fight all the time about what to play.”
“But sometimes I don’t want to play what you play.”
“When that happens, we’ll play different things. Then, when we want to play something together, we’ll do it. Okay?”
“But it gets boring waiting.”
“Well.” Luke lowered his head. His black hair showed the white underneath. How does the dark show the light? “That’s the only way I know how to be friends.”
“Okay,” Byron said.
It’s too hard to fight everybody.
“We’ll do what you want, Luke.”
EERIC, LUKE, and Barry left the apartment to go to the park. It was early Sunday morning. The day before had been Luke’s fifth birthday. They carried with them Luke’s present from Nina and Eric. It was a bike, a two-wheeler, to replace his tricycle. Eric had prayed that Luke would ask Nina to teach him how to ride. Luke was still fearful of new physical adventures, a kind of instinctive cowardice that disturbed Eric and reminded him of his own indecisiveness. But Luke declined Nina’s tutorial offer and insisted that Daddy teach him. By chance, Eric’s parents had asked if they could come downtown for breakfast that morning, and Eric seized on this opportunity to invite his own father along, in the hope that if there were problems, Barry might be a help. After all, Barry had taught Eric how to ride. Of course, Eric was older when he had learned. Eight years old—it had taken Barry that long to afford a bike.
By now Eric understood that Luke was unusually smart. The response of the schools to the results of the IQ test made that clear. Despite Eric’s lack of connections, despite the horrendous surplus of applications, despite all the warnings that in order to get into a superior private school, a child had to be specially tutored from age zero, despite all that, Luke was accepted everywhere. Three schools called to urge Nina and Eric to select them. Their experience was so different from other parents that only one conclusion was possible.
Eric wanted to shout the news, to brag at every social function. He wanted every parent to know what they had been told at the nursery school by Luke’s teacher, a woman who had taught four-year-olds for thirty years. She said that Luke was the brightest child she had ever had. But Nina clamped down on Eric. Just say Luke is bright. That’s enough.
With the limitless choice of schools offered, they had a difficult time making their selection: they spent three weeks revisiting each school; they had meetings with headmasters and headmistresses eager to win them. Even Hunter was eager to get Luke. Eric wanted to pick Hunter, but Nina vetoed that. She thought the kids at Hunter were too grim, made into little adults, urged to acquire knowledge in order to gain applause. Luke loved learning; he wanted to know everything because he loved understanding. Nina wanted to preserve Luke’s unselfconscious love of knowledge. Eric could see that, so he went along with Nina, and they placed him in one of the better but not the hottest of New York private schools. “He’ll get bored,” Eric protested. “We’ll tell him what he needs to know,” she answered. By now, Eric had to read books on evolution, on biology, on the current developments in physics in order to keep up with Luke’s curiosity, his memory, and his ability to detect contradictions in the books they read to him. Luke worked with Nina on her designs, he listened with Eric to the business shows, Luke gobbled up all the scraps of information the world scattered about him, and then he played with his friends—there were so many of them—without displaying any of it. In kindergarten, Luke managed to keep his teachers in the dark for months, but by the end of the term, at the parent-teacher conference, Luke’s teacher said, “You have a remarkably intelligent child. Do you know that?” she asked, quite curious, apparently unsure.
“Yes,” Nina said. Eric nodded.
The teacher stared at them. “He knows things about geology, about space, about, well, about most things, that I don’t know. I sometimes ask him to answer the questions of the other kids. He used to refuse to answer. He’s getting over that. He’s more comfortable with his natural role as a leader.”
A leader. The word expanded Eric’s nostrils; he breathed in the air, electric with promise. He dared not hope his son would escape the generational curse of failure. The brains must come from Nina, Eric thought, so he prayed that self-destruction wouldn’t come from him.
Eric had accepted his defeat a year ago. He continued to work for Joe under the old terms, salary and a cut of commissions. No management fees, no discretion over client’ money. Joe had developed heart trouble over the winter and left each day after lunch, putting Sammy in charge. Once Joe was out of the office, Sammy copied Joe’s manner toward Eric, slipping his feet into his father’s vacant shoes. Sammy treated Eric amiably, but with an undercurrent of contempt. It didn’t matter. Eric earned a hundred and fifty thousand a year, enough to pay the bills. Tom, perhaps out of guilt, had set up a trust fund for Luke. The money would be there for Luke to go through Harvard, or wherever it was that he would end up. As long as Eric’s genes didn’t interfere, Luke would be extraordinary.
Eric didn’t feel bad. He was Luke’s caretaker; he was there to guard the jewel until it went on display for the world to gasp at.
And best of all, Nina was eight months pregnant. Only a month and there would be another. Another chance. And this time Eric wouldn’t be nervous, he wouldn’t doubt it was worth the effort, he wouldn’t allow his own struggles to distract him from the pleasure of watching new life grow in his garden.
Luke was excited. He wanted to try the bike on the street.
“No, let’s get to the park,” Eric said.
“Why?” Luke asked.
“It’s easier to ride at the park,” Barry said. “The pavement is much smoother.”
“It is?” Luke said, and his brain clicked on. Eric saw it happen, knew it was coming. “No, it isn’t. Grandpa. It’s true this is cement and that’s tar, but it isn’t much smoother.”
Eric looked at his father and smiled.
“Well.” Barry tried desperately. “The park has wider streets—”
“No,” Luke began gently. He was forced to contradict grownups a lot and it pained him. It took Nina more than a year to persuade Luke that if he spoke politely, no one would mind being corrected. “No, Grandpa, actually—”
Eric interrupted. “The reason we should try in the park is because it’s your first time and there are people walking around here. If you have trouble controlling the bike, you’ll worry about hitting them. At this hour the park is usually empty and you can concentrate on balancing, you don’t have to worry about steering.”
“I have to worry a little about steering, right?” Luke said, and laughed. “I don’t want to crash into trees.”
“That’s true,” Eric said.
They moved on. Barry was quiet until they were almost at the park. Luke had danced ahead to the corner. Barry whispered in Eric’s ear: “Why did you tell him he might crash into people?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s why I said it was smoother in the park,” Barry defended himself. “Now he may worry he’ll crash.”
“Dad, Luke knows he may crash. I’m trying to make it clear that’s nothing to worry about.”
“But it is smoother in the park.”
It wasn’t, but Eric let that point pass. Why fight?
When they reached the park, Luke immediately got on his new bike. Eric held it by the underside of the seat. Barry stood ten feet off, half bent over. “Just pedal fast,” he said.
“I’ll hold the bike, Luke,” Eric told him, “until you ask me to let go.”
“Okay,” Luke said, brave and firm and scared.
Eric pushed, keeping his eyes on the little head, aloft on the bike, ready to move on. “Pedal,” Eric prompted.
“Pedal fast,” Barry said.
“I don’t want to,” Luke mumbled.
“Pedal as fast or as slow as you want,” Eric said.
They moved. Luke stayed
stiff on the bike, afraid to move, his arms bowed in the air, gripping the handles desperately.
“Just relax and enjoy the ride,” Eric said, huffing and running quickly.
They had passed Barry, who shouted: “Let go of him!”
“Don’t!” Luke begged.
“I won’t until you say I should.”
Eric had to run fast now; it was harder and harder to keep up with his son.
“This is fun,” Luke said. His arms relaxed.
“You can see so many things, can’t you?” Eric said, huffing. They were close to a turn.
“Yes. I’m higher up,” Luke said.
Eric couldn’t stay with Luke. They made the turn onto a downward slope and the bike gained speed. One hand came off the bike, briefly.
“Can I let go, Luke?”
“Sure,” said the happy voice.
But Eric didn’t. He had to run very fast to keep pace with Luke, but he didn’t want to let go, to lose the sight of his son’s open, joyful face.
“Let go, Daddy,” Luke said.
“Okay, I’m gonna let go.”
“Okay,” Luke sang back to him.
“Remember how to stop.”
“I know how to stop,” Luke said, impatient now. “Let go!”
Eric opened his hands and watched his son zoom away.
Eric’s soul went with Luke—released, fast into the world, the figure, erect and proud and little, getting smaller and smaller, farther and farther away.
I leave him in your care, world. He is the best I can do. Take care of him.
“I’m doing it, Daddy!” Luke called back. “Should I stop?”
“When you want to, Luke. Only when you want to.”
The bike wobbled. Luke put his feet on the ground and they skidded. The machine began to tilt. Luke planted his feet hard— and he went over, collapsing into a heap with the bike.
Eric and Barry ran to the fallen Luke. He lay still on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
“My foot is trapped,” Luke said. Barry lifted the bike. Luke got up slowly. He looked betrayed. “I hurt my knee,” he said.
Eric rolled up Luke’s pants. There was a broad patch of skin gone, an angry red rectangle.
Luke winced.
“It’s not bleeding. Do you want to try again?”
“No,” Luke said.
“Oh, you should try right away,” Barry said.
“I don’t want to!” Luke said.
“You won’t fall,” Barry said. “You fell because you were going too fast. Just go slower and you won’t fall. It’s because you stopped thinking about being on the bike. You know, it’s a funny thing, but the better you are at bike riding, the more likely you are to fall.”
“What?” Luke said.
Eric knew what his father meant: you get careless.
“Try again and go slower,” Barry insisted. He held the bike for Luke. “Go on, get on.”
Luke obeyed. But he was reluctant this time. Still scared, but not brave, not happy. Eric became a spectator. Barry took over.
Barry pushed Luke slowly, then let go without warning. Luke immediately put his feet down and stopped. Barry asked him not to do that. Luke said Barry shouldn’t let go unless he asked him to. How about I let go after I count to ten? Barry suggested. Luke agreed, but again was reluctant and unhappy. Barry pushed Luke slowly and let go after a count to ten. Luke wobbled on for a bit, then put his feet down and stopped. Barry lectured him: “Don’t worry about falling. If you go slowly, you won’t fall.”
Eric was sweating. His head ached. Watching Luke fall had upset him. Listening to Barry, he was nauseated. He hated the sound of his father’s voice: it was insistent and whiny, obviously fake in its protestations of assurance. Eric wanted to get away, to stop hearing Barry talk.
Luke started up again, but immediately quit once Barry let go. It was obvious Luke could ride the bike, but the fear of falling defeated his ability.
Barry lectured Luke: “If you go slowly and think about it you won’t fall. If you’re careful, you won’t fall. It’s funny,” Barry kept saying, “but the better you become, the more likely you are to fall.”
Eric’s mouth dried up. His head hurt. His skull bones were falling in, battered by Barry’s talk. Stop him, he could hear Nina say. Stop him from talking to Luke.
It’s funny, Barry kept saying. The better you are at something, the more likely you are to fall.
At this point, Luke wouldn’t even allow Barry to let go of the bike.
Eric got to his feet. He charged over to them. “Okay, okay,” he said talking fast, afraid of the rage inside. “Listen to me, Luke.” He talked as if he were giving instructions in a crisis, saving Luke’s life. “The faster you go, the less you think about it, the easier it’ll be. Grandpa’s wrong. He’s totally wrong. The better you are, the less likely you are to fall.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Barry protested.
“Yeah,” Luke said. He laughed, but tears came to his eyes. “I didn’t think it made sense.”
“When you decide to stop, use the hand brakes.”
“I use my feet ’cause I don’t—”
“You shouldn’t use your feet—” Barry started again.
“You don’t want to tip over,” Eric outshouted his father. “I know. I know, but first slow down with the brakes. You won’t tip over until you’re going slow. Then put your feet down. You won’t fall, Luke. Your body knows how to ride the bike. You already did it, remember? Look—” Eric pointed the distance Luke had traveled before the fall. “Look how far you got. You did that all on your own. The better you are, the more you do it, the less likely you are to fall. And if you fall—so what? You get up and go on!” Eric felt as if he were about to cry. It was absurd: why did he feel like bursting into tears? He swallowed them back. “The better you are, the faster you go, the more sure it is that you won’t fall. And if you do—” He paused, held his hand out, offered the finish to Luke.
Luke watched him. His mouth was tight, his blue eyes glowed in the sun. “So what?” Luke said. “I can just get back on and ride, right?”
“Right! Let’s do it.” Eric grabbed the back of the bike. “I’ll let go when you tell me.”
He pushed Luke fast, his heart racing. Eric saw a look of hurt on Barry’s face. Dad didn’t mean any harm, Eric said to himself. Barry just doesn’t know how to teach.
“Let go,” Luke said suddenly.
“Okay!”
Eric let go of the bike and stopped. Luke skimmed away, riding on the world. Eric was between the branches of two trees and the sun was on his head, warming him. He felt a chill shiver through his body. What the hell was all that from Barry? He doesn’t know how to deal with kids. I’ll tell him I was sorry for interrupting his lesson. Probably it would have worked, but Eric had felt too sick to listen.
Away, in the distance, Luke moved under the trees, in and out of the sunlight. Luke moved in the air, confident above the dangerous ground. He was alone on the path riding his bike with joy.
Eric watched him, the nausea gone, his body strong again. Luke slowed and stopped himself. He turned the bike to face Eric.
“I did it, Daddy.”
“Of course you did. You’re very good so you won’t fall.”
“When you’re good, you don’t fall, right, Daddy?”
“That’s right, Luke. And you’re very good.”
Luke pushed his foot on the pavement to get started, caught the pedal, and came at Eric. The head was up, the blue eyes danced in the air, and he flew past Eric and Barry, alone and proud and very good.
NINA LAY there, again beached on a hospital gurney. She waited for the tide. Eric sat and watched her. The monitor spewed out paper.
She was two weeks late. She was eager for the pregnancy to end. Marge Ephron, her doctor, had ordered this test, a fetal-stress test, to determine if there was any problem.
There just couldn’t be a problem. There just couldn’t be anything
wrong.
Was that a movement? Yes, it had to be.
A nurse came in. “How we doing?” the nurse asked, but she looked at the reams of graph paper for her answer.
“Okay,” Nina answered anyway.
“Have you been feeling contractions?” the nurse asked looking up from the paper.
“No,” Nina said.
“Are you sure?”
“Why?” Eric said.
“Well, see this?” The nurse curved the paper in their direction. “That looks like a contraction to me. Baby’s heart rate is all right. It’s responding correctly. Here’s another one about ten minutes ago.” The nurse showed the jagged break from the norm on the paper, the stabs wounding a graceful curve.
“You don’t feel anything?” Eric asked.
“No,” Nina said. How could I have contractions and not know it?
“I’ll call Dr. Ephron and tell her. I think maybe you should stay on the monitor for a while. Just in case you’ve begun contractions. No point in going home and have to turn right around.” The nurse left.
“Well?” Eric said.
“Can’t be,” Nina said. What was that? The ripple in the ocean, the whale spinning inside. No. That’s not a pain. Probably just twisting in his bed.
“Why not? You had back pain with Luke. Maybe you don’t recognize a normal contraction.”
Luke. He was so happy. He had flowered so beautifully. What a great boy. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you don’t try to follow up on success.
She didn’t think so. Eric was so good at being a father. And so sad at his own work. How wrong not to have another child.
She wanted to dare the skies again, to ask them for another temporary gift of perfect love.
They grow up and we get old.
Anything, any loss of sleep, any loss of ease, was worth the sweet, and too, too brief time of holding the little ones until they burst out of your arms and into the world.
What was that?
“Is there something on the machine now?” she asked.
Eric bent over. He was so tall he had to bend almost in half to read the paper. “No,” he said. He put his hand on her exploded stomach.
The nurse returned. “Dr. Ephron says you should stay on the machine until we figure out whether you’re having contractions.”
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