Warm Wuinter's Garden

by Neil Hetzner

  As Lise walked back downstairs, she analyzed the sound Jessica had made. Changing the accents and substituting vowels, she was back in the room with the hyperactive rabbit before she decided that “shopping” was the most likely translation.

  As she waited for Dilly, Lise experimented with the relationship between the audio and visual aspects of the television and the rabbit’s behavior. She raised and lowered the volume and changed the brightness and tint. The rabbit continued its frantic bouncing. After several minutes of experimentation she concluded that the rabbit’s manic hopping was independent of the specific output from the television. She thought that the rabbit’s apparently random expending of energy just might be an imitative behavior the rabbit had adopted to feel at home with the Koster-Phelps family. When she heard the roar of a car grow loud, then, louder, then, impossibly loud, then stop abruptly, she bent down to the now paralyzed rabbit and whispered, “God help you, little buddy.”

  “Lise, Lise. you’re here. I knew it. I told the man.

  “Roger, Roger, jail that rabbit.”

  “Mom, Mom, it’s too cold downstairs.”

  “Roger, that rabbit’s warmer down cellar than wrapped in a newspaper and buried in a shoebox.”

  “Mom, Mom!”

  “Roger! C’mon! Hurry up! Or he’ll be making bunny beans all over the floor.”

  “I’ll hold him, Mom.”

  “If you want, but it’s going to be a tight squeeze with both of you in that cage. Go.”

  Lise watched Roger hop after the erratically bouncing rabbit.

  “Here boy, here Uppy. C’mon boy. C’mon Uppy. Updike! Come here.”

  “Been here long?”

  “No, just got here.”

  “I thought we had plenty of time, but I didn’t count on backing over a shopping cart and amputating my muffler.”

  “I heard.”

  “Someone must have already hit it ‘cause it had to be on its side otherwise I would’ve seen it. Perfect, huh? This old man was there. Had that eager volunteer spirit of the newly retired. You know? He wanted to do this and that. Did I have a screwdriver? He could go over there and get a thing and probably… And I’m saying, ‘Thank you. Thank you. You’re too kind’—which was the God’s truth—’Please, just give me my pipes. I have to go.’ He’s got the pieces and he’s kind of tentatively touching them together like the slow kids in day care do with Lincoln Logs. You know, you know?”

  Dilly opened her eyes wide, cocked her head to one side, and sighting along the length of one arm slowly brought her two fists together.

  Lise laughed. She was feeling better with the real Dilly than with the projection of her sister which she had been conjuring up during the three days since inviting herself out for a visit.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I said you, well not you specifically, but someone, a visitor, was arriving at my house and that I had to get home. He kept doing Playskool. Finally, I had to kind of tear the pipes out of his hands. ‘Please, give me my parts.’ God, if he wanted to be helpful he should’ve tried to restore the shopping cart back to three dimensions. The way I left it looked more like a folded wheel chair. Might have held a frozen pizza box sideways, but not much more. What a trip. On the way home, the noise was sooo bad I kept looking ahead to see if anyone I know, which is only about half the town, was coming my way. Three times I saw someone and had to throw it into neutral and coast by giving a little toot and a big smile and a big wave.

  “Want coffee? Jessica, did you finish?”

  Lise and Jessica both answered simultaneously—Jessica in the affirmative and Lise in the negative.

  Dilly charged out of the family room.

  “Well, keep going, honey. Here, Lise, it’s already made. In the kitchen.”

  Lise decided not to protest. She hoped that, with Dilly’s health concerns, the coffee might be decaffeinated since she knew it wouldn’t be wise to fill up on caffeine at the beginning of a day with her sister.

  “Where’s Bill?”

  “Where else? Work.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’ll be home later.”

  “How’s his work been?”

  “Intense. As things get slower at the company, it gets busier for him.”

  “How come?”

  “One—he’s lost some people under him, so he’s had to take up some of their slack. Two—he’s jumpy that he could be next. He’s trying to work so hard they’ll think he’s indispensable.”

  Trying to be positive, Lise asked, “Is there really a chance of him losing his job?”

  “My God, Lise, come down from the tower! There are bodies everywhere. This town has been hit so hard. Half the people here work for computer or defense companies—high tech defense. You never saw so many Volvos, Saabs, and Camry’s parked in front of an unemployment office. PTO is very worried because the kids are picking up on the trouble at home—insecurity, fighting, increased drinking—and bringing their worries to school. Bill doesn’t know, but he feels anything could happen at any time. A month’s, maybe two’s, notice and some severance pay and bang, Uppy goes into the pot… And this whole damn war makes it worse. Everyone seems to be standing around holding off making any decisions until they know what’s going to happen over there.”

  “Brad says that even if we win quickly, which he’s sure will happen, it’s going to be a couple of years before New England really starts to recover. He says Dukakis’ ‘Massachusetts Miracle’ was Oz-land.”

  “Thanks, Lise, just what I needed to hear.”

  “Dilly, it’s his opinion. It doesn’t mean he’s right.”

  “Who knows. We’ve been talking about me looking for a job. That way, if Bill lost his job, there’d still be some money coming in.”

  The bitterness of the sip of coffee Lise took made her wince.

  “Like what?”

  “Who knows. Day care. Teacher’s aide. It’d about have to be something with kids. It’s all I know anymore.”

  “What about teaching? What about finishing your degree and getting certified? You’d be great.”

  Lise decided to add the last sentence as partial payment for revealing Brad’s pessimistic thoughts.

  “We’ve talked about that, too, but it’d take too long.

  I’m not even sure if what I did back then would count. I know that I would have at least two semesters of work plus student teaching to finish up. That’s too long. We could be in trouble tomorrow.”

  “What if you went part time? Got some kind of job and took some classes. In a couple of years, you’d be ready to go.”

  “And who’d take care of this?”

  Dilly moved her arm in front of her with a gesture so sweeping that it reminded Lise of the proud ranch owner in an old western.

  “I don’t know, Dilly. Maybe Bill or the kids could do more, or maybe you could do less. You know, let some things go.”

  “You’re going to make someone a great wife,” Dilly said as she pushed off from the counter against which she had been leaning and began unloading the dishwasher.

  As Dilly bent over the washer, Lise dumped her coffee in the sink and rinsed out the cup.

  “I think there’s more to marriage than cooking and cleaning.”

  “You’re not married.”

  Lise felt her muscles tighten up against the nearness of Dilly’s anger. Things were beginning to go the way she’d feared they would. She waited a second before asking, “Have you talked to Pete lately?”

  “What about?”

  Lise thought the sounds of the dishes being put back on their stacks in the cupboards were too loud. She considered helping, but decided it would make matters worse.

  “I don’t know. The war, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought he was kind of, something, I don’t know, kind of quivery at Christmas. I think all of this is stirring up some old stuff for him. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but I think what’s going on in Iraq is some way re-ar
ranging whatever went on in Viet Nam.”

  “Lise, that’s twenty years ago. What’s the connection? That was jungle; this is sand. That was wrong; this is right. I don’t see the link.”

  “Gaby called me.”

  “Gaby. What’d she want?”

  “She’s worried.”

  “It’s a little late, isn’t it?”

  “She said the boys thought Pete was being strange. I don’t know. Morose, maybe. Even quieter than usual, but not a quiet quiet. He has the TV on all the time. She was concerned enough that she went to see him.”

  “Well, I’m sure that must have helped. Maybe he’s morose because his wife left him and took the kids.”

  “You’re right. He’s never really gotten over that, but I think one of the reasons Gaby wanted out was because she felt he had brought too much of Viet Nam home with him. She told me once she always felt like she was fighting hard to draw his attention back from something that was riveting him, but that she couldn’t see. It was like some part of him had gotten stuck over there. Those summers I lived there it was creepy sometimes. There were days when he was there, and others when you couldn’t reach him.”

  “So what was her new diagnosis?”

  “She said he wouldn’t talk about it. Kept shrugging his shoulders and changing the subject.”

  “Well, Lise, there are certain things that that’s all you can do. Shrug your shoulders and move on to something else.”

  “I don’t know, Dilly. The situation might not be anything you can change, but it seems to me we’ve all got some control over our responses and our feelings. Like with Mom.”

  “What about Mother?”

  “The bone cancer. The tumor in her femur. That’s real. That can’t be changed. How she deals with it, that she has some control over.”

  “I don’t even want to talk about it. I can’t believe it. She should sue.”

  “Who? Why?”

  “The doctors. They obviously missed something in September.”

  “Not necessarily. Cancer isn’t a simple…”

  Dilly slashed both her arms through the air as if she were walking through dense brush.

  “Lise, Lise. Forget it. I don’t want to hear it.”

  The kitchen grew so quiet Lise could hear the slight grinding sound of the stove’s clock. One of the reasons she had wanted to visit her sister was so they could talk about Bett. When her mother had told Lise that the doctors had found a tumor in her leg, it had hit her hard. That one datum had changed dramatically the probabilities of all the possible outcomes. The experiment was going badly.

  At odd moments in the lab or running along the Charles River, a whoosh of emotion would blow through Lise scattering everything else inside her. She would be filled with an anticipatory anguish of her mother’s absence. It reminded her of walking in the hayloft of the old Woodmansee barn. The barn had not been used in years. A gray, silken-sided ladder led to the loft. The loft was filled with dark baked air. Heat and spider webs and dust from desiccated hay thickened the air and deadened the sound of light steps on weak old boards. The muffled creaks and slow giving of the ancient wood made each step a fear-filled adventure.

  Reminding herself of her plan to be more the scientist than little sister in her visit, Lise remained silent. She watched Dilly. After several minutes of concentrated coffee drinking, of stirring, of testing an air-cooled spoonful, of inhaling a small sip after carefully blowing ripples across the cup’s mocha-colored surface, Dilly motioned with one hand, as if she were a conductor giving the downbeat.

  “How are you and Brad doing?”

  “Pretty good.”

  It was Dilly’s turn to be patient. After a long silence Lise said, “Good. Real good.”

  Dilly took another slow sip. Lise heard something thump at the far end of the house. She opened her eyes in question. Dilly shook her head to indicate the sound meant nothing important. She stared at Lise.

  “Pretty good, I think.”

  Lise felt an old, familiar surge of panic. When she was a little girl of five or six and Dilly was finishing high school, she would be caught by Dilly in some secluded section of the yard or in a quiet corner of the house and be subjected to a barrage of questions. Did you do this? Why? When? Don’t you know that’s wrong? Did you do that? No? Really, no? Then why are you looking like that? You did do it, didn’t you? Back then and, she told herself, again now, any silence on her part would just cause a more forceful attack. But any answer would only lead to more questions. She tried to transcend her swelling feeling of panic, and the old familiar generalized guilt, to remember why she had come.

  “It’s so hard to tell. It seems as if things are going along well, but then something, or nothing, happens and I get doubts. How was it with you and Bill? How did you know things were working out?”

  Dilly looked startled at the question.

  “I just knew.”

  “Yeah? See, I don’t trust that feeling anymore. I’ve had it too many times with too many people. Did you know what you wanted from someone?”

  “Of course.”

  “What?”

  Lise thought Dilly had a look of confusion on her face, as if she had misplaced something or couldn’t find something in her purse .

  “Hardworking, attractive, ambitious. Interested in being a father. Solid. Loving.”

  “How’d you pick those attributes? How’d you know those were the things to value?”

  “My God, Lise, I just knew. It’s just obvious.”

  “Well, someway it’s not to me. Take a simple one. Take attractive. If a guy’s attractive, is he going to be vain? When he gets hurt is he going to use his easiest thing, his looks, to feel better? If he’s vain, is he going to need constant reassurances? Is he going to have a lot of problems when his looks begin to go? Is he going to have that thing that so many pretty women and rich men have—where they’re never quite sure why things happen? They wonder if it’s their looks or wealth that’s responsible, or did something happen because of what they did? Or, what about ambition? Does ambition mean that I’ll always be third?”

  “Third?”

  “After him. And after whatever it is he’s hungry for.”

  “Ugly, lazy. This is your dream?”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe I don’t know what to look for because I’m not sure what I want. You knew, right? You knew you wanted to be a mother? A full-time, focused mother?”

  Dilly changed the tense to the present.

  “Know. I know what I want.

  Lise scanned around the room and then shifted her eyes toward the stairway from where a parade of muffled sounds came. She spread her arms in a motion that reminded herself of the one that Dilly had made earlier.

  “This is what you want. I get that, but I don’t know if this is what I want. Some days I do. I imagine this and can’t imagine anything nicer. Other days, I don’t. I think about being a mother and I feel a hand tighten around my throat. I’m so selfish. I’m the baby, right? Spoiled. I doubt how much I can give. I look at you. You’ve given a lot.”

  Dilly felt a rusty-tasting bitterness form along the base of her back teeth. When the children were little the days, though never-ending, were too short and the nights were never long enough. There was never enough time for anything—not mothering, nor laundry, nor love, nor sleep. She had given, and given, and given. She had given past exhaustion and, in some miracle of motherhood, she had gotten back much more than she had ever given. On that unceasing diet of too much work and too little sleep she had grown full. Then, the kids had gone to school and the days had become too long and, with the problems with Bill, the nights had become too long, too. She had given less but only because no one would take more. And, the less and less she could give, the more empty she felt.

  For the briefest moment Dilly wanted to tell Lise how empty she felt.

  “Everything’s not perfect.”

  The scientist in Lise exulted at the first evidence that supported her theo
ry, but the youngest sister in her responded by glossing over Dilly’s revelation. The youngest sister was afraid to hear what her older sister might begin to tell her.

  “Nothing ever is, right? I guess that’s why I’m not sure with Brad. He’s bright; he’s sweet; he’s fun; he’s interesting; and interested. But… I have my doubts. I’m a little Hamletta. Remember that? Remember when Dad would call me that when I couldn’t decide what kind of ice cream I wanted and would ask for three or four kinds?”

  “Not really. I may have been gone by then.”

  “No, I don’t think so, maybe it just meant more to me.”

  “Could be.”

  For the rest of the day Dilly and Lise came close to talking about several things that were important to each, but each time their behavior got close to their intentions, their roles and rules from the past—big sister and little sister, teacher and student, captain and private, warden and prisoner—stymied them. Those old connections were too strong to be broken and too defined to allow them to reach across their sibling history to one another.

  Lise left after helping Dilly make dinner, but before Bill came home. She feigned a headache and, after hugs and kisses all around, put herself into the calm of her car. On the drive home and, later, sitting in the kitchen eating her own thirty second exercise in meal making, Lise pondered what she’d hoped to learn of Dilly’s life. She reviewed the hopes she’d had for establishing a new relationship with Dilly, a friendship founded on family but one that disregarded the long-held, but to her now meaningless, distinctions between their ages.

  Theory drives science. That was the basic rule. It was often breached, but it still was the first tenet. Think of how a relationship might be. A does this to B, but only in the presence of C. Think first, then, do. Put ten or one hundred or one thousand things over here and do this to them; put some more over there and don’t do that to them. Think first. Think about how you expect things to happen. Think first, then, test. Then watch very closely to see what the results are.

  Science was simple to think about, but hard to do. Very bright minds and very hard work led mostly to terrible theories. If the theory was good—parsimonious, predictive—the experimentation was bad, or, worse, undoable. If the experiment could be done, then there were bound to be measurement problems…