“It was like Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” she said and she clutched her stomach. Mrs. Randolph was laughing aloud, and I was trying to keep my wine from drooling down the sides of my mouth. “Who sat in my chair? he asked,” Miriam said in deep voice. “Someone’s been in my living room.”
They both went into hysterics, but I didn’t join them. Suddenly it seemed that the humor was totally at my expense. They were together in this; they might even have joked about it before. I had that distinct feeling.
“All right,” I said. “All right. You’d be surprised, too. And I’m putting my chair back where it was,” I said in as serious a tone as I could muster. Mrs. Randolph nodded at me as though I were a complete idiot. Miriam thought that was even funnier. She clutched the back of her chair and pointed at me.
“You see,” she said. “You see how he is.”
“How am I? I’m a man who expects some stability in his home. That’s not an outrageous expectation, is it?” I asked Mrs. Randolph. She shook her head and smiled at me. I saw her wink at Miriam. I drank some more wine. My mood was changing. Miriam’s laughter was beginning to unnerve me. “And that dog,” I muttered. “Who the hell needs that damn dog barking all day and all night.”
Miriam’s laughter stopped abruptly, but the smile remained frozen on Mrs. Randolph’s face.
“Michael, how can you say that?”
“How can I say that? How can I say that?”
“Well, how can you? You know I wanted you to get that dog,” she said. I muttered indistinctly and drank some more. “You’re right, Mrs. Randolph,” Miriam said, “men are more selfish.”
“Who said they are?”
“Mrs. Randolph said.”
“Is that so? You’re an expert on men, too, are you?” I asked. I wanted to say, If you’re such an expert on men, how come you recently went through a divorce? I wanted to expose her and take her down a peg so Miriam wouldn’t be in such awe of her.
“Michael!”
“That’s all right, Miriam. No, I’m not an expert on men. I’m an expert on people. That’s my job.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Miriam took her seat again.
“You’re spoiling things,” she said softly.
“Well, it’s my celebration. I can spoil it if I want to,” I said. Mrs. Randolph laughed and then I laughed and then Miriam laughed. Our silly mood returned. Miriam got up to get the coffee and the surprise dessert. Mrs. Randolph offered to help her, but she said no. We watched her clear some of the table and then go into the kitchen. “It’s good to see her so jolly,” I said.
Mrs. Randolph sat back. I detected a subtle change in her eyes. Her face grew tighter. The relaxation left her lips. Her posture stiffened. She had gone back to being “the nurse.”
“You’ve got to tread softly,” she said, “or she’ll crumple right before your eyes.”
“Don’t you think I know that? What do you think it’s been like for the past six months?”
“Then don’t challenge everything so openly. Think of her.”
“Think of her? That’s all I do is think of her.” I leaned forward. The alcohol in my blood gave me courage. “Why did you change my living room around? What does it have to do with—”
“Oh come on.”
“No, I want to know,” I said insistently. She glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen and shifted toward me.
“I’m trying to find ways to get her to join the living, Mr. Oberman. I want her to be like any normal woman: care about her house and her appearance. What I am doing requires subtle, slow maneuvering. Surely you see a difference in her already. You just remarked about her good mood.”
“Yes, but—”
“Everybody ready?” Miriam called from the kitchen.
“We’re ready,” Mrs. Randolph said.
“Ta da.” Miriam entered the dining room carrying a tray with a large dish of flaming crêpes suzette. She had never done anything like it. I didn’t think she would even attempt it.
Mrs. Randolph flashed her eyes at me. They were filled with pride. She wore a look of complete satisfaction, but I resented it. It was as though she were flaunting her success with Miriam. I didn’t even want to eat the dessert.
“That’s fantastic,” I said.
“And there’s coffee with anisette.”
“Really? Well if this keeps up, I’ll go back to work more often,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but neither Miriam nor Mrs. Randolph laughed.
“What do you mean?” Miriam asked. “You’re going back to work tomorrow, aren’t you?”
My smile was frozen on my face. I looked at Mrs. Randolph. She seemed as intent as Miriam. Such concern over my answer made me ponder it. Why had it become so important to them that I go to work? It had been my idea in the first place, and when I thought back to my true motives, I realized I had gone back to work just to spite Miriam. I had been hoping it would bother her, but neither the announcement of it, nor the day away had made the impression I expected. That was why I had made all those phone calls. Now she was afraid I wouldn’t continue working. I know I should have been happy about her returning independence, but as ridiculous as it seemed, I felt rejected. When I analyze it, I realize that it wasn’t so much that Miriam was suddenly independent again, as much as it was that she was dependent on someone else: Mrs. Randolph.
“I’ll give it another try,” I said.
“It was a bad day?” Miriam asked.
“I was trying to tell you that each time I called you, dear, but you seemed so resentful of each call.”
“I wasn’t resentful, Michael.”
“How could she know?” Mrs. Randolph interjected.
She was coming to Miriam’s immediate rescue. “You enjoyed the work before.” Her tone was calm, reasonable. It made me seem more unreasonable.
“That’s right, Michael. How would I know?”
“Well ... it was difficult after being away so long. I told you that,” I said to Mrs. Randolph.
“Understandable. As time goes by, it will get better, I’m sure.”
“That’s right, Michael. You’ve got to give it a chance.”
I looked down at my wine goblet and turned it at the stem. I didn’t want to continue the argument. Mrs. Randolph had succeeded in making me feel as though I were the one who needed treatment and special understanding. Anyone who had just come on the scene might think she was here for me instead of for Miriam. And Miriam ... she was actually humoring me, talking to me as though I were the one walking on thin ice. It was degrading. Mrs. Randolph was sharp enough to see that.
“Let’s pour the coffee,” she said, “and try Miriam’s gourmet dessert.”
I almost said, “Yes, teacher.” Instead I smiled and held up my cup. In a moment we were all at it again: savoring the dessert, complimenting Miriam, oozing with pleasure. The chatter returned, filled with Miriam’s insignificant details. The anisette and coffee warmed me. I sat back and felt myself drifting away, falling out of the scene, watching it like someone who was part observer and part participant. Neither Miriam nor Mrs. Randolph appeared to notice. They were quite content with themselves.
Afterward I poured myself a snifter of brandy and waited in the living room while they cleared the dishes from the table. They carried their conversation and laughter into the kitchen with them. As I sat waiting alone, I became more melancholy than I had been in months. There was a picture of the three of us in a frame on the small table by the couch. In the picture Miriam and I were holding hands and Lillian was between us, forcing a smile, her eyes squinting. It was really a nice picture and one of the last truly clear things my father had done. He had told Lillian to smile harder. Both Miriam and I had a peaceful look in our eyes. We were gazing beyond the camera, beyond my father, beyond the moment.
But I thought about that moment. I sipped my brandy and studied that picture and wondered if there was any way of telling, any way of seeing what was to come. Is our future ever imprinted on u
s somewhere? I dreamed of a far more powerful camera, one that could capture spirits hovering around us. We were standing on the lawn in the picture, with the forest as background. What if Death itself were silhouetted in the shadows of the trees? What if the camera had caught it hovering behind us, looking at us with lust?
I reached forward and took the picture into my hands. Maybe even now, now that I knew, I could study those shadows and see a darker, crueler, more horrifying shape. It was there, planning, marking us, scheduling us for disaster. Perhaps it had just gone by and had just touched Lillian. If only there had been such a camera ....
I put the picture back on the table and poured another snifter of brandy. Miriam’s and Mrs. Randolph’s voices had died completely. There was no longer any laughter coming from the kitchen. I listened hard. Were they whispering? I thought I could hear whispering. The music had ended a while ago. It was so quiet all of a sudden. It might have been that way for a while, but listening to my own thoughts, I hadn’t realized it. I walked to the living room door.
“Hey,” I called. “What’s happening?”
“We’re coming,” Miriam said. She answered so quickly after I called. It was as though they had been waiting for me to notice they were so quiet.
I sat on the easy chair and closed my eyes. Now, more than half finished with my second snifter of brandy, I felt my body take on a warm glow. I radiated. I was phosphorescent and imagined that if we turned off the lights in the room, I would illuminate the house. I suppose I had a silly smile on my face as I sat there thinking about this, because I realized they were both standing before me, giggling. When I opened my eyes, they stopped, but smiled down at me.
“What’s so funny? All this giggling and laughing all night.”
“It has healing power,” the nurse said. Why was it she always had the right response and knew how to smother my anger or criticism?
“Anybody want any brandy?” I said getting up to go to the bottle.
“We had enough alcohol for tonight,” the nurse said. I grunted and filled my snifter for spite. They watched me take a long sip, and then when I turned to them, they sat down together on the couch. They sat pretty close to one another and practically held hands. Miriam still looked simple, mindless; and the nurse’s cleavage grew deeper. The tight bodice helped lift and shape her bosom.
“Yeah, well an afterdinner drink keeps the old fire burning, stretches the wick on the candle,” I added and laughed at my imagery.
“You might not feel so good at the bank in the morning if you keep drinking that stuff,” the nurse said. Miriam nodded. They couldn’t be more in synchronization if they were Siamese twins.
“She’s right, Michael.”
“She’s always right. That’s why she’s the nurse,” I said and lifted my glass to toast her. I laughed as the brandy burned my throat. I had gulped it. The expression on their faces made me laugh even harder. I nearly spilled the remainder of my drink. But as I laughed, I thought, Actually, the nurse is right—laughter does have healing power. I was feeling better, lighter. I sat down in the easy chair across from them.
“Are you OK, Michael?” Miriam asked.
“Of course, dear. Fine, fine. Let’s talk,” I said. “Let’s talk about the magic of laughter, its healing power. Let’s talk about the mystery of medicine, the voodoo of doctors and nurses. Hey, that’s right, let’s talk about Dr. Turner. What do you think of Dr. Turner, Mrs. Randolph?”
“I think we might say something we will regret tomorrow,” she said. She couldn’t glare at me any harder, and her voice couldn’t drip with any more venom. I sipped the brandy, forced a laugh, and lay my head back on the chair. My eyelids had become heavy. In fact, my whole head felt too heavy for my neck muscles. It was comfortable just resting it like that.
After a moment I heard them begin to talk again. Their conversation started with a review of the meal, recipes, variations, whatever. I found it boring immediately and closed my ears. Soon their voices became indistinct. Words merged, drifted, and disappeared. They began to have one voice. I couldn’t tell who was speaking and who was listening. They seemed to get lower and lower until they were gone.
When I woke up, it was totally dark in the room. My feet had been placed on the hassock, my shoes removed. I was down in the easy chair with my arms draped over the sides. For a few moments, I was totally confused and just lay there from the fear that came with that confusion. When I sat up, I became dizzy immediately and had to close my eyes and hold on tightly to the arms of the chair. Then I remembered that they had been talking and I had turned them off.
Where were they now? I listened for them but heard nothing. I had no idea what time it was. I opened my eyes slowly and leaned forward in tiny jerks to keep myself from falling into that dizzy spell again. When I stood up, I had to steady myself by holding on to the small table. I wiped my face vigorously with the palms of my hands, but I couldn’t scrub out the heavy, nauseating feeling. For a brief moment I thought they might be still sitting there in the dark, watching me. The nurse might have kept Miriam there just to prove that she was right—I would regret my drinking.
“Miriam?”
There was no one else in the room. I stumbled to the doorway and took hold of the frame. There was some light coming from the top of the stairway. They had been that considerate at least. I looked at my watch in the glow of the stairway light. I had to have been sleeping for close to four hours. Why hadn’t they awakened me?
“Damn,” I said, not loud, but loud enough for them to hear if they were still somewhere downstairs. They weren’t. The nightlight was on in the kitchen, but everything else had been turned off. I ran my fingers through my hair and opened my shirt further. It was so hot and musty. I took a deep breath and began to make my way up the stairs.
I muttered and cursed as I ascended. They had both left me and gone up to be comfortable in their beds, I thought. Conspirators, conspirators! I felt like shouting it. I stopped at the top of the landing and caught my breath, holding the bannister with my right hand and wiping my forehead with my left. Mrs. Randolph’s door was shut tight as usual. For a few fleeting seconds, I recalled the images of her meditation scene, the way she looked in Miriam’s dress, and the sexuality in her eyes as we looked at one another over glasses of wine. I fantasized opening her door and lying down beside her. I imagined she slept naked. She could be listening to me out here now, I thought. She could be awake, sitting in her lotus position in the bed, facing the door and waiting. I could slip in, stand beside her at the bed, and then reach down and cup those full breasts in my hands. She would stare ahead, practically unmoved, maybe her eyes blinking. Her nipples would stiffen, and I would slip out of my clothes. Then she would unfold her body and slide under the blanket, holding it up so I could move in beside her. I longed to feel a woman beside me who longed to feel me beside her.
I shook my head to drive the fantasy from my mind. My frustration had developed into an actual physical ache. Miriam and I were once such good lovers. Frequently, we touched each other, kissed each other with passion, embraced and made love. Now ... my body couldn’t take the denial much longer.
Go to sleep, I told myself, and don’t wake Miriam. “Shh,” I said as though I were two different people. “Of course,” I said, “don’t wake, Miriam. God forbid.” I almost began to giggle again. I took a step and stopped.
The door to Lillian’s room was not slightly open as it had been; it was completely open. Had Miriam left it that way expecting I would stop to say good night to Lillian no matter what hour of the night? Even in her insanity, she wouldn’t think like that. She wouldn’t want me to wake her. Why was the door open so wide?
I approached it slowly, hesitantly, listening as hard as I could, concentrating as hard as I could. My head still felt terribly heavy, and a small pounding had begun just over my eyes. I’m still drunk, I told myself. The nurse was right-I’m going to be sorry about this in the morning. I was sorry about it already. I stopped at the door
and took a deep breath. Usually when I went into that room to say good night, I held my breath anyway.
Of course, it was dark within, but the sky was clear and the moonlight was so bright that it came through the window and washed the walls in a yellowish film, illuminating every piece of glass and reflecting off every shiny piece of metal. I didn’t actually enter the room; I just stopped in the doorway to peer in. I don’t know what drew me to do it. Miriam wasn’t watching me, calling to me, demanding that I do it. Why did I even bother to stop? Was it the sight of the completely opened door? Was it the pattern of stopping to say good night every night?
Or was it the power of the darkest forces in my mind emerging unabated, unleashed by my anger and frustration, and taking advantage of my inebriated state? Whatever it was, it had enough control over me to have me stand there and stare and stare until ... I saw.
My mind reeled with confusion and fear. I subdued a scream. I brought my hands to my face. I felt the blood drain from it and rush into my legs to burn through my veins and make me feel like I was sinking into the floor.
Someone was sitting up in Lillian’s bed. It wasn’t imaginary, a part of Miriam’s illusion and desperate insanity. It wasn’t my wishful thinking. It wasn’t a creation of shadows. It was someone nearly Lillian’s size, silhouetted fully. It had dimension and density. There was fullness and height.
She didn’t move, but she was looking my way. I was clutching at my face, tearing at my own flesh. It can’t be, I thought. It couldn’t be. Nights and nights of coming in here to say good night to a daughter who lived only in my wife’s demented mind, talking about her, doing things for her ... all this had done it, had created this ghoulish thing in the dark.
I should have reached for the light switch. I should have filled the room with illumination to burn away the three-dimensional image, but I didn’t move. Then those chimes, as if on cue, as if they were meant to add to the torment just at the moment of my indecision and shock, sounded.
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