by Cecelia Frey
“What?”
“How do you know he’s changed, that he’s learned something?”
Amanda drew in a deep breath. “I saw Ben last summer.” She exhaled slowly. “He came to see me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. He just showed up one day. Said he was in the neighbourhood.”
“I suppose you talked about me.”
“We didn’t talk about you. But he still loves you. I could tell.”
“Are you kidding? I told you, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He believes in justice, not love.”
“He finds it hard to love himself, because of what happened with his mother. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love other people. How about his father? He loved his father in spite of their opposing opinions about the war.”
“Well, if he’d loved his father more than his moral stance, he would have gone back and saved them all a lot of grief.”
“I hope you didn’t say that to him.”
“Of course not. What do you take me for?”
“It’s just that he’s suffered so much for making that choice.”
“Ben likes to suffer. It’s as though he feels he was born to suffer.”
“He might agree with you. The Jewish destiny.”
“He doesn’t believe in destiny, remember?”
For a few minutes, the sisters said nothing. Each seemed to be listening intently to the storm. But when Amanda broke the silence, it was obvious that her thoughts had been otherwise occupied. “I just wish you’d find someone to take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”
“I mean emotionally. Everyone needs someone to take care of them emotionally.”
“I do have friends.”
“A bunch of intellectual snobs.”
“That’s preferable to having friends who are intellectually challenged.”
“Your life is so sad.”
“Leave my life alone.”
“Maybe you need someone to talk to.”
“I talk to lots of people.”
“Cold, inhuman people.”
Helena couldn’t see the centre line of the highway. She could see the cement barrier only sporadically. She became aware of the tenseness of her body, of her hands gripping the wheel. She made a conscious effort to relax her muscles, one by one. “At least they’re not a sociological phenomenon,” she said. “Past the due date flower children. Although, I must say I find your friends extremely interesting in view of my subject. People who, maybe because they did too many drugs or something, I haven’t finished my research on that part yet, but who, some of who, have turned out to be unmotivated and irresponsible, and these factors have spiralled them, some of them, down into a lower socio-economic class than they originally came from.”
“So now my friends are low-class slobs. I’m a filthy slob. What else can you think of to criticize? My weight. I saw the way you looked when I had to loosen my seat belt. And how about my housekeeping? We haven’t done my housekeeping yet. We always do my housekeeping.”
Amanda’s voice had risen during her speech. Helena kept hers low and even, which somehow smacked of mockery. “Your friends aren’t all low class. And you’re not filthy. You have a filthy habit, that’s all.”
“Oh thank you. Good. Great. That’s a relief. The great Helena has pronounced that I’m not filthy after all.”
“All I’m saying is you need to get a life, apart from that group of friends and dogs and cats and kids.”
“And then there’s the ‘but’ technique.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re an expert at that.”
“What?”
“My friends aren’t exactly low class, but … I’m not exactly filthy, but….”
“All I’m saying is, maybe you should widen your circle of friends. Women who do something besides sit around and smoke and expose their children to second-hand smoke and bitch about their husbands or the men who go in and out of their lives.”
“Look, can we give it a rest? I admit to having slobs for friends. I admit to killing my family with my filthy habit. I admit that it’s all my fault. Everything’s my fault.”
“I didn’t say that. But you’re a nurse. An ex-nurse. You know what second-hand smoke does to kids. And think of the expense.”
Amanda sat up straight. “Stop the car and let me out! I don’t want to listen to any more of this!”
“You can’t get out.”
“Stop the car!”
“I’m not going to stop the car. Be sensible.”
“If you don’t stop the car I’m going to jump out right here and now.” Amanda reached for the door handle.
“You can’t leave. It’s raining too hard.”
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to how I’m an inferior despicable person.”
“You’re not a despicable person.”
“Thank you very much.”
“I’m only trying to help you.”
“How can you help me by thinking I’m inferior?”
“I don’t think you’re inferior.” Helena’s voice exuded patience, as though she were explaining the basics for the umpteenth time to an idiot. “All I’m saying is you haven’t made the most of your life.”
“What do you know about my life? You never come here to see me. In fact, you haven’t been to see me for four years and you live just across the channel! Reuben is my life. But what would you know about that. You never did approve of him.”
“That’s not true. I always liked Reuben, his great sense of humour. I did wonder how the two of you would manage. Him, so ultra alternative and dragging you along with him.”
“He didn’t drag me along. I wanted to go with him. We’ve managed just fine. He deserves a lot of credit. It isn’t easy making a living in the music business. It takes a lot of courage to even try. And he puts a lot of time into his market gardening business, too. He’s worked hard for the kids and me.”
“You didn’t do anything with your degree.”
“How about Esther? She didn’t do anything with her degree, either. Oh, I suppose because she’s married to a university professor and I’m married to a nearly-forty still-struggling musician, she’s a success and I’m not.”
“I know Mom and Dad wanted her to continue teaching. They put so much importance on education.”
“Well, they were both teachers and they both died early of heart attacks. So much for the teaching career.”
“You had beauty and intelligence. You got better marks in school than either Esther or me. You were so beautiful. And smart. Those Cave discussions, you didn’t say much but then you’d come out with a remark that was so right on target it floored everyone. Mom and Dad had great hopes for you, that’s all I’m saying.”
“It’s a good thing they’re not here now to be disappointed in me. Is that it?”
“No. But you were the favourite.”
“That’s not true. I was the baby, that’s all.”
“It was hard on them, especially Mom, when you left with Reuben and came out here.”
“There was no way I could not go along with Reuben. He was and still is my meaning in this life. I think Mom understood that.”
“I only mean you’re not making the most of your God-given gifts.”
“You don’t even believe in God.”
“Just a manner of speaking. I could say genetically-derived traits.”
“How could you believe in God when you think you are God.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“You think you’re better than everybody else.”
“Not everybody.”
“I’m scared for you. You’re tempting fate. You’re setting yourself up. For lif
e to teach you a lesson.”
“You’d like life to teach me a lesson, wouldn’t you? You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I love you.” Amanda’s voice returned to its characteristic gentle softness.
“Oh yes. More of your relentless Miss Goody.”
“I pray for you.”
“Praying is a waste of time.”
“You were such a happy little girl. Saucy, it’s true, but sunny and happy. You’ve lost that little girl. I pray you’ll find her.” Amanda put out her hand.
Helena lurched away from Amanda’s touch. The car veered dangerously. “Don’t touch me.”
“Maybe you need someone to touch you.”
“I said don’t touch me!”
Through the torrent, sudden lights, a vehicle appeared to be heading directly toward them. Helena twisted the steering wheel away from the glare. The tires skidded on the wet pavement. She threw the wheel back the other way. The car righted itself but not before swerving across the highway into the oncoming lane.
For a moment the motor seemed very loud.
“I insist on driving.” Amanda moved as if to undo her seat belt to shift places.
“Stay where you are.”
“Why are you mad at me?”
I’m not mad at you, Helena wanted to say. Instead, she pressed her lips together in an ugly stubborn line.
“Why won’t you let yourself feel my love?” Amanda pleaded.
“I said, don’t touch me. How many times do I have to say that?”
“Watch out! You’re going to drive us both into the chuck.”
“Keep your hands to yourself then.”
“Can’t you recognize when someone loves you? Sometimes I feel like giving up on you.” Amanda’s voice finally broke. It threatened tears.
Helena became incensed. “How can you say that? Do you know what you’re saying? That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Watch your driving! Helena! Please! What are you doing? Oh my God!”
“Christ!”
An impact like a giant cosmic fist hit them before the car somersaulted over the cement barrier and nose-dived into the ocean. Helena felt that she was caught in a projectile. Then she was plunged into icy water. She was immersed in icy water. The water was all around her, outside of her and inside of her, inside her nose, her lungs. The frigid water was filling her lungs. Her limbs were paralyzed; her lungs were paralyzed. She couldn’t breathe. She was breathing water.
Amanda! Amanda! She didn’t know whether it was her last word or her last thought. Where is Amanda?
2. A Prairie City
“DARLING.”
“Here’s to us.”
“To us.”
“What a wonderful idea to spend the evening at home alone.”
“We’re so lucky to have each other.”
“So many people have no one.”
“Some are alone even when they’re with someone.”
“Yes, we are lucky.”
George Martin set his wine glass down on a low marble-topped coffee table and stood up. He stepped lightly in his black leather slippers to the fireplace where, with a faultlessly clean right hand, he picked up a heavy iron poker. On the third finger of his left hand, braced on his bent knee, was a wide gold band. He leaned forward to flip a smoldering log, sticking his rear end out rather comically. So thought his wife, who was watching him with loving eyes from the brocaded couch opposite.
Esther Martin was a plump, still-pretty, young middle-aged woman. Her brown eyes were still lively and her brown hair, untreated and as yet showing no sign of grey, was in large curls. She wore a floor-length at-home gown of rich blue velveteen and blue slippers embroidered with pink roses. Her fingernails were professionally squared and finished with peach polish. The hand that held aloft a wine glass displayed a set of rings, matched engagement and wedding, with fairly large diamonds. When she gestured with her hands, as she habitually did, they flashed and sparkled with reflected light.
While “Spring” of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons filled the room with bird sounds and cheer, a sudden rattle of glass came from the tall windows that flanked the fireplace.
“Listen to that wind.” Esther’s voice, along with the rest of her, had retained a girlish quality.
George went to the window and pushed aside the sheer curtain hanging between heavy side drapes. “Can’t see a thing,” he reported. He turned and crossed the Axminster rug, picked up his glass, and sat back down beside his wife.
They were drinking champagne. The occasion was the completion of the first chapter, a long one, of George’s book on extinct species.
“The radio said twelve centimetres of snow and wind chill to minus thirty.” Even when discussing the weather George spoke in low mellifluous tones.
“Good grief! For this time of year,” exclaimed Esther.
“I don’t know when we’ve had such a November. Storms are creating havoc across the country.”
“I hope Delores is all right.” Esther’s voice took on a shade of anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” George soothed. “We’d hear if she wasn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right. She would phone.”
“If there’s anything higher education has taught our daughter it’s how to use the long-distance telephone system.”
“Now, dear, you wouldn’t want it any other way. You like to hear from your little chick just as much as I do. What if she was one of those kids who never phone home?”
“Of course you’re right. It’s just that every time she phones it costs a helluva lot more than the long distance fee.”
“Toronto is an expensive place to live. We knew that when she went there. You wanted her to have the best program.”
George took a rather large sip of his champagne. “The six o’clock news showed snow in Vancouver. I wonder how Helena’s managing.”
“She may be missing it entirely. She’s gone over to the Island.”
“Really! She never goes to the Island. It makes her ill.”
“She decided to try and face it. We spoke on the phone last Sunday. She sounded optimistic about the venture. It’s only for a few days during reading week.”
“What are those dear sisters of yours up to? Painting the town red?”
“They may be bailing water. Apparently, they’re having a lot of rain out there. I hope things are going all right. Amanda was so looking forward to Helena’s visit. She thinks Helena is mad at her.”
“Did you explain?”
“It’s not easy to explain.”
“I suppose not, but likely Amanda would understand. She understands everything.”
“It’s not so much understanding as unawareness. She simply doesn’t know what she does that so provokes Helena.”
“I think she knows, but wonders why.”
“Possibly. But I can’t say to her, ‘the way you live makes your sister physically ill.’ Perhaps I’m a coward, but how can I say that? Her feelings would be terribly hurt.”
“They’re hurt anyway.”
“I reminded Amanda how Helena always acts distant when she’s preoccupied and how she’s always been strong-headed in her pursuit of goals.”
“Still, Helena could manage to get over to the Island more often.”
“Helena simply cannot stand muddle.”
George reached for the bottle of champagne on the table and poured them each another glass, one of which he graciously passed to his spouse, which his spouse graciously accepted with a smile.
“Especially emotional muddle,” Esther continued. “That’s why she went to the Coast. To get away from Ben. She always did need a quiet place where she could think, even in her teens. She chose to finish her high school at a convent.”
“Maybe she wanted to get away from sex. My parents
sent my sisters to convents to avoid that confusion. If ever there was a synonym for human muddle it’s sex. I’ve never understood why. Other species are able to manage it quite well.”
“If so, she certainly reversed her attitude in university. She encouraged hordes of hopeful young men.”
“All gonad driven.”
“Spoken like a biologist. Don’t you believe in romance?”
“The one she chose was intellectually driven.”
Although Esther noticed her husband’s skilful avoidance of her question, she decided not to pursue the subject in case it spoiled their perfect evening. “Yes, I do believe she fell in love with Ben’s brain.”
“The intellect can exert sexual power. Speaking of Ben, I saw him the other day.”
“Our Benjamin? And you didn’t tell me!”
“I suppose I didn’t give it much thought. Anyway, he’s hardly our Ben any more, if he ever was. Ben was always pretty much his Ben.
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s still ours. After all, he and Helena are still married. Did you actually speak to him?”
“Only for a moment, we were both rushing off to classes.”
“How is he doing?”
“Better, I think. They’ve given him one course.”
“Now if he’ll behave himself.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“He’s so principled. I don’t know why he has to be that way. It puts people off.”
“It’s all right to be principled as long as you don’t throw it in people’s faces.”
“I suppose he was wearing that old coat and jeans out at the knees. And that hair and beard that make him look like Jesus.”
“He looked quite presentable, actually clean shaven and generally tidy.”
“You’re not going to tell me he’s cut his hair!”
“Nothing so drastic as that. But he did have it gathered back. He was wearing a respectable looking parka, and I believe his jeans were clean and in one piece. I didn’t look too closely. But he still has that hollow look around his eyes.”
“Remember how I used to go over to his place after Helena left and try to clean it and him up, and met with total rejection.” Esther’s expression clouded for a moment, then, with an enthusiastic return to the present, “But, what did you find out? Is he seeing anyone?”