by Cecelia Frey
“The semester will soon be over,” he said. “Then I’ll have time to think straight.”
“You go back to your nice house and your position and I’m stuck in this crummy room. I don’t even have friends any more. To have friends you have to be involved in similar interests. My pastime is screwing a married man.”
“Shhh. You have your studies.” George moved back to the bed with the box of cookies in hand. He swung his feet up, cushioned a pillow behind his head, and started working his way through the package. Veronica lay beside him, stretched full length on top of the covers. She was almost as long as the bed. When standing, she was nearly as tall as he. He liked that about her. He thought that they made a nice-looking couple. The few times they had appeared in restaurants or other public places he had noted that they looked well together, a stunning contrast. She was so blonde, he so dark, she so willowy, he solid as an oak. But their strides fit, their styles coincided. She had style, in spite of growing up in an atmosphere of ignorance, subsidized housing, alcoholic parents. How that had happened, he did not know. Education must be a factor, but determination must have also played a part.
“I haven’t done anything on my thesis for a month,” she said. “I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is you.”
“You must get back to it. Put thoughts of me aside. You want to be finished this spring.” The crunch of the cookies between his teeth sounded loud in the quiet room.
“How can I concentrate on anything, let alone nurture deprivation of rats when you have me in a constant state of turmoil.”
“You have yourself in a constant state of turmoil.”
“I wouldn’t be like this if you’d do something.”
“What, exactly, do you want me to do?”
“I want you to jog along home and tell wifey all about me and how you’re going to leave her and live with me.”
“Don’t be ludicrous.”
“What’s ludicrous about that?”
“Shhh. Don’t shriek. It’s simply not thinkable.”
“I don’t have any trouble thinking about it. Can’t you see things from my point of view for once? You said your marriage was over. That you don’t have sex with your wife any more. Which, by the way, I’m sure is also a lie. Your one child is grown up and on her own. You said all that and I believed you and I fell in love with you. Now I want you to live with me. Why is that unreasonable?”
“You’re like an angry resentful child. You want to smash something. You want to smash my marriage, my life.”
“Why shouldn’t I want to smash your life when you compare it to what I have?”
George looked around the shabby mean room, bleak in the grey light of late winter. “This is the life you made for yourself before I met you,” he said. “Your life isn’t my fault. I didn’t seduce you any more than you seduced me.”
“Oh Georgie, you’re pitiful. Grow up. Things happen. You take the next logical step. That’s all. Besides, I’m doing you a favour. Your marriage was dead on the rocks. You were like a fish thrown up onto the beach and dehydrating in the sun. Well, I’ve come along to flip you back into the sea. You should be grateful to me, instead of treating me like dirt. You should be grateful that I’m giving you a way out of your boring conventional set-up.”
“Has it been that bad, knowing me?” He put aside the empty cookie package and reached over to curl a strand of her hair around his thick finger. Just touching her hair caused the fire to start. He would never, could never, get enough of her. That was the plain simple truth of his life. She was the plain simple truth of his life. Esther was the complication. Esther involved property, community standing, family loyalties, professional status. It was as though he and Esther were a corporation. But he could not toss out a whole way of life. He could not toss out Esther. The two women were entirely different, entirely separate. They existed in two distinct compartments of his brain and these two parts could not be brought together. There was no solution. He was caught in a problem without a solution.
“Don’t start that.” George realized that his fingers had travelled from her hair down to her breast, her nipple. “You’re just trying to soften me up. I know your tricks.” But her voice had altered. “Don’t you see why I’m fighting like I am? I fight for what I want. I want you and I’ll fight to get you.”
“You have me.”
“I want us to live together, like a real couple, to have a home, friends over, rent videos and make popcorn, like other married couples.”
“I never said we could live like that together. I never said I’d leave Esther. I made no promises.”
“Oh no, you’ve been very careful. Always the careful one. You told me you don’t love her any more. Was that a lie too?”
“I don’t love her the way I love you, but Esther and I are … friends.”
“Then, she should want you to be happy.”
“It’s not as easy as that.” George’s voice was thoughtful. “She may love me.”
“So what else is new? Half the population is suffering from unrequited love.”
“But Esther’s love is pretty overwhelming.”
“So is mine. I’ll match her in battle any day.”
“Do we have to speak of battles? We’re supposed to be speaking of love.”
“I’m tired of seeing you in the morning. I’m not a morning person. I want to see you in the evening.”
“I do the best I can. Sometimes I come in the evening. We went to that conference at Jasper.”
“I want us to go to the fucking opera. I want us to have season’s tickets to the theatre.”
“You know that’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Everyone we know goes to the opera. I’m a married man.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake, get unmarried. Everybody else does. Don’t you see? It’s not impossible. Anything’s possible.”
George swung himself off the bed and picked up his clothes.
Her voice followed him. “You told me you loved me. Or do you deny that, too.”
“I do love you.”
“I know. It’s all sex with you.”
“Sex is extremely important.”
“Fucking animal.”
“And why not. Should we be different than other animals? The instinct to mate is the strongest instinct in the animal world. Why should I be different?”
“God bless you. Yes. Well, off you go, jog back to wifey. Tell her a pack of lies, just like you tell me.”
George bent and kissed Veronica full on the lips. He would not let her mouth go until he got the response he desired, until she clung to him with arms lifted around his neck and shoulders, until she lifted her body up to his, pressed herself up towards him. It took all his willpower but he loosened her arms and straightened. He went to the door and turned. She was lying on her side, elbow braced on the pillow, head resting on her hand, legs crooked slightly at the knee. Her hair cascaded down around her shoulder, across one breast. Half hidden by her hair, her sharp shrewd eyes were ready to attack or retreat, whichever would best help her get her own way. George let himself gaze a moment at that body, pale and mysterious. Even at rest it contained an energy ready to spring into action. He may be despicable, he may be condemned for it, but he would come again. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he said.
“Well it’s sure as hell easier for you than it is me.”
“You’re not betraying anyone. You don’t have to tell lies. I’m the one who has taken the responsibility of telling lies. For you. I’ve done these things for you.” He opened the door.
“For yourself more likely. For a good lay.” She swung herself up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “Shut the door a moment.” She leaned forward, hands on the edge of the mattress, hair falling forward on her shoulders. She was looking at him in her singular direct
yet slanted manner. “I have something to tell you.”
There was a long silence. George could almost hear the shifts of her brain. Across the space he could sense her cunning thoughts. Something in her voice, a careful tone, sent a thrill of fear along his spine.
III. ESTHER
ABOUT THE TIME THAT George was saying goodbye to Veronica, on the other side of the campus Esther was entering her kitchen in a neighbourhood of well-kept middle-class homes inhabited by professors, doctors, accountants, and moderately successful lawyers. She padded into the room like a tabby roused from sleep declining to accept a world that would impose its reality into her drowsy comfort. She was wearing a pink velour robe over a frilly nightgown. Her face, swollen from sleep, had a red curving line where her skin had been crunched against her pillow.
“Dear,” she said and hugged Helena’s shoulders.
Helena was still sitting at the kitchen table. Beside her on the table was a cup of cold coffee, a full ashtray, and a scattered newspaper. She shrugged herself out from under Esther’s soft pink fuzziness by standing and taking her cup to the microwave.
Esther followed, giving her a hug around the waist and taking up her limp left hand. The timer beeped.
With the excuse of reaching into the microwave for her cup, Helena pulled her hand away. She managed to extricate herself from Esther’s embrace and took her coffee to the table. Again, Esther followed, trailing a cloud of scent that Helena found suffocating. When Helena was seated, she bent and gave her another hug around the shoulders. She kissed the top of Helena’s head.
“How are you this morning dear?” Esther’s voice was slow, tentative, her morning voice. “Did you have a good night? How did you sleep?”
“Good. Did you want coffee? I’m afraid I took the last of what George made.” As Helena spoke she shrugged Esther’s hands off her shoulders and shifted perceptibly away.
Esther straightened and stood before Helena like a rebuked child. Her hands, folded in front of her, seemed lost if they could not be putting themselves on someone. Helena, seeing those hands against the pink fabric, noticed how they were no longer young hands. A sudden flood of feeling for her sister washed through her. For God’s sake, she told herself. After what happened with Amanda, how can you dare be so snippy to Esther? Besides, you’re the one who made the call. You’re the one who reached out your hand and picked up the phone. You dialled the number. Esther didn’t ask for a derelict on her doorstep. The least you can do is be civil. “I always sleep well in that bed,” she smiled up at her sister. “It was wonderful to wake up and find myself in your house.”
Tears flooded into Esther’s eyes, giving them the appearance of glossy mahogany. She stepped close to Helena and took her head in her arms. She pressed Helena’s face against her warm pink bosom. “That’s right dear. You’re home. You should have come here ages ago. You must stay as long as you like. Until you feel better.”
Esther’s body felt like a soft cushion. It was comfortable. It was reassuring. But Helena had set herself against comfort and reassurance. “I won’t stay long. I just seem to be in the most awful confusion. I can’t seem to get my head turned around.”
“No wonder. What you’ve been through.” Esther squeezed Helena’s shoulders, kneaded her shoulder blades through the light cotton of her nightgown. “You’re so thin, dear. Are you eating?”
“Oh yes. I don’t seem to have much interest in food, that’s all.”
“We must try and put a little meat on those bones. Your hair is so short.” Esther ran her fingers through Helena’s hair, pushing up the bristly hairs on the back of her neck. “You used to have such lovely long hair.”
“I can’t be bothered with hair. Or makeup. It all seems so superficial.”
“I almost missed you at the airport last night. I scarcely recognized my own sister.”
“I know. I look so haggard.”
Esther stepped back and sat down in one of the other wooden chairs. “You do look a little tired, dear.”
She hasn’t changed her hairstyle since we were teens, thought Helena. And that myopic squint because she refuses to wear her glasses has become permanent. “You look great,” she said. “The cat who licked up the cream. You have scarcely a line or a wrinkle.”
“That’s because I’ve gotten so plump.”
“It suits you. George, too. He’s put on a bit of weight, still he looks good. You’ve gotten to be a comfortable middle-aged couple.”
“Don’t sound so disapproving.”
“I don’t mean to. I might have at one time. Now I think it’s wonderful. I wish I could find such peace of mind.”
“Maybe you will, here. You must stay until you get yourself sorted out. That seems only sensible. But you didn’t mention in your call anything about your plans.”
“I have none. I have no direction. I seem to be turning in blind circles. I don’t even have coherent thoughts. And at the moment I have a headache.”
“Oh I’m not thinking. Do you want breakfast?”
“No, no. Coffee is all I ever have.”
“Do you want something for the headache? We must have something around here. George must have something. Esther was looking around at the cupboards in a bewildered manner.
“It’s much better than it was. I found something in the bathroom. But, would you mind if I lay down?”
“Of course not. You must rest. That’s what you need. Lots of rest. I’m so glad you’ve come home. It wasn’t good for you to stay away so long. Here, do you want your coffee with you?”
“No. I’ve been drinking coffee for the last two hours.” Helena stood up.
“Oh, I should have gotten up earlier.”
“No, no. I didn’t mean to imply that. Believe me, I’m quite used to early mornings with pots of coffee. Sometimes I wake up at three or four and can’t get back to sleep. I have to fill the hours with something. Smokes and coffee.” She decided not to mention whiskey.
“Come and lie down.” Esther directed her into the hallway leading from kitchen to bedroom. “Here, I’ll help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Again, Helena was aware of the brusqueness in her voice. And Esther’s eyes were starting to look weepy again. “Do you want to come with me?” she relented.
Helena moved slowly down the hall, holding herself carefully, Esther anxious at her elbow. When they arrived at the guest room, Helena lowered herself to the crumpled bedding, slowly and stiffly, as though her body were covered with bruises. She lay on her back and stared straight up at the white ceiling.
Esther busied herself with opening drapes and straightening bedclothes before sitting herself down on the edge of the bed. She put her hand on Helena’s shoulder.
“Don’t touch me.” Helena’s voice was flat and harsh.
Esther retracted her hand.
Damn, thought Helena. “Sorry,” she said. “But I can’t stand being touched right now.”
“Sorry dear. Maybe I should go away and let you sleep.”
“No. Don’t leave me alone. I don’t like being alone.” She thought of the procession of men she’d hooked up with. Even they were better than being alone.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just sit there.” Helena recalled the words of the song on the radio. “Stay close. I need to know you’re there.”
“Can I get you anything? A sedative? Oh no, you said you had taken something. Water? A blanket?”
“Stop fussing Esther!”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry, I can’t think straight when you fuss.” Helena lay very still, her hands crossed, as though she were already in her coffin. Only her mouth, a pale thin line, moved. “Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.”
“Things take time. That … experience … must have been so hard on you physically, if nothing else. You were in the hospital for n
early a month.”
“The hospital was easy. The hard part was going home.”
“I should have stayed with you longer.”
“I would have only dragged you down with me. There was no sense in us both going under.”
“I thought you were going to be all right. But now I wonder if I was being selfish in wanting to get back to George.”
“No, you did the right thing. Can you imagine the two of us moping around that small apartment? Feeding each other’s misery?”
“Did you ever attend a meeting of that bereavement group?”
“I didn’t go. I convinced myself that it would be a waste of time. And my time was so precious. I was so busy thinking about my agony, I had no time for anything else. I realize now that I didn’t want to share my grief. Sharing it might have thinned it, even trivialized it. No, I wanted to hold it close and vivid forever. If I lost my pain, I would truly have lost Amanda.”
“You need the right person to share grief with. I was so lucky to have George.”
“Yes, George has turned out to be a satisfactory Prince Charming.”
“But what did you do then? After I left.”
She had sat in a room and stared into space. She had slept. She would sink into sleep the way a person sinks into a coma. And still she was tired all the time. When she couldn’t sleep, she would become panicky. And yet she couldn’t take drugs. She was afraid of having an anonymous overwhelming darkness take hold of her. Her mind was a dark space. When she could not blot out her mind with sleep, she filled it with sickening nightmarish stuff she found in books. One book was about a serial killer who cut off people’s eyelids while they were still alive. It was unqualifiedly horrible and it suited her mood at the time. She read dozens of books in the same vein. She would finish one and immediately pick up another. She would trek to the local library and bring home yet another pile of them. The gruesome violent world they conveyed became her reality. She could relate to it. She felt at home there, enclosed in a space of horror that corresponded to the horror inside herself. She thought she would go mad in that space but she didn’t want to get out of it. She had panic attacks, she couldn’t breathe. She would run out of her room to a Shopper’s Drug Mart or a Dominion, both within a few blocks of her apartment. She would take a bus and wander around shopping malls, endlessly, aimlessly. Sometimes, she would come out of a trance and wonder which mall she was in and how she had gotten there. The faces of strangers calmed her somewhat. To know that there were ordinary people in the world, to know that there was a more or less normal world allowed her to get through another day.