by Cecelia Frey
“What are you going to do?” He was amazed that his voice was calm and in a low register.
“Help him, of course,” she said. “He’s got himself into trouble. If it were business or work trouble I’d stand by his side. We’ve been together so long. We’re responsible for each other.”
“Forgive and forget, then.”
“I don’t know if a person can will themselves to forget. As for forgive, well, it’s not up to me to forgive him, is it? I mean, it’s not my job. I don’t have that authority. He’s done a terrible thing against himself. He has suffered a personal disaster. I must help him forgive himself. It is terrible. It does hurt. I wish he hadn’t deceived me. It’s the deceit that tears at me. The exclusion from his life, the fact that he didn’t share, that’s what hurts. The invisibility.” She started to weep again, this time softly into a tissue that she pulled from her pocket.
“How about … the young lady? What does George propose to do about her?”
Esther wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “He can’t abandon her. In her circumstances. Even though he doesn’t love her. She helped him through a bad time. Amanda’s death was harder on him than I knew. It started him thinking about his own death and that he hadn’t lived up to his own expectations, that he hadn’t accomplished anything important in his work. You see the fault is mine as much as his. He should have talked to me about Amanda and how he felt about his life. I should have left the way open for him to talk to me. But it’s over between them, that part, anyway. Still, he must continue to take care of her. And then when the child comes, well, he must take responsibility for that. Don’t you think?”
“But …are you sure you won’t mind?”
“Lots of women have to deal with ex-wives. Or maybe a better way of putting it, she’ll be like one of his students. He’ll be kind to her, but as far as the other is concerned.…”
So George was to keep living his double life and with Esther’s blessing! How in hell had he managed that?
“I’m sure we can all live happily together,” said Esther. “There’s no reason why we can’t. We’re all mature, intelligent, educated people. We can make it work. As long as we’re not small-minded, as long as we don’t lower ourselves to indulging in petty emotions.”
He didn’t manage it, thought Benjamin. Esther did. “Are you sure you won’t start resenting Veronica?” he asked. “After a while? Perhaps even just the time that George will spend with her?”
“I never resented the time he spent with Delores. Why should I resent this young woman? Veronica.” He could feel her beside him, stiffening, bracing herself to say the name, as if she were about to take a blow.
“On a practical level, won’t it be expensive to keep two households going?”
“Yes, we’ll have to work out the practicalities. But …Veronica… I must start thinking of her as being a real person with a name, does have a career in mind.”
I suppose Esther will end up babysitting, thought Benjamin.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“About what?” he evaded.
“About it all. I need an outside opinion. You see, I’m in such a state of emotional turmoil, I don’t know if I’m thinking straight. I trust your ability to think straight, to tell me truthfully what you think.”
“I think…” What do I think? Benjamin asked himself. I think that I want to say some easy words and get out of this quickly and cleanly, he answered himself.
He might slide out from under taking a stance. In fact, did he have the right to take a stance? Would not a stance influence Esther’s decision? Did he have the right to influence her decision? But he had the uncomfortable feeling that he did have a responsibility here. No matter how he would rationalize it in the future, and he knew that he would, the fact was that if he had acted differently with Veronica this woman would not now be sitting here beside him weeping. Could I help it if I didn’t love Veronica? he tried to excuse himself. No, but you could have handled it better, he told himself. At the very least, he could have listened to her, shown her some understanding. He hadn’t wanted her hanging onto him so he had got rid of her the way you get rid of a pest. He had been so busy with self-indulgent wallowing in guilt and misery, he hadn’t had time for her. If he had so much as discussed her feelings with her, perhaps he could have helped her through a tough patch, helped her to feel better about things, so that she did not feel unloved, abandoned, and thus ricochet off him and into George’s life. Now he owed this woman an intelligent ear, a serious endeavour to find a solution to her problem. But how to do this? It sounded like she had made a decision. Even though he could not endorse her decision, should he support her in it? Should he tell her not to be hasty, to give herself some time to think this through. Was this a time for truth? Did he owe her the truth? What are the rules here? Is there a time for truth and a time for lies? He was caught in lies already. Would another matter? Would a lie be more helpful in this situation? But if Esther considered his opinion, or worse, if she based her decision on what he was about to say, and if he were to lie, her future would be influenced by, if not founded on, lies.
“I think that you all will constantly be living with lies,” he said. “You might start out with good intentions, you all might, but the situation is one which will demand lies. You will be putting George, and Veronica too, in a position where they can’t help but lie. You will suspect that George is lying and you’ll start to despise him. You may continue to love him but you will not respect him. You won’t trust him. Even when he isn’t lying, you’ll wonder if he is. Your love will become a despairing thing. Instead of saving George you’ll destroy him and you’ll destroy yourself because you’ll be dragged down into the lies and ultimately into some sort of evil that will come out of telling lies.”
“Evil? Isn’t that a bit strong?”
“Evil happens when people’s minds get twisted, and that comes about through telling lies.”
“You don’t have faith in the human ability to be truthful, honourable? To try?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. But the first step here, in being truthful and honourable is for George to feel that he has had a personal disaster, that his integrity has been shattered. You feel this, but does George feel it?”
Esther did not speak for a long time. Benjamin was tempted to say words to sway her. He might say, “George always had trouble thinking that he might be wrong.” But he sat silent.
“Maybe you’re right,” Esther finally said. “One thing that does bother me … he hasn’t apologized. Oh not that I want him to flog himself or grovel, but I would feel better about things if he had said a simple, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting people. If he admitted his wrong. To be honest, I have to say it has crossed my mind that he doesn’t consider that he’s done anything wrong. He has not told lies because anything that isn’t a blatant lie isn’t a lie. Betrayal and deceit don’t count.”
“So he will continue in his lies and you will be encouraging him to do so.”
“So he must give up that y… Veronica.”
“As long as there are two women the lies will continue.”
“You’re saying.” Esther paused. “George must choose.”
Benjamin was silent.
But Esther would hold her belief a moment longer. “Do you really think that’s necessary? I don’t ask him to choose between me and Delores.”
“Esther. You see how already you’re being pulled down into the lies? You don’t really believe that George’s relationship with …Veronica is the same as his relationship with Delores.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. Oh, it wasn’t. But now it is. Maybe he did love her, or at least thought he did, but he doesn’t any more.”
“Has he actually said that?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. Yes, most certainly he did, last evening, I can’t remember exactly.…”
“All ri
ght. This can be easily solved. Ask George. In a straight manner. And demand an unqualified response.”
“He’d be angry. He’d think I didn’t believe him, didn’t trust him.”
“He has been lying to you for more than two years. Why should you believe him? Why should you trust him? Why should he suddenly become truthful?”
“I believe him.” Esther’s voice was emphatic, even stubborn.
“You see what you’re doing to George? By believing his lies, his possible lies, you’re encouraging him to tell more. You’re indulging him.”
“Perhaps I have spoiled him. But why can’t we spoil people a little. People need a little spoiling in this world.”
“Not when it allows them to be self-indulgent. Not when it doesn’t demand of them to live up to what is best in them. Not when it doesn’t demand their truth.” Benjamin took a deep breath for what he had to say next. “Maybe you’re trying to spare yourself.”
A long silence followed. During it, Benjamin thought, I’m going to find out what she’s really made of. Is she the complacent, self-deluding person I’ve always thought of her as being or is she more than that.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, finally. “Perhaps I don’t want to know the truth.” Again, she was silent. She appeared to be thinking. “I can see the complications,” she eventually said. “By not facing the truth, a person can stand between another person and his truth. And a person’s motives might be good. You want to be kind, you want to protect the other person. Still, it isn’t always easy to know what the truth is.”
“The truth is difficult.”
“What if I insist that the truth is that George is still in love with that young woman when he isn’t? Isn’t that just as bad as thinking he’s not when he is?”
“But it’s not up to you, whether he is or isn’t. What’s up to you, what you can control, is your choice of whether or not to cut George free to make his own decision.”
When Esther spoke after another long silence, her voice had a new, serious, introspective tone that Benjamin had not heard in it before. “You may be right,” she said. “Perhaps I have barged ahead with my own plan. Perhaps I haven’t asked George what he wants.”
Exhausted, they sat together on the park bench for some time lost in their own thoughts, contemplating all that had been said. Benjamin did not think that Esther would make up her mind today. She would need time for further consideration. She would vacillate back and forth maybe many times before making a final decision, and maybe she never would. People did that, went on for years in inconclusive situations, unable to take the action that would change their lives, even if it was for the better, clutching the known rather than face the unknown.
The city crew gathered up their machines and their tools into the back of a large truck, climbed into the cab and slowly drove away. The park was empty and silent. The squawk of a magpie slashed a jagged discordant streak across the grey afternoon.
4. Two Years Later
XII: GEORGE
“CONGRATULATIONS!”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“That fellow in California who threw you a curve. What happened to him?”
“His research went off in another direction.”
“Good luck that.”
“Every time you roll the dice you have a fifty-fifty chance.”
“Right place at the right time.”
“Being prepared when you get the chance.”
“Main thing, you got the damn thing published. As one academic to another, I know what a relief that is.”
George watched Henry’s mouth and wrinkles. Since the faces of the two men were inches apart, he was able to see the enlarged pores in the other man’s collapsing skin, the cheeks and jowls that were starting to sag. Through the thinning hair, patches of scalp were visible. It seemed ludicrous that Henry had had an affair, that a woman had been attracted to him. Then George reminded himself that Henry was only a few years older than he was.
He became aware of a silence and Henry regarding him expectantly. He moved his head in such a way it could be construed as either affirmative or negative.
“I hope they take it. Science is a prestigious publication. It would be good for the department.”
George nodded again, a definite affirmative. Henry must be talking about his team’s submission. “They’ll take it,” he encouraged. “It’s a fine piece of work.”
“You know the science journals. Editors a bunch of supercilious assholes.”
Henry moved off. I still have all my hair, thought George, watching his colleague advance toward the food. Maybe a little greyer every year but still there. And I’m in pretty good shape even if I have given up jogging.
George took a moment to view his associates milling around the hors d’oeuvre table, holding aloft goblets of champagne, creating a great hum of voices, eruptions of laughter. He wondered if they still gossiped about his affair with Veronica. Probably not. Yesterday’s news. Other choice departmental tidbits had surfaced since then. Scandals were numerous and quickly forgotten.
Others moved in. “Congratulations. Congrats. Well done. Way to go. Nice work.”
“Thank you. Thanks. Thank you very much.”
George still liked these men and women, some of whom he had known and worked with for twenty years. He still liked this room. He still liked the privilege of membership in such a room. The champagne and hors d’oeuvre in the Faculty Club were first rate. He looked through the tall windows near to where he was standing, looked out, way out over the river valley, the wide sluggish North Saskatchewan, the north embankment, the buildings that were part of the downtown core. If he looked sharply down he could see the sidewalk below where he used to jog on his visits to and from Veronica in what seemed another life.
It was another life, thought George. Sometimes he had trouble remembering that life.
He lifted another glass of champagne from the server’s passing tray.
Why shouldn’t he drink champagne? Why shouldn’t he celebrate? If we’re the privileged class we may as well act the part. Had he really said that in that other life? Had it been he, George Martin, who had said those words? Esther should be here. The thought was out before he could stop it. Quickly, he reined it back in. He would not think about Esther. Today was his day. If Esther was here, she would be swanning around the room taking credit for her George, her book, her triumph. In her warm, effusive, motherly, hovering way she would appropriate his occasion.
“George, good work.” It was Cindy MacGregor a young professor in his department. He liked her; she made him think of Delores. The young women of today, he marvelled, the way they juggled careers, babies, households. They were a force of nature. “And besides getting the book off you’ve been busy in other ways. I’ve been hearing good things about what your lab is doing. You have some promising graduate students.”
“The sabbatical helped.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to mine next year. But no shop talk today. How’s the little one? A new father at your age, that can’t be easy.”
George had hoped his domestic life would not become a subject of conversation today, but Cindy with two young children was very much interested in the topic and coping with same.
“Sleep deprivation has taken on new meaning. But you know about that.”
“Two of you under the same roof going through the pains of creativity in more ways than one. How did you manage it?”
“It had its moments. Still does. But she defends in the fall. Things should be more relaxed after that.”
“Thank god my husband isn’t an academic. Two in the same family must be quite the circus at times.”
Circus? Perhaps that did describe his life. The roller coaster rather than the merry-go-round.
Cindy moved off and another attractive young woman took her place.
This one had lovely long blonde hair swinging freely and was tall and slim, although at present she had a slightly rounded abdomen under the straight cut of her black sheath. “Well, Georgie, you’ve pulled it off.” There was something irreverent in her voice, something that was, at the same time, mocking and affectionate.
“We’ve pulled it off.” He could be generous where he did not feel defensive. Veronica did not want his life. She had her own. And there was truth in his statement. In living with Veronica, he had discovered many things about her that he would not have guessed. One was her strict regime fuelled by a profound work ethic. When Polly was born, she became obsessive about her schedule. Otherwise, she said, she wouldn’t get anything accomplished in this life. As it happened, her obsession kept him on track, her schedule kept him on schedule. He spent hours in the lab then further hours at home in his study, working long into the night. He was pleased to learn that he could work again like that, could put in the hours it took to write a book.
In finishing the book he discovered that he had not lost it after all, the ability to focus, to put his thoughts down on the page in a coherent fashion, the ability to think. He had been afraid for a while, afraid of what the two women were doing to his mind. The events of that time had threatened to destroy his intelligence and his confidence. As he thought of it now, it was amazing he had stood up to it as well as he had. His life had been a hopeless mess. But he had cleaned up the mess and put his life back in order.
“My dominatrix, cracking the whip,” he murmured the words for her ears only.
“And don’t you love it.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“You can’t very well leave yet. It’s your party. Stay a while and enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame. I’ll pick up Polly at the daycare.”
“Ta ta then.”
“Goodbye.” She kissed him full on the lips and he felt the old fire. Something to look forward to — the bottle of champagne on ice at home for later in the evening when Polly was safely tucked between the sheets.
He watched her willowy figure thread its way through the crowd toward the door. How complicated his life had been two years ago. How simple the solution had been in the end.