The Beggar's Pawn

by John L'Heureux

  She was making a big batch of scrambled eggs. A plate of bacon was cooked and ready to serve once they all came down for breakfast, and there were hot blueberry muffins and toast and coffee. She was so tired she was ready to lie down on the kitchen floor and the day had not even begun.

  Cloris came down first and offered to help with breakfast but all the work had been done. “You can pour the orange juice,” Maggie said. “You’re such a lovely girl.”

  Claire came into the dining room at just this moment and said, “You are lovely, and so young. Are you and Will planning a family? In addition to his three daughters, I mean. He has three or maybe five.”

  “Claire,” Maggie said. “Please try.”

  “We haven’t gotten that far,” Cloris said. “We aren’t married yet.”

  “Are you Church of England, like Daphne? They made her have all those children.” Before Cloris could answer, Claire went on. “We’re not very strong on religion around here. Father is an atheist, more or less, and Mother was some kind of Christian but gave it up for Father’s godlessness. I’m the holdout. I almost became a nun.”

  Cloris was dazzled into silence by this barrage of information.

  Will arrived, full of energy after his night’s sleep, and gave everyone good-morning kisses. “Has Sedge left?” he asked. “He wasn’t in his room when I came down.” And to Claire he said, “What’s this about becoming a nun?”

  Claire repeated her story about the mother superior and the Little Sisters of the Poor. She had honed it to a fine point by now and it made a nice comic set piece. Will laughed appreciatively.

  “And where is Sedge, did you say?”

  Maggie explained that Sedge had to go back to Los Angeles.

  “What does he do, actually?” Cloris asked.

  “Research.” They all said it together. It was the one thing everybody knew about him.

  “On what?” Cloris asked, but nobody knew, except that whatever it was, it took place in a laboratory and was for the good of mankind.

  It was a lazy breakfast and they sat around afterward drinking coffee.

  “We should go see Father,” Will said finally.

  “Frankly, unless somebody’s dying, hospital visits are a roaring bore.”

  “Claire!” Maggie said, appalled.

  “I’m just saying something we all know. Let’s be frank.”

  They decided to visit David in relays once again so there would always be someone with him.

  Claire said she would go later. She wanted to help her mother clean up after breakfast. Poor Misery. She wasn’t good at handling frankness.

  19.

  Sedge had left for Los Angeles on Tuesday morning, the chaste kiss with Cloris still warm on his lips, and he returned on Friday morning, early, before everyone was up. When Maggie appeared in the kitchen to start preparing breakfast, Sedge was bent studiously over his coffee with Dickens curled up at his feet. He was worried about Dad, he explained, and Maggie said of course and gave him a kiss and wondered what might be the real reason for his return home.

  “How is he doing?” Sedge asked.

  She gave him the brief version. There had been no further strokes and no likelihood of one. The handsome doctor said there was an eighty percent chance David would live out his life in perfect health, or at least stroke-free, which would be welcome news if only David were a statistic and not an individual person. He was in good spirits except when he was surrounded by visitors and he was desperate to come home and enjoy a little privacy.

  “And how are you?” she asked. “And how is the movie star?”

  “She’s not a movie star. She’s in wardrobe. And we broke up.”

  They had broken up when it became clear to Sophia that Sedge was not joking about his marriages being cursed with a two-year limit. Here they were, barely engaged, and already, over this past weekend, she could sense a loss of interest on his part. She feared that two months rather than two years might be the limit. Sedge insisted at first that what she sensed was his worry over his father, but after those first feeble protests, he gave up and said she was right, he was a coldhearted bastard and she should move on to a happier life with someone who wasn’t cursed. He reported all this to Maggie as if she were his new girlfriend instead of his mother.

  “It would have been nice,” he said.

  “For two years at most,” Maggie said, relieved.

  They smiled at each other, devoted mother and wayward son. Sedge helped her prepare the breakfast.

  Claire was the first to appear. She had on a yellow pantsuit, cut low in front and fitted to perfection. Her hair was combed and fluffed into that new becoming halo. She wore light summer makeup. Her transformation was still a source of wonder to Maggie and now to Sedge as well.

  “May I say that I like having a new and very glamorous sister?”

  “You may say it as often as you like.”

  “I’ll say it again. You look terrific, Claire.”

  “You’ve always been my favorite brother.”

  “You look ten years younger.”

  “I feel ten years younger.”

  “Lucky Willow,” he said.

  Maggie could not help herself. “Peace in our time,” she said. “If only David were home to see it.”

  Dickens thumped his tail against the floor. He was in pain early in the morning but he did his best to show enthusiasm when it was required.

  Will came into the kitchen, full of good spirits. “Sedge!” he said. “What a nice surprise!”

  “The Perfect Son,” Sedge said. “And here we all are. The perfect family.”

  Cloris joined them in the kitchen. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Sorry to be the last one down,” she said.

  “You’re not a morning person,” Claire said.

  “I am actually.”

  “She is actually,” Will said.

  “Actually,” Claire said. “Ek-chu-ally.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sedge was annoyed.

  “I’m making fun of Will,” Claire said. “The Perfect Son is turning Brit.”

  “There are worse ways to turn,” Will said.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning lesbian.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Will. She didn’t turn lesbian. She is lesbian. Get used to it.” Sedge felt he had to defend his poor sister, especially now when she was taking such care to be attractive.

  “I’m not merely lesbian, I’m bi. I’m also a mother. Remember Gaius?”

  “Claire has wide interests,” Maggie said. “Claire is not to be categorized.”

  “Now, that’s sheer bitchery,” Claire said.

  “Leave Claire alone,” Sedge said. “You’re always down on her, Mother.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. If you wait a minute, I’ll go kill myself.”

  “Christ!” Claire said. “Why do I bother!”

  There was silence for a while in the wake of the shattered peace.

  Dickens whimpered from beneath the table.

  “I am actually a morning person,” Cloris said, and Sedge gave her a broad smile. She was wearing those great glasses.

  20.

  They agreed once again to visit David in relays while Maggie was left to relax and shop for food and supervise the weekly housecleaner. She deserved a rest. Besides, she was committed to her afternoon visit with little Iris, who seemed to have a daily appointment with Maggie that could not be compromised, she made clear, except perhaps by death. So. They would take turns visiting the old man.

  Claire chose the first shift so she could be free for lunch with Reginald.

  David, captive and resigned, seemed annoyed from the start, and Claire could see it would not be easy to cheer him up. She asked about his book on Gissing but that only see
med to annoy him further. He stared ahead, silent. She talked about Iris and what a remarkable little girl she was and how much she seemed to love Maggie but that, too, was met with silence. Boring. A roaring bore. Desperate, Claire considered telling him about her brisk fling with Reginald but feared he might have another stroke. Luckily they were interrupted by an orderly bearing David’s pills on a little china plate. “Time for your goodies,” he said, “lucky you!” They were grateful for the interruption. “What a lovely little plate,” Claire said. The orderly said, “I always think pills taste better when they’re beautifully served.” David said, in the orderly’s sugary tones, “What a lovely little bunch of pills.” And suddenly, for no reason, the tension dissolved and they felt loving and expansive. They chatted with the orderly like an old friend. Just for delivering pills.

  “I’ve got to leave early, Poop,” Claire said. “Do you mind being alone like this? I could stay a little longer if you wanted.”

  “The quiet is nice,” David said. “And I’ve got a lot to think about.”

  “Love you,” Claire said, and she was out the door.

  * * *

  —

  WILL WAS TO HAVE the second shift but he was not due at the hospital for more than an hour so he used this time for a brotherly talk with Sedge. They took Dickens to the park and sat on a bench while the tired old dog curled up at their feet to wait until they’d had enough exercise.

  “I need advice,” Will said, and then fell silent.

  Sedge dithered for a moment. “If it’s about divorce, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you must be an expert on it.”

  “I am.” Sedge had given the subject a great deal of thought. “This business of moving from woman to woman is a sign that you don’t know yourself. You don’t know who you are and you don’t know what you’re looking for. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you’ve been divorced four times.”

  “Because I don’t know who I am and I don’t know what I want. Well, I do actually. Talk about something else. Tell me about your work on Yeats.”

  “You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to help me. Not by Yeats alone doth man live.”

  “Here’s something. I’ve always wondered why Keats is pronounced ‘Keets’ and Yeats is pronounced ‘Yates.’ Shouldn’t it logically be ‘Keets’ and ‘Yeets’ or ‘Kates’ and ‘Yates’? There must be a reason.”

  “That’s just how it is,” Will said. “What I want to know is when does it end? The guilt and the . . . poor Daphne . . . the guilt.”

  “I’ve never felt any guilt. I just move on. It’s romance. It’s nice.”

  “And I’m not sure about Cloris.”

  “Why? Cloris is terrific. She’s beautiful and smart and . . .”

  “And there’s the problem of money.”

  “There’s always plenty of money. Don’t disturb yourself.”

  “Daphne wants to put me in the poorhouse, what with alimony and the mortgage and monthly support for the girls. Christ, I’ve already spent half the money they sent me to buy a cottage. I felt guilty asking them.”

  “They’ll take it out of your inheritance. They’re good about money.”

  Dickens moaned and shifted from one side to the other.

  Will said, “I don’t know what to do. Give me some advice.”

  “Will. I don’t want to offend you, seeing you’re the perfect son and all, but I wonder if you know what you really want.”

  “I think that I think Cloris is what I really want.”

  “She’s half your age. She’s half my age. And she wears glasses.” He barely paused before adding, “All that aside, I can see why you might want to marry her. I’d marry her myself.”

  “I want a good marriage. Isn’t that what we all want? Really?”

  “What we really want, whether or not we know it, is a marriage like Mom and Dad’s, where love for each other excludes the kids.” Will stared at him, speechless. “Nothing personal. That’s just how they are. But that’s why you and Claire are so fucked up.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’m fucked up, too. The difference is that I know it.”

  Will said, “But they gave us everything when we were kids.”

  “Everything but love. They kept that for themselves. It’s fine. It’s nothing personal, really. Think about it. What they gave us then is what we give them now. A half-assed kind of love.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this. They were the perfect parents.”

  “They’re very good people. Very good.”

  “They loved me. They love my kids.”

  “It’s not about you, Will. They’re just devoted to each other.” Sedge waved his hands and shook his head. “They’re the reason I never had kids.”

  “I thought you liked kids.”

  “Other people’s. I like that Iris kid. And so do they. In fact—and I find this interesting—they love her. In that parental way they never loved us.”

  “Iris?” Will felt stupid. “Iris? Really?”

  “Iris.”

  As if he had been summoned by the mention of Iris, Reginald Parker suddenly approached their bench. “Dickens,” he said, “good old Dickens,” and after he gave Dickens a good scratch behind the ears, he said, “I’m Reg Parker, Iris’s father. And you must be Will and Sedge.”

  “I’m Will, the fucked-up brother, and this is Sedge, the other one.”

  “Well,” Reginald said. “How about that.”

  “Actually,” Sedge said, sounding a lot like Cloris, “actually, we’re about to head for home.”

  They walked home side by side, the perfect son and the other one, while Reginald trailed behind them with downhearted Dickens on his leash.

  * * *

  —

  SINCE CLAIRE HAD MADE her getaway with the Prius, Will and Sedge and Cloris drove to the hospital in David’s ancient Buick. “This thing is great,” Sedge said. “It’s like riding in a time capsule.” The walk had filled him with energy and high spirits and he kept up a lively conversation with Cloris. She listened, fascinated, as he leaned forward from the back seat with his chin set firmly against her headrest. She smelled of lilies and honey, he told her. She was irresistible, he told Will. He loved riding in this old Buick. He loved being with Will and Cloris. He loved going to the hospital to see his father.

  Sedge volunteered to wait in the cafeteria while Will and Cloris had their visit with David. “Oh, God,” Will said, depressed. Then Cloris said it might be a good idea if she waited in the cafeteria, too, with Sedge, so that Will could have private time with his father. “Oh, God,” Will said again. “I can’t bear it.”

  “Be the perfect son,” Sedge said. “Give him a good laugh.”

  “Just be yourself,” Cloris said, “tell him about your new book.”

  Will watched them go and he wondered, not for the first time, if poor abandoned Daphne would take him back.

  David was sitting up in bed with his eyes closed, drowsing. “Father,” Will said, a bit louder than necessary.

  His father, startled and awake, offered Will a big smile. “The Perfect Son,” he said. “All the way from England. With Daphne, right? And the girls?”

  They had been through all this several times. Had he lost it completely?

  Will cleared his throat and said, “With my wife-to-be. Cloris. Cloris will join us later. She’s having coffee with Sedge so we can have private time.”

  “What larks! As Claire would say.”

  “Claire got that from you. Or Mother.”

  “From Dickens, I should think. That’s where it comes from.”

  “Dickens,” Will said.

  “Charles Dickens. Not the dog.”

  “Dickens.”

  Silence. Suddenly everything seemed ho
peless. They were all fucked up . . . Claire with her acting and Sedge with his marriages and Dickens with his larks and Daphne, poor betrayed Daphne, sorrowing in Essex . . . dear God!

  “We should talk about Yeats,” Will said, determined to get through the hour. “I’ve run into some technical problems with the runes.”

  “Runes? In Yeats?”

  “I could use your informed opinion.”

  “I don’t have an opinion on Yeats, informed or otherwise.”

  “Then I guess it’s up to me,” Will said.

  For the next hour he provided his father with a lot of information about traditional Yeats scholarship, about runes, about throwing out the old scientific reading of the texts. It was a truly terrible hour for both of them.

  “So what do you think?” Will asked.

  “I’ve had a stroke,” David said. “My brain can’t take it in.”

  Will fell into a sulk. He was tempted to say what he had been thinking all along. He sneaked a quick look at his watch—where was that fucking Sedge?—and then he said it. “Perhaps if I were Iris you could take it in.” He was glad he had said it even though he was ashamed of himself. “Since she matters so much to you and Mother.”

  David smiled and closed his eyes. All that yammering about Yeats. And Iris? Did he mention Iris? He slept while Will stared at him in despair.

  * * *

  —

  CLORIS AND SEDGE WERE having coffee in the cafeteria. Sedge was talking nonstop to Cloris, who paid no attention to the words he was saying. She was simply enthralled by the performance.

  Sedge had never had to seduce anybody. All his wives and even his incidental affairs had fallen to him without effort on his part. He waved his hands and shook his black curls and they were his. Cloris, long denied any company but that of academics, felt certain she had never been so lavishly entertained. Sedge was an intellectual holiday, ageless, and oddly handsome. He talked nonsense and she couldn’t get enough of it. She was tired of being cautious and she was terrified at the thought of being a faculty spouse and stepmother to three young girls. And so here she was about to seduce Sedge, the family menace with the two-year marriage curse. Happily dizzy, she reached forward and put her hand on his, lightly, barely touching.