Shirley and Haystacks
Steve Schlam
from THE HARVESTING OF HAYSTACKS KANE
Oh, Herschel—I came as soon as I heard…My God—you should have called me at least. It hasn’t been that long. You could have had somebody--
I ran right over. I didn’t even bother to put on makeup and you know I never--
I must look like a wreck.
Anyway, I’m here.
How long has it been anyway?…Almost a year, I think. A year since we--
Well…
Private, I see. Or is it semi? Private is always preferable, of course, but—What’s that behind that curtain, another bed? God that odor is strong, you don’t think they’d—oh God…Really, Herschel, it’s quite a cheerful room…Celery, isn’t it? Very attractive…It could do with some fixing up of course, some pretty curtains perhaps that shade is atrocious but it’s--ugly and it stinks revolting
Herschel, are you all right, you look…
I’ve brought you some Jujyfruits, I know how much you like them…They’re here somewhere in my bag if I can just--find them Shirley don’t touch anything
There. I’ll put them here on the table where you can reach them.
There…
How do you like it by the way?…The bag…I picked it up at Bergdorf’s when I bought the dress. It’s genuine alligator. Look at how it shines…Touch it, Herschel, feel the inside, the label. Here, I’ll--your hand is like ice so limp ugh fishy
Did you? Did you feel?…It’s real silk, Herschel—the label is silk! Sensuous, isn’t it? I love the way it feels.
It’s French, you know. It’s a French make. You know how I feel about that--les choses françaises, as they say. Ha ha ha, they’re the ne plus ultra, n’est-ce pas?
I know, I know…You don’t have to tell me…I really can’t afford it on what I make and the money Maury sends me. But a girl has got to look her best, doesn’t she, and I always had a weakness…What the heck, right? I’m not getting any younger. I can’t get by on my chest alone anymore, can I? Good as it is…
I’m thirty-five, do you know that?…Of course you do…You’re so good with figures, you always remembered.
When you were around…
Well…You look…well, Herschel, you really do. A little…peaked, perhaps, but that’s to be—you always needed color…
Goodness, they’ve really got you strapped in, don’t they? Here—let me fluff up your pillows for you…
There, that’s better…I’ll wipe your forehead…
God, the service in this place…It must be good to have a real woman around for a change…Flesh and blood and not one of those nurses…Isn’t it, Herschel? Isn’t that right? he looks terrible like the wrath of God oh God oh God why did I ever
I’m working now, Herschel. Maury must have told you…For the lawyer who handled— You remember him, don’t you?…I’m in Manhattan, 57th Street. Near all the shops. It’s very convenient. I go out to lunch…
I like it, I guess. It’s all right. it’s a job I wouldn’t have had to if--oh God snot flakes of crud at the corners of his mouth I should wipe it should I I should do I have to?
Berns, Tannen, Gitlow and Wachs, Counsellors-at-Law…It may not sound impressive but it is. Very. They’re very big…I’m in the pool, did I tell you? There are five of us handling eight attorneys…I’m the best, I think, the brightest and the quickest, certainly the most efficient. I can go places there…Dan, he’s the attorney I work for—Dan Berns I think he shortened it—Dan says so all the time. The brightest and the most efficient, he says—and the best dressed too, if I say so myself. You should see the way the others…You’d think women who go to business every day would take pride in their appearance, learn to make the most of what they have to offer. Of course, they’re all married and you know how that--they don’t have to I do do you understand?
He says all that, Dan does. You remember him, don’t you, he’s the one who handled our--
He’s taken quite an interest in me, Dan has. He’s got a thing for me, if you want to know the truth, I know it even if he thinks I don’t. He’s bought me a few things—dinners mainly, a little sixteen-carat bracelet. Nothing ostentatious…I could probably get him to marry me if I wanted to. sure Of course, he’s already married, but what do I--yes yes what do I—But not happily…That’s what he tells me when we--when I
Never mind, okay?
It’s not important.
I don’t think I’m interested. one of us anyway please don’t drool
I went out to Pinelawn last month to my parent’s graves. Myrna’s and your mother’s, too, they’re right nearby…By myself, of course. I’m doing lots of things on my own these days. I enjoy it, Herschel, I really do. I find I’m quite independent by nature lonely I just picked myself up one day and got on the train. What homes along the way—you should see them, Herschel. You have to see it to believe it—everywhere you look they’re building…
You really ought to get out there, Herschel. It’s a crime the way they--oh God oh God what’s the matter with me this isn’t the time look at you look your beard’s all matted they haven’t bothered to clip it clean it wash you I hate it that beard I always have why don’t you shave it oh Herschel Herschel
I’m reading quite a bit. Trying to improve my mind. One has to, I think, don’t you?…I started with the classics first, that…story about the Greek…The Odyssey…He reminds me of you, Herschel. Always searching for something. Never satisfied. And his poor wife alone in her empty house, waiting…God what’s her name something with a P…I’ve been trying to read that other one, too…Ulysses… It’s difficult. Very sexy, though…Mmm, it is. I actually blushed. At my age. Imagine!
His name is Bloom, he’s a Jew. In Dublin. I didn’t know there were any…He reminds me of you, too. Both of them do. I’m going to stick with it. The Times says it’s a contemporary classic and I want to keep up, take some kind of course maybe, I don’t know. I think you owe it to yourself.
You’ve got to do something with your time, don’t you think? Especially when you’re--alone say it
I let men buy me drinks sometimes…Does that shock you, Herschel?…In bars after work. In their apartments. Never in mine. That’s my rule…Brandy mostly. Cognac. Courvoisier. An occasional screwdriver—you’ll pardon my French…I can’t stand the taste. wish I had one right now smooth stinging fire warming my chest my beautiful chest I’m empty I’m tight like an arrow in a bow can you see me can you can you see I’m alive I’ve got needs I can’t seem to nobody wants to sometimes at night it’s it’s it’s it’s
They leer at me, Herschel, stare at my chest. They think they’re going to get me good and drunk so that then they’ll be able to--
Sometimes I let them. Why not? I’m normal, healthy. Why shouldn’t I? It’s only moments, that’s all. Moments for them, moments for me. Golden moments ha ha ha—sound familiar?…Moments are all we have, aren’t they? Isn’t that what you say? Why not make the most of them then?…What are they for anyway? What do they mean?…
They never look at my face. Ever. If I met them on the street they wouldn’t know me from Adam…
I’ll bet you’d like to know all about it, though. Wouldn’t you…? I’ll bet it would give you some kind of pleasure. Satisfaction, revenge—men are like that, aren’t they?…Well, I’m not going to tell you Herschel. I don’t have to anymore. We’re not man and wife. I don’t have to account to you…
I’ll bet you would though. Wouldn’t you…? wouldn’t you say you would I dare you please
I don’t love anybody, do you know that?
Oh…
Forgive me, Herschel, I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just seeing you like this has got me all upset…Look—you see
I’m doing it again…
There…Well…! How are they treating you?…Are you getting enough to eat?…This hospital food—I’ll bet you’re not. How could you be with an appetite like yours?
I knew how to feed you, didn’t I? I should have brought along some of my chicken soup, my stuffed cabbage. I’ll bet you’d like that. Stupid of me, I didn’t think…
That’s what’s so difficult, you know. The thinking all the time. The having to. It’s hard on me, Herschel, a woman alone…I’m not complaining, mind you. I made my bed. But there are things I want that I just can’t seem to--
You need a man...
I want to be somebody, Herschel, do you understand? Somebody. A somebody. What’s wrong with that? With a home of my own. A family. All the good things. With my head held high. Always…I thought you would—I tried to make you into something we could both be proud of…For us, Herschel, for you…But you never seemed to--
That’s why I--
I feel—I don’t know—I feel sometimes like I’m the brightest flower in the entire world only everyone’s suddenly gone blind…I feel—l feel like I could burst into a million unbelievable colors if I could only find a spark, a touch…
I’m talking too much, aren’t I?…I’m always talking it seems to me. It sounds so…hollow. Like a stone rattling around inside a bottle. Like one of those birds, those parakeets…They’re very popular right now, you know. Everybody has one…
I feel so…awkward.
You always loved my chest, didn’t you, Herschel?…Didn’t you? Don’t you? I’ll bet you wouldn’t mind…
But you can’t…Can we…?
Of course not. This is a hospital. God not here it’s what am I
Oh—something happened. Look at that, it’s--Look!…Oh Herschel, do you remember what we—what I used to--
Do you?
Do you remember our honeymoon?…How excited we were…The Rainbow’s End, remember, that shabby little motel that Maury sent us to with the knotty pine contact paper peeling near the baseboards--ugh! Ha ha ha—do you remember, Herschel?…‘Special Rates For Honeymooners’ the sign outside said, paper-thin walls and the couple in the next room trying to set some kind of record, I don’t think they ever left their room…But it had a lovely view of the Falls, didn’t it—Horseshoe Falls on the Canadian side—our lucky horseshoe you called it and you laughed, I laughed with you…You could hear them at night, especially at night, the darkness seamed to magnify everything; hear the roar—God it was powerful, it frightened me terribly, made me feel so small and insignificant and useless, it was so much bigger than anything I’d ever seen before and I knew that there was nothing I could do to affect it—hear the roar and watch the spotlights play over the water, turning everything into a carnival of colors: the Falls, the tourists lined up three-deep along the embankments and promenades craning their necks to get the perfect view, nothing looking like it was supposed to, no, it was much more wonderful, much more, mauve, magenta, lilac, gold—oh, it was something, what a spectacle, what magic, and the bed was warm, so warm and cozy, so the laugh was on that bastard Maury after all…
Saturday morning, remember?…We pulled in late Friday night on the train, the Phoebe Snow, and just fell into bed exhausted, we were too tired even to--
We laughed about it in the morning, remember, we were up very early, still sleepy but unable to sleep, excited, all I wanted was to stay in bed and…but no, you got me up, kissed me, nuzzled, touched me until I…You had to move, you see, you couldn’t sit still, you had to see, see now, so off we went, a stroll along the esplanade that overlooked the Falls…You could see them everywhere you looked—they were everywhere, everything, white water smashing against the smooth grey rocks, nothing else mattered or ever would matter there, in that place, certainly not people, not either of us, and I knew then that there was something about them I didn’t like—no, hated, hated and feared and would never accept, something I was resisting, had to resist…They were too big, I think, that’s what it was, and they just didn’t care, the only thing you could see besides the shlocky little shops and souvenir stands that you absolutely adored, remember, you bought that silly brass horseshoe with Niagara Falls, Nature’s Wonder engraved on it that you insisted on wearing around your neck later on when you started with the stupid wrestling—it must’ve weighed a pound and a half—and you made me take one of those going-over-the-Falls-in-a-barrel pictures at that photographer’s stall, he had stains on his teeth and his breath smelled, remember, squeezing in beside me—he looked so worried—and holding a little American flag and laughing, laughing, your eyes were so bright and I wanted you…And then you took me to a wax museum, Madame Tussaud’s I think. All those…dummies, all that quiet, and so terribly solemn so…serious, like some kind of cemetery in a cave inside the earth, I don’t know what the attraction is, I really don’t, but you wandered around with your mouth hanging open, staring at everything and trying to fill your head full of details about the daredevils, that idiot who rode a bicycle across the Falls on a tightrope and then did it again pushing a wheelbarrow, and that other idiot who got himself killed going over in a contraption he built called ‘The Thing,’ no less—it served him right, the moron, I can’t understand why they do things like that when there’s so much else to…But it meant something to you, your eyes were so wide, you studied it, the mannequin, for a long, long time, and finally you said ‘He really grabbed it, didn’t he?’, I wasn’t sure what you meant, ‘He would’ve made a great wrestler,’ you said and there was an expression on your face, admiration maybe, something religious almost, and you said it so seriously I could have kissed you and I think I did, too, I know I was ready….But no, not yet, it still wasn’t enough—enough is never enough with you, is it, Herschel?—so it was off to lunch at a fancy restaurant with an outdoor terrace, eating fish outside—in April, Herschel—and watching the Falls, everywhere the Falls, the tablecloth kept whipping up and doubling over, the glasses tipped over, dampness and spray, I wasn’t wearing a proper coat so I got soaked to the skin and you—you just laughed, laughing, laughing, I don’t think I ever saw you laugh like that….And I couldn’t help myself, I laughed along with you…
And then the boat, remember, The Maid of the Mist, I didn’t want to in the worst way but you made me, you absolutely insisted, you were revved up like an engine, racing like the wind, there was no keeping up with you, no stopping you I didn’t even try, so off we went, traipsing down the winding path to the river’s edge, the dock—the line, the tickets, those hot, greasy rubber raincoats, the smell of the engines, bouncing and swaying and wiping our faces and everywhere the goddamned spray, the noise and the wind, so loud, so strong, being tossed about and yelling at one another, trying to speak, slipping and sliding, always looking for something to hold on to, a monsoon, a hurricane, dangerous, thrilling, looking up at them finally from directly underneath, blind I was, mute, helpless, the expression on your face—peace, I think—but much too much for me, I made sure to stay close to you, you were all I… It was enough, Herschel, more than enough, my ears were ringing and I felt…funny inside, funny and queasy and tense, depleted…But you made me go on, you had to continue, you wanted to get closer you said, closer, closer!, your eyes were so wonderfully wild and bright. So we wolfed down hot dogs and greasy fish and chips, we waited on another line, we bought more tickets, we went down into the changing rooms that smelled like old rubber boots where they gave us those silly yellow slickers with the hoods…Do you remember how he grumbled, that old attendant with the missing tooth and the whiskey bottle in his back pocket—he had to search around for half an hour before he found one that would fit you and you looked like a penguin, a great yellow penguin waddling along in boots that were too big even for you, everyone was laughing in spite of themselves, even the grumpy old attendant, even you, even me, they must have known we were honeymooners…We set out single file along that rickety boardwalk affair that passed right through the Falls, it bounced and shook and swayed like it was mad and I was afraid that you would drop right through it like a boulder--plop!—into the water like the sun suddenly falling out of the sky. Or slip, lose your footing, tumble over the railing and me along with you…But you didn’t mind, you didn’t even notice, you were so excited, so anxious to go on and on, galumphing along in that ridiculous yellow slicker with me tagging along behind you like Mary’s little lamb, trying to hold on for dear life…It was late afternoon now, the sun slipping in and out of a bank of slate-colored clouds; cold and wet, slippery, the wind lashed my face, and I held on tight, tighter, tighter, inching along behind you, feeling my way, trying not to look as we got closer and closer and the whole world became a din… You had to go out onto that flimsy observation platform that jutted out over the Whirlpool—the angry white water churning below, pointless boiling suds like a giant’s backed-up bathroom drain or God’s. I hated it, it terrified me—what business did it have terrifying me, do you know what I mean?—but right out to the railing you went—Fearless Herschel—while I hung back and watched you with my heart in my mouth. ‘Herschel! Herschel, please!’ I screamed. ‘Don’t go near the edge,’ but you didn’t hear or couldn’t, didn’t want to, didn’t listen if you did and certainly didn’t care, you threw back your head, raised your face to the torrent, opened your mouth and drank the water, the mist, the spray, let it run down your face, cascade from your beard so that you looked like a monster, a great yellow monster risen from the sea…Watching you Herschel, the noise was deafening, it was suffocating me and I was scared, so scared, my arms and legs had turned to stone and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel my heart beat, couldn’t hear myself think, ‘Herschel!’ I called, ‘Herschel!’ I screamed, but the wind just laughed, the wind snapped up my words and whisked them away, I was frozen, cold, miserable, exhausted, I was trembling inside, my lips were turning blue and quivering, my thighs were pressed together—there’s something…erotic about fear, don’t you think?—my eyes kept opening wider and wider as though if I could only see—see you, Herschel, reach you and touch you, keep touching you—everything would be fine again and the noise and the water and the pounding and crashing and my terror and all the madness would finally stop, I tried to scream, nothing came out, but somehow you knew, you turned to me, you opened your arms and took me, held me, held me close, held me tight, and I clung to you like a pathetic little drop of water on your yellow slicker, giggling, for the life of me I didn’t know why… And then—in the motel room the bed was so warm and we—we--
Herschel, I--
I’m sorry about what happened, Herschel. With Rudy—with Valentino, I mean…I didn’t mean for it to--did I? Really I didn’t. didn’t I? But it did and I--didn’t I?
I loved you, I think. It’s hard to know anymore…I’ve known you forever you know, ever since I can remember. From when we were kids back in Brooklyn, classmates. From that time in the schoolyard when I was what—twelve?—and that gang of wise guys was tormenting me, bumping up against me so they could touch my breasts—I already had them, even then—I’ve always had them it seems to me…So aggressive they were, so spiteful, so cruel; it was all just a vicious little game to them, two-hand touch without the football: pass me around, feel me up, snap my bra strap, rub up against me accidentally on purpose, grab me, squeeze me, their hands all over me and you came out of nowhere and put a stop to it, Herschel, stepped in between us, and broke up their fun, shooed them away, coaxed them, argued with them, let them dump all the garbage inside them all over you…You were much bigger than they were, of course, but soft, gentle, certainly not tough in the way that boys of that age can be. But big, nonetheless, and they were afraid of you somehow, it wasn’t anything physical per se but your weight carried weight, you carried weight and they listened, you commanded their respect, they did what you wanted and that made them hate you, they were your buddies, I think, and you let them hate you, you let them hate you for me. They laughed at you, sneered, called you sissy and faggot and punk and you let them, you—you just shrugged when I thanked you—so shy, Herschel—but there was pleasure on your face, pure simple pleasure…
I think you blushed.
I knew you before, of course, in the way that children that age know one another, and your mother knew my parents from the shul, but right then and there you became my friend. Nothing was said—nothing had to be—but we became friends, you became my protector—although I think it was you who needed protecting in the end…You were always there after that, Herschel, inevitable in a way—walking me home after school, buying me a Charlotte Russe and eating most of it yourself, roasted chestnuts in the winter…Bringing me flowers to smell, leaves, twigs; tagging along, hanging around—I never had to think about you, don’t you see, you made it so easy. Never touching me, never asking for anything except to be with me in whatever way I wanted, happy with whatever I gave you and it wasn’t very much, believe me…I’d help you with your homework, remember, you struggled all the time except in math, of course, I couldn’t hold a candle to you there. It wasn’t that you were slow, I don’t think—you just didn’t care. You would rather dream, you’d rather show me your butterflies—you were so proud of them, so delighted with what you knew, what you felt, you taught me more about butterflies than I ever wanted to know but it was all right, you loved them, your eyes filled with beautiful milky light…I didn’t think of you as fat any longer—grotesque, ugly, anything like that—just ‘a little overweight’, just ‘pleasingly plump’, that’s what they called it in those days. You were just Herschel, that’s all, it didn’t make any difference, a too sweet, too vulnerable, too big little boy growing into a much, much bigger very young man with a round, sad, face and unruly soft hair and solemn eyes that didn’t seem to be of this world, who sat in class staring out of the window mooning or drawing pictures of butterflies all over his notebook, who cared for me without any conditions, no questions asked…It didn’t make any difference and that made me pause, that made me think, because if not, if it didn’t, then something was happening or maybe had already happened, there was something there…
It was I who kissed you that first time in that movie theater when I was what—fifteen?--I who guided your hands to my breasts under my white cashmere sweater and felt your body shudder and rush out of itself into me, mine, and listened to your breath rush inward, in…You never would have done it on your own, be honest…You were much too…respectful…Your face was so tender, so utterly helpless when I kissed your mouth. Like delicate crystal, I was sure you would break…
What could I do with you? What would you have done?…You were so good, Herschel, I knew it, I knew you would be good to me and I thought that I could make you the rest.
So I married you…Why not?…There was no one else. Lots of others but no one else…Somehow I always knew I would…There was that boy in the Catskills when I was eighteen, that lifeguard Danny Ross with his pole—a medical student, he liked the way I looked in my sexy black bathing suit, kept staring at me with that tense, dumbstruck expression like the flesh was about to slide off his face like custard—men are so obvious—and I could hardly blame him, I looked terrific, it clung to my body like my own skin, better, showed off all my curves and there were plenty to show, you could see my nipples, excited all the time because I knew, I knew—I knew he wanted me and my body said that it was time, my time, he had beautiful dark hair and long slim legs, a proud hard body oh yes, oh yes, and I flirted with him—with myself really—a wonderful slow heat, all that tension—and then one night I sneaked out of the room while my parents were asleep and I—we just--
I thought we were going to…But in the city he just—it didn’t--
So I knew I would. Marry you. No doubts, Herschel, it had nothing to do with doubt or wanting either. It was you, Herschel, you, always around, always there, Herschel and Shirley, Shirley and Herschel, Steady Eddie Herschel with his butterflies, my guardian angel…Some kind of weakness I suppose, certainty, comfort I don’t know, like I said you were inevitable…Except once, maybe, right before and then it was my parents: “Are you sure this is what you want, Shirley dear?” my mother said. “You know fat people often have something wrong inside them and sometimes they produce…unattractive children…You do want children, don’t you, dear?”…And my father, nodding: “This you call a future?”…But you know how they are--were—oh, Herschel, everybody’s--dead you look dead oh
Then came the wrestling, remember?…I remember the night you first told me about it…It was right before we were married, remember—and you were working in the Post Office as a sorter, a Clerk 3. You liked it, liked the monotony, I think, you were never ambitious in the way that other men are…You liked it so much, remember—the exotic place names, the strange addresses—1440 Straight Arrow Lane, Old Remsen’s Hollow, every day a new one—you knew every city and town in every state on the entire East Coast and you were working on the West Coast, you said, it wasn’t taxing at all, you said, you were good at it and you could use your math, you’d made up a routing system of your own, something to do with the zone numbers and state codes and the rule of 9’s—3’s?—some kind of…constant—so it allowed you to dream, made you dream and you liked to dream, during the course of a single day you traveled all over the world sometimes, you said, so pleased with yourself and your eyes would light up, your silly eyes…Excited, remember, all excited, and you asked would I come over—"Shirley, Shirley, wait till you hear"—you sat there in your undershirt at the kitchen table in your mother’s horrible ungepotchked apartment, that formica monstrosity from the year one that you absolutely refused to get rid of no matter how many times I pleaded with you because it belonged to her, your sainted mother who could do no wrong, sat there talking, talking, talking, the light in your eyes as I fed you, God bless you, you couldn’t get enough, wiping your face with one of those little boy’s white shirts that we would buy and cut up into handkerchiefs that were big enough while the perspiration ran down your face and neck, jumping up finally and throwing your arms around me, squeezing me until I thought I would burst—oh, Herschel—and all I could say was “A wrestler, Herschel? A wrestler?…” thinking Not a doctor, a lawyer. Not even a businessman. A wrestler, a wrestler—God I hope it won’t be too bad and the plans are made….
And then Maury came and did his song and dance—that monkey, so obvious, so vulgar and cheap in his shiny suits, trying to impress me, to charm my pants off with his flowers and candy—but I could see you wanted it so I thought all right, I said all right and made my adjustments, we’d have something maybe—‘a good living’ he kept saying, an honest-to-goodness honeymoon after all—candy for my ears, artificial flowers—but all right, all right…And we did have a honeymoon…And I was happy, I think…
I hate it, do you know that? I hate the wrestling…I hated the traveling, I hated watching you make a fool of yourself night after night in that stupid costume, and all those animals screaming for your blood…There’s nothing fine about it, Herschel, it’s filthy and cheap, and I didn’t want it to touch me, I didn’t want any part of it…Not that any of you wanted me around to begin with…I was afraid for you, ashamed for you. For the both of us…I kept pushing you to stand up for your rights, assert yourself, if we couldn’t have our dignity at least we could make sure we got what was coming to us…After all, Herschel, he was stealing from you—outright stealing and you knew it, Herschel, don’t tell me you didn’t. But all you ever did was cup my face in your hands and smile that smile of yours—that odd, funny, maddening sweet smile that said that whatever it was was my problem, no affair of yours, that made me feel so…tolerated—and say ‘What do we want with more? We’ve got enough to live on and I get to travel all over the country and visit places I never dreamed I’d see, and meet all kinds of people who know my name and like me before they’ve even met me. Now tell me—what do we have to complain about?’ “But what about the principle?” I’d say. “What about the things I need?”, appealing to you, and the smile would appear all over again, I hate that smile, hate it, you’re no better than me, you have no right!…
It changed for us, Herschel. Everything changed. We had more but somehow it was less, less…The sex, too, the lovemaking, that wasn’t what it was any longer, a hearty appetite, yes, a hunger, but no, that isn’t what it was anymore…Lying in bed in the darkness, remember, the scrollwork on the headboard, like a harp, and your fingers moving over it, over me…You loved that, you could almost hear it sometimes you’d tell me, but you had to leave the light on in the bathroom, what was it, because of Myrna, I think—did we ever discuss it? …I’d open my eyes in the darkness, riding you—all that pleasure, glistening, I could feel myself shine, I never said you couldn’t…perform, Herschel, fat people surprise you that way—so there to my mother, ha, ha, ha—but your head would be turned, your ears cocked, you’d be looking at it, the light, and not at me, Herschel, you weren’t there do you understand, how do you think I felt?…It wasn’t that you’d lost interest I don’t think. It was something else you were after, something…greater, I guess, I don’t know and I couldn’t…abide it…And the radio, Herschel, keeping it on as though it were the music you were making love to and not my body, not me. Sometimes I would catch you moving inside me in time to the music—not Beethoven, not Brahms, not Mozart or Debussy—not anything classical or fine, refined, that would have been…acceptable, I suppose—but that awful numbing racket like black cats moaning and wailing and shrieking in a filthy alley, those loud, raucous black men with their elaborate pompadours and suggestive hip movements, the pounding pianos and thumping drums, so sensual and terrifying…Do you know what it’s like making love to that din, Herschel—nothing light or airy, no passionate swells, nothing plaintive or romantic or sad, no waves breaking, no tittering rose petals…And every time a different station—Detroit, Chicago—God, Herschel, what dream were we acting out anyway—not mine—the disc jockey ranting and the bathroom light on, glaring…
I could have killed you for that…
Did you know that, Herschel?
And then, Herschel—Herschel are you listening, I know I shouldn’t be telling you all this, not now, not here when you—but why not, why shouldn’t I, it’s all got to come out sometime—then I--we couldn’t have a child. I tried so hard, all those years, the plans I made for him—our son, Herschel—but then the doctor said—he said…You wouldn’t adopt, why not, Herschel, what would have been wrong with it? Always blaming me, I never blamed you, the doctor wasn’t certain he said, maybe it wasn’t me who couldn’t…
But always it was the wrestling, the wrestling, the wrestling…Oh God I despise it, the low class of people, hoodlums and wiseguys, gonifs all of them, the kind of men those boys in the schoolyard grew up to be. No one you’d want to associate with socially, always trying to take advantage…And there I was, all alone in that apartment in Brooklyn—not my own home, but an apartment still, so I didn’t even have that to show for any of it…And no child…But all right, yes, with a washer and a dryer and drapes on my windows and carpeting on every floor, clothes in my closet…And no child… I’d watch the shiny new cars glide by outside my window and imagine the lives they led—the dinner parties, the Broadway shows…And think That could be mine. That ought to be mine…What was I supposed to do?…I was lonely, Herschel, you were always on the road, always on the run, always wrestling somewhere—God how I hate it!—they kept you running, hopping, chasing after that stupid title you were never going to get—couldn’t you see that?…Always off somewhere and when you finally came back it was butterfly this and place-to-see that—where were you, Herschel?—never giving a damn about how you looked or how much money we had in the bank, the future…You weren’t there, don’t you see? I couldn’t get near you…Those men…That Maury—that gonif, that crook…And that other one—what’s his name?…That horrible little insect with the dark glasses…Blinky…They surrounded you like a lead shield, Herschel—what was I supposed to do?…I was lonely, Herschel, I couldn’t get near you, and he called me that night—Rudy—Valentino—not that night actually but the night before, you were away in Pittsburgh—Birmingham, Syracuse, it amounted to the same thing, didn’t it—he called me that night and asked how I was, if there was anything he could do for me, bring me, perhaps he might come by and see me…He knew you’d been on the road for awhile, he said, and he thought I might be in need of some company, it was the least he could do, not much at all really, but he knew what it was like, the waiting—‘the life’ he called it…I was a little bit flustered at first, I think, not suspicious, no, but surprised, wondering. After all, he hardly knew me at all, I’d only met him a couple of times before. But he was so nice about it, so polite, no pressure, he seemed so concerned—a smooth deep voice, soft edges, a trace of an accent perhaps, cultured, and I guess I was flattered, he was somebody, he was important, you’d said, he had all those titles and he was a friend of yours, a buddy, you liked him, it was awfully nice of him you have to admit and there I was, a big apartment, Herschel…And I thought Well, why not, what’s wrong with it? feeling something stir inside me, wanting to say Yes. All right. That’s very nice of you. Why not? but hanging back, something telling me Not here at least—already fighting it, you see, whatever it was—so I thanked him—he chuckled—bubbles of something sweet and warm—and said that I thought it would be…inconvenient for him to come all the way out to Brooklyn but that there was some shopping I had been meaning to do and it might be possible for me to meet him afterwards, for dinner perhaps, somewhere in Manhattan, if that was convenient for him—making it all up as I went along, you see, I didn’t know why, leaving it open, up to him…That would be fine, he said, he understood perfectly, and he suggested I meet him the following evening on 34th Street, a fabulous little restaurant he knew that served terrific seafood, clams and fish—my mouth already watering—convenient for me, near to his gym, the owner was an old friend, a paisan, tickets to the matches, ha ha ha, an easy laugh and did I like fish?…“Oh yes,” I said. “Yes,” thinking: Why not? Why not? all over again, Where was the harm?…And knowing that it was there and I would find it. Or it me…
The next night I was there early. I was dressed up, feminine but restrained I thought, all my best colors—the black dress, my good coat with the fox collar that framed my face—so cuddly, so warm—the slight plunge to show off my bustline, the belt cinched tight and new I. Miller heels for my legs, a matching bag…Impatient I was, excited, where was he? …Winter time it was, crisp, a frosty mist around the streetlights, the Christmas bulbs blinking in the department store windows, a Salvation Army Santa Claus ringing his bell and my breath in puffs, a tingling inside me…Looking at my watch, where was he, and he came gliding toward me out of the darkness, a confident walk without ostentation, smooth even strides, I like that in a man…He was dressed in black, only in black—soft flannel slacks, a ribbed turtleneck, a sports jacket and topcoat—cashmere, maybe—and shiny new loafers, and his slicked-back hair and liquid eyes and neat mustache—minute variations on a single theme; resonances, an echo effect, interesting…A pale face, handsome, aristocratic, an aquiline nose if it hadn’t been broken and full lips curving into a sneer, aggressive, even cruel, perhaps, but attractive, sensual…He was different, Herschel, I knew it right away, he wasn’t coarse like all the rest of them. He had breeding you could see it in the way he carried himself. He didn’t just move, he glided, his muscles glided underneath the clothing, a broad welcoming smile, the pressure of his hand at my elbow, and before I knew it my coat was off and we were seated at our table…He asked me did I want a drink. “No!” I said, a little too quickly, and he laughed, a dark, slightly wicked laugh bubbling up like champagne from deep in his throat, teasing me, his teeth were so white…“Nervous?” he asked and I thought: I don’t have to be, do I, this is dinner, he’s your friend, and said “No…It’s just…the circumstances.” And he laughed again, his teeth were so white, challenging me with his eyes and his mocking liquid laugh, so sure of himself, not cocky, just sure, enjoying it, my discomfort, the game, and I thought: I don’t—I don’t have to be afraid and said “A glass of wine, maybe.” “Are you certain?” he asked, he was poking fun, teasing me, and I nodded and tried to smile: “Of course”, looking him straight in the eye, defying him, he looked over at the waiter, sat up straight and tall and signalled, snapped his fingers I think, or perhaps just inclined his head in a certain practiced way and like magic there it was, Italian I think, crisp and dry and a little fruity, a little sour, and before I knew it the bottle was gone—not just empty but gone—and another one had taken its place…
It was an enormous restaurant and very crowded, Herschel, not a quiet little place at all, not at all like he’d described. There were baskets full of breadsticks on every table—so crunchy, mmm—and everyone was talking at once, the waiters were running and bustling about with trays and plates and pads and pencils, trying not to bump into one another and glaring, the lights were so…loud, and you could hear the silverware clattering and scraping…All that distraction, sharp bursts of laughter like the rattle of a machine gun, but his eyes never left me, never strayed. He made it seem like we were the only ones there, as though it were dinner for two in a swanky private penthouse at the top of the world. Some men are able to do that and he did it effortlessly with his size and his bulk and his striking black clothing and wavy hair, the way he moved and spoke…Softly, so softly—you had to come very close in order to hear him and once you had he wouldn’t let you get away and you didn’t want to either…Occasionally he’d put his hand on mine, let his fingers rest lightly on my fingers for a moment and then draw them away almost without my noticing so that I was always more aware of them when they were gone than when they were there…He’s a handsome man, Herschel, you’ve got to understand, he’s got grace and style and flair…panache…maybe he is a little full of himself but so what, so what…He talked to me, really talked, telling me about his background—the father was a butcher, teasing the old ladies in the shop—and making me laugh whenever he wanted, so easily, it was so good to laugh, telling me about wrestling—‘the life,’ he kept saying—in ways I could understand, not butterflies, no seedy little men, but facts and figures, the ins and outs—business…In ways you never talked to me, Herschel…Eating his fish, splitting it open with his fork, removing the spine—deft, economical movements, twirling his glass to catch the light, raising it to his lips, draining it, his head bent forward, arms on the table, surrounding me with his body, it seemed, protecting me, enveloping, his eyes boring into me, what a relief…Telling me stories about championship matches and drinking bouts and ‘swerving’, those silly practical jokes you’re always playing on one another, funny stories that made me clap my hands and giggle like a silly little girl, silly stories maybe but they made me laugh—why not—locker room gossip but he made it come alive, he made it sound…glamorous and exciting--yes, for the first time exciting— like something special for someone special, a gift of himself that he wanted to share, and his eyes never wandered, never strayed…
He was interested in me, don’t you see—he listened to everything I had to say, really listened with his eyes and mouth and little movements of his head, made it seem as though what I said was important, what I thought and felt and saw was important, as though I was the one with the titles after all—earnest with a smile in his eyes, a smile and something else, something more, touching his mustache with the tips of his fingers, brushing my hand with the tips of his fingers…“My God, you’re lovely” he said at one point—silly little things like that—my hair, my dress, his eyes roaming freely now, I think I must have shivered, it was all very silly and vain I knew, but I didn’t care, I liked it and I felt myself blushing, glowing in the dark, it could have been the wine but it wasn’t, it was him, the things he said—no, him, just him, he knew, he made it all seem simple and right no matter how stupid and silly it was…Try it. Why not? he seemed to be saying, complete acceptance, undivided attention, his forearms on the table and his shoulders so broad…Another bottle and maybe another, my dinner half-finished, all but forgotten, but still somehow I felt full, content, a warm glow in my eyes, candles burning far away, and his eyes looking through me, no longer mocking…Finally he said “My place or yours?”, a silly thing to say, especially under the circumstances, right—a B-movie, Charles Boyer or someone like that—but he said it sincerely, without guile or shame, lightly like he knew better—a throwaway, flip—but earnestly, seriously so I would know he meant it…I pretended not to hear but I let him take me home, wanting to—it was the first time, I swear—and thinking I’ll take him home with me, why not…For coffee…And conversation. …We’ll talk about…Herschel…About ourselves…In the living room…It’s only nine-thirty…Ten after ten…Why does—why should it have to end right now?…I’m a grown-up, a mature married woman…I can tell him good night at the door if I want…I can do what I want if I want to…Can’t I?…
He held me in the cab going home, held me, and I let my head rest against his shoulder, I was tired, my body felt warm, silky, and I let him, let him hold me, he didn’t seem to mind and he was your friend, Herschel, your friend, he’d said so, you’d said so, protecting me all the way home, encircling me so I didn’t have to think, I could smell his cologne and the sour-sweet scent of the wine on his breath…Or maybe it was mine...
And then…so cheerful…“Well…!” I said, “What would you like? What can I give you?”—regretting it instantly, but it was coffee only, coffee and cake…I was standing, I remember I was smoothing my hair, and I think I lit a cigarette, I’m not sure I was smoking then but it seems as though I should have…And he just sat there, relaxed and easy—he was so easy about everything, not restless, never hurried—sat there like a sleek black tiger crouched beneath a tree with his fingers spread wide on the arms of the chair—your chair—and all his weight balanced on the balls of his feet it seemed, all of him watching me, I was walking, pacing back and forth, his eyes followed me, and then all of a sudden I stopped and turned and he got up, I saw his smile…
That’s all…
You came home early, Herschel. I didn’t expect you…Or maybe I did, maybe I had a sixth sense about it—who ever knows about something like that—your ulcer was acting up and you had to bow out early, standing there in the doorway with your bag in your hand, a pale sick look. “Herschel!” I said, surprised at myself, how calm I was—it was all that wine, I guess, yes, the wine—but you didn’t say a word, your eyes wide and…hollow—punctured balloons—you must have been hurting, you just hoisted the bag up onto your shoulder and turned your back and walked out the door, “Herschel,” I called, “Herschel--please…!”, but you wouldn’t answer, and him lying there smiling…
It wasn’t that good.
And then there was…nothing…Nothing left but the divorce and the lawyers…Not Dan of course, he’s not…I mean that little smoothie with the garlic on his breath that Maury got for you…I mean really, Herschel—making you wear your Haystacks outfit because he figured you’d look poor and helpless that way…Innocent Herschel, tsk, tsk, tsk…And yes, I took you for every penny I could get…Why?…Why not? Why shouldn’t I have?…I gave everything I had to you and there are things I need, opportunities…
You never protested…Never said a word…Why not, Herschel? I thought maybe it would…Even in the courtroom you just sat there staring straight ahead…Except once—remember—when I happened to catch your eye and you kind of smiled. As though you weren’t connected to any of it, exempt somehow, damn you. As though none of it was happening to you at all but was only something you had to sit through for awhile, an unpleasant chore like a piano lesson you have to take that would soon be over and they would set you free and you could go out and play, run out into the sunshine and chase those goddam butterflies…Disappearing through the swinging doors, I wasn’t even aware you’d left, and afterwards I let Dan talk me into dinner and a drink, a stiff one…A new woman, free, he said, “Cheers!”, he was so kind and understanding and he seemed so lonely and mixed up himself, telling me about his ‘situation’—two kids and a wife who didn’t—who wouldn’t…Soothing me—“Bottoms up!”—a handsome, vital, virile young man already greying, immaculately dressed in an expensive tailored suit with a watch chain and a vest, bright, witty, “going places” written all over him and already greying, how does it happen?…Soothing him, it seemed so natural, why not, a new woman, free, he said, and I let him take me—to bed, Herschel, do you understand, all the while thinking of you, you, wondering where you were and what you were doing, whether you were thinking of me…
I’m always…chasing rainbows, aren’t I?…
Silly…
I think I thought that if I…Maybe then you’d…
No, that’s not true. I did it for me…For me, Herschel, me. I don’t have to apologize to anyone, least of all you…I don’t know why I married you in the first place. To this day I don’t. I never should have…Always there, I suppose, my own weakness…You needed me…I could have done a lot better, you know, could have had whoever I wanted. There were lots of others interested, believe me. I had plenty of offers…It’s natural enough when you think about it. I’ve always had a good figure…I never lacked for a man…When I wanted one, that is…
I don’t think I’ll get married again. Ever…Why should I? What do I need it for? My independence is too precious to me…
You’re perspiring, Herschel, someone should--Wait…you smell phew I hate it when a person stinks my father smelled I hope it’s not me I hate this room so drab so ugly dirt on the windowsill no not me but I shouldn’t have come and
I--smile blink your eyes for godsakes do something you’re drooling you smell oh god you’re a vegetable what have they done is it done it’s
I’m sorry…
You look pale, Herschel. pale fat and ugly grotesque stupid dull I despise dullness ugh dried blood a scab in your nostril they ought to trim your beard disgusting I don’t respect you don’t care I don’t I
Nurse! Nurse! where the hell is she you could be damn you anyway Herschel
I’m his wife, yes. Shirley Cain. so young
No, Cain. That’s his professional name. the nerve
C-A-I-N
Yes, I am. who does she think she is and that walk
I’m his ex-wife. What difference does it make for goodness sakes? she needs a good bra they’re practically
I realize you do, but--now look here sister
What?…The man is suffering, can’t you see, he’s…in distress. He hasn’t had a proper bath for God knows how long. His bedclothes are soiled. He has…an odor. He is extremely pale and it’s quite obvious to me that he hasn’t been fed. There is dirt all over the windows. The sills have not been dusted. The floors need polishing. Do you want me to continue? so there
How?…There are funny noises coming from inside his throat. Gurgling noises, wheezing—I think he’s choking…Okay? Now will you please do your job instead of--running around till all hours of the night I’ll bet
I don’t think it’s the machine. Please…
Normal? How can you—? loose no standards
He is not resting comfortably. blond-haired bitch
A fractured larynx…?
I see. ice cold
The tubes, yes.
Mm-hmm. And his nose?
Internal what?
Oh. I didn’t--
Mm-hmm…Well what about the bathing, his beard? pretty though if you like the type
I certainly hope so, Nurse. I hope you are. Irish-Catholic
It means I’m not satisfied, that’s what it means. It means I’m…appalled. That’s my husband lying there. An important man. low class
Certainly I can, I’m associated with attorneys, but what does that have to do with it?…We’re talking about a standard of care. definitely
All right, common human decency then. This is a sick man, Nurse, in case you haven’t noticed. Someone has to take responsibility.
I really couldn’t care less that you just work here.
You’re a professional, aren’t you? You have a duty. so young
I’m not being rude. Miss Hoity-Toity
I am not raising my voice. all her own though damn her
Now look here—Herschel can’t you--exercise?
I’m sorry, Herschel. I really am. maybe I should have mine lifted
What?…Oh, that was me…Ha, ha, ha, excuse me, Herschel…They’ll be in to see you soon. It’s all taken care of. damn it
It’s so funny talking to you like this…No, it isn’t, it’s the same. You never listened. In one ear and out the other, that’s you. Always think you know it all…Well, you are what you are, I guess. There’s no changing any of it, that’s the problem…
I’m thinking of changing my name actually. To Cheri. With an ‘i’. It means beloved in French…I love the sound of it, sensual yet elegant. Cheri Cain—like a movie star, isn’t it?…Dan can do it for me easily…For nothing of course—I’m sure he won’t charge me. he’ll take it out in trade
I don’t know…I need something. Do you ever have that feeling?…
Do you?
I guess you don’t. Why should you care, right?
I don’t love anybody. Did I tell you that?…except…maybe…
Ha ha ha…c’est la guerre, Herschel, eh?…Where are my gloves? I had them here somewhere…Kidskin, Herschel. Smart, aren’t they? I got them at Bergdorf’s with the bag and the dress. Green’s my best color, don’t you think? You always liked me in green.
Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t take you back. I like my life.
One more thing, Herschel…I could use more money. Dan—he’s the lawyer I work for—Dan says--
My god, what am I talking about?…I’ll let Dan take care of it, this is no time for--
I don’t even know if you’re listening to me.
Herschel, are you listening…?
Herschel…?
Herschel?
Oh, Herschel—I came as soon as I heard…My God—you should have called me at least. It hasn’t been that long. You could have had somebody--
I ran right over. I didn’t even bother to put on makeup and you know I never--
I must look like a wreck.
Anyway, I’m here.
How long has it been anyway?…Almost a year, I think. A year since we--
Well…
Private, I see. Or is it semi? Private is always preferable, of course, but—What’s that behind that curtain, another bed? God that odor is strong, you don’t think they’d—oh God…Really, Herschel, it’s quite a cheerful room…Celery, isn’t it? Very attractive…It could do with some fixing up of course, some pretty curtains perhaps that shade is atrocious but it’s--ugly and it stinks revolting
Herschel, are you all right, you look…
I’ve brought you some Jujyfruits, I know how much you like them…They’re here somewhere in my bag if I can just--find them Shirley don’t touch anything
There. I’ll put them here on the table where you can reach them.
There…
How do you like it by the way?…The bag…I picked it up at Bergdorf’s when I bought the dress. It’s genuine alligator. Look at how it shines…Touch it, Herschel, feel the inside, the label. Here, I’ll--your hand is like ice so limp ugh fishy
Did you? Did you feel?…It’s real silk, Herschel—the label is silk! Sensuous, isn’t it? I love the way it feels.
It’s French, you know. It’s a French make. You know how I feel about that--les choses françaises, as they say. Ha ha ha, they’re the ne plus ultra, n’est-ce pas?
I know, I know…You don’t have to tell me…I really can’t afford it on what I make and the money Maury sends me. But a girl has got to look her best, doesn’t she, and I always had a weakness…What the heck, right? I’m not getting any younger. I can’t get by on my chest alone anymore, can I? Good as it is…
I’m thirty-five, do you know that?…Of course you do…You’re so good with figures, you always remembered.
When you were around…
Well…You look…well, Herschel, you really do. A little…peaked, perhaps, but that’s to be—you always needed color…
Goodness, they’ve really got you strapped in, don’t they? Here—let me fluff up your pillows for you…
There, that’s better…I’ll wipe your forehead…
God, the service in this place…It must be good to have a real woman around for a change…Flesh and blood and not one of those nurses…Isn’t it, Herschel? Isn’t that right? he looks terrible like the wrath of God oh God oh God why did I ever
I’m working now, Herschel. Maury must have told you…For the lawyer who handled— You remember him, don’t you?…I’m in Manhattan, 57th Street. Near all the shops. It’s very convenient. I go out to lunch…
I like it, I guess. It’s all right. it’s a job I wouldn’t have had to if--oh God snot flakes of crud at the corners of his mouth I should wipe it should I I should do I have to?
Berns, Tannen, Gitlow and Wachs, Counsellors-at-Law…It may not sound impressive but it is. Very. They’re very big…I’m in the pool, did I tell you? There are five of us handling eight attorneys…I’m the best, I think, the brightest and the quickest, certainly the most efficient. I can go places there…Dan, he’s the attorney I work for—Dan Berns I think he shortened it—Dan says so all the time. The brightest and the most efficient, he says—and the best dressed too, if I say so myself. You should see the way the others…You’d think women who go to business every day would take pride in their appearance, learn to make the most of what they have to offer. Of course, they’re all married and you know how that--they don’t have to I do do you understand?
He says all that, Dan does. You remember him, don’t you, he’s the one who handled our--
He’s taken quite an interest in me, Dan has. He’s got a thing for me, if you want to know the truth, I know it even if he thinks I don’t. He’s bought me a few things—dinners mainly, a little sixteen-carat bracelet. Nothing ostentatious…I could probably get him to marry me if I wanted to. sure Of course, he’s already married, but what do I--yes yes what do I—But not happily…That’s what he tells me when we--when I
Never mind, okay?
It’s not important.
I don’t think I’m interested. one of us anyway please don’t drool
I went out to Pinelawn last month to my parent’s graves. Myrna’s and your mother’s, too, they’re right nearby…By myself, of course. I’m doing lots of things on my own these days. I enjoy it, Herschel, I really do. I find I’m quite independent by nature lonely I just picked myself up one day and got on the train. What homes along the way—you should see them, Herschel. You have to see it to believe it—everywhere you look they’re building…
You really ought to get out there, Herschel. It’s a crime the way they--oh God oh God what’s the matter with me this isn’t the time look at you look your beard’s all matted they haven’t bothered to clip it clean it wash you I hate it that beard I always have why don’t you shave it oh Herschel Herschel
I’m reading quite a bit. Trying to improve my mind. One has to, I think, don’t you?…I started with the classics first, that…story about the Greek…The Odyssey…He reminds me of you, Herschel. Always searching for something. Never satisfied. And his poor wife alone in her empty house, waiting…God what’s her name something with a P…I’ve been trying to read that other one, too…Ulysses… It’s difficult. Very sexy, though…Mmm, it is. I actually blushed. At my age. Imagine!
His name is Bloom, he’s a Jew. In Dublin. I didn’t know there were any…He reminds me of you, too. Both of them do. I’m going to stick with it. The Times says it’s a contemporary classic and I want to keep up, take some kind of course maybe, I don’t know. I think you owe it to yourself.
You’ve got to do something with your time, don’t you think? Especially when you’re--alone say it
I let men buy me drinks sometimes…Does that shock you, Herschel?…In bars after work. In their apartments. Never in mine. That’s my rule…Brandy mostly. Cognac. Courvoisier. An occasional screwdriver—you’ll pardon my French…I can’t stand the taste. wish I had one right now smooth stinging fire warming my chest my beautiful chest I’m empty I’m tight like an arrow in a bow can you see me can you can you see I’m alive I’ve got needs I can’t seem to nobody wants to sometimes at night it’s it’s it’s it’s
They leer at me, Herschel, stare at my chest. They think they’re going to get me good and drunk so that then they’ll be able to--
Sometimes I let them. Why not? I’m normal, healthy. Why shouldn’t I? It’s only moments, that’s all. Moments for them, moments for me. Golden moments ha ha ha—sound familiar?…Moments are all we have, aren’t they? Isn’t that what you say? Why not make the most of them then?…What are they for anyway? What do they mean?…
They never look at my face. Ever. If I met them on the street they wouldn’t know me from Adam…
I’ll bet you’d like to know all about it, though. Wouldn’t you…? I’ll bet it would give you some kind of pleasure. Satisfaction, revenge—men are like that, aren’t they?…Well, I’m not going to tell you Herschel. I don’t have to anymore. We’re not man and wife. I don’t have to account to you…
I’ll bet you would though. Wouldn’t you…? wouldn’t you say you would I dare you please
I don’t love anybody, do you know that?
Oh…
Forgive me, Herschel, I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just seeing you like this has got me all upset…Look—you see
I’m doing it again…
There…Well…! How are they treating you?…Are you getting enough to eat?…This hospital food—I’ll bet you’re not. How could you be with an appetite like yours?
I knew how to feed you, didn’t I? I should have brought along some of my chicken soup, my stuffed cabbage. I’ll bet you’d like that. Stupid of me, I didn’t think…
That’s what’s so difficult, you know. The thinking all the time. The having to. It’s hard on me, Herschel, a woman alone…I’m not complaining, mind you. I made my bed. But there are things I want that I just can’t seem to--
You need a man...
I want to be somebody, Herschel, do you understand? Somebody. A somebody. What’s wrong with that? With a home of my own. A family. All the good things. With my head held high. Always…I thought you would—I tried to make you into something we could both be proud of…For us, Herschel, for you…But you never seemed to--
That’s why I--
I feel—I don’t know—I feel sometimes like I’m the brightest flower in the entire world only everyone’s suddenly gone blind…I feel—l feel like I could burst into a million unbelievable colors if I could only find a spark, a touch…
I’m talking too much, aren’t I?…I’m always talking it seems to me. It sounds so…hollow. Like a stone rattling around inside a bottle. Like one of those birds, those parakeets…They’re very popular right now, you know. Everybody has one…
I feel so…awkward.
You always loved my chest, didn’t you, Herschel?…Didn’t you? Don’t you? I’ll bet you wouldn’t mind…
But you can’t…Can we…?
Of course not. This is a hospital. God not here it’s what am I
Oh—something happened. Look at that, it’s--Look!…Oh Herschel, do you remember what we—what I used to--
Do you?
Do you remember our honeymoon?…How excited we were…The Rainbow’s End, remember, that shabby little motel that Maury sent us to with the knotty pine contact paper peeling near the baseboards--ugh! Ha ha ha—do you remember, Herschel?…‘Special Rates For Honeymooners’ the sign outside said, paper-thin walls and the couple in the next room trying to set some kind of record, I don’t think they ever left their room…But it had a lovely view of the Falls, didn’t it—Horseshoe Falls on the Canadian side—our lucky horseshoe you called it and you laughed, I laughed with you…You could hear them at night, especially at night, the darkness seamed to magnify everything; hear the roar—God it was powerful, it frightened me terribly, made me feel so small and insignificant and useless, it was so much bigger than anything I’d ever seen before and I knew that there was nothing I could do to affect it—hear the roar and watch the spotlights play over the water, turning everything into a carnival of colors: the Falls, the tourists lined up three-deep along the embankments and promenades craning their necks to get the perfect view, nothing looking like it was supposed to, no, it was much more wonderful, much more, mauve, magenta, lilac, gold—oh, it was something, what a spectacle, what magic, and the bed was warm, so warm and cozy, so the laugh was on that bastard Maury after all…
Saturday morning, remember?…We pulled in late Friday night on the train, the Phoebe Snow, and just fell into bed exhausted, we were too tired even to--
We laughed about it in the morning, remember, we were up very early, still sleepy but unable to sleep, excited, all I wanted was to stay in bed and…but no, you got me up, kissed me, nuzzled, touched me until I…You had to move, you see, you couldn’t sit still, you had to see, see now, so off we went, a stroll along the esplanade that overlooked the Falls…You could see them everywhere you looked—they were everywhere, everything, white water smashing against the smooth grey rocks, nothing else mattered or ever would matter there, in that place, certainly not people, not either of us, and I knew then that there was something about them I didn’t like—no, hated, hated and feared and would never accept, something I was resisting, had to resist…They were too big, I think, that’s what it was, and they just didn’t care, the only thing you could see besides the shlocky little shops and souvenir stands that you absolutely adored, remember, you bought that silly brass horseshoe with Niagara Falls, Nature’s Wonder engraved on it that you insisted on wearing around your neck later on when you started with the stupid wrestling—it must’ve weighed a pound and a half—and you made me take one of those going-over-the-Falls-in-a-barrel pictures at that photographer’s stall, he had stains on his teeth and his breath smelled, remember, squeezing in beside me—he looked so worried—and holding a little American flag and laughing, laughing, your eyes were so bright and I wanted you…And then you took me to a wax museum, Madame Tussaud’s I think. All those…dummies, all that quiet, and so terribly solemn so…serious, like some kind of cemetery in a cave inside the earth, I don’t know what the attraction is, I really don’t, but you wandered around with your mouth hanging open, staring at everything and trying to fill your head full of details about the daredevils, that idiot who rode a bicycle across the Falls on a tightrope and then did it again pushing a wheelbarrow, and that other idiot who got himself killed going over in a contraption he built called ‘The Thing,’ no less—it served him right, the moron, I can’t understand why they do things like that when there’s so much else to…But it meant something to you, your eyes were so wide, you studied it, the mannequin, for a long, long time, and finally you said ‘He really grabbed it, didn’t he?’, I wasn’t sure what you meant, ‘He would’ve made a great wrestler,’ you said and there was an expression on your face, admiration maybe, something religious almost, and you said it so seriously I could have kissed you and I think I did, too, I know I was ready….But no, not yet, it still wasn’t enough—enough is never enough with you, is it, Herschel?—so it was off to lunch at a fancy restaurant with an outdoor terrace, eating fish outside—in April, Herschel—and watching the Falls, everywhere the Falls, the tablecloth kept whipping up and doubling over, the glasses tipped over, dampness and spray, I wasn’t wearing a proper coat so I got soaked to the skin and you—you just laughed, laughing, laughing, I don’t think I ever saw you laugh like that….And I couldn’t help myself, I laughed along with you…
And then the boat, remember, The Maid of the Mist, I didn’t want to in the worst way but you made me, you absolutely insisted, you were revved up like an engine, racing like the wind, there was no keeping up with you, no stopping you I didn’t even try, so off we went, traipsing down the winding path to the river’s edge, the dock—the line, the tickets, those hot, greasy rubber raincoats, the smell of the engines, bouncing and swaying and wiping our faces and everywhere the goddamned spray, the noise and the wind, so loud, so strong, being tossed about and yelling at one another, trying to speak, slipping and sliding, always looking for something to hold on to, a monsoon, a hurricane, dangerous, thrilling, looking up at them finally from directly underneath, blind I was, mute, helpless, the expression on your face—peace, I think—but much too much for me, I made sure to stay close to you, you were all I… It was enough, Herschel, more than enough, my ears were ringing and I felt…funny inside, funny and queasy and tense, depleted…But you made me go on, you had to continue, you wanted to get closer you said, closer, closer!, your eyes were so wonderfully wild and bright. So we wolfed down hot dogs and greasy fish and chips, we waited on another line, we bought more tickets, we went down into the changing rooms that smelled like old rubber boots where they gave us those silly yellow slickers with the hoods…Do you remember how he grumbled, that old attendant with the missing tooth and the whiskey bottle in his back pocket—he had to search around for half an hour before he found one that would fit you and you looked like a penguin, a great yellow penguin waddling along in boots that were too big even for you, everyone was laughing in spite of themselves, even the grumpy old attendant, even you, even me, they must have known we were honeymooners…We set out single file along that rickety boardwalk affair that passed right through the Falls, it bounced and shook and swayed like it was mad and I was afraid that you would drop right through it like a boulder--plop!—into the water like the sun suddenly falling out of the sky. Or slip, lose your footing, tumble over the railing and me along with you…But you didn’t mind, you didn’t even notice, you were so excited, so anxious to go on and on, galumphing along in that ridiculous yellow slicker with me tagging along behind you like Mary’s little lamb, trying to hold on for dear life…It was late afternoon now, the sun slipping in and out of a bank of slate-colored clouds; cold and wet, slippery, the wind lashed my face, and I held on tight, tighter, tighter, inching along behind you, feeling my way, trying not to look as we got closer and closer and the whole world became a din… You had to go out onto that flimsy observation platform that jutted out over the Whirlpool—the angry white water churning below, pointless boiling suds like a giant’s backed-up bathroom drain or God’s. I hated it, it terrified me—what business did it have terrifying me, do you know what I mean?—but right out to the railing you went—Fearless Herschel—while I hung back and watched you with my heart in my mouth. ‘Herschel! Herschel, please!’ I screamed. ‘Don’t go near the edge,’ but you didn’t hear or couldn’t, didn’t want to, didn’t listen if you did and certainly didn’t care, you threw back your head, raised your face to the torrent, opened your mouth and drank the water, the mist, the spray, let it run down your face, cascade from your beard so that you looked like a monster, a great yellow monster risen from the sea…Watching you Herschel, the noise was deafening, it was suffocating me and I was scared, so scared, my arms and legs had turned to stone and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel my heart beat, couldn’t hear myself think, ‘Herschel!’ I called, ‘Herschel!’ I screamed, but the wind just laughed, the wind snapped up my words and whisked them away, I was frozen, cold, miserable, exhausted, I was trembling inside, my lips were turning blue and quivering, my thighs were pressed together—there’s something…erotic about fear, don’t you think?—my eyes kept opening wider and wider as though if I could only see—see you, Herschel, reach you and touch you, keep touching you—everything would be fine again and the noise and the water and the pounding and crashing and my terror and all the madness would finally stop, I tried to scream, nothing came out, but somehow you knew, you turned to me, you opened your arms and took me, held me, held me close, held me tight, and I clung to you like a pathetic little drop of water on your yellow slicker, giggling, for the life of me I didn’t know why… And then—in the motel room the bed was so warm and we—we--
Herschel, I--
I’m sorry about what happened, Herschel. With Rudy—with Valentino, I mean…I didn’t mean for it to--did I? Really I didn’t. didn’t I? But it did and I--didn’t I?
I loved you, I think. It’s hard to know anymore…I’ve known you forever you know, ever since I can remember. From when we were kids back in Brooklyn, classmates. From that time in the schoolyard when I was what—twelve?—and that gang of wise guys was tormenting me, bumping up against me so they could touch my breasts—I already had them, even then—I’ve always had them it seems to me…So aggressive they were, so spiteful, so cruel; it was all just a vicious little game to them, two-hand touch without the football: pass me around, feel me up, snap my bra strap, rub up against me accidentally on purpose, grab me, squeeze me, their hands all over me and you came out of nowhere and put a stop to it, Herschel, stepped in between us, and broke up their fun, shooed them away, coaxed them, argued with them, let them dump all the garbage inside them all over you…You were much bigger than they were, of course, but soft, gentle, certainly not tough in the way that boys of that age can be. But big, nonetheless, and they were afraid of you somehow, it wasn’t anything physical per se but your weight carried weight, you carried weight and they listened, you commanded their respect, they did what you wanted and that made them hate you, they were your buddies, I think, and you let them hate you, you let them hate you for me. They laughed at you, sneered, called you sissy and faggot and punk and you let them, you—you just shrugged when I thanked you—so shy, Herschel—but there was pleasure on your face, pure simple pleasure…
I think you blushed.
I knew you before, of course, in the way that children that age know one another, and your mother knew my parents from the shul, but right then and there you became my friend. Nothing was said—nothing had to be—but we became friends, you became my protector—although I think it was you who needed protecting in the end…You were always there after that, Herschel, inevitable in a way—walking me home after school, buying me a Charlotte Russe and eating most of it yourself, roasted chestnuts in the winter…Bringing me flowers to smell, leaves, twigs; tagging along, hanging around—I never had to think about you, don’t you see, you made it so easy. Never touching me, never asking for anything except to be with me in whatever way I wanted, happy with whatever I gave you and it wasn’t very much, believe me…I’d help you with your homework, remember, you struggled all the time except in math, of course, I couldn’t hold a candle to you there. It wasn’t that you were slow, I don’t think—you just didn’t care. You would rather dream, you’d rather show me your butterflies—you were so proud of them, so delighted with what you knew, what you felt, you taught me more about butterflies than I ever wanted to know but it was all right, you loved them, your eyes filled with beautiful milky light…I didn’t think of you as fat any longer—grotesque, ugly, anything like that—just ‘a little overweight’, just ‘pleasingly plump’, that’s what they called it in those days. You were just Herschel, that’s all, it didn’t make any difference, a too sweet, too vulnerable, too big little boy growing into a much, much bigger very young man with a round, sad, face and unruly soft hair and solemn eyes that didn’t seem to be of this world, who sat in class staring out of the window mooning or drawing pictures of butterflies all over his notebook, who cared for me without any conditions, no questions asked…It didn’t make any difference and that made me pause, that made me think, because if not, if it didn’t, then something was happening or maybe had already happened, there was something there…
It was I who kissed you that first time in that movie theater when I was what—fifteen?--I who guided your hands to my breasts under my white cashmere sweater and felt your body shudder and rush out of itself into me, mine, and listened to your breath rush inward, in…You never would have done it on your own, be honest…You were much too…respectful…Your face was so tender, so utterly helpless when I kissed your mouth. Like delicate crystal, I was sure you would break…
What could I do with you? What would you have done?…You were so good, Herschel, I knew it, I knew you would be good to me and I thought that I could make you the rest.
So I married you…Why not?…There was no one else. Lots of others but no one else…Somehow I always knew I would…There was that boy in the Catskills when I was eighteen, that lifeguard Danny Ross with his pole—a medical student, he liked the way I looked in my sexy black bathing suit, kept staring at me with that tense, dumbstruck expression like the flesh was about to slide off his face like custard—men are so obvious—and I could hardly blame him, I looked terrific, it clung to my body like my own skin, better, showed off all my curves and there were plenty to show, you could see my nipples, excited all the time because I knew, I knew—I knew he wanted me and my body said that it was time, my time, he had beautiful dark hair and long slim legs, a proud hard body oh yes, oh yes, and I flirted with him—with myself really—a wonderful slow heat, all that tension—and then one night I sneaked out of the room while my parents were asleep and I—we just--
I thought we were going to…But in the city he just—it didn’t--
So I knew I would. Marry you. No doubts, Herschel, it had nothing to do with doubt or wanting either. It was you, Herschel, you, always around, always there, Herschel and Shirley, Shirley and Herschel, Steady Eddie Herschel with his butterflies, my guardian angel…Some kind of weakness I suppose, certainty, comfort I don’t know, like I said you were inevitable…Except once, maybe, right before and then it was my parents: “Are you sure this is what you want, Shirley dear?” my mother said. “You know fat people often have something wrong inside them and sometimes they produce…unattractive children…You do want children, don’t you, dear?”…And my father, nodding: “This you call a future?”…But you know how they are--were—oh, Herschel, everybody’s--dead you look dead oh
Then came the wrestling, remember?…I remember the night you first told me about it…It was right before we were married, remember—and you were working in the Post Office as a sorter, a Clerk 3. You liked it, liked the monotony, I think, you were never ambitious in the way that other men are…You liked it so much, remember—the exotic place names, the strange addresses—1440 Straight Arrow Lane, Old Remsen’s Hollow, every day a new one—you knew every city and town in every state on the entire East Coast and you were working on the West Coast, you said, it wasn’t taxing at all, you said, you were good at it and you could use your math, you’d made up a routing system of your own, something to do with the zone numbers and state codes and the rule of 9’s—3’s?—some kind of…constant—so it allowed you to dream, made you dream and you liked to dream, during the course of a single day you traveled all over the world sometimes, you said, so pleased with yourself and your eyes would light up, your silly eyes…Excited, remember, all excited, and you asked would I come over—"Shirley, Shirley, wait till you hear"—you sat there in your undershirt at the kitchen table in your mother’s horrible ungepotchked apartment, that formica monstrosity from the year one that you absolutely refused to get rid of no matter how many times I pleaded with you because it belonged to her, your sainted mother who could do no wrong, sat there talking, talking, talking, the light in your eyes as I fed you, God bless you, you couldn’t get enough, wiping your face with one of those little boy’s white shirts that we would buy and cut up into handkerchiefs that were big enough while the perspiration ran down your face and neck, jumping up finally and throwing your arms around me, squeezing me until I thought I would burst—oh, Herschel—and all I could say was “A wrestler, Herschel? A wrestler?…” thinking Not a doctor, a lawyer. Not even a businessman. A wrestler, a wrestler—God I hope it won’t be too bad and the plans are made….
And then Maury came and did his song and dance—that monkey, so obvious, so vulgar and cheap in his shiny suits, trying to impress me, to charm my pants off with his flowers and candy—but I could see you wanted it so I thought all right, I said all right and made my adjustments, we’d have something maybe—‘a good living’ he kept saying, an honest-to-goodness honeymoon after all—candy for my ears, artificial flowers—but all right, all right…And we did have a honeymoon…And I was happy, I think…
I hate it, do you know that? I hate the wrestling…I hated the traveling, I hated watching you make a fool of yourself night after night in that stupid costume, and all those animals screaming for your blood…There’s nothing fine about it, Herschel, it’s filthy and cheap, and I didn’t want it to touch me, I didn’t want any part of it…Not that any of you wanted me around to begin with…I was afraid for you, ashamed for you. For the both of us…I kept pushing you to stand up for your rights, assert yourself, if we couldn’t have our dignity at least we could make sure we got what was coming to us…After all, Herschel, he was stealing from you—outright stealing and you knew it, Herschel, don’t tell me you didn’t. But all you ever did was cup my face in your hands and smile that smile of yours—that odd, funny, maddening sweet smile that said that whatever it was was my problem, no affair of yours, that made me feel so…tolerated—and say ‘What do we want with more? We’ve got enough to live on and I get to travel all over the country and visit places I never dreamed I’d see, and meet all kinds of people who know my name and like me before they’ve even met me. Now tell me—what do we have to complain about?’ “But what about the principle?” I’d say. “What about the things I need?”, appealing to you, and the smile would appear all over again, I hate that smile, hate it, you’re no better than me, you have no right!…
It changed for us, Herschel. Everything changed. We had more but somehow it was less, less…The sex, too, the lovemaking, that wasn’t what it was any longer, a hearty appetite, yes, a hunger, but no, that isn’t what it was anymore…Lying in bed in the darkness, remember, the scrollwork on the headboard, like a harp, and your fingers moving over it, over me…You loved that, you could almost hear it sometimes you’d tell me, but you had to leave the light on in the bathroom, what was it, because of Myrna, I think—did we ever discuss it? …I’d open my eyes in the darkness, riding you—all that pleasure, glistening, I could feel myself shine, I never said you couldn’t…perform, Herschel, fat people surprise you that way—so there to my mother, ha, ha, ha—but your head would be turned, your ears cocked, you’d be looking at it, the light, and not at me, Herschel, you weren’t there do you understand, how do you think I felt?…It wasn’t that you’d lost interest I don’t think. It was something else you were after, something…greater, I guess, I don’t know and I couldn’t…abide it…And the radio, Herschel, keeping it on as though it were the music you were making love to and not my body, not me. Sometimes I would catch you moving inside me in time to the music—not Beethoven, not Brahms, not Mozart or Debussy—not anything classical or fine, refined, that would have been…acceptable, I suppose—but that awful numbing racket like black cats moaning and wailing and shrieking in a filthy alley, those loud, raucous black men with their elaborate pompadours and suggestive hip movements, the pounding pianos and thumping drums, so sensual and terrifying…Do you know what it’s like making love to that din, Herschel—nothing light or airy, no passionate swells, nothing plaintive or romantic or sad, no waves breaking, no tittering rose petals…And every time a different station—Detroit, Chicago—God, Herschel, what dream were we acting out anyway—not mine—the disc jockey ranting and the bathroom light on, glaring…
I could have killed you for that…
Did you know that, Herschel?
And then, Herschel—Herschel are you listening, I know I shouldn’t be telling you all this, not now, not here when you—but why not, why shouldn’t I, it’s all got to come out sometime—then I--we couldn’t have a child. I tried so hard, all those years, the plans I made for him—our son, Herschel—but then the doctor said—he said…You wouldn’t adopt, why not, Herschel, what would have been wrong with it? Always blaming me, I never blamed you, the doctor wasn’t certain he said, maybe it wasn’t me who couldn’t…
But always it was the wrestling, the wrestling, the wrestling…Oh God I despise it, the low class of people, hoodlums and wiseguys, gonifs all of them, the kind of men those boys in the schoolyard grew up to be. No one you’d want to associate with socially, always trying to take advantage…And there I was, all alone in that apartment in Brooklyn—not my own home, but an apartment still, so I didn’t even have that to show for any of it…And no child…But all right, yes, with a washer and a dryer and drapes on my windows and carpeting on every floor, clothes in my closet…And no child… I’d watch the shiny new cars glide by outside my window and imagine the lives they led—the dinner parties, the Broadway shows…And think That could be mine. That ought to be mine…What was I supposed to do?…I was lonely, Herschel, you were always on the road, always on the run, always wrestling somewhere—God how I hate it!—they kept you running, hopping, chasing after that stupid title you were never going to get—couldn’t you see that?…Always off somewhere and when you finally came back it was butterfly this and place-to-see that—where were you, Herschel?—never giving a damn about how you looked or how much money we had in the bank, the future…You weren’t there, don’t you see? I couldn’t get near you…Those men…That Maury—that gonif, that crook…And that other one—what’s his name?…That horrible little insect with the dark glasses…Blinky…They surrounded you like a lead shield, Herschel—what was I supposed to do?…I was lonely, Herschel, I couldn’t get near you, and he called me that night—Rudy—Valentino—not that night actually but the night before, you were away in Pittsburgh—Birmingham, Syracuse, it amounted to the same thing, didn’t it—he called me that night and asked how I was, if there was anything he could do for me, bring me, perhaps he might come by and see me…He knew you’d been on the road for awhile, he said, and he thought I might be in need of some company, it was the least he could do, not much at all really, but he knew what it was like, the waiting—‘the life’ he called it…I was a little bit flustered at first, I think, not suspicious, no, but surprised, wondering. After all, he hardly knew me at all, I’d only met him a couple of times before. But he was so nice about it, so polite, no pressure, he seemed so concerned—a smooth deep voice, soft edges, a trace of an accent perhaps, cultured, and I guess I was flattered, he was somebody, he was important, you’d said, he had all those titles and he was a friend of yours, a buddy, you liked him, it was awfully nice of him you have to admit and there I was, a big apartment, Herschel…And I thought Well, why not, what’s wrong with it? feeling something stir inside me, wanting to say Yes. All right. That’s very nice of you. Why not? but hanging back, something telling me Not here at least—already fighting it, you see, whatever it was—so I thanked him—he chuckled—bubbles of something sweet and warm—and said that I thought it would be…inconvenient for him to come all the way out to Brooklyn but that there was some shopping I had been meaning to do and it might be possible for me to meet him afterwards, for dinner perhaps, somewhere in Manhattan, if that was convenient for him—making it all up as I went along, you see, I didn’t know why, leaving it open, up to him…That would be fine, he said, he understood perfectly, and he suggested I meet him the following evening on 34th Street, a fabulous little restaurant he knew that served terrific seafood, clams and fish—my mouth already watering—convenient for me, near to his gym, the owner was an old friend, a paisan, tickets to the matches, ha ha ha, an easy laugh and did I like fish?…“Oh yes,” I said. “Yes,” thinking: Why not? Why not? all over again, Where was the harm?…And knowing that it was there and I would find it. Or it me…
The next night I was there early. I was dressed up, feminine but restrained I thought, all my best colors—the black dress, my good coat with the fox collar that framed my face—so cuddly, so warm—the slight plunge to show off my bustline, the belt cinched tight and new I. Miller heels for my legs, a matching bag…Impatient I was, excited, where was he? …Winter time it was, crisp, a frosty mist around the streetlights, the Christmas bulbs blinking in the department store windows, a Salvation Army Santa Claus ringing his bell and my breath in puffs, a tingling inside me…Looking at my watch, where was he, and he came gliding toward me out of the darkness, a confident walk without ostentation, smooth even strides, I like that in a man…He was dressed in black, only in black—soft flannel slacks, a ribbed turtleneck, a sports jacket and topcoat—cashmere, maybe—and shiny new loafers, and his slicked-back hair and liquid eyes and neat mustache—minute variations on a single theme; resonances, an echo effect, interesting…A pale face, handsome, aristocratic, an aquiline nose if it hadn’t been broken and full lips curving into a sneer, aggressive, even cruel, perhaps, but attractive, sensual…He was different, Herschel, I knew it right away, he wasn’t coarse like all the rest of them. He had breeding you could see it in the way he carried himself. He didn’t just move, he glided, his muscles glided underneath the clothing, a broad welcoming smile, the pressure of his hand at my elbow, and before I knew it my coat was off and we were seated at our table…He asked me did I want a drink. “No!” I said, a little too quickly, and he laughed, a dark, slightly wicked laugh bubbling up like champagne from deep in his throat, teasing me, his teeth were so white…“Nervous?” he asked and I thought: I don’t have to be, do I, this is dinner, he’s your friend, and said “No…It’s just…the circumstances.” And he laughed again, his teeth were so white, challenging me with his eyes and his mocking liquid laugh, so sure of himself, not cocky, just sure, enjoying it, my discomfort, the game, and I thought: I don’t—I don’t have to be afraid and said “A glass of wine, maybe.” “Are you certain?” he asked, he was poking fun, teasing me, and I nodded and tried to smile: “Of course”, looking him straight in the eye, defying him, he looked over at the waiter, sat up straight and tall and signalled, snapped his fingers I think, or perhaps just inclined his head in a certain practiced way and like magic there it was, Italian I think, crisp and dry and a little fruity, a little sour, and before I knew it the bottle was gone—not just empty but gone—and another one had taken its place…
It was an enormous restaurant and very crowded, Herschel, not a quiet little place at all, not at all like he’d described. There were baskets full of breadsticks on every table—so crunchy, mmm—and everyone was talking at once, the waiters were running and bustling about with trays and plates and pads and pencils, trying not to bump into one another and glaring, the lights were so…loud, and you could hear the silverware clattering and scraping…All that distraction, sharp bursts of laughter like the rattle of a machine gun, but his eyes never left me, never strayed. He made it seem like we were the only ones there, as though it were dinner for two in a swanky private penthouse at the top of the world. Some men are able to do that and he did it effortlessly with his size and his bulk and his striking black clothing and wavy hair, the way he moved and spoke…Softly, so softly—you had to come very close in order to hear him and once you had he wouldn’t let you get away and you didn’t want to either…Occasionally he’d put his hand on mine, let his fingers rest lightly on my fingers for a moment and then draw them away almost without my noticing so that I was always more aware of them when they were gone than when they were there…He’s a handsome man, Herschel, you’ve got to understand, he’s got grace and style and flair…panache…maybe he is a little full of himself but so what, so what…He talked to me, really talked, telling me about his background—the father was a butcher, teasing the old ladies in the shop—and making me laugh whenever he wanted, so easily, it was so good to laugh, telling me about wrestling—‘the life,’ he kept saying—in ways I could understand, not butterflies, no seedy little men, but facts and figures, the ins and outs—business…In ways you never talked to me, Herschel…Eating his fish, splitting it open with his fork, removing the spine—deft, economical movements, twirling his glass to catch the light, raising it to his lips, draining it, his head bent forward, arms on the table, surrounding me with his body, it seemed, protecting me, enveloping, his eyes boring into me, what a relief…Telling me stories about championship matches and drinking bouts and ‘swerving’, those silly practical jokes you’re always playing on one another, funny stories that made me clap my hands and giggle like a silly little girl, silly stories maybe but they made me laugh—why not—locker room gossip but he made it come alive, he made it sound…glamorous and exciting--yes, for the first time exciting— like something special for someone special, a gift of himself that he wanted to share, and his eyes never wandered, never strayed…
He was interested in me, don’t you see—he listened to everything I had to say, really listened with his eyes and mouth and little movements of his head, made it seem as though what I said was important, what I thought and felt and saw was important, as though I was the one with the titles after all—earnest with a smile in his eyes, a smile and something else, something more, touching his mustache with the tips of his fingers, brushing my hand with the tips of his fingers…“My God, you’re lovely” he said at one point—silly little things like that—my hair, my dress, his eyes roaming freely now, I think I must have shivered, it was all very silly and vain I knew, but I didn’t care, I liked it and I felt myself blushing, glowing in the dark, it could have been the wine but it wasn’t, it was him, the things he said—no, him, just him, he knew, he made it all seem simple and right no matter how stupid and silly it was…Try it. Why not? he seemed to be saying, complete acceptance, undivided attention, his forearms on the table and his shoulders so broad…Another bottle and maybe another, my dinner half-finished, all but forgotten, but still somehow I felt full, content, a warm glow in my eyes, candles burning far away, and his eyes looking through me, no longer mocking…Finally he said “My place or yours?”, a silly thing to say, especially under the circumstances, right—a B-movie, Charles Boyer or someone like that—but he said it sincerely, without guile or shame, lightly like he knew better—a throwaway, flip—but earnestly, seriously so I would know he meant it…I pretended not to hear but I let him take me home, wanting to—it was the first time, I swear—and thinking I’ll take him home with me, why not…For coffee…And conversation. …We’ll talk about…Herschel…About ourselves…In the living room…It’s only nine-thirty…Ten after ten…Why does—why should it have to end right now?…I’m a grown-up, a mature married woman…I can tell him good night at the door if I want…I can do what I want if I want to…Can’t I?…
He held me in the cab going home, held me, and I let my head rest against his shoulder, I was tired, my body felt warm, silky, and I let him, let him hold me, he didn’t seem to mind and he was your friend, Herschel, your friend, he’d said so, you’d said so, protecting me all the way home, encircling me so I didn’t have to think, I could smell his cologne and the sour-sweet scent of the wine on his breath…Or maybe it was mine...
And then…so cheerful…“Well…!” I said, “What would you like? What can I give you?”—regretting it instantly, but it was coffee only, coffee and cake…I was standing, I remember I was smoothing my hair, and I think I lit a cigarette, I’m not sure I was smoking then but it seems as though I should have…And he just sat there, relaxed and easy—he was so easy about everything, not restless, never hurried—sat there like a sleek black tiger crouched beneath a tree with his fingers spread wide on the arms of the chair—your chair—and all his weight balanced on the balls of his feet it seemed, all of him watching me, I was walking, pacing back and forth, his eyes followed me, and then all of a sudden I stopped and turned and he got up, I saw his smile…
That’s all…
You came home early, Herschel. I didn’t expect you…Or maybe I did, maybe I had a sixth sense about it—who ever knows about something like that—your ulcer was acting up and you had to bow out early, standing there in the doorway with your bag in your hand, a pale sick look. “Herschel!” I said, surprised at myself, how calm I was—it was all that wine, I guess, yes, the wine—but you didn’t say a word, your eyes wide and…hollow—punctured balloons—you must have been hurting, you just hoisted the bag up onto your shoulder and turned your back and walked out the door, “Herschel,” I called, “Herschel--please…!”, but you wouldn’t answer, and him lying there smiling…
It wasn’t that good.
And then there was…nothing…Nothing left but the divorce and the lawyers…Not Dan of course, he’s not…I mean that little smoothie with the garlic on his breath that Maury got for you…I mean really, Herschel—making you wear your Haystacks outfit because he figured you’d look poor and helpless that way…Innocent Herschel, tsk, tsk, tsk…And yes, I took you for every penny I could get…Why?…Why not? Why shouldn’t I have?…I gave everything I had to you and there are things I need, opportunities…
You never protested…Never said a word…Why not, Herschel? I thought maybe it would…Even in the courtroom you just sat there staring straight ahead…Except once—remember—when I happened to catch your eye and you kind of smiled. As though you weren’t connected to any of it, exempt somehow, damn you. As though none of it was happening to you at all but was only something you had to sit through for awhile, an unpleasant chore like a piano lesson you have to take that would soon be over and they would set you free and you could go out and play, run out into the sunshine and chase those goddam butterflies…Disappearing through the swinging doors, I wasn’t even aware you’d left, and afterwards I let Dan talk me into dinner and a drink, a stiff one…A new woman, free, he said, “Cheers!”, he was so kind and understanding and he seemed so lonely and mixed up himself, telling me about his ‘situation’—two kids and a wife who didn’t—who wouldn’t…Soothing me—“Bottoms up!”—a handsome, vital, virile young man already greying, immaculately dressed in an expensive tailored suit with a watch chain and a vest, bright, witty, “going places” written all over him and already greying, how does it happen?…Soothing him, it seemed so natural, why not, a new woman, free, he said, and I let him take me—to bed, Herschel, do you understand, all the while thinking of you, you, wondering where you were and what you were doing, whether you were thinking of me…
I’m always…chasing rainbows, aren’t I?…
Silly…
I think I thought that if I…Maybe then you’d…
No, that’s not true. I did it for me…For me, Herschel, me. I don’t have to apologize to anyone, least of all you…I don’t know why I married you in the first place. To this day I don’t. I never should have…Always there, I suppose, my own weakness…You needed me…I could have done a lot better, you know, could have had whoever I wanted. There were lots of others interested, believe me. I had plenty of offers…It’s natural enough when you think about it. I’ve always had a good figure…I never lacked for a man…When I wanted one, that is…
I don’t think I’ll get married again. Ever…Why should I? What do I need it for? My independence is too precious to me…
You’re perspiring, Herschel, someone should--Wait…you smell phew I hate it when a person stinks my father smelled I hope it’s not me I hate this room so drab so ugly dirt on the windowsill no not me but I shouldn’t have come and
I--smile blink your eyes for godsakes do something you’re drooling you smell oh god you’re a vegetable what have they done is it done it’s
I’m sorry…
You look pale, Herschel. pale fat and ugly grotesque stupid dull I despise dullness ugh dried blood a scab in your nostril they ought to trim your beard disgusting I don’t respect you don’t care I don’t I
Nurse! Nurse! where the hell is she you could be damn you anyway Herschel
I’m his wife, yes. Shirley Cain. so young
No, Cain. That’s his professional name. the nerve
C-A-I-N
Yes, I am. who does she think she is and that walk
I’m his ex-wife. What difference does it make for goodness sakes? she needs a good bra they’re practically
I realize you do, but--now look here sister
What?…The man is suffering, can’t you see, he’s…in distress. He hasn’t had a proper bath for God knows how long. His bedclothes are soiled. He has…an odor. He is extremely pale and it’s quite obvious to me that he hasn’t been fed. There is dirt all over the windows. The sills have not been dusted. The floors need polishing. Do you want me to continue? so there
How?…There are funny noises coming from inside his throat. Gurgling noises, wheezing—I think he’s choking…Okay? Now will you please do your job instead of--running around till all hours of the night I’ll bet
I don’t think it’s the machine. Please…
Normal? How can you—? loose no standards
He is not resting comfortably. blond-haired bitch
A fractured larynx…?
I see. ice cold
The tubes, yes.
Mm-hmm. And his nose?
Internal what?
Oh. I didn’t--
Mm-hmm…Well what about the bathing, his beard? pretty though if you like the type
I certainly hope so, Nurse. I hope you are. Irish-Catholic
It means I’m not satisfied, that’s what it means. It means I’m…appalled. That’s my husband lying there. An important man. low class
Certainly I can, I’m associated with attorneys, but what does that have to do with it?…We’re talking about a standard of care. definitely
All right, common human decency then. This is a sick man, Nurse, in case you haven’t noticed. Someone has to take responsibility.
I really couldn’t care less that you just work here.
You’re a professional, aren’t you? You have a duty. so young
I’m not being rude. Miss Hoity-Toity
I am not raising my voice. all her own though damn her
Now look here—Herschel can’t you--exercise?
I’m sorry, Herschel. I really am. maybe I should have mine lifted
What?…Oh, that was me…Ha, ha, ha, excuse me, Herschel…They’ll be in to see you soon. It’s all taken care of. damn it
It’s so funny talking to you like this…No, it isn’t, it’s the same. You never listened. In one ear and out the other, that’s you. Always think you know it all…Well, you are what you are, I guess. There’s no changing any of it, that’s the problem…
I’m thinking of changing my name actually. To Cheri. With an ‘i’. It means beloved in French…I love the sound of it, sensual yet elegant. Cheri Cain—like a movie star, isn’t it?…Dan can do it for me easily…For nothing of course—I’m sure he won’t charge me. he’ll take it out in trade
I don’t know…I need something. Do you ever have that feeling?…
Do you?
I guess you don’t. Why should you care, right?
I don’t love anybody. Did I tell you that?…except…maybe…
Ha ha ha…c’est la guerre, Herschel, eh?…Where are my gloves? I had them here somewhere…Kidskin, Herschel. Smart, aren’t they? I got them at Bergdorf’s with the bag and the dress. Green’s my best color, don’t you think? You always liked me in green.
Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t take you back. I like my life.
One more thing, Herschel…I could use more money. Dan—he’s the lawyer I work for—Dan says--
My god, what am I talking about?…I’ll let Dan take care of it, this is no time for--
I don’t even know if you’re listening to me.
Herschel, are you listening…?
Herschel…?
Herschel?
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Steve Schlam first gained entry to the City of Words through the doors of the public library in Brooklyn, New York, where he was born and spent a good portion of his childhood, and has maintained his residence ever since while living in cities and towns across the United States and in Mexico. An actor as well as an author, he has performed on stages in all the places he has called home, and earned a Master's Degree in Creative Writing under the tutelage of Joseph Heller, renowned author of Catch-22. His debut novel, The Harvesting of Haystacks Kane, was published in March.
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