“The one in Ruby’s room runs on batteries,”Daniel says.
”Ruby’s room? She has a radio in there?”
“Yes, the red one.My First Sony, or something like that.You’ll see it.”
“I just want a way to tune in some news and keep track ofthe storm.”
“I put fresh batteries in it a couple days ago,”Daniel says.
”Oh, you’re so good,”says Kate.A little lurch in her voice.And then something being poured.He realizes she’s getting loaded.Hard to re-member, but there was a time when he liked her drinking, liked the free-wheeling, southern bad girl aspect ofher, the nocturnal romance ofit.
Those drunken nights were the occasions oftheir most uninhibited sex.
Sweaty, a little mean.It was like screwing an escapee.The concentration was all on Kate.What would she like, what could she take? Her body arching and jerking as ifshe were being electrocuted.Enthralling, those nights, some strange combination ofhoneymoon and porn flick.Nasty and private and never spoken ofafterward.But even then he felt those moments weren’t quite valid, like those sports statistics that go into the record book with little asterisks after them, indicating a shortened sea-son or a muddy track.
“Kate’s out ofher mind with happiness,”he says to Iris, giving the phone back to her.
Another tree explodes, this one, from the sound ofit, just a few feet from the house.
“Every tree that’s falling took so long to grow,”Iris says.There will be no more talk ofKate.“Some ofthem a hundred years.”
“Maybe even more.”
“I can’t stand to hear them dying like this.It’s like witnessing hunters shooting a herd ofelephants.”
“That’s what I was thinking,”says Daniel.“The elephants.It’s what I was going to say.But don’t worry.It’ll be all right.”
“You’re the type who thinks
“How do you know that?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Maybe I’m a bit ofan optimist.”
“I think you are.”
“Could be that it’s sort of…awhite thing?”Daniel asks.
”Well, it sure ain’t no black thing, honey child.”Iris laughs, a little surprised at herself.
“Do you miss being around black people?”he asks her—much to his own surprise.
“What makes you think I’m not around black people?”
“There’s not many around, not here.”
“True.And here is where I am.I like it here, and, frankly, it’s hard to find a really nice place that also has a lot ofAfrican-American families.I like to ski, and sail, and take walks in the woods.I like having a garden and I’m in a really good program at Marlowe.Anyhow, I’ve come a long way from that cave at Ruby Falls.I’m used to being in a white world.”
Scarecrow totters into the kitchen and goes straight to Daniel’s side, leans against him and groans softly, with deep canine contentment.
“What do you want, Scarecrow?”Daniel says.“Why are you looking at me? Because I said you look like Jesus?”
“Let me ask you something,”Iris says.“Why did you say that?”
“About the dog being Jesus? I don’t know.She seems very deep.Did it offend you?”
“I had the same thought.Just yesterday.It seemed sort ofnutty and now you’re saying the same thing today.”
“That is strange.Is Jesus a big thing in your life?”
“Not too big.I think we’re alone.There’s no one to forgive us or punish us or help us in our hour ofneed, and I think nearly everybody deep down knows that.When I was an undergraduate, I took a course called ‘Death and Dying.’”
“You did?”
“Oh yes, I’ve always been very interested in death.Anyhow, as part of my course work I volunteered in a hospice and I got to know quite a few people who were dying, mostly ofcancer.My supervisor told me we weren’t supposed to push any sort ofreligious ideas on the people we talked to, but it was all right to subtly, in some general way, offer them the comfort offaith, maybe mentioning heaven and meeting up with loved ones, that kind ofthing.But you know what I noticed?The closer dying people got to the end, the more they knew that there was nothing next.
The knowledge was in their bodies, they knew that was all, there was no heaven, no God, just blood and bones and pain and then silence.You could see this knowledge in their eyes.Even the ones who had been religious all their lives, and the ones who just were so scared they were willing to be-lieve in heaven at the last minute, desperate for something to hold on to, to ward offthe fear, you could even see it in their eyes—God was an idea, it was something out there, far far away, it was a story people told, a beau-tiful story, or a dumb story, but it was in the province ofthe living, and these dying bodies didn’t have time for it anymore, they were too busy dying, the work ofit.Even ifthey were praying out loud, holding on to the rosaries, calling on Jesus, be with me, Jesus, be with me, their bodies knew, there was a final knowledge right in their cells that it was all over.”
“I saw you going to church in July.I was driving past St.Christopher’s and I saw your car turning in.”
“I go to church three times a year, on Christmas and Easter, and in July, around the Fourth.My baby brother, Leonard, drowned on the Fourth ofJuly when he was six years old.I light a candle for him and I pray and I cry, but I don’t even know why I do it.”
“There’s not too many places where you can go and have those feelings.”
“Do you have a place?”
“The movies.Sometimes I cut out ofwork and go across the river to one ofthe mall movies.I sit there in the middle ofthe afternoon with a box ofpopcorn and some M&Ms, and kind ofcry a little.It’s totally pa-thetic and what’s really pathetic is you’re not even the first person I’ve told this to.I tell it to everyone.”
“Maybe you want people to know you’re lonely.”
“You think that’s what it is?”
“It must be strange for people to think ofyou that way, lonely.”
“I know, I know.Because I’m such a cheerful presence.”
“Well, you are.And—”
“I know,”Daniel says.“Everybody likes me.”
“It’s good that people like you.I like you.”
“Good.I like you, too.”
“I know.”
“Well, that’s settled, anyhow.”
“Can we be honest here?”
“We can try.It’s not that easy.”
“I just think we can be honest, that’s all, I mean:why not? Maybe this is Armageddon.”
“The snowstorm?”
“It’s something,”says Iris.“It’s an occasion.We hardly ever get to say what we mean to say.That’s why people who have crises in their lives, real ones, huge ones, they turn out to be more honest.”
“Okay, some people have the Battle ofAlgiers, we’ve got the snowstorm.Anyhow, I think I know what you’re going to say.”
“What am I going to say?”
“You’re going to say,‘I know you like me and I also have become increasingly aware that you stare at me and you seem unduly excited whenever we happen to meet.’”
“That’s right,”says Iris.“Except for‘unduly.’I wasn’t going to use that word.”
“So you don’t think it’s unduly.”
“Maybe it is.I wasn’t going to put it like that.”
“How were you going to put it?”
“I was going to say you’ve been looking at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry.I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
