A Ship Made of Paper

“Itusedto make me uncomfortable.Now it doesn’t.Now I like it.”

“I think I might be having a heart attack.”

“Look, please, don’t make more out ofthis than what it’s meant to be.I shouldn’t have said anything.I’m indulging myself.Taking a little time offfrom reality.”

“This is reality.”

“It’s just that the past couple months, since Nelson and Ruby have gotten to be such buddies, and you and I cross paths fairly frequently, it’s been this little secret pleasure in my life.It’s like a river under the road.

Let’s talk about something else.”

“Do you have anything to drink?”

“More tea?”

“The tea is not good.The tea was a mistake.Something stronger?”

“Bourbon okay? I’ll have one, too.”

At home, Daniel is the designated driver, with or without an automobile.He has made it his job to not drink and through his example to some-how discourage drinking.This course ofaction, or inaction, has never met with the slightest success, but he cleaves to it nevertheless, limiting his consumption ofalcohol to a glass or two ofwine with dinner once or twice a week.Now, he sits in Iris’s kitchen, watching her reach up to a high cabinet to retrieve a bottle ofJack Daniel’s, watching her muscles move beneath her clothes—and he thinks:What if this were really my life? What if I could spend a part of every day watching her?What if it were easy?What if I come behind her, put my arms around her, kiss her long bare neck, cup my handsover her breasts, push my groin against her awe-inspiring ass? Could I tol-erate living with such happiness?

She pours their drinks, they hold their glasses up and then move them very slowly together until they touch.

Iris is hoping a drink will soothe her nerves—the intense labor ofappearing calm is wearing her out.And a drink might loosen up both of them, could even throw up a little makeshift bridge between them.Ear-lier, with Ruby in tow, knowing that Daniel would be coming to her house, Iris had felt that here, now, was the logical and perfect time to fi-nally make something out ofthose months offlirtatious glances.It seemed, then, that all she had to do was to let him know she had seen them all, felt his eyes on her, heard what he did not say.All she had to tell him was that she is caught up in a marriage that has turned out to be a mistake.It would be simple, a simple thing to do.She does not worry about being attractive to him.He has already made all ofthat clear:she has never felt so desired.

But now she realizes that it will not be that easy, will not be easy atall.

Yet the giddiness ofall this cannot altogether obscure her prescient view ofthe misery she would cause ifshe reached across the table and touched Daniel’s soft, lank hair.It finally takes so little, a kiss, and now she’s thinking about it, imagining it.

There’s music from the second floor.The kids are listening to theVillage People singing“YMCA.”

“Nelson!”Iris turns, looks up at the ceiling.“Turn it down.”

“How did that ever become a children’s song?”Daniel asks.He’s still making small talk, wanting only to keep her attention and to make sure there are no silences.“It’s so completelyWestVillage, cruising Christo-pher Street,1978.It’s strange the way the culture absorbs things and makes whatever use ofthem.”

She refills their glasses, very judiciously, as ifthis were a familiar ritual.

Suddenly, there’s a thud right above them, unnerving in its suddenness and force.Daniel’s response is instant.Out ofhis seat, out ofthe kitchen, up the stairs, taking them two at a time.Iris follows.They both hear Ruby’s plaintive little cry.Iris has a sinking feeling.

They reach the children.Daniel, wisely, has slowed himself down, trying not to add his alarm to the volatile mix.Ruby is just picking her-selfup.Her swollen blue eyes glitter with unshed tears and her face is scarlet.Without a word, she stretches her arms out toward Daniel.He lifts her up;her knees grip his rib cage, she wraps her arms around him, notches her head into the space between his neck and shoulder.Iris real-izes her hands are clenched into fists;she forces herselfto relax them.

“What’s wrong, Ruby?”Daniel asks.

Nelson is simply standing there, his arms folded over his chest, his body rigid beneath his cargo pants and sweatshirt, a look ofstony defi-ance on his face.

“She’s all right,”he says insistently.“She’s not hurt.”

The room in which they’ve been playing has a wide plank floor and a large circular orange-and-blue rug.The walls are decorated with travel posters from Bermuda and Denmark.The ceiling is slanted, the windows small, low—an adult would have to get down on her knees to see out of them.The sense oforder in that room is fierce.The shelves and cubbies are filled with action figures, cars and trucks, books, tapes, CDs, dolls, paints, blocks, and Legos, all neatly kept.

“Nelson pushed me down,”Ruby whispers.

”Oh Nelson, Nelson,”Iris says.“Why do you do these things?”She tries to take his arm but he yanks it out ofher reach.“Is she all right?”

Iris asks Daniel.

“She’s fine,”he says.“Aren’t you, honey?”

Ruby presses her face harder against Daniel and vehemently shakes her head no.

“What happened here, Nelson?”Iris says.She reaches for him and this time he cannot escape.

“Nothing.”His eyes are mutinous and self-righteous.

”How did it happen that Ruby fell down?”Iris says.

”Kids fall all the time,”Daniel says, stroking Ruby’s head.

”I’m waiting for an answer, Nelson,”Iris says.“How did she fall down?

Did you push her?”

Nelson continues to glare at his mother, and Iris suddenly turns her attention toward Ruby.“Are you all right, Ruby?”

“I’m fine,”Ruby says.She starts to squirm and Daniel sets her down.

Her face is no longer flushed, and now without its wrapping ofcolor they can see a pale little lump on her forehead.

“Oh Nelson,”says Iris.

”I didn’t do anything!”Nelson cries.“She was trying to kiss me!”

“I was not!”Ruby practically bellows.

”Ruby is a guest in our home, Nelson.You know what the tradition is.”

Nelson lowers his eyes.

”Are you two going to be okay?”Daniel says.“Or are you going to continue acting like children?”

He wants peace, at any price.He wants Iris to be put at ease, and he wants to be able to go back to the kitchen with her.He signals for them to leave—a little flick ofthe eyes, they are that much in synch—and they both back out ofthe playroom.

In the kitchen, they take their places at the table again.Outside:the crack offalling trees.Again, it seems they are going to lose electric power.Darkness stutters but does not yet pronounce itself.

“Nelson can sometimes be a little rough,”Iris says.

”Really? He always seems so mild and considerate.”

“He is, I really believe he is.But there are times…His father is teaching him how to box, it’s the worst thing he could do.As soon as he gets offthe train Friday night Nelson comes running up to him and Hamp gets into a crouch, like it’s round one.That can’t be good.Nelson needs to be gentled down, not…”

But wherever this line ofconversation is heading, it’s stopped by the huge groaning snap ofanother falling tree and then the flickering ofthe lights.

Iris whimpers, covers her eyes.

”Are you all right?”Daniel asks.

”It kills me.It’s like watching your relatives die.”

He looks at her, amazed.Everything she says makes her more imperative.“I better get Ruby ready and get out ofhere,”he says.“While we still can.”

“You really think it’s safe?”Iris says, her voice showing alarm.

”Then what am I going to do?”he says.