Crossings (26 page)

 

AT HOME Jocelyn and I decide we must sell some of the kittens. She is to keep two of the first batch, Lolita and Humbert, but the rest must go. Especially Pieface, a stray who howled her way into the place and then proceeded to suck on Sally. Now that I've got Sala for Jocelyn, it's just too much. ‘Besides, Sala thinks
he's
a cat too,' says Jocelyn, ‘and that's ridiculous in a seventy-five pound German Shepherd!' It is, too; he's always getting caught in the cat hole, or trying to jump on top of the radiator. And Lolly, seductive wench, is constantly getting Sala all excited. ‘It'll still be too much for his ego,' says Jocelyn, ‘with four cats and just him.' She's right. To this day, he persists in his identity crisis and chases cats madly, not from canine instinct but
amour
.

We put an ad in the paper and the auction commences.

‘It's like you're doing interviews for adoption,' Mik says. ‘What was wrong with
them?
' jerking his thumb at a couple going down the sidewalk. Rejects.

‘They wanted Siamese for prestige,' I say.

‘And yesterday you wouldn't sell because they said they'd spay the female. Already you've got so many rules … you sell them only by twos.'

‘One would get lonely, after this house.'

‘But what's so wrong with spaying the female then, if you're going to insist they go as couples?'

‘Well. Spaying's as bad as a whatsit. A vasectomy.'

Mik doesn't answer for a while. Then he says, ‘My sister's husband's got one.'

‘They get neurotic if they're alone. They need company.'

‘Not a Siamese. A vasectomy.'

‘You're kidding!'

‘Twenty minutes. Never felt a thing.'

‘Does your sister
know
?
'

‘Sure. It was her idea. She gets pregnant every time he hangs his pants on the bedpost.' Mik laughs.

‘It was
her
idea?'

‘Hell,' says Mik, ‘he says it's even better now.'

‘You mean she still does it with him?'

‘Sure. Why not. It doesn't affect a man's ability.'

‘I couldn't.'

‘Couldn't what?'

‘I couldn't, not with a man who had that.'

‘
You
're
kidding,' Mik says to me.

‘No. It wouldn't feel right. It'd be like, you know, with a eunuch.'

‘You've got to be kidding.'

I shake my head. ‘No. I could never go to bed with someone like that.'

‘But, Jesus, they've got four kids already.'

‘But what if she dies? What if they all get burnt up in a fire?'

‘Jesus!' Mik says. ‘You really mean it.'

‘You're damned right, nobody's going to spay my pussy,' and I hug Lolly. But he doesn't laugh. He is looking at me with that funny look. As if he's working something out. As if he's measuring me for the drop.

 

THE PROFESSOR phoned to say he was having guests the coming weekend, would I care to come? ‘He's John Straussen,' he said. But I didn't recognize the name. ‘The CBC big wig?' I still don't twig. ‘His wife's Marguerite Prentiss.'

‘Oh sure. I've seen her on television.'

‘Come on Thursday and then we can have a quiet day before they get here. They'll be coming with Iris.'

Iris was, is, the professor's wife, a woman of formidable wit. Once, at the professor's house, she had introduced Ben, saying, ‘And this is Mr Victoria Ferris.' And to a magnificent lady professor whom I adored, ‘How wise of you, dear, to give up girdles, they only stop the circulation.'

‘Yes, well, can I let you know? I'm sort of working on something.'

It's a lie. I should be working but I'm not. I should be finishing up the one about the man from the sea, and all the complicated chess crud. People had talked so much about the symbols in the other that now I thought I was a symbol writer, and I was putting them in like capers. Anyway, I wasn't working at all. I was screwing around.

And the promise to the Festival man was hanging over my head too.

Jocelyn had announced she would be leaving soon, for the East. David was going to get his PhD and she was going to be with him.

Ben had finished the head. It sat on the coffee table. The best thing he ever did, but rather foreboding. Now he had no more excuses for coming over.

I think I said that. ‘Well, I'll be seeing you sometime.'

‘Yes. I guess you'd rather I didn't come over.'

‘Yes. I guess so.'

‘How's the asthma?'

‘Nonexistent. I threw the stuff all away. The day of the divorce.'

‘I refuse to accept the divorce.'

‘Yes, you've told me.'

‘People don't stop being married because of a piece of paper.' And,

‘How's the Nut Lady?'

‘Fine. She says I'm not destructive. She says if I press a button the world will not explode.'

‘You never were destructive,
I
was the destructive one. You're a good person.'

Somehow this sort of talk from Ben makes me feel even more sick.

‘Do you realize we never fought?' I said. ‘We spent our time telling each other how wonderful we were. We never got cross.'

‘Why should we have done?' said Ben. ‘We agree on all the basic matters.'

I threw back my head and eyed him archly but that sort of ploy never worked with Ben. ‘And what were they, the basic matters?'

‘Socialism, for one,' Ben said seriously. ‘We're both socialists. And God. We don't believe in God. And the inherent dignity of the individual. The possibility of free will in spite of determinism. That's why I didn't interfere.'

‘With what?'

‘With what you're doing now. Maybe you need it. Maybe you need a man like that. I mustn't stop you. It would be a breach of your individual liberty. All I can do is stand by.'

‘For what? Stand by for what?'

‘For whatever happens.'

‘What do you think's going to happen?'

‘I think he'll hurt you. I think you want him to hurt you.'

‘Why should I want that?'

‘Because you want to punish yourself. For the abortion. You see it as murder.'

‘It was murder.'

‘That's a matter of opinion.'

‘It's a matter of
fact.
It was
alive
.'

‘Is life the same when it's uterine, as when it's …' He pauses.

‘Aer-e-o?' I supply. ‘Yes, for me.'

Ben sighs. ‘I've given it a lot of thought. I was wrong to encourage you. I mean, about the abortion. In many ways, it was my fault.'

I feel a tremor of terror and I hear myself say, ‘You couldn't come in me! That time! You couldn't do it in me. You pulled out!'

‘I know,' says Ben. ‘It haunts me. But you see, I didn't want to hurt you.'

‘Hurt me!'

‘No, that's true,' he protests. ‘I couldn't bear to think of all that suffering. All that blood and pain. It was terrible to think of you like that.'

‘You think there wasn't blood? You think there wasn't pain?'

‘Not as much as there would have been, at nine months. You were only about two months gone, you know.'

‘I was
five
months gone!'

Ben smiles, his superior smile. ‘No. I checked. The foetus was only …'

‘Oh, I see. That's what you were doing. With the scalpel. Checking.'

‘Scalpel?' He is genuinely puzzled.

‘When you took the scalpel in. To the bedroom. You were checking?'

‘I never took a …'

‘Whatever it was. What you use on the silk-screen.'

But he denies it. He denies the whole thing.

‘You're very lovely, Vicky,' he says. ‘You know I love you, don't you? And you're a good person, basically. Try to remember that. I know you're hurt and bitter. But we all love you, try to remember that.'

‘Who. You and who else?'

‘All your friends. Ivan and Marie and Paul. Even Marcie. Marcie would like to make it up with you. She's very sorry. I've talked to her about it.'

‘Thanks, anyway.'

‘It's true. Marie was saying just this morning what a wonderful person you are.'

‘
Was
she? Does she sleep with you too, as well as Paul? To comfort you?'

Ben's face gets that hurt look. ‘Marie is a very fine person. And Ivan understands about Paul. They don't believe in possession.'

‘The more fool Ivan,' I say. ‘It's going to happen all over again, you know. It'll be Wilma all over again.'

And at the moment, something goes zonk inside me and I know what the Festival play is about.

‘They believe in free love,' Ben is saying, but my mind is going whing whizz zip-azap. ‘Marie says you're terribly romantic.'

‘Oh yeah? What does Ivan say?'

(I find out years later. After I've written the Ivan-Wilma play. ‘What week end?' Ivan says to me in the caf.

‘You know. That weekend. When you went on the motorcycle. And you left Wilma alone with Lionel. I always thought it was on purpose. You know. That you sort of wanted it to happen. Because if she did it, she'd
have
to leave you.'

‘No. I never expected anything to happen. God, women are romantic,' Ivan said gloomily. ‘I don't know what it is you all want.')

‘The trouble with us was,' says Ben, ignoring my Ivan-question, ‘the trouble with us was I treated you like a child bride, always protecting you from everything. I wouldn't let you grow up. I see it now.'

‘I can see you've all gone into this thoroughly,' I say, ‘you and Paul and Ivan and Marie. Sitting together over home-made saki discussing poor little Vicky.'

‘I've given up liquor,' says Ben, ‘and meat.'

‘Does it work?'

‘What?'

‘Oh, you know. Rod. He said it got rid of lustful thoughts, giving up meat.'

‘That isn't why,' says Ben. ‘I just can't bear to think of the animals. Neither can you, Vicky. You know you can't. You gave it up for eight months; you were stronger than me then.'

I'd read
The Jungle
and driven everyone mad. Grace said of that time, ‘That was the real test. If I can stand you as a self-righteous vegetarian, I can stand you as anything.' But that was before I started proselytizing motherhood.

‘What's, uh, Mik doing now?'

‘Looking for a job.'

‘Oh. I thought he had one, in a logging camp.' Ben makes it sound like Siberia.

‘That finished.'

‘Little Ivan asked me what meat was,' Ben says, ‘and when I told him, he threw up. Now he won't touch it.'

‘Did he really throw up? Oh Ben.'

‘Yes. He cried for the cow.' Ben looks at me severely. ‘You can't lie to children.'

‘I know you, you made it very real. You didn't just tell the truth. You made it … you drew a cartoon. Yes, and you gave it a name, that cow. And a baby calf. And you told him each and every grisly detail. Oh Ben.'

‘When I'm a teacher, I'll tell the truth to children,' Ben says.

‘Oh I bet you will too.' I think about this.
‘Did
you give the cow a name?'

But he doesn't answer. He sighs.

‘How are you doing, for money?'

‘I'm getting a government loan.'

‘Oh that's good.'

‘Well, I'd better be going. I'm glad you like the head.'

‘It's the best thing you've ever done. Full of anger.'

‘Anger?' He is really puzzled.

‘Well, it's Medusa, Ben. Look at it. Look at the eyes. And the way the neck cuts off, and the face sags in … and the hair, like snakes.'

‘That's how you look.'

‘I
know.
That's how I look to you.'

‘That head is full of my love for you.'