Love and Will (9 page)

“I don't know if I want to.”

“That's all right. But I do, so I'm going out, with or without you.”

“Sure. You're right. Who says no? But suddenly I want to go out too, more with you than without you. Much more.”

We dress ourselves. I hand her her coat. She finds my scarf and wraps it around my neck. We go out. We see Arnold Peters walking on the street. He says “Hello you two, how's it going?”

“Can't complain,” she says. “As for Harry, he'll have to speak for himself.”

“Harry, that's right,” he says. “What was your last name again?”

“Raskin.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't get that.”

“Raskin. Harry Raskin.”

“Big change over this guy,” he says to her. “How you been, Harry?”

“Fine. Couldn't be better. You?”

“Not so good.”

“Too bad. Anything I can do for you?”

“You can give her some time to let me take her out for a night.”

“I think that's her decision.”

“You're damn right it's my decision,” she says. “Sorry, Arnold, but no.”

“Tough luck,” he says. “It would have been fun for me at least.” He goes.

“I don't like him anymore,” she says. “And won't, unless he changes.”

We go to her hotel, tell the night clerk she's checking out, pack her things and carry them to my apartment. She's moved in. We share many things: dresser, bed, bathroom glass, expenses. We both cook, work, clean the apartment. She has a child. We get married. We move several times, but always stay together. Occasionally she takes a business trip or vacation on her own or with the child and occasionally I do the same. Sometimes we all go together. A few times we leave our son with a nurse and each of us goes off separately on business trips or vacations and stay away for the same or different lengths of time, when our son gets old enough to stay home alone for a while, we go off together or separately, on business trips or vacations and sometimes we all go off separately or together, and sometimes just one of us with our son or she and I together while the other stays home or takes a vacation or business trip alone. Then our son moves out. We get a smaller apartment. We divorce but come back together again after a few years but don't remarry. By this time our son is living with a woman and they have a child. We get old. One day she gets quite sick. Her temperature stays high for two days. The doctor comes and says she has to be moved to a hospital immediately, it's that serious. I sit beside her while we wait for the ambulance to come. I hold her hand.

She says “We didn't say anything about your holding my hand.”

“Are you delirous?” I say.

“Yes.”

“I know what you mean now. I forgot. No, we didn't say anything about my holding your hand. But I thought you might want me to. I know I wanted to. And it feels good, doesn't it?”

She nods, closes her eyes, dies.

I go off, but it's never the same with anyone else after that.

Come in. Over here. Sit down. Make yourself at home. Are you comfortable? Like something to drink? To eat? I want to tell you something. How about another cushion? Different seat? Try the couch. It's much more comfortable. The other side—that one has bad springs. Push away the cat. Then I'll get him away. Rosy, get off. I said to get off. There. You're allergic to cat hair? By the way you sneezed. Maybe you don't know you are. Rosy, get out of the room. He never listens. Off the chair yes but not out of the room. And she I mean. To me all cats are hes, isn't that ridiculous? Particularly if you caught two copulating. Because to most people cats are shes. Which would be just as ridiculous if you caught them in the act. But not to me. I mean to me all dogs are shes. But I'll get her out of the room just in case you are allergic. Some people only become that way to cats later in life. When they're adults like you and I. Or like you and me. I can almost never get those two straight too. Rosy, come here. Thataboy. To me she'll always be a boy. I'll throw him out of the room and close the door. There. Now watch. You probably won't sneeze again or at least not for the time you're here.

Now about what I have to tell you. I haven't forgotten. But you sure you don't need more cushions? One more then. It's only on the other chair. I'll get it. No bother. Put it behind your back. Then in top of the couch where your head or neck can rest. How does it feel? Much better I bet. And notice you're not sneezing anymore. I told you it was the cat. What's that? Another sneeze? It could be from the newspaper ink. So you've never sneezed from it that you know. Though I always say it's what you don't know that counts. I don't always say it but have thought of it often and occasionally said it I believe. At least a few times. Maybe only once. Could be I only just thought of it before and once. But I'll take the newspaper away and throw it into the other room with the cat. Let's see if he sneezes from the ink. If you sneeze again with both of them out of the room, I'll almost believe you're allergic to me.

So what I want to talk to you about. It's quite important. Very. Though like some music on first? Simple for me to do. Mozart or Bach? To me they're the only true composers. Plus a couple of others—Beethoven of course. And Handel and Haydn, Vivaldi and Bartok. Which would you like? Also Stravinsky, Gabrieli, Mahler and Pärt. Let me also get you that drink. It doesn't have to be stronger than iced tea. Or any mix you want that goes with gin except grapefruit juice I've got. Okay, one coming up. I'll also select what music to play if you won't. Now what do you think? About the drink and this piece. His number twenty-four. For piano and orchestra. Guess which composer. Wrong. Guess again. Again wrong. I hate guessing games and often the people who participate in them. It's not, though, Mozart.

Where was I again? What I wanted to tell you. Have to. Important. Extremely. Almost more than I can say. We're both comfortable though, correct? Drink. Music. Volume not too loud or low. Reasonably soft couch on that side and mine a relatively easy seat. Air. How's the air? I can turn the air conditioner down or off. I'll leave it at medium. I only had it at high to quickly cool the room, not that it's that muggy out or hot. But you get used to these things. I do, I don't know about you. Maybe you don't even own one. I almost keep it on steadily till people tell me there's a cold wave out. Almost not true. A minor exaggeration. But I think I do overabuse this machine and help create a minor energy crisis with it all by myself. At least for this city. But enough of me and our city. Let's get down to what I brought you here to tell you. Because you're quite comfortable now, right? Pleasant temperature in the room. Pleasant room. It is a pleasant room, isn't it? Designed the entire place myself. Rebuilt the walls and mixed the paints to get that color which I'm wondering if you find too bright or even like. And the lights? They also too bright? I can turn them down. Turn them off even, which wouldn't be too smart to do, though we'd still have the little light from the stereo. At least sufficient light from it to find the wall switch. Furniture's all mine too, built from scratch. From wood, actually, but you knew what I meant. Everyone's allowed a little joke, even before the crematorium. So here we are. Pleasant temperature and room, agreed? And I hope you know that was a statement about the joke in general and not a joke about the crematorium. Cool drink in your hand. Like a refill? I won't go around calling you a heavy drinker. I usually like a quick one myself and then to linger over the second for half an hour or more. Though linger over your second, if you have one, for fifteen minutes or ten or even five if you like. Or finish your first, knock down the second and linger over a third. Whatever you wish. While you're here, my home is yours. I'll get you that refill. No bother. There. Cool drink again. Music—too loud or do you even like this piece? I'll change it if you want. To viola, solo piano, anything with voice or strings. Something more modern or jazzier, I have those too. Fine. Music. Room. Temperature and drink. Pleasant everything. Best part of the couch. Cat and newspaper out of the room. And you're still not sneezing anymore. So I suppose it was the newspaper you were allergic to, if you don't sneeze here again, or a delayed end of allergic reaction to the cat.

But what I practically had to drag you here to tell you about. That's what I now have to speak to you about. That's what I think is foremost in my mind. It is. I don't just think so but know. Unbelievably important. But come in. Sit down. Over here. Make yourself comfortable. You are comfortable. You are here and sitting in this room. All that's true. In the best seat in the house. And I'm sitting here lingering over a drink and being comfortable across from you. Anyway, what was it again I had to talk to you about? Suddenly I forgot. I'm sure I can remember it if I try. Let me think. I'm trying. I can't remember. No bother. Drink up and if you don't want another and I can't remember before you leave what I wanted so urgently to tell you, I know we can save it for another time.

I wrote a novel for Sarah and sent it to her. She wrote back “For me? How sweet. Nobody has ever done anything or presented me with anything near to what you've just given me. I'll treasure it always. I must confess I might not get around to reading it immediately, since I am tied up to my neck and beyond with things I'm forced to do first. But I can't describe my pleasure in receiving this and the overwhelming gratitude I'll always have in knowing it was written especially for me.”

I painted a series of paintings and crated and shipped them to her and she wrote back “Are these really all for me? I only looked in one of them and it said ‘1st of a series of 15,' and I counted the other crates and came up with fourteen more and thought ‘My God, I have the entire series.' You can't imagine how this gift moves me. I'll open the rest of the crates as soon as I find the time, as I have been unrelievedly busy these past few days and will be for weeks. The one I did open I'll hang above my fireplace if I can find the space among my other paintings and prints. Meanwhile, it's safely tucked away in a closet, so don't fear it will get hurt. Again, what can I say but my eternal thanks.”

I wrote a sonata for her and called it “The Sarah Piece” and had it printed and sent her a copy and she wrote me “A musical composition in my name? And for the one instrument I can play if not competently then at least semipublically okay? You've gone out of your way to honor and please me more than anyone has and a lot more than any person should expect another to for whatever the reasons, and as soon as I can sever myself from all the other things I'm doing and which I wish I had the time to tell you about, I'll sit down and try to learn this sonata or at least read it through. You can't believe the many good things that have happened to me lately and which I'm so involved in, but I'll definitely find the time to attend to my sonata in one of the ways I mentioned, of that you can bet. Once more my warmest thanks for your thoughtfulness and my respects for your creativeness, and my very best.”

I carved sculptures for her, designed and built furniture for her, potted and baked earthenware for her, wrote poems, plays and essays for her and after I completed each of these projects I sent it to her and her replies were usually the same. Her thanks. I could never know how much it means to her. She is continually amazed by the diversity of my talents and skills. She will read, look at or use this newest thing as soon as she can. Then, after I sent her a coverlet I wove and thought good enough to use as a wall hanging and maybe the best thing I'd ever made, she wrote “You've sent me so many things that I don't know what to open or look at or hang or put in its rightful place or eat off of first. And not wanting to give any of your creative forms preference over the others, I'm going to set aside one of the dozen rooms here for your work and call that room the Arthur T. Reece Retreat in honor of you and put all your gifts in it so I know that whenever I want to go through any of these works or have found a place in one of the other rooms to put one of them or even when I want to think of you creating and making all these things for me, I can enter that room. The room, by the way, has no windows. It does have a wash basin and door but with no lock on it. It is a small room, once the maid's quarters of the previous owners, so most of the things you sent me will have to be piled on top of one another, though know that'll be done extra carefully. I am having the door taken off and the space it makes bricked up. I am cutting that room off from the rest of the house. I am going to set that separated room afire in honor of the great passion you've put into your work and your obvious deep feelings for me. I am honored, I am grateful, I am amazed and touched and of course ever thankful and moved, I have never known anyone more creative and generous than you. No, I am joking. I have given away all your gifts from the start and have told the post office and other delivery services to turn back any further envelope, package or crate coming from you. No, I am joking. I am disassociating myself from all the other men I know and whatever activities I'm now involved in and want you to come live with me immediately as loving soulmates and man, parents and wife. No, I am joking. I never received any of the things you claimed to friends you sent me and am beginning to doubt they all could have gotten lost along the way. No, I am joking. They all arrived but I quickly turned them into refuse. Aside from that, I am happily married, with child for the first time in my life, and wonder why you think you know me well enough to keep sending these things to me without my eventually getting disturbed and insulted by them and where you initially got my address and name. No, I am joking. I appreciate all you've done, have enjoyed the attention and sold whatever I could of these gifts for whatever I could get for them and with that money I am about to embark on a trip around the world with my newest lover who is also my best friend and one of our finest progressive artists. No, I am joking. It was nice of you to make all these things for me but I'm sorry to say, almost ashamed to after all I've said in my previous letters and just put you through, that I wasn't once, and this is the absolute truth now, impressed. When one has it one has it and you've proven over and over again that you never had it and so will never have it so why bother trying anything out again in any field or form or at least on me? You do and whatever it is you send me I shall throw up on before returning it to you cash on delivery in its envelope, box or crate.”