Overload (32 page)

"Three years older and very beautiful. My big sister. I want you to meet

her another day."

The sounds from the kitchen stopped and Josie appeared, wheeling a loaded

tea cart. She set a small folding table in front of Nim and fitted a tray

to Karen's wheelchair. From the cart she served lunch-cold salmon with

a salad and warm French bread. Josie poured wine into two glasses-a

chilled Louis Martini Pinot Chardormay. "I can't afford wine every day,"

Karen said. "But today is special-because you came back."

Josie asked her, "Shall I feed you or will Mr. Goldman?"

"Nimrod," Karen asked, "would you like to?"

"Yes," he said, "though if I do anything wrong you'll have to tell me.,,

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"It's really not difficult. When I open my mouth you pop some food in.

You'll just work twice as hard as you would feeding yourself."

With a glance at Karen, and a knowing smile, Josie retreated to the

kitchen.

"You see," Karen said while their lunch proceeded, and after a sip of wine,

"you're very good. Will you wipe my lips, please?" He did so with a napkin

as she tilted her face toward him.

Continuing to feed Karen, he thought: there was a strange sense of intimacy

in what they were doing together, a sharing and closeness unique in his

experience. It even had a kind of sensual quality.

Near the end of the meal, their awareness of each other heightened by the

wine, she said, "I've told you a lot about me. Now tell me more about you."

He began casually, speaking of his background-boyhood, family, work,

marriage to Ruth, his children Leah and Benjy. Then, prompted by

questioning from Karen, he revealed his current doubts-about his religious

heritage and whether it would be perpetuated through his children, where

his own life was headed, the future-if any-of his marriage.

"Tbat's enough," be said at length. "I didn't come here to bore you."

Smiling, Karen shook her head. "I don't believe you could ever do that,

Nimrod. You're a complex man and complex people are the most interesting.

Besides that, I like you more than anyone I've met in a long time."

He told her, "I have that feeling about you."

A touch of red suffused Karen's face. "Nimrod, would you like to kiss me?"

As he rose and crossed the few feet of space dividing them, be answered

softly, "I want to very much."

Her lips were warm and loving; their kiss was lingering. Neither wanted to

break away. Nim moved his arms, intending to draw Karen closer to him. Then

from outside he beard the sharp note of a buzzer followed by a door opening

and voices-Josie's and two others. Nim let his arms fall back. He moved

away.

Karen whispered softly, "Damn! What lousy timing!" Then she called, "Come

in!" and a moment later announced, "Nimrod, I'd like you to meet my

parents."

An elderly, dignified man with a thatch of graying, curly hair and a

weather-beaten face extended his hand. When he spoke his voice was deep and

guttural, the Austrian origin still evident. "I'm Luther Sloan, Mr.

Goldman. This is my wife Henrietta. Karen told us about you and we've seen

you on TV." The band Nim accepted was a manual worker's, rough and

calloused, but looking as if it were scrubbed frequently; the fingernails

were clean. Though Luther Sloan wore coveralls

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with traces of the work he had just left, those also showed signs of care

and had been neatly patched in several places.

Karen's mother shook hands. "It's good of you, Mr. Goldman, to visit our

daughter. I know she appreciates it. So do we." She was a small, neat

woman, modestly dressed, with her hair in an old-fashioned bun; she

appeared to be older than her husband. Once, Nim thought she was probably

beautiful, which explained Karen's attractiveness, but now her face was

aged, while her eyes betrayed strain and weariness. Nim guessed the signs

of the last two bad been there a long time.

"I'm here for one simple reason," he assured her. "I enjoy Karen's

company."

As Nim returned to his chair and the older Sloans sat down, Josie brought

in a pot of coffee and four cups. Mrs. Sloan poured and helped Karen with

hers.

"Daddy," Karen said, "how's your business going?"

"Not as good as it might." Luther Sloan sighed. "Materials cost so

much-more every day; you will know about that, Mr. Goldman. So when I

charge what it costs me, then add on labor, people think I'm cheating."

"I do know," Nim said. "At Golden State Power we're accused of the same

thing for identical reasons."

"But yours is a big company with a broad back. Mine is just a small

business. I employ three other people, Mr. Goldman, and work myself, and

some days I tell you it is scarcely worth the trouble. Especially with all

the government forms-more all the time, and half the things I do not see

why they need to know. I spend evenings and weekends filling those forms

in, and nobody pays me for that."

Henrietta Sloan reproved her husband, "Luther, the whole world does not

have to hear our problems."

He shrugged. "I was asked bow business was. So I told the truth."

"Anyway, Karen," Henrietta said, "none of that makes the slightest

difference to you, or to our getting you a van. We have almost enough money

for a down payment, then we will borrow the rest."

"Mother," Karen protested, "I've said before, there isn't any urgency. I'm

managing to get outdoors. Josie goes with me."

"But not as often as you could, or as far as you'd like to go." The

mother's mouth set firmly. "There will be a van. I promise you, dear.

Soon."

"I've been thinking about that too," Nim said. "Last time I was here, Karen

mentioned wanting a van which would hold the wheelchair, and which Josie

could drive."

Karen said firmly, "Now will all of you stop worrying. Please!"

"I wasn't worrying. But I did remember that our company-GSP & L -often has

small vans which are sold off after they've been used a year or two and are

replaced by new ones. Many are still in good condition.

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If you like, I could ask one of our people to look out for something

which could be a bargain."

Luther Sloan brightened. "Tbat would be a large help. Of course,

however good the van is, it will need adapting so the wheelchair

can go in and be secure."

"Maybe we can help with that as well," Nim said. "I don't know, but

I'll find out."

"We will give you our telephone number," Henrietta told him. "'nen

if there is news, you can call us."

"Nimrod," Karen said, "you are truly dear and wonderful."

They went on talking easily until, glancing at his watch, Nim was

startled to see bow much time had passed since he arrived. He an-

nounced, "I have to go."

"So do we," Luther Sloan said. "I am renewing some gas lines in an

old building near bere-for your gas, Mr. Goldman-and the job must

be completed today."

"And in case you think I'm not busy," Karen chimed in, "I have a

speech to finish."

Her parents took their leave affectionately. Nim followed them out.

Before going, he and Karen were alone briefly and he kissed her for

the second time, intending to do so on her cheek, but she turned

her head so their lips met. With a dazzling smile she whispered,

"Come again soon."

The Sloans and Nim bad the elevator to themselves going down; all

three were briefly silent, each occupied with private thoughts.

Then Henrietta said in a monotone, "We try to do the best we can

for Karen. Sometimes we wish it could be more." The strain and

weariness Nim observed earlier-perhaps nearer to a sense of

defeat-were in her eyes again.

He said quietly, "I don't believe Karen feels that way. From what

she's told me, she appreciates your support and everything you've

done for her."

Henrietta shook her head emphatically, the bun of hair at her neck

emphasizing the movement. "Whatever we do is the least we can do.

Even then it is a poor way to make up for what happened to Karen-

because of what we did-long ago."

Luther put a band gently on his wife's arm. "Liebchen, we have been

over it all, so many times. Do not do this to yourself. It does no

good, only barm to you."

She turned on him sharply. "You think the same things. You know you

do."

Luther sighed, then abruptly queried Nim. "Karen told you she con-

tracted polio?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Did she tell you how? And why?"

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"No. Well, not exactly."

Henrietta said, "She doesn't, usually."

They had reached the street floor and stepped from the elevator, pausing in

the small, deserted lobby while Henrietta Sloan continued:

4' Karen was fifteen, still in high school. She was a straight-A student;

she took part in school athletics. Everything ahead seemed good."

"Die point my wife is making," Luther said, "is that that summer we

ourselves-the two of us-had arranged to go to Europe. It was with others

from our Lutheran churcb-a religious pilgrimage to holy places. We had

arranged, while we were gone, that Karen should go to summer camp. We told

ourselves that some time in the country would be good for her; also, our

daughter Cynthia had been to the same camp two years before."

"The real truth is," Henrietta said, "we were thinking more of ourselves

than Karen."

Her husband went on as if he had not been interrupted. "But Karen did not

want to go to camp. There was a boy she was seeing; he was not leaving

town. Karen wanted to stay at home for the summer and be near him. But

Cynthia was already away-, Karen would have been alone."

" Karen argued and argued," Henrietta said. "She said being alone did not

matter and, as to the boy, that we could trust her. She even talked about

having a premonition that if she went as we wished something would go

wrong. I have never forgotten that. I never will."

His own experience gave Nim a sense of the scene being described: The

Sloans as young parents, Karen barely out of childhood, and the strong and

clashing wills-all three so different then from what they had become.

Once more Luther took up the narrative, speaking quickly as if wishing to

have it done. "The upshot was, we bad a family fight-the two of us taking

one side, Karen the other. We insisted she go to camp, and in the end she

did. While she was there, and we were in Europe, a polio outbreak happened.

Karen was one of the victims."

"If only she bad stayed home," Henrietta began, "the way she wanted . . ."

Her husband interrupted. "Tliat's enough! I'm sure Mr. Goldman has the

picture."

"Yes," Nim said softly, "I think I do." He was remembering the verses Karen

had written him after Wally Talbot Jr.'s electrocution.

"If only" this or that On such and such a day Had varied by an

hour or an inch; Or something neglected bad been done Or something

done had been neglected!

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He understood better now. Then, presuming something should be said but not