Pastoral (16 page)
Authors: Andre Alexis
     When Liz knocked at the front door, he let her in and took her up to his room,
where the smell of raisin bread had given way to something still yeasty but
more burnt. God only knows why she loved this smell, but as it gave her
pleasure he did not mind.
where the smell of raisin bread had given way to something still yeasty but
more burnt. God only knows why she loved this smell, but as it gave her
pleasure he did not mind.
     The look on her face was impossible to read, and Robbie was suddenly unsure of
himself.
himself.
     â Is everything okay? he asked.
     She looked around as if taking the room in for the first time. There was the
narrow bed in which they had managed to sleep, side by side, when his parents
were away, the coverlet with its blue and white chessboard squares on which
there were drawings of the same objects repeated over and again along the white
diagonals: a candle, a sheep, bread, a stream, an open book. The walls were
light blue, uninterrupted save for the generic painting of a schooner, a
painting Mrs. Myers had chosen for the room shortly after Robbie's birth. There was a chest of drawers, a desk that Robbie never used and a
bookshelf half-filled with books Robbie had never read: bound copies of
Reader's Digest
, mostly. On the floor there was a crimson-and-red throw rug from somewhere
exotic (Iran, his mother said), bought from a Middle Eastern gentleman at a
garage sale in Leamington.
narrow bed in which they had managed to sleep, side by side, when his parents
were away, the coverlet with its blue and white chessboard squares on which
there were drawings of the same objects repeated over and again along the white
diagonals: a candle, a sheep, bread, a stream, an open book. The walls were
light blue, uninterrupted save for the generic painting of a schooner, a
painting Mrs. Myers had chosen for the room shortly after Robbie's birth. There was a chest of drawers, a desk that Robbie never used and a
bookshelf half-filled with books Robbie had never read: bound copies of
Reader's Digest
, mostly. On the floor there was a crimson-and-red throw rug from somewhere
exotic (Iran, his mother said), bought from a Middle Eastern gentleman at a
garage sale in Leamington.
     â I'm not going to marry you, said Liz.
     No one who knew their situation would have been surprised, but Robbie
plaintively asked
plaintively asked
     â Why?
     â Where do you want me to start? she said.
A fair question to which there was only one important answer or one true
counter-question: did this ending matter to him?
counter-question: did this ending matter to him?
     â You know I love you, he said.
     â You went into the hairdresser's for Jane. You wouldn't have done that for me.
     â Who told you that? It's not true! I didn't do it for Jane! You didn't ask me! I'll do it now if you want.
     â No thank you, she answered.
     Elizabeth had meant to say all manner of things. She'd meant to remind him of the pain he'd put her through and of her unwavering fidelity. In her imagining of this last
moment between them, there was some back and forth: a heartfelt (but too late)
apology from him, the assurance that he would never put her through such misery
again, the assurance that he would never see Jane Richardson again. In her
imagination, this final moment had been something of a quiet triumph. But, in
fact, it was all unbearably sad. She felt no more triumph than she would if she
had been looking down at a precious vase shattered on a kitchen floor. She hadn't the least interest in his last words. She was finished with him. And yet she
still found it difficult to get up from the bed and leave. Leave him, leave the
past they shared, leave the future they had planned.
moment between them, there was some back and forth: a heartfelt (but too late)
apology from him, the assurance that he would never put her through such misery
again, the assurance that he would never see Jane Richardson again. In her
imagination, this final moment had been something of a quiet triumph. But, in
fact, it was all unbearably sad. She felt no more triumph than she would if she
had been looking down at a precious vase shattered on a kitchen floor. She hadn't the least interest in his last words. She was finished with him. And yet she
still found it difficult to get up from the bed and leave. Leave him, leave the
past they shared, leave the future they had planned.
     She waited in silence, as Robbie tried to find something appropriate to say.
     â But I
do
 love you, he said at last.
do
 love you, he said at last.
     His one endless note, a note that now turned all her nostalgia and longing to
spite.
spite.
     â I don't love
you
, she said.
you
, she said.
     And rose to leave.
     And then left, there being no words to make her stay.
     Robbie had not anticipated this moment. In fact, he had never really thought it
possible. When Elizabeth had gone, it seemed to him as if he'd witnessed an accident. Was it his fault that he loved two women at once? Had
he asked for such a thing? He had been honest (well, eventually honest), hadn't he? He was a good man in unfortunate circumstances, nothing less. Seeing Liz
get up and leave was like the moment immediately after you've bumped into something â a vase, say â and you put your hands out to catch it, only to see it fall (not quite
inevitably) to the floor.
possible. When Elizabeth had gone, it seemed to him as if he'd witnessed an accident. Was it his fault that he loved two women at once? Had
he asked for such a thing? He had been honest (well, eventually honest), hadn't he? He was a good man in unfortunate circumstances, nothing less. Seeing Liz
get up and leave was like the moment immediately after you've bumped into something â a vase, say â and you put your hands out to catch it, only to see it fall (not quite
inevitably) to the floor.
     Robbie did not think these things. He felt them, obscurely, as if through a fog
of other feelings. He had an intuition of loss but ignored it, reassured that,
after all, there was Jane, that he could build a life with Jane, that Jane was
more exciting than Liz, more likely to bring him unpredictable joys. By the
following day, he almost believed that losing Liz was the best thing that could
have happened. Love or no love, did he really want the domesticity that went
with marriage? No, maybe, never mind. Nevertheless, he'd almost certainly dodged a bullet by avoiding the wrong marriage. Hadn't he?
of other feelings. He had an intuition of loss but ignored it, reassured that,
after all, there was Jane, that he could build a life with Jane, that Jane was
more exciting than Liz, more likely to bring him unpredictable joys. By the
following day, he almost believed that losing Liz was the best thing that could
have happened. Love or no love, did he really want the domesticity that went
with marriage? No, maybe, never mind. Nevertheless, he'd almost certainly dodged a bullet by avoiding the wrong marriage. Hadn't he?
     As soon as he could, Robbie told Jane the good news.
     It was, of course, news that Jane knew better than he did. She had been
thinking about nothing else since she'd won her wager with Liz Denny. She had also been thinking about the unfortunate
deal she'd made with herself. Robbie had done what she'd asked. She had won, so she could not flee to her mountain. She was, if she
played by the rules she herself had set, doomed to live in Barrow.
thinking about nothing else since she'd won her wager with Liz Denny. She had also been thinking about the unfortunate
deal she'd made with herself. Robbie had done what she'd asked. She had won, so she could not flee to her mountain. She was, if she
played by the rules she herself had set, doomed to live in Barrow.
     For weeks Jane tried to live honourably, accepting her agreement with herself
as a given. She was to live with Robbie Myers? Fine. But she could surely find
some way to influence him, to turn him into the kind of man she now knew she
wanted. What kind of man was that? Someone who read books, not just magazines.
Someone interested in more than cows and sheep. Someone curious about the world
outside Lambton County; a man who knew the difference between Paris and La Paz.
A man who could entertain her with his wit, not just his muscles and nethers.
It wouldn't hurt, either, if he knew a foreign language. French would do, even bad French
if he showed ambition to learn. A man who smelled of something other than Ivory
soap and Tide detergent. A man whose touch was subtle, one who didn't go at your nipples like taking a bolt off a tractor.
as a given. She was to live with Robbie Myers? Fine. But she could surely find
some way to influence him, to turn him into the kind of man she now knew she
wanted. What kind of man was that? Someone who read books, not just magazines.
Someone interested in more than cows and sheep. Someone curious about the world
outside Lambton County; a man who knew the difference between Paris and La Paz.
A man who could entertain her with his wit, not just his muscles and nethers.
It wouldn't hurt, either, if he knew a foreign language. French would do, even bad French
if he showed ambition to learn. A man who smelled of something other than Ivory
soap and Tide detergent. A man whose touch was subtle, one who didn't go at your nipples like taking a bolt off a tractor.
     In a word, she was looking for someone other than the man who was now hers.
     No surprise: her resolve to remain in Barrow weakened quickly. Knowing the kind
of man she wanted, now that she had one she did not want, she soon understood
she would never be happy with Robbie. Nor would anyone have blamed her for
leaving a man she no longer loved. She did cause âpoor young Myers' some distress before she left, though, in part because she wanted to see if she
could change him for the better, in part because she needed to feel the true
inanity of a life with Robert before she could find the strength to cut herself
permanently off from her roots.
of man she wanted, now that she had one she did not want, she soon understood
she would never be happy with Robbie. Nor would anyone have blamed her for
leaving a man she no longer loved. She did cause âpoor young Myers' some distress before she left, though, in part because she wanted to see if she
could change him for the better, in part because she needed to feel the true
inanity of a life with Robert before she could find the strength to cut herself
permanently off from her roots.
     Jane began her experiment with Robbie one rainy night in late summer. They were
at her parents' house while her parents were away. She and Robbie had made love, mostly because
she'd felt it a duty to sleep with him. Predictably, it hadn't gone well. She'd gotten almost no pleasure out of his exertions and felt only slight
gratification when he did. It hadn't been Robbie's fault per se. He did as he always did. That is, he did more or less what she
told him to and enjoyed it. But she'd felt empty. Taking up one of several books by the side of her bed, she said
at her parents' house while her parents were away. She and Robbie had made love, mostly because
she'd felt it a duty to sleep with him. Predictably, it hadn't gone well. She'd gotten almost no pleasure out of his exertions and felt only slight
gratification when he did. It hadn't been Robbie's fault per se. He did as he always did. That is, he did more or less what she
told him to and enjoyed it. But she'd felt empty. Taking up one of several books by the side of her bed, she said
     â Why don't we read something together?
     â You know I don't read much, he answered.
     â I'll read. You listen. It's something we should be doing together if we love each other.
     There was nothing you could say to that â her very tone was a warning â so Robbie lay in bed and tried to pay attention. By chance Jane had picked up
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. She showed Robbie the cover.
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. She showed Robbie the cover.
     â Truman Kaput? he asked.
     â Ka-
po
-tee, she answered. Haven't you heard of him?
po
-tee, she answered. Haven't you heard of him?
     No, of course he hadn't. Worse, she didn't even get to the end of the first section before he fell asleep. The first
section? He was snoring by the time she read the words
You heard from Holly?
which were on the second page! Robbie was tired after a day's work, no doubt, but that made no difference to her feelings. She almost cried
in frustration.
section? He was snoring by the time she read the words
You heard from Holly?
which were on the second page! Robbie was tired after a day's work, no doubt, but that made no difference to her feelings. She almost cried
in frustration.
     â Robbie!
     â What? What is it?
     â You fell asleep before I got to page three!
     â I'm sorry. You can start again. I remember something about ⦠Holly?
     Jane began again:
I took a taxi in a downpour of October rain
â¦
I took a taxi in a downpour of October rain
â¦
     This time he was asleep by the end of the next paragraph. She threw the book at
his head, waking him.
his head, waking him.
     â It's good! he cried out. It's good! I'm liking it!
     It was not long after this that their relationship ended.
     (On seeing how important
Breakfast at Tiffany's
was for Jane, Robbie did his best to read the novel, letting her know that he
really did like it, really. He did not mention that he never got further than
the first section, never further than
It was one of these mailboxes that had first made me aware of Holly Golightly
, though he went at the book more than once, starting over each time. Never had
he read anything so unmemorable. Here was the best example of what made fiction
useless. Who was this âI' that was talking at him and why should he care what âI' was saying? It was asking a man a lot, asking him to stick around while someone
who had nothing to say said it in the fanciest way possible. He supposed that
women liked this sort of thing because they were used to talking. That was the
main problem with women, as far as he was concerned. They never could keep
quiet. They talked all the time and their intentions were mysterious. Not
mysterious in a good way either, like when Phil Bigland had once mentioned âthe infinite' [
a black moth in a black room on a starless, moonless night
, he'd called it] and they had all been quiet out of respect for something deep. No,
sir. Womanish mystery was the kind that filled you with dread, not reverence.)
Breakfast at Tiffany's
was for Jane, Robbie did his best to read the novel, letting her know that he
really did like it, really. He did not mention that he never got further than
the first section, never further than
It was one of these mailboxes that had first made me aware of Holly Golightly
, though he went at the book more than once, starting over each time. Never had
he read anything so unmemorable. Here was the best example of what made fiction
useless. Who was this âI' that was talking at him and why should he care what âI' was saying? It was asking a man a lot, asking him to stick around while someone
who had nothing to say said it in the fanciest way possible. He supposed that
women liked this sort of thing because they were used to talking. That was the
main problem with women, as far as he was concerned. They never could keep
quiet. They talked all the time and their intentions were mysterious. Not
mysterious in a good way either, like when Phil Bigland had once mentioned âthe infinite' [
a black moth in a black room on a starless, moonless night
, he'd called it] and they had all been quiet out of respect for something deep. No,
sir. Womanish mystery was the kind that filled you with dread, not reverence.)
     In a roundabout way, Elizabeth was responsible for their breakup. Jane had been
trying to instill âculture' in Robbie, which was like trying to get ten pounds of rice into a two-pound
bag. Then, one afternoon, she happened to be passing Harrington's â on the opposite side of the street, of course â and saw Elizabeth Denny shaking crumbs onto the street for the birds. Had
Elizabeth seen her? Jane did not know, but she would have sworn there was an
ironic look on the woman's face, a look that said
trying to instill âculture' in Robbie, which was like trying to get ten pounds of rice into a two-pound
bag. Then, one afternoon, she happened to be passing Harrington's â on the opposite side of the street, of course â and saw Elizabeth Denny shaking crumbs onto the street for the birds. Had
Elizabeth seen her? Jane did not know, but she would have sworn there was an
ironic look on the woman's face, a look that said
     â You only think you won. I'm the one who gets to do what she wants. I'm free. You're tied to that good-for-nothing dairy farmer who wouldn't know his ass from his elbow. How stupid do you have to be not to see that this
is what I wanted all along?
is what I wanted all along?
     Jane was incensed at the unfairness of it. She'd been duped. She was sure of it. Duped into abandoning her dreams and
aspirations. The humiliation was hard to take. As she watched Elizabeth Denny
blithely turn her back and enter the bakery, Jane's futile efforts to change Robbie seemed to her â to Jane, that is â derisory and worthy of the kind of mockery the Denny bitch was obviously
purveying.
aspirations. The humiliation was hard to take. As she watched Elizabeth Denny
blithely turn her back and enter the bakery, Jane's futile efforts to change Robbie seemed to her â to Jane, that is â derisory and worthy of the kind of mockery the Denny bitch was obviously
purveying.
     â That's it, she thought. I'm finished with this place.
     The following evening, she was to go to Sarnia with Robbie. They had planned to
see a production of
Oklahoma!
, the first play Robbie would see since a class trip to Stratford in Grade 12.
Robbie was not keen, but she was looking forward to it and it suddenly occurred
to her that she wanted to see the play with someone who could appreciate it.
So, she went with William Marshall instead. William, who was not interested in
women the way ânormal' men are interested in women, was the man you went out with when you couldn't stand the company of men. This worked well for everyone. For the women, it was
wonderful to be out with a man who had good taste. For the men, it was sheer
relief to know there was at least one man in town (the sacrificial lamb) who
would go to the theatre or the ballet or the opera with their wives or
girlfriends but who was no threat to womankind.
see a production of
Oklahoma!
, the first play Robbie would see since a class trip to Stratford in Grade 12.
Robbie was not keen, but she was looking forward to it and it suddenly occurred
to her that she wanted to see the play with someone who could appreciate it.
So, she went with William Marshall instead. William, who was not interested in
women the way ânormal' men are interested in women, was the man you went out with when you couldn't stand the company of men. This worked well for everyone. For the women, it was
wonderful to be out with a man who had good taste. For the men, it was sheer
relief to know there was at least one man in town (the sacrificial lamb) who
would go to the theatre or the ballet or the opera with their wives or
girlfriends but who was no threat to womankind.
     (How William himself felt about this, no one had the least interest. It was
understood that Marshall was a man who loved men, but life was too short to
think about such things unless you absolutely had to.)
understood that Marshall was a man who loved men, but life was too short to
think about such things unless you absolutely had to.)
     Robbie was annoyed. That is, he was relieved to have escaped the theatre, but
Jane had not told him what she was up to. He'd called at her parents' house at the appointed hour and had been told Jane had already left. That was
it. He knew he had to be careful about what he said to her, but there had to
be, if not respect between them, then at least consideration. He could, he
thought, have been forgiven for wondering if she truly loved him.
Jane had not told him what she was up to. He'd called at her parents' house at the appointed hour and had been told Jane had already left. That was
it. He knew he had to be careful about what he said to her, but there had to
be, if not respect between them, then at least consideration. He could, he
thought, have been forgiven for wondering if she truly loved him.
     Two days later, while they were at Jane's watching television, Robbie ventured a cautious
     â I think you should have told me you were going to the play with Marshall.
     Just the opening she had hoped for.
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