Sins of the Fathers (58 page)

‘Go over to Lexington.’

‘What are you looking for, buddy?’

‘Drugstore.’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’ The driver swoops on uptown on Madison for three blocks and halts outside a drugstore on the corner.
Telling him to wait I run in.

No Trojans. I buy another brand and race back to the cab which swings over to Fifth Avenue. That’s wasted time and I have
to be home by eight otherwise Elsa won’t believe I’m working late.

Mother meets me in the hall. Damn.

‘Oh darling, I thought you were Cornelius! Come and join us for a drink. He should be home any minute now.’

‘I’ve brought a present for Benjamin. Maybe—’

‘Hi Sebastian!’ calls Vicky from the top of the stairs as she tries to figure out how to rescue me. ‘A present for Benjamin,
did you say? What a nice surprise – come up to the nursery!’

Cornelius walks in. ‘Sebastian! Come and have a drink!’

I usually make a special effort to arrive before the drinking invitations but the combination of F. A. O. Schwartz and the
contraceptive hunt has disrupted the schedule.

‘Come and tell us the latest news of Alfred!’ says Mother. She really does want to see me, and I feel guilty because I spend
so much time sneaking up the west wing stairs to see Vicky.

We all go to the Gold Room for drinks. Cornelius and Mother sit on the couch and hold hands. Vicky and I sit opposite each
other and try to look chaste. The air is thick with a sexual miasma. Even the Greeks would have found it hard to take.

When we finally escape we forget Postumus and race to our distant bedroom.

‘I’ve got to leave in ten minutes!’ I mutter.

‘Is it worth going to bed? Why don’t we just have another drink and chat?’

‘I’d be awake all night thinking of you.’

We rush to bed and for a few precious minutes all’s well, but then there’s one of those freak accidents, the kind which always
happen to other people, usually to young kids who rely for their supply of contraceptives on the slot machines in men’s rooms.
This batch of rubbers shouldn’t have left the factory. Quality Control made a mistake.

I say nothing except a private prayer. Vicky says nothing either and after I flush the disaster down the toilet she slips
past me for her shower.

However we’re both in luck for once because this particular accident has no consequences. Ten days later Vicky says it’s the
wrong time of the month again. I guess my face must have sagged with relief for she adds: ‘Look, Sebastian, why don’t I take
charge of the birth control for a change? I used a diaphragm for a short while once and I’m willing to try it again.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Very sure.’

She gives the diaphragm a fresh try and as far as I’m concerned it’s a great improvement. I ask her three times if she’s happy
with the change and she says she’s not crazy about it but she feels safer than when I was using rubbers.

That’s when I realize she doesn’t trust birth control when it’s provided by her partner, and on reflection I’m not one bit
surprised. It would be just like Sam Keller to practise birth control like a suicidal gambler practising Russian roulette.
She even tells me fiercely that I’ve got to let her use the diaphragm every time, and when I assure her that
Russian roulette has never been one of my favourite pastimes, her eyes fill with tears. Horrific vistas into the past open
up. I take her in my arms and hold her close to block them off.

I’m not Sam Keller and I’ll never, never, never stand in his shoes.

12 June, 1959. In the nursery Postumus chews his beads and smiles speculatively at his nice kind Uncle Sebastian. His two
brothers are smart enough to keep out of sight when I’m around, but little Samantha flirts with me and Kristin gives me Sam
Keller’s smile.

At home Elsa adopts a polite neutral manner towards me, has her hair tinted a lighter blonde and buys a book about dieting.
Alfred runs around dragging his beat-up xylophone after him and tries to redecorate the hallway with Elsa’s nail varnish but
I smack him hard on the backside. Yells and screams. Elsa calls me a brute. But Alfred looks up at me with fierce pale eyes
and respects me. Alfred won’t do that again.

Everything seems to be jogging along satisfactorily, but as the summer days pass a little cloud appears on the horizon and
as more days pass that cloud grows bigger and bigger.

Vicky and I are waiting for the wrong time of the month but the time always seems to be right and slowly we realize we’re
waiting in vain.

It’s disaster time again.

She’s pregnant.

‘How the hell did it happen?’

‘The doctor said I should have had the diaphragm refitted.’

‘But …’ It’s hard to find the words to express my horrified incredulity. ‘Didn’t you get a new one?’ I say dumbfounded at
last.

‘Yes, I did. I had a look at my old one but the rubber part seemed odd so I got a new one over the counter at one of those
huge discount drugstores midtown – I didn’t want to ask my doctor for a new diaphragm when he knows I’ve got no husband at
the moment. He might have given me a lecture.’

‘He might have
what
?’

‘Oh, doctors are always giving women lectures – you’ve no idea what it’s like. When I thought I might have Postumus aborted,
they went on and on and on at me – I just couldn’t take it – I hated all doctors after that, particularly gynaecologists—’

‘Okay. Hold it. I understand. Doctors are fundamentalist preachers trained in KGB interrogation techniques who lie in wait
for women around Park Avenue. But there are clinics where everyone thinks it’s
the most normal thing in the world to issue a diaphragm to a woman under thirty with five children! Why didn’t you—’

‘You don’t understand. You’re missing the whole point. I didn’t think it was
necessary
to go through the whole performance of being fitted for a diaphragm again. I knew the size I took and I thought one stayed
the same size for life – just as one stays the same size in shoes. After all, one doesn’t have one’s feet measured once a
year to see if they’ve got bigger or smaller—’

‘But
someone
must have told you!’

‘No. No one. You see, I only used a diaphragm for a short time when I was married, less than a year. When the doctor gave
it to me he did say I was to be sure to have it checked every year, but he didn’t say why and I just assumed he wanted to
make sure it wasn’t broken. But then I got pregnant, and later Sam insisted on taking control of the contraception again—’

‘—with all the fervour of a man gearing himself up to appear in a fertility ad. Okay, now let’s just think about this. We’re
upset enough as it is, so let’s not make ourselves more upset by resurrecting the disastrous past. Let’s just focus on the
present.’ I give her a handkerchief for her tears and mentally kick off Sam Keller’s shoes which seem to be trying to slide
their way on to my feet. I do this by telling myself firmly that I’m not just an innocent bystander here; I can’t just sit
back and announce that none of this is my fault. I know all too well that Vicky, thanks to Sam, has led a sheltered existence
protected from the facts of life, and you don’t entrust sole responsibility for birth control to such a fundamentally innocent
person without a thorough discussion of the entire subject to make sure there are no potentially lethal areas of ignorance.
Vicky may have made a mistake but I’ve made a big mistake too, and it’s now up to me to step forward, stand by her and stave
off tragedy as best as I can.

I fix us both large drinks, put my arm around her and say: ‘Vicky, I’m not going to dictate to you about this. You had nine
years of Sam dictating to you and I’m not going to be like Sam. This is our joint mistake and I assume full responsibility,
but when all’s said and done it’s your body. You have the burden of carrying this child for nine months. You have the ordeal
of giving birth. You must decide what you’re going to do, but before you decide I’ll say this: whatever your decision is,
I’ll back you up. The decision must be yours but you won’t have to deal with the consequences alone. That at least I can promise
you.’

She kisses me on the mouth. ‘I love you,’ she says.

I’m holding her tightly as I kiss her in return. Nothing else matters,
nothing in the world. I want to speak but can’t. As I kiss her again I grope in my vocabulary until at last I’m able to say:
‘Do you know what you want to do, Vicky? Have you any idea?’

‘I want to marry you,’ she says.

Willow and Wall. I go to Cornelius. Cornelius sits behind a big desk in a sterile room which could be beautiful but isn’t
because he’s filled it with all the wrong things. Imagine hanging a Kandinsky over an Adam fireplace. Typical.

‘Sir—’ I usually call him ‘sir’ at the office in an attempt to crawl out from the shadow of nepotism. ‘—I’ve come to ask for
a three-months leave of absence. I apologize for the inconvenience.’

Cornelius, scenting trouble, looks watchful. ‘Why do you need such a leave of absence?’

‘I want to go to Reno, sir, to establish Nevada residency. I’ve decided to get a divorce.’

‘Sit down, Sebastian.’ He’s chilly. Divorce is not normal. It happens, of course, but it’s not standard behaviour. This has
to be handled carefully if people are to be prevented from forming unfortunate opinions. Tiresome old Sebastian, he’s thinking,
always a thorn in my side. ‘Sebastian, I blame myself very much for not having had a frank talk with you earlier about this.
Of course I’m not unaware of what’s been going on, but I haven’t interfered partly because you’ve been very discreet and partly
because …’ He gets stuck.

This is difficult for Cornelius. He knows Mother is thrilled that Vicky and I have got together at last and he wants Mother
to be happy. But he hates the thought of Vicky in bed with anyone but her lawfully wedded husband, and even a lawfully wedded
husband might be hard for Cornelius to contemplate with equanimity. However on top of this emotional muddle lies the iron
control of his pragmatism, and as usual with Cornelius, pragmatism triumphs.

‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ he says carefully. ‘I disapprove of the immorality, but how can I deny Vicky a little happiness
with someone who cares for her? That would be wrong … and unnecessarily inflexible. I’ve no intention of criticizing you,
Sebastian, but I do think you shouldn’t let your current success with Vicky jettison you into a rash decision. Wouldn’t it
be better to keep the
status quo
for a while?’

I decide I’ve had enough of him preaching to me without full knowledge of the facts so I fire the truth at point-blank range.

‘Vicky’s having a baby,’ I say tersely. ‘We’ll marry in Reno as soon as I have my divorce.’

Cornelius looks incredulous; he can’t believe I would be dumb
enough to get Vicky pregnant out of wedlock. Then he looks furious; I’m the bastard who’s knocked up his little girl. But
finally an expression of unwilling fascination creeps into his eyes. Against all the odds, Mother’s soap-opera dreams are
coming true. He and Mother will have a mutual grandchild at last. Forget Eric, Paul and Benjamin. They’re just Sam’s sons.
Vicky and Sebastian are going to produce the son he and Mother never had, and everyone is going to wallow in domestic bliss
from here to eternity.

Cornelius is suddenly pulsating with excitement. ‘I see,’ he says, trying to keep calm. ‘Yes … Yes, obviously you must marry!’
He gropes for his customary practical outlook. ‘How much do the Reischmans know?’

He’s nervous about Jake. This may be the final nail in the coffin of the informal partnership between the House of Reischman
and the House of Van Zale.

‘Elsa’s already threatened me with divorce,’ I say, ‘although since time’s important to Vicky I don’t want to hang around
here while Elsa activates the messy unpleasant New York State divorce law. Moreover I think Elsa will be glad if I go to Reno
and wind the whole thing up as swiftly as possible. Elsa’s being very tough-minded about this and that’s one of the reasons
why I don’t think Jake will be too upset when he hears the news. It’d be different if Elsa were as wrecked as Vicky was when
Sam died, but she’s not. She’s in good shape, already chalking the marriage up to experience and looking around for someone
new. She’ll be just as pleased as Jake to get rid of me.’

Cornelius is much impressed by this reassuring analysis. He’s already planning instructions to Scott on how to handle Jake
with kid gloves. ‘Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,’ he says relaxed. ‘Good. I’m sure it’s all for the best. When are you going?’

‘Tomorrow at noon, if you approve the leave of absence.’

Cornelius approves. He’s beside himself with excitement by this time, and as soon as I turn to leave the room he’s picking
up the phone to call Mother.

29 September, 1959. I pretend to go to the office but sneak back to pack my suitcases. Elsa always has a hair appointment
on Tuesday mornings and meets a girl friend afterwards for lunch.

When my bags are packed I go to the nursery.

Alfred is trying to figure out how to put different-sized cubes into the right holes of a bright red box. Nurse is in his
bedroom next door while she puts away some clean clothes.

I watch Alfred for a while.

There’s a line by John Donne which begins: ‘Wilt thou forgive me?’ and I try to remember the rest of the poem but I can’t.
Will you forgive me, Alfred? No, probably not. ‘Damn bastard!’ you’ll say when you’re big enough. You’ll turn your back on
me and I won’t be able to explain that I’m incapable of turning my back on you. It may look as if I’m turning my back but
I’ll be facing both ways for I’ll be watching you always in my memory, watching you pick up those little cubes and drop them
into the right slots of that gaily painted box.

‘Smart kid,’ I say aloud.

Alfred looks up. ‘Daddy!’ he says, and hurls a cube at me. I pick it up and show him which hole to put it in.

He drops the cube and beams up at me.

Alfred and I have communicated for the last time.

I want to take him to Reno, I want to take him to Mother, but what’s the point? The Reischmans’ll get him. Elsa’s an innocent
deserted wife and she’ll be awarded custody. I’m not going to battle for Alfred either. I’ll let him go – and not only because
I know I’ve no hope of winning a legal struggle. I’ll let him go because I can remember how it feels to be a child trapped
between two parents fighting for custody, but my son’s not going to have those kind of memories, not if I can help it.