Tell Me If the Lovers Are Losers (20 page)

Niki departed for New York on the afternoon of Halloween. She had rented a car. “But that's against the rules,” Ann protested, although Niki argued that her father had given her the credit card. She did not sign out until just before she walked out the door, so that nobody could stop her. Ann, looking at the signout book, noticed that she had left no destination, no address or phone number where she could be reached. This too was against the rules. Ann could now perceive Niki's code of behavior: Niki would not lie, but she would not volunteer the truth.

They practiced every day that week, grimly. Hildy took part in those practices, but did not seem able to recapture the
authority that the glasses had taken from her game. Ann thought she was philosophical about the loss. She stayed late after practices with Hildy, drilling shots that had previously been reflex actions. Hildy worked patiently, calmly, without irritation at herself, without relaxation of discipline.

“Although it disheartens me,” she said.

“I wish I could help you, the way you did me,” Ann said.

“You can't,” Hildy said. “Not in this.”

“What about this junior match?”

“The juniors and seniors have each only two teams,” Hildy answered; or rather, did not answer, as Ann thought. “Because sports is not required in those years. So, those who continue to play are highly motivated.”

“Oh, dear,” Ann said. “How will we do?”

“I do not know,” Hildy said.

“Will we be horribly outclassed?”

“I do not know.”

“You aren't making me feel any better about it,” Ann complained.

♦   ♦   ♦

Niki was away for two nights. During that time, Ann and Hildy grew into a chatty intimacy that surprised Ann. She had thought that Hildy was above gossipy, speculative, superficial conversation. She was delighted to be wrong.

They exchanged opinions of Miss Dennis. “I admire her,” Ann said. “Her life is clear and uncluttered. High.”

“Does she fear people?” Hildy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When you say high—elevated?—you might also say she isolates herself. She builds around herself a wall, with knowledge and with age, to keep people away. It is not just with students, I think, but also with other adults. She is always alone.”

“Maybe she doesn't like people close up.”

“Perhaps.”

“I mean, close up people aren't—you notice body odors and little personal flaws.”

“You think she is protecting an ideal?”

“Or she sees through to the heart and doesn't want to be distracted from the vision. I think she's consciously chosen solitude, and she accepts the limits imposed by that choice.”
But it could be fear, Ann recognized, a sense of insecurity, inadequacy. Could the Munchkin think she was inferior?

In the quiet darkness of the room before they fell asleep, Hildy said, “Do you think Ruth is Jewish?”

“Of course.”

“She does not say so.”

“Why should she?”

“Because she is.”

Ann switched on her light and leaned her head on one palm, to look at Hildy. “Does that bother you about Ruth?”

“Why should it? She is a good friend.”

“You make things so simple,” Ann said. “I wish I could.”

“You are not often sure of things, are you?”

“Not often. Not nearly often enough. Except what I've learned in school, I don't think I'm sure of anything. Not like you and Niki.”

“You would like to be sure.” It was not a question.

“Life would be easier,” Ann said.

Hildy was looking at her, her eyes quizzical, but Ann knew that Hildy without her glasses could not see her, not as Ann understood seeing, and she did not guard her face.

“What does Ruth believe in?” Hildy asked.

“In one God. In the law. I guess.”

“The commandments?”

“Those, and the books of law. In the Messiah maybe.”

“Why do you say maybe?”

“Because I'm not sure if it's only Orthodox Jews who still believe in the Messiah. Do you know about Orthodox and Reform?”

“What does that mean?”

Ann started to answer, then stopped herself. “I was going to say it was like Catholic and Protestant, but you know what? I don't know. I mean I know about it, vaguely, enough to catch references, but not really. I'd better take a religion course next year That sounds like fun anyway, doesn't it? All I do know is that Jews don't believe in the immortality of the soul.”

“If they do not believe in heaven, what happens to them when they die?”

“How would I know that, Hildy? How do any of us know?”

“Do you believe in it? In the immortality of the soul?”

“I'd like to. I'd like it to be true.”

“It is,” Hildy said.

This was forbidden territory, and Ann turned the light out again.

Hildy spoke out of the darkness: “But how is it that you should know that? Where I live, the sky is closer to the earth than it is here in the east. Closer than anywhere else.”

“That's impossible, Hildy.” Ann said.

“I know, but it is so.”

What had Hildy's life been, to make her so sure of things; Ann wondered, but did not ask. Maybe it was living on a farm, seeing things grow. Maybe when everything you did was important to the family life—milking the cows for instance—then you wouldn't spend so much time thinking and worrying about yourself. Hildy always did what she thought was right, but she didn't do just what she wanted. She wasn't selfish, the way Ann and her family understood that word; and Niki too. What had Hildy's life been, that gave her the confidence to know, without question, things that Ann and everyone else questioned. Except Niki, Niki didn't question, so it couldn't be just living on a farm, it must be something more. How could Ann find it out, so she could know? “What's your family like?” Ann asked. “Hildy?” But Hildy was asleep.

♦   ♦   ♦

“Why does Bess not stand straight?” Hildy wondered, after a practice. “Why does she stand with her arms folded before her?”

“She's overweight,” Ann answered.

“You also stand so.”

“I guess so. I hope that it minimizes my belly.”

“But it doesn't.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Is she ashamed of her breasts, Bess?”

“She could be. People tease you, you know, if you've got large bosoms. Boys. Kids.”

“She shouldn't listen to them.”

“Easier said than done,” Ann said.

“Inside, she is quite proud,” Hildy said. “Inside, she thinks she is beautiful.”

“How do you know that?”

“In the way her eyes seek notice. She says she is fat but does not believe it.”

“Volleyball has been good for her. For me too,” Ann said.

“Bess is vain,” Hildy continued. “That is a degrading characteristic.”

Ann considered that. “Hildy, did you always have all these thoughts in your head?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I never thought you did. I always thought you were too good to notice what the rest of us notice.”

“These things seemed unimportant before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I could see so well.”

“What was important then? What did you think of Bess before?”

“Like a goddess, but a sulky goddess. Zeus' wife I think, the jealous one. I thought she needed to honor herself.”

“And now?”

“Now I see—it will be harder for her than I thought. She does not understand herself.”

“Do you understand
your
self?”

“Yes.”

♦   ♦   ♦

They rode together to the observatory, although Hildy no longer needed accompaniment. Ann had grown accustomed to the evening rides and the silent hours of study there. She liked the change, and the cold, dark air. She found she could ride the bike almost all the way up to the observatory now.

“How did you manage this ride before?” she asked Hildy.

“That was easy. I could feel the road beneath the wheels and the hills flowing down to it, in their curvings. A car I would hear and pull off the road until it passed. And the sky above was lighter, not so heavy as the land. The center lines, like a ribbon of light, led before. I rode on its path as through clouds of darkness. It was easy.”

“But unsafe.”

“I suppose so, yes. Now I can see—everything. Every tree, every curve. The center line is not elusive. And yes, I can see the stars now, too. I am always looking about and seeing. The moon does have a face.”

“I know.”

“Not as I had seen it before.”

♦   ♦   ♦

One of those evenings, Ann invited Eloise to come back from practice with them for supper “But you haven't signed for a guest,” she protested. “Have you?”

“You can be Niki.”

“Where is she?”

“Out,” Ann said, but Hildy answered as quickly, “In New York.”

“She's cutting classes?”

They nodded.

“A law unto herself, is that the idea?” Eloise said, adding: “I can't help admiring her. But I don't see why I should.”

The dinner achieved its usual level of mediocrity, but Eloise said she didn't notice it. “It's no worse than I'm accustomed to,” she said. “Nobody in my family cooks well. I suspect I'm doomed to a life of mediocre sensual experiences, a chicken-a-la-king life, lived over Minute Rice, with frozen peas and box biscuits.”

“Jello for dessert,” Ann added, “and fake whipped cream.”

“Precisely,” Eloise agreed.

“Does food matter?” Hildy asked.

“In a world where there is rare steak—” Ann said.

“Or a smoked ham, sliced so thin you can't chew it but just let it lie on your tongue until every part of your mouth can taste it—” Eloise added.

“Yes,” they answered Hildy.

Eloise pushed at a mound of whipped potatoes with her fork. “Oh well.”

“Maybe you aren't,” Ann said. “And besides, there are compensations, aren't there?”

“I hope so,” Eloise said, wistful.

“Food doesn't matter,” Hildy assured them.

“We were speaking metaphorically,” Ann protested. Hildy looked puzzled.

After coffee they went upstairs to the room, where conversation floundered. Eloise admired the view and the Kennedy poster, then went to the door. “Well, thanks a lot,” she said.

“Why are you leaving?” Hildy asked.

“You have work. You always have work to do. I don't want to disturb you.”

“But you won't. Not tonight. Not for half an hour, anyway. Have you something you must do?”

“No, I don't have anything particular.”

“Do you
want
to leave now? I thought we would visit.”

“Visit?” Ann asked.

“The way women do at home. They visit with one another, of an afternoon. When there is an hour or two between dinner and supper and chores are completed. They sit and talk.”

“What about?”

“Children, men, diseases, recipes. Whatever is uppermost in their minds. It does not matter what they talk about, just to visit.”

“My mother visits,” Eloise sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. “She visits the sick or the grieving, or anyone else she can find who is needy.”

“Good lord,” Ann said, “why? I'm sorry, Eloise, that was rude. I didn't mean to be rude, just curious.”

Eloise understood all that, and answered. “My father is a minister. My mother sees it as part of her work, as his wife, to dispense comfort and consolation wherever it's needed. She used to take me with her when I was a child. I hated it.”

“Why did you do it then?”

“What else could I do? Anyway, since I won that first scholarship, I haven't been home that much, which has caused them no consternation. A ministerial scholarship,” she explained to Ann's questioning face. “Churches tend to have money. It's the clergy that don't. Of course, they prefer you to attend Christian school, but I chose the Hall and waited them out. It wasn't so difficult to do. The committee wasn't accustomed to rebellion of any kind, and that gave me a certain palpable advantage. I needed any advantage I could get.”

“Was it worth it?” Ann asked.

“The Hall? Yes, I think so. Don't you?”

“You know how I feel about it,” Ann said. “But you—”

“Even so, I liked it. Friends aren't everything. I've been alone wherever I lived, partly because of being the minister's child, partly because of what I'm like.” She dismissed Ann's protest with a wave of the hand. “But you, you're so ordinary—no, that's good, Ann; I don't mean it with insulting connotations, not at all. I mean you're what someone is supposed to be like. You're easy to be with, because you know you're all right. I'm surprising you.”

“Well, yes.”

“Hildy, don't you think I'm right about Ann?”

Hildy nodded agreement, then asked, “Have you quarreled with your parents?”

“Not exactly that. They don't quarrel, of course, and consequently we don't fight. They don't understand—what I want to get away from. Or to.”

“To what?” Hildy asked.

“I'd like to teach. If I can get the degrees, I'd like to teach in a college. Failing that, I'll go somewhere like the Hall, somewhere removed from the hurly-burly.”

“You already know what you want to do?” Ann demanded.

Eloise apologized. “I had to make plans early, or I'd have been trapped in an intolerable life. My parents don't discourage my desire to teach. They merely want me to work somewhere I am needed.” She shook her head. “I don't want that kind of life, the constant battle. I'm not even convinced that good can be done, that way.”

“I have no idea what I want to do,” Ann said. “None. I guess I should.”