The Big Why (32 page)

I wrote to Kathleen on my birthday. My birthday is the first day of summer. How a year ago I had such hopes for this place. Now Gerald’s pear tree was struggling below us. And I was accepting that this was a doomed venture. I had snuffed out my ecstatic bliss at being alive in the world. I had turned thirty-three, the age of crucifixion, and had failed at my own private goal. I wrote, How fearfully old.

Emily was new to cooking, so she got Mrs Pomeroy to bake a cake. And they came down. Emily took me by the wrists and kissed me on the cheek. Happy birthday, she said. The children helped me blow out the candles. The sides of Emily’s mouth full of delight. She wanted me to be having a good time. Then she stroked her own belly and felt the cuff of the lemon cardigan she wore over her light dress. She liked to touch herself, as if straightening the contours of her own body. I had seen her backlit in the sun, rubbing her breasts through the dress out of the enjoyment of having them touched in the sunlight.

I dont think she ever knew I would look at her that way. But that night, after the children were put to bed, I pulled out a bottle of whisky and we started on that. I think she felt, because I was an outsider, that she could confess. Even though I’d planned to live there, I was living in this house on the far end of town. It was like a confessional. I decided, too, to admit all. It was my birthday. This night would be the beginning of our confessing. I dont, she said, understand Tom Dobie. She wasnt sure he loved her. She wasnt sure he found her attractive. Was she ugly.

No, I said. You are very very beautiful.

I said that sometimes men have a hard time reassuring loved ones. And then it becomes hard to express all the love one has through the accepted channels of wife, children, friends. It’s difficult, I said, to ignore the possibility of a lover.

Emily was intrigued by this. I wasnt answering her and yet she wanted to be loved.

Tom, she said, does not make me feel lovable.

She was direct about it. She wanted to have a man. She knew this. She was waiting for Tom Dobie. She said his name because she realized that she had said
a man
. She didnt say, I want Tom Dobie. She did not know if Tom would. We’ve been close, she said. I wanted him to, but he wouldnt. He was reluctant and yet he won’t marry me. He’s only promised me something later. But how long will he be away?

She loves him more for it, the possibility that he could be killed.

Did you love Stan Pomeroy?

What me and Stan had. We were just fooling about.

Tom was mad about it.

Emily: He was good about it. I find him so beautiful to look at.

The fact of Tom Dobie made it easier for us to be intimate. It was as if we both knew we would have Tom Dobie as a border. But our love for him brought us closer too. I cannot speak for what she thought of Kathleen.

Me: Your name. It’s a good name. Famous people have the double initial, Emily Edwards. Harry Houdini. Jack Johnson. Bob Bartlett.

Charlie Chafe, she said. Your wife.

Kathleen Kent. I hadnt thought of it. She was Kathleen Whiting.

My name would be Emily Dobie if I married Tom.

You could keep it. My friend Gerald’s wife kept hers.

We drank and I watched her press herself against the table. The whole top half of her body leaning over the table to be close to me. Her arms gesturing were a mere inch away from my own. We drank. We drank until I thought of her clothes as the skin of a peeling thing. Her clothes would pull away easily, as if they were something she couldnt choose to put on again. Once the clothes were off, they would be off. They would dry up, and blow away. They would no longer be clothes.

You know youre gorgeous, dont you.

Emily: Youre the gorgeous one.

I think youre the — youre young, your arms are golden. Your face. I said, My wife and I, we’ve not.

I could not say it.

There’s a grey area between my wife and me.

Emily listened to this. It made her uncomfortable. So she did have Kathleen between us and I had just tested her.

I have an understanding with my wife, I said.

Emily was not beautiful in the conventional sense.

I think I should go, she said.

She came by the next day and took the children. She was cheery. It was as if nothing had been said. We had a picnic with the children out by the naked man. And then she left after putting them to bed. But the next day she lingered. I have wine, I said. Why dont we.

I dont feel beautiful, she said. That’s the main thing. I can’t get over that. I’m not convinced.

She had emptied her wine. And her face had descended into the wine glass, so that her chin was resting in it.

We went over it again. She loved my convincing her.

What was it you meant about your wife.

I have slept around on my wife. My wife knows this. She understands. It isnt something dreadful.

It sounds dreadful.

You can get used to anything.

It decided things for her. When I took her up the narrow stairs that night I was stunned that I was with the body of that face. That face’s body was against my own. It was a lie about my wife and both of us felt the wrong in it. We did not face each other. It began in the narrow stairs. We made the movements that are like stairs. I held Emily with her back to me. It was as if we were not making love because we were not in a room, though it turned the stairs into a room. A place on your way to another place.

In the bed it was both of us facing the same direction. She said, This bed. This was my mother’s bed. She was thinking of her mother as we lay there. The bed from Marten Edwards. Can we just lie here, she said. This is nice.

I wrote again to Prime Minister Morris. Prowse had been speaking to him. Since he’d seen Kathleen pregnant Prowse had been pleading my case. If only for her sake and not mine. I thought that if the prime minister could weigh in. Perhaps things could be salvaged.

I wrote to Kathleen. I wrote, You are no longer the cousin of Gerald Thayer. You are nobody’s cousin. You are Kathleen Kent and you are you and I am your husband. I have been with you so long that you remind me of no one but yourself. Do you feel the same.

Yes she felt the same.

What Emily told her father, Marten Edwards. That she had to take care of the children. That often the children woke up at night and needed consoling. That the painter needed his sleep. It was her duty. This was how Emily Edwards explained the sleeping over. We made a false bed for her on the chaise longue. It is odd to think that it wasnt my sleeping with Emily that contributed to our expulsion. More, it was my disinterest in my children. That was chalked up as another heartless Germanic affliction.

She was lying in bed and I saw her back in the hall mirror. I decided to talk to her while looking there. At first she spoke to the room, then she said, Come out from behind the wall.

How did you see me behind the wall.

Then her eyes found me in the mirror. Youre casting a shadow.

I’m not used to being with someone who can find me in the mirror.

Well, we’re a lot alike. Does that disappoint you?

I dont know what it does.

Oh surely you must know what it does.

I felt at least two things. Yes, I felt disappointment. But I felt that of course she knew. She’s a quick looker like me. Youre open to looking at all surfaces and angles, even those in mirrors.

I’m open to the possibilities of where I might find you.

If you werent, I may think you oblivious.

Is that what you thought of your other girlfriends?

When Emily left, her footsteps shifted from the open door to bouncing off the ceiling through the window. The sound was like a tiny high cracking of timbers, the sound insects make when eating.

I want you on your knees.

Do you want me on my hands and knees?

Me: Your hands and knees. I want you looking down.

Look.

Yeah.

Emily: I’m so dark.

Yeah youre dark.

Look.

You want me to compare.

Well just look at my skin on your skin.

You sound proud or something.

I’m noticing how brown I am. Just look at our arms.

Emily, I want you looking down. What I want is I dont want you to see me. I want it to be a surprise to you that I’m over you, that I’m —

Entering me.

What was I doing. Was I trying to broaden my wife’s expressions? Did it excite me to pain her, to see pain track Kathleen’s forehead. I was making her big, or breaking her. Gerald had told me that I did not know composure. Kent, he said, you can’t understand harmony. It irritates you, for you cannot possess it. You want to turn harmony over and watch it struggle.

I knew that Kathleen had given herself over to me, every ounce. Even her eyelids were mine. I was not a man who could give himself over, and so there was the difference in power. To love is to be vulnerable to hurt.

Gerald had said, If you do not speak of some desires, and even acts you are ashamed of, it is better in the long run.

Me: Can you diminish the extent of your desire?

Gerald: If you allow desire room to live, you may develop a habit, or at least a proclivity.

Emily and I took the children for a drive into Carbonear. We borrowed Mackinson’s horses and cart. It made me understand the cleft in my ass. Along the way we passed an internment camp. There were about seventeen German
pow
s digging posts. Stop a second. I jumped on the cart bed. I waved my arms and, in German, yelled: The kaiser is winning the war! It will not be long now!

They looked around, confused. One man blew a gob of snot. So I yelled it again. Then they cheered heartily, waving their spades.

It was our last night together. I should have sent her away. After we made love I told Emily this was the end. When youre being good, she said, it’s not that youre being good to that person. Youre being good to the spirit of that person.

Me: Youre too loyal to a belief.

Tom’s being away had made her lose hope. It had made her not care. She wanted to enjoy something. She wanted to see what kind of repercussions could come from obvious wrong.

This time Constable Bishop walked over with an officer from St John’s. I heard them while we were in my studio. We were naked and we had surprised each other. So much for the last time. The children were upstairs, unattended. I dressed and closed the studio door on Emily and invited the men in. The officer merely stood there while Bishop asked me his fresh questions. Is it true, he said, that you were seen Thursday last saluting prisoners of war and encouraging them to escape.

Was I seen?

Did you do it.

I met a few Germans and I enjoy speaking German.

Would it be possible to inspect your house.

That would not be appropriate. The house is a mess. I’m embarrassed by the house. My wife is in St John’s and I am not much of a homemaker.

Your children are upstairs.

They have a nanny.

A Miss Edwards.

That is so.

She is upstairs.

She is in the house.

Perhaps then just your studio.

That would be even less likely.

Could you tell us the meaning of this eagle and the words
Bomb Shop
.

A man is allowed to write anything he wants on his house.

The house belongs to the Pomeroys.

Has Mr Pomeroy complained?

He has not, but he did say we could go through his house.

The foundation and all that stands above it belong to the Pomeroys. The studio I built myself, at my own expense. It is mine and I can write on it whatever I wish and bar entry to whomever I choose. I’ve certainly learned one thing well from Sniffles Hearn.

But what is it you intend by writing such a flagrant thing.

Why, flagrancy of course.

Mr Kent, if I can talk freely.

As a matter of fact, I’d prefer it if you didnt talk freely. I’d like you to feel as caged with your talk as I feel walking about this town. If anyone is spying, Mr Bishop, it is this community. On me. The reason I chose this house was for privacy. And privacy is the last thing I am receiving.

Did you visit St John’s recently.

It was the officer speaking now.

I passed through, on my way back to Brigus.

Is it true that you met with William Coaker.

I tried my best, but the man was busy.

And while in New York you were seen with a Mr Rufus Weeks.

Do you have anything in that notebook on Rufus?