The Demon (25 page)

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Linda was sensitive to her husbands moods, and could feel, more than see, the change, the tension, in him. There was perhaps a little more silence than usual and a general quietness; and, of course, she was very aware of the difference in bed, the way in which they did or did not make love.

 
There were those times when Harry would be very blatant about being tired and having had a difficult day before they were finished with dinner, and when they went to bed she could feel the tension in him and wanted just to reach over and tell him he did not have to explain anything, that it was perfectly all right if he did not want to make love. But she was afraid it would embarrass him and so she did not, but just kissed him good night, without caressing him the way she wanted to, so he could relax and get the rest he needed.

 
And there were those nights when Harry would more or less be the same as usual except that she could feel he was forcing it, and though he looked tired and weary he said nothing, and she knew that when they went to bed he would be a little more forceful in his lovemaking because of the tension that had built up within him during the day. And though a small, secret part of her felt a little hurt because it knew that not all the excitement Harry felt was due to her, he aroused such an overwhelming excitement in her that this feeling was easily flooded away. This happened easily as she not only knew that she loved Harry, but also knew, without doubt, that he loved her, and if ever there seemed to be distance between them she knew that it was something that would pass rapidly and was simply due to the pressures of Harrys work. He is a very sensitive and brilliant man, and high-strung. And, after all, he is the youngest executive vice-president the firm has ever had, and you have to expect him to be a little moody once in a while. Its only human.

 
And Lindas days were so full she did not have time, nor the desire, to create problems for herself. Although she now

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had a full-time housekeeper, at Harrys insistence, she refused to have a maid or cook or nurse for Harry Junior. She was still a wife and mother and would continue to take personal care of her family. And though they had a gardener to take care of the mowing, pruning of the trees and other heavy work, the gardens were hers and she spent many joyous hours in them with Harry Junior, who was now walking and stumbling around and making all manner of sounds. They had a swing set in the back, and Linda would swing him on her lap and sing to him as they gently swung back and forth. He was growing like a weed and was Lindas little man.

 
The next time Harry had to entertain visiting representatives he stayed in the city all night. He had not planned on doing it, but it just seemed to happen that way. He found himself rolling on the bed with one of their public relations people, knowing that he still had time to catch the last train home, but also knowing that he was not going to leave. The decision came from outside him and was forced on him and he accepted it with no real struggle. Just a little dismay.

 
He was at his desk, with the door to his office closed, before eight-thirty the following morning, trying to unravel, again, what had happened and how it had happened. He felt a little sick and apprehensive, and the more he thought about it, the more he tried to understand how he had ended up there, the more confused and sick he got. Finally he took a deep breath and called Linda. He suddenly felt a fluttering in his chest. He jammed his jaws shut. He mumbled an almost prayer. He wanted desperately to say something pertinent, but he couldnt think of a fucking thing to say. Hello, how are you? What the hell is that? How in the name of krist was he going to make small talk feeling so sick?

Hi, honey, how was the meeting?

 
(Holy shit, he could hear the smile in her voice and could hear his son in the background.) Fine. All finished.

Good. Im so glad. I really missed you last night.

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Me too.

Will you be home at the usual time tonight, sweetheart?

Yes.

 
O good. Have a good day, honey. I love you. Some small talk and she hung up.

She finally hung up. Finally, finally,

finally. How fucking long did they talk. Seconds? Minutes? Ten thousand lifetimes—Yeah, yeah. I know it was the first time I stayed away since we were married. What do you think I am, some kind of fucking goon? And get off my back. Im no goddamn leper. I havent done a goddamn thing every other son of a bitch in this world doesnt. So up yours.

 
And thus his day started and continued with frenzied attempts to lose himself in his work; he sent out for a quick lunch or an apple so he could eat the forbidden fruit and purge himself. O shit! what the hell is going on? The door to his office remained closed. From time to time during the day he suddenly started shaking and trembling, but it quickly passed. O krist!!!!

                         
Work. Work! Get your ass to work and forget all this bullshit. Work ...

                                    
And so passed a murky and interminable day for Harry White.

And

for Linda, the wife of Harry White, the day was intermittently cloudy. From time to time a feeling of profound sadness would drag heavily through her and she would stop and look around frowning, trying to understand why she should feel the way she suddenly did. She hadnt felt like this since she was a teen-ager, and that seemed like so many years ago. Since then she had had moments of slight depression and loneliness, but not since she was married. In thinking about it she became more and more aware of how much she loved Harry and what a wonderful life they had together. She certainly was not bubbling over with joy and good will every day, but there just did not seem to be any sadness in her life with Harry—until now.

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O well, it was only natural to feel like this the first time Harry did not come home. After all, its an impossible trip at night and Harry had no choice. Nothing at all unusual about it. What really was unusual, from what she read and heard, was that two people (actually three counting Harry Junior) could be as happy as they are. A three-year marriage may not be a record, even in this day and age, but there did not seem to be many couples staying married that long who were as happy as she and Harry,

 
And it wasnt just the beautiful home and gardens—or even Harry Junior—she felt like this before they bought the house and before Harry Junior came along. It seemed like she felt like this since she had met Harry. Except, of course, that night when she turned him down and he left. That was the last time she could remember feeling lonely, those weeks that passed before he called again.

 
He excited her. And just thinking about him kept the excitement alive. And it wasnt just the excitement he aroused in her in bed, though she would quickly and happily admit that that had a lot to do with it and she could not imagine any man being a better or more exciting lover than Harry. Many, many times she thought about their relationship and what it was about him that made her so happy, and though there is always a certain amount of magic that can never be defined or even isolated, there were aspects of his personality that were precious to her.

 
She loved his laugh. It wasnt that it was exceptionally musical, or anything like that, but it was just so happy. It sounded as if all of him was having a good time. She could actually feel her eyes twinkle when she thought about it.

 
They twinkled too when she thought of his tenderness, of the way he held her hand or rubbed the back of her neck and shoulders, or kissed her ear lobe. . . . And the way he would smile and tap her gently on the tip of her nose for no reason at all—just sort of do it and smile. She closed her eyes for a moment and looked at his smile and felt his warmth....

And under all of this she could feel his strength. A strength

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that was not verbal, but real and inherent in his actions and attitude. He knew where he was going and how to get there. He knew nothing could stop him. And she knew that no matter what happened she could always, always, rely on him, that he would always be there to give her the strength and support she needed. He was dependable and his spirit was indomitable.. . .

 
The more she thought about him, the warmer seemed the sun, and by the time she was feeding Harry Junior his lunch she was smiling and humming and thinking of what she could prepare for Harrys dinner.

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12

                 
    
Harrys life continued to be a series of little compromises, and revaluations of ethics and situations; of readjustments to life and then unwilling and agonizing acceptance of them that necessitated little lies, which, in turn, demanded more lies and readjustments and reevaluations. And it was not with the worlds ethics and morals that Harry was compromising, but with his own. That is what produced the conflict. That is what created the pain. And the most difficult aspect of this evolvement of Harrys life, the one element that was responsible for the confusion, was the fact that Harry had to deny, to himself, that these compromises and petty lies were actually happening. He had to somehow maintain, in his conscious mind, that nothing was wrong, that whatever was happening was normal and was simply a result of the pressures of his job.

After all, he was a

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successful man: respected in his business; a good provider; a man of considerable means and still only thirty years old. There was no doubt in his mind, and in the minds of his associates, that he would be a millionaire someday. No doubt at all. How could there be anything wrong?

 
And he had a wonderful family that he dearly loved and treasured, and they loved him. When he got home at night his son ran (well, maybe he more tottered than ran) to greet him, and his wife always had a big smile and a hug and kiss for him. Success. Yes, he was truly a successful man. How could there be anything wrong?

               
There couldnt be. That was obvious. A man as young and successful as Harry White could not have any real problems, and whatever might be responsible for that twisting in his gut and that tension that made him feel like a wound spring that was about to snap, would disappear in time. In the meantime, there was nothing wrong with his picking up a woman occasionally, or spending a night with one of their public relations people. It relieved that feeling, and he was becoming accustomed to living with the undefined feeling of guilt and remorse that he awoke with the next morning. The important thing was not to allow anything to interfere with his ability to work, and that tension did just that. He was willing to do anything to relieve that tension. He must be able to work.

 
And so another readjustment and lie inevitably followed the others and he stayed in town when there werent representatives to entertain, but it was a reason that was accepted and was always readily available.

 
But now it was becoming necessary to stay in town more and more frequently. There was less and less control. After each additional adjustment and lie he was depressed for a day or so and it was a struggle not to be silent and sullen around the house. Then he would become his old self in his constantly changing life, and life at home, as well as in the office, would seem normal as his emotions started on another upswing.

But then the timing of the pattern would change and further

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adjustments would be necessary as the periods of depression came closer and closer together. One week Harry found himself staying in town twice, and on his way home that night he bought a split-leaf philodendron. He wasnt sure why, but he just felt an overwhelming urge to buy it. It was not exactly like bringing it home for Linda as an atonement for his behavior (Jesus, with her gardens that would be like giving an Eskimo snowballs), but it was meant as some sort of a present.

 
The next day he found himself thinking about the plant and bought a book on the care of philodendrons. He browsed through the book on the way home and became fascinated by the many varieties of philodendron and related species of house plants. That weekend he bought another plant, a smaller one.

I didnt know you were a plant lover, honey.

 
Neither did I. Guess I just got a bug or something, smiling at her. Maybe I thought that if you were going to garden on the outside, I would garden on the inside.

A family that gardens together, stays together.

That sounds good.

 
We/ll just have to be careful that our thumbs dont get too green; they might quarantine us.

They both laughed and Harry stared at the two plants.

 
The following week he brought home another plant, a spider plant set in a beautiful porcelain pot and hanging in a macramé holder.

Dont you think it looks great hanging in this window?

 
Yes it does. That macramé and pot are beautiful. Where did you get them?

 
What about the plant, isnt that beautiful too? After all, you dont want to hurt the chlorophytums feelings.

You sound like a botanist.

 
Ive been reading my book on the train, smiling. Anyway, theres a large florist and plant shop on Fifty-sixth Street that has an incredible selection of plants and pots and everything else.

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Well, hugging his arm, I never thought I would be naming a plant shop as a corespondent.

 
They laughed, each feeling tension draining from them, tension from a different yet similar source.

 
Harry bought two more books during the week and another plant and macramé holder on Friday. Buying a plant on Friday became a new routine, replacing the old one, and once again the undefined tension and anxiety were gone as he tended plants instead of women. In a few months there were plants hanging in front of every window. There were Columneas, Episcias, ivy-leaved Pelargoniums and even Ges-nerias. On the floor in an assortment of beautiful pottery were Dieffenbachia picta, Ficus elastica, Ficus lyrata, Schefflera, Podocarpus Chamaedorea seifrizii and other palms, and split-leaf philodendron. There was even philodendron and ivy crawling along beams in the living room.