The Girl With the Glass Heart: A Novel (27 page)

Carl and Elly were not holding hands as they walked in the garden, but their strolling manner suggested hand-holding, secret-sharing. It was early evening and the air was damp. The ground beneath their feet was littered with leaves, most of them dry and brown, although here and there a bright, fresh-looking green leaf lay in the brown-and-red richness. Elly’s eyes were on the ground as she stepped aside here and there to crush a brown, deliciously curled leaf. She could feel the dried fibers separate and hear the clicking sound with pleasure. The ones that were not as dry or curled within themselves did not crunch as well, and these she avoided after a while.

“And it’s natural for a woman like your mother to depend on her rabbi, because it was what her mother did and her mother before her.”

“I don’t think it’s so natural. Did your mother do it?”

“Are you starting that again? I wish you wouldn’t even joke about it.” He laughed. “I’m a nervous boy.”

She glanced at him. “Yes,” she said, “you are a boy.”

“That’s right,” he replied. “Just a boy, getting free meals by giving advice to your family.”

“They’re not really free, are they? After all, you have to spend time with me.”

“That’s one of the nicest things about it.”

“Yes, we do get along nicely. You’re a little like my uncle Alec.”

“Am I?”

“A little. That’s really what they want your advice about. I’m a problem, but nothing like Alec. He’s a big headache. Did they tell you what happened to me at school?”

“No,” he lied.

“I got myself knocked up and then I had an abortion.” She chose her words deliberately, wanting to shock him, was rewarded by his swiftly indrawn breath.

“Really? That’s too bad. Or do you think it wasn’t too bad?”

“Nobody got hurt, so how bad can it be? My mother doesn’t even know.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Because you’ve told me at least one very intimate secret and I figure I owe you at least one in return. You know, tit for tat.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me, as they say in the movies.” He waited for her reply, expecting to hear her avow secrecy as well, even in a mock manner. Instead she hopped along, crunching leaves underfoot with every step. Finally she spoke.

“Alec is very important to me and I’m beginning to agree with Dad.”

“You mean about the girl, and marriage?”

She nodded.

“To tell the truth,” he said, “I haven’t been too sure what to advise your folks about that. It seems to me the girl ought to have a chance to meet the family and be met by them. It shouldn’t all be so cut and dried. She’s not Jewish, so the whole thing’s impossible—that’s pretty inhuman. Of course I can’t go on record as favoring in any way a mixed marriage—you can see that—but I’ve been thinking that she ought to be given a chance—”

“She ought to be given nothing,” Elly blurted out suddenly.

“Do you hold it so much against her that she’s not of your religion?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course not. I’ve met her and I know she’s not his kind.”

“Isn’t that rather up to him to decide?”

“Not if he wants Dad to continue supporting him.”

The coolness with which she stated the truth of a complex and sad financial dependency within her family disturbed Carl.

“That’s something he should decide too,” he said, unwittingly falling into her trap.

“You’re right,” she said quickly. “Dad should write him, telling him to come home alone, or not to come at all, with the understanding that the money would stop in that case. Then he could make a clear choice.”

“That makes it pretty rough on him.”

“Nevertheless, that’s what you’re going to tell Dad to do, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Elly. I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do, Carl. You know you agree. And wouldn’t it look bad for a rabbi, who came from a mixed marriage himself, to seem to be sympathetic to another one?”

He took her arm in his hand and looked at her face, crossed as it was by the shadows of the wind-waved branches of the trees. “What do you mean?” he said. “No one else knows of that.”

“Of course,” she said. “And no one will. But I really am going to insist that you do what I say in this business with Alec and Annette.”

“Are you threatening me? I thought you loved your uncle.”

“I do. Does that mean I have to love everything he does? No. I’m not threatening, Carl. I’m simply insisting.” Thinking: I’m not safe when Annette has such a hold over Alec that he wouldn’t come to me when I was in trouble. This is only self-defense.

“You’re crazy, Elly. I can’t do something like that because I was stupid enough to tell you about myself.”

“You have to.” She resumed walking again and he followed. The leaves grew fewer on the ground and she turned and retraced her steps. Carl followed.

“Well?” she said, and turned only to find him moving swiftly toward the house where preparations were being made for dinner. She continued her pursuit of the dead leaves, quite sure that Carl would do what she had asked. Alec would be here soon, alone. But what if he chose to stay with
her
? She wiped the thought away instantly and, looking down at the leaf on which she was stepping, she noticed that it was almost perfectly heart-shaped. Come to think of it, she thought, all hearts are made in the shape of a leaf.

Over the coffee cups Max remarked to Elly, “Carl feels the time has come to be firm with Alec. I’m going to write him to come for the holidays, without the girl, or not at all.”

Instantly Elly was depressed.

“That’s a damned good idea,” she said listlessly, glancing at Carl, who stared at the floor.

“Elly, don’t curse in front of Carl.”

“You mean it’s all right to curse when he’s not here?”

“Don’t be smart!” Rose said. “There’s nothing to worry about, Max. He’ll come without her. He won’t give up what he has from us. He’s not like you. He’s not used to fending for himself. He’s had it too easy.”

Max nodded wearily and sipped his coffee. “You’re right, and sometimes I think it’s my fault—that I was wrong in helping him. If he would have learned to stand on his own two feet right away—”

“If he had,” Elly interrupted, “he wouldn’t need you and he’d marry who he wanted to—maybe a Chinese girl. A nice Jewish Chinese girl, of course.”

“What’s the matter with you, Elly?” Max asked.

“Nothing. I just think you ought to face the fact that you had a hand in making Alec the kind of man who would choose comfort and security over a girl he’s in love with.”

“If he
is
that kind,” Carl interrupted, feeling quite the interloper now that his job was done.

It’s no use, Elly was thinking, unaware that her hands were tightly clenched. It’s no use. Who made Alec or me? We make each other. Everybody makes everybody else. What a lousy responsibility. She stood up. “Good night all,” she said, and walked to the doorway.

“But, Elly,” her father said, “we were going to play some bridge.”

“I don’t feel much like—” she said. “I’m knocked out. Perhaps I’ll make some use of the paints you gave me for my birthday.”

“I saw the picture you’re doing, the other day,” Rose said. “Very pretty.” Elly ignored this and, retracing her steps, held out her hand to Carl.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning I’m sorry for using you for my own ends, I’m sorry for frightening you.

“That’s all right,” he said.

“We’ll play some other time,” Max said.

As she left, Elly heard: “Carl, I’d like to give fifteen hundred dollars to the synagogue for the High Holy Days. Take the price of our tickets out of that, all right?” and she thought, Dad’s picked the wrong time to talk about donations.

She set up the easel and turned on all the lamps in the room. Then she gazed at the painting she had begun. It was a copy, from memory, of a painting she had seen once and never forgotten, the painting that hung in Alec’s living room in Los Angeles. Here, as in the original, although much more crudely done, because Elly had no real gift for representation—if she had any gift at all it was for a delicate distortion—the figure was still caught in the enfolding forest, but because of her lack of draftsmanship the trees and grass resembled a child’s dream of a forest. She had changed the figure from a girl to a boy; this, she told herself, gave her more perspective. She worked at it quite intensely, as intensely as she had danced, but with less hope. When she went to bed it seemed to her that the boy was well trapped in the forest. This pleased her. Tomorrow she would fill in the sky.

The next few days Elly spent alternating between feeling guilty and feeling expectant. The chances were that Alec would arrive Monday, since the holidays began officially on Tuesday. The days dragged. She was grateful for the fact that Carl did not call again. She had cut off something there, when she’d forced him to do her bidding. Something within her was changing, anyway; this she knew. She had no idea what the change was, but adumbrations were everywhere. Colors were sharper and brighter; her emotions ran in higher and lower spirals. When she felt fine she was ecstatic; when she was low, she was utterly miserable. She was in the middle of an ascending spiral late Sunday afternoon when, her parents having gone to play bridge with the Marlowes, Carl appeared at the door.

“Hi,” she said. “Come on in. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hello, Elly, are your folks in?”

“You must have seen them driving down if you came up the cliff road. They’re playing bridge at the Marlowes’.”

Carl entered and threw his coat down on the hall table with a shrug. “You’re right,” he said. “I saw them as I came up.” He seemed irritated, tense.

“Will you have a drink?” she asked. “I got looped myself the other night.”

“No, thanks. Why?” He sat down and crossed his long, bony legs.

“Because I was upset.”

“Really? I never drink when I feel bad. I drink at Simchas.”

“Oh, I drink then too. It’s the only way I can stand Jewish weddings.”

“You don’t identify with your religion much, do you?”

“Some. I love going to temple, but otherwise I don’t take it too seriously.”

“Perhaps I
will
have a drink. A small one, thanks.”

She mixed it, explaining that Mimi had gone off to the movies and she didn’t know where Justin was. She made hers a little larger than his and smiled understandingly at him in a way that made him even more nervous than he had been.

“Well,” Elly said after a sip, “who’s going to mention it first?”

“Mention what?”

“What happened last week and who feels what about it.”

“You know how I feel about it. Except I admit that I can’t really hold it against you. I put myself in a vulnerable position when I told you about my parents. I suppose you did what you had to do.”

Elly stood up swiftly, eyes wide open and staring. “Don’t be patronizing to me,” she half shouted.

“I’m not—” he began, but she was out of the door already and walking quickly into the garden. He followed her, thinking: Of all the people in Colchester, I have to expose myself to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, touching her shoulder.

“Sorry for what?” she asked, turning round and staring at him open-eyed and clear. “For being yourself? You are, you know. I envy you. If I once found out what myself was, oh, I’d do it up brown! I’d be myself in a big way. I’d blow it up bigger than life size and be E-L-L-Y, in capital letters.”

She seemed to have quite forgotten her outburst in the house. Suddenly Carl thought: Why, she’s crazy! This poor girl really doesn’t know who she is. And instantly he felt guilty for what he had thought, looking down at her as she bent over a patch of wildflowers like a misunderstood child who was sulking. I wish I had her problem, he thought. I know who I am, and what my limitations are, only too well.

The atmosphere was darkening, twisting blue cords of sky through the branches of the two trees in the garden. Carl remembered speaking of Morningside Heights in New York, and here in this house on a hill he realized he could hardly remember the neighborhood or the apartment they’d lived in, though it had seemed so real when talking of it to Elly. He reached toward Elly and gently turned her toward him. Her eyes were still wide open and steady on his face. He kissed her softly at first and then harder and harder.

Over his shoulder Elly saw Justin coming around the corner of the garage, then a familiar-looking young man supporting on his arm Uncle Alec. Her sulking mood shattered like a crushed eggshell and she broke away from Carl and ran toward the dim figures calling, “Alec … Uncle Alec! …”

Carl, suddenly a little dizzy, steadied himself against the tree near by for a moment, and then, glancing once at the bustling tableau near the house, turned and began to walk down the hill. When he had reached the foot it occurred to him that he should have looked to see if Alec Kaufman had brought a girl with him, and thus ascertain the extent of his guilt, if any. He thought of turning back, but instead he glanced at his watch and hurried toward home and the safety of his evening study.

J
AY WOKE, HEARING FROM
somewhere a slow, dry, rather tired laugh, harsh in the setting of the early-morning sounds. There was a pain nibbling at the back of his head, and he knew with as much physical impact as one knows one has a cold that he was in love. “In love” was not the way he thought of it a few seconds later, however. Rather, something possessed him. His being in love had as little volition about it as if while he slept a malicious child had molded an image of him and pierced it with a pin in the region of the heart.

He shifted in his bed and felt afraid and delighted. Delighted at finding himself in this private world (the fact that the draperies were drawn against the transparent wall aided the illusion) and afraid at his capture by the princess of the glass castle. He laughed aloud. What terrible tasks might he be asked to perform? He did not question the existence or the nature of the emotion once the impact had taken him. He loved Elly Kaufman—this was a fact, unrelated to any other fact or event—and then he began to remember some of the things she’d told him: We’re going to be so close, but don’t touch me now—or at least he seemed to remember her saying that. It had been such a strange arrival, so much seemed to have happened, that he was confused as to details. But details were unimportant. He was in love and he couldn’t remember or, rather, visualize her face. He closed his eyes and tried but nothing happened. He laughed again—Maybe I made her up—and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt almost too well rested, as if he’d been drugged. God, he thought, all these sinister images! What’s the matter with me? But the excitement in his chest began at that moment and, to still it, he tried not to think. He gathered his toilet articles from his half-unpacked suitcase and stepped into the bathroom.