The Marriage Bed (26 page)

The front door opened and Ross came out, slinging a denim jacket over his shirt and jeans, which also had the air of clothes pulled on at top speed. At the sight of him close up, all the fierce, energetic anger suddenly died out of me and my legs felt light and weak. I dropped the last snowball and brushed my wet gloves together clumsily.

“Now will you kindly tell me what the hell you think you’re doing?” hissed Ross in a low and furious voice. He looked so self-righteous, so morally outraged, that I couldn’t hold back a hilarious grin.

“The same to you, whack,” I mumbled, and because laughing made it difficult to keep my balance, I caught at his arm to steady myself. He wasn’t ready to support that mammoth weight, though, and I had no choice but to sit down rather abruptly on the curb.

“Jesus Christ, Anne, will you get up! Hang onto my hands – now pull. You can’t sit there.”

But in spite of our joint efforts, I couldn’t manage to get up, and he wasn’t strong enough to haul me to my feet alone. The heads at the window watched us, fascinated. Behind them the
TV
flickered in vain competition with this more interesting show.

“I’ll get Jamie to help,” he said.

“No, don’t. Sit down here with me for a second. I have one or two things to say to you, and it might as well be here, where we have a bit of privacy. Come on, sit down.”

Reluctantly he did so, after first throwing the watchers a dignified glare intended to send them away. They didn’t move. It
gave me a grim satisfaction to know that his bottom on the icy pavement must be even colder and damper than mine.

“Well?” he said stiffly.

“You haven’t been by for over a week, so here I am. There are some bloody bills to pay. And a couple of things to tell you.”

“Yes; go on, then.” He sat well apart from me, dignified even with his feet in the gutter. His face was aloof, the guarded eyes looking into the perspective of the dark street.

“The chief thing, Ross, is that Tim Brian called me up tonight. We had a long, horrible talk. What a shit he is. Anyhow, you may not know it, but he’s getting ready to push you out of the office. Larine is only the excuse, of course. He’s always wanted to be top banana down there, and now he sees a chance to force you out.”

“Yes, I know.”

“All right, then. I just thought if you didn’t, I’d better warn you. Up to you, of course. Maybe she’s worth it.”

He said nothing. His head was lowered now and his hands were knotted together like a pair of wrestlers in deadlock. A woman with a Siamese cat on a leash strolled past us with an easy stride. She had a good-humoured, freckled face that opened in a wide grin at the sight of two adults sitting on their butts in the snow. I liked the look of her and grinned back. Somewhere a clock chimed the half-hour. The moon was high now and dropped a thin white light over the city’s rooftops and bare trees.

“Actually,” he said with some reluctance, “Larine’s getting into Hare Krishna these days. Her friend Cheryl is one of them. Really into meditation and fasting and all that. She’s thinking of quitting at the office anyway. There’s nothing very transcendental about typing.”

“Well, that makes it simpler, then. A bit.”

“Not much, really. The thing is, these groups are bad news for people like Larine. All that fasting … I mean, the little fool could kill herself.”

“She will, of course. In the end. You know that, don’t you? One way or another. Sooner or later. Nobody can prevent it.”

“You could be right. But I still feel – responsible.”

“Sure, because you’re like that. But you feel a lot more about her than that, right?”

“No, not really. Not any more. For quite a while now I’ve just felt sorry for her.”

“I suppose that’s what you were doing up there just now. Feeling sorry for her.”

“Don’t be coarse,” he said primly.

“Well, as far as Hare Krishna goes, you know that poor old aunt of mine, the one that was always having nervous breakdowns and things. When she got to be sixty, she joined the Scientologists. Everybody was appalled. But it was quite marvellous, really. She got so happy and quite fat.”

But Ross only shook his head gloomily. He was so Anglican that all other forms of belief embarrassed him. I wondered whether Larine realized what a serious mistake she was making.

“Well, is that all you want? We can’t sit here –”

“Wait a minute. There’s something else. Um – has Jeff Reilly by any chance been in touch with you today?”

“No, why? The kids all right?”

“They’re fine. But you see … well, you may find this hard to believe – I do myself – but last night Jeff came to the house for Hugh’s croup, and we … I mean he … well, the upshot is he’s now talking about divorces all round.” My face felt hot and I itched all over with embarrassment and shame. For one thing, I’d made up my mind very firmly never, in any circumstances whatever, to tell
Ross about that regrettable little episode. For another, the whole thing sounded so ridiculous – perhaps even untrue. For still another, I knew perfectly well that in future Lynne Reilly was not going to allow her husband to walk to the corner alone, much less divorce her. Why on earth, then, had I ever mentioned it? Did I want to feel guilty – as guilty as Ross was? To make it easier for him? Was I prepared to stop at nothing to get him back? The answer to that was yes. The immorality of it was total. From somewhere there jigged into my head the phrase “In a vain head and double heart.”

Ross had shot me one brief look of surprise and distaste. “Well, in my shoes I can hardly come all over the outraged husband, can I.” After a pause he added in a louder voice, “Just the same, I
am
outraged.”

“Love, so am I. If you only knew. But the thing is that poor old Jeff has been sort of emotionally involved for quite a while, only I didn’t realize it till last night. Of course it’s crazy. He’ll recover. But at the moment he’s going around in circles, rather.”

“Well, he can go round and round till he disappears up his own backside. And much good may it do him.”

“You wouldn’t like to be free? I mean legally?”

“Of course not. Would you?”

“No. Certainly not.”

“Well, at least we agree about something. Makes a change.”

“Oh, Ross, I think you’re almost as crazy as I am. It’s a real bond. Blessed be the tie that binds.”

When he smiled he looked as young as Hugh. I leaned on his shoulder and he braced himself to support my weight.

“What a pity we’ve made such a mess of it,” I went on. “Because it’s just been bad management, not – well, it’s like that time you dislocated my jaw on our honeymoon. The one before we were married, I mean.”

Unwilling to laugh, he pushed up his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning. On the night in question we’d been so keen and as yet so unskilled that in the throes Ross hit me hard on the jaw with his elbow or knee or something. “You remember that?” I asked, knowing that he did. “I actually saw a huge white star. It didn’t interfere for a second, though, did it, with the business in hand. I mean that was one time when feeling sorry was more than enough.”

In the milky light of the moon, I saw Ross’s shoulders twitch. Suddenly he gave a great snort of laughter, hunching low over his own bony knees. “We were pretty gauche, all right. Remember those hiccups I had at the wedding? That old bishop with the sniff, I’ll never forget how he glared at me.”

“Ross, I want you the hell home,” I said abruptly.

At once he stopped laughing. A cold little wind pushed at my back. He said nothing. But this was what I’d come here to tell him, and I was glad to have had the guts to say it at last.

“I need you. I can’t cope alone. You think I’m powerful and tough, but I’m not. The way I feel about it, I’m ready to make any kind of deal, anything. I’ll keep the house neater. This can be our last baby. Do you get the message?”

“Oh, Anne. You know it wouldn’t – you couldn’t – Look. Yesterday I went over to Jenny’s place. I was going to ask about buying that loom you wanted. All set to make the big peace-offering. But on the way there, I got to thinking how goddam silly it was to put a loom in that dining-room where there isn’t room to eat now, and I got so mad all over again about the whole scene that I got acid indigestion and walked right past the place. See what I mean? It’s never going to be any different for us.”

“I suppose you’re right. Only maybe that doesn’t matter. The thing is, even when we’re at each other’s throats, something’s
there,
kicking like a wild horse.… Which is worse, to live with
ulcers or boredom?” I shifted position. “You see, I think you –” But something was hurting me a lot, though I wasn’t sure whether the pain was physical or metaphysical. Then, abruptly, I felt a warm gush and between my feet appeared a considerable puddle.

“Oh, will you look at this, I’ve disgraced meself –”

Before we could do more than look stupidly down at the pool in the gutter, a sharp blade of pain penetrated me. Its quality and meaning were things I well remembered. Ross looked quickly into my face, then gripped my shoulders to brace me. Turning his head to the window where one of the spectators still lingered, he called in a loud voice, “Jamie! Get out here quick!”

On the ebb of the pain I said, “All right. No panic. Just help me up and call Miller. I’ll go home in a cab for my things and meet him at the hospital. There’s plenty of time.”

The tall boy with the hair had now come out of the house and somewhat cautiously approached us.

“There damn well
isn’t
plenty of time,” Ross said. He seemed ridiculously agitated. “You can’t possibly go home. Jamie, I need a hand here. We’ve got to get her up and into the house. The waters just broke; she’s in labour.”

I started to say, “No, I’m not, it’s too soon,” but the fierce gripe of another contraction cut me off. My panting sounded hoarse in the sudden quiet of the night city. The two men hovered over me helplessly. Ross’s knee bracing my back gave support as the spasm eased.

“All right now? Jamie, we’ll have to hoist her up in a kind of fireman’s seat –”

But at that point I had to wave them aside and lean forward to sick up a lot of tea and crackers into the gutter.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Couldn’t help it. Or any of my sins. Just forgive.”

“Shut up,” said Ross. “Now grab my wrist like this, Jamie. Can you get one arm round my neck, Anne? Now the other one – that’s it. Easy, now. Okay, Jamie?
Heave.
”

“Sorry,” I repeated, as they staggered under my weight.

“Hell, what for?” asked Jamie in a cracked, cheerful voice. “Okay now?”

Swaying and breathing hard they managed to totter with me up the icy path, and by slow degrees we all panted up the steps of the house, my disgraceful wet coat flapping in the wind. As we reached the front door, another spasm forced an animal moan out of me that made young Jamie’s face under my arm turn paste-white. Nothing even in his experimental life had quite prepared him for this.

Interlocked like some triple-headed monster, we lurched at last into the living-room, where the
TV
still blinked. On the screen was a singer mouthing “More than a woman to me-ee-ee.”

“On the sofa?” Jamie asked, his voice high. The two girls, one of them eating yogurt out of a plastic cup, stared astounded at the Laocoon group of us swaying there. The Chinese one said, “What’s the matter with her?” but nobody answered her.

“No, no. On the floor,” I insisted. I wanted to be on my hands and knees in a position to obey the primitive urge to push when it came, as it evidently very soon would. Once on all fours, I was seized by another strong contraction. When it eased off, I found the enormous house dog crouched in a mirror image of my own posture. It put its nose to mine and gazed into my eyes with concern.

“What’s Miller’s number?” Ross asked, squatting beside me. “He’ll have to come here – I don’t think there’s going to be time to get you to the hospital, even. Looks like you’re into one every minute already. For God’s sake, somebody get this
dog
out of here.”

“And call Margaret Neilson to stay with the kids.” When I could focus again on anything external, I gave him both phone numbers and he disappeared. A furious sound of dialling followed. I rested briefly, forehead on the carpet, bottom in the air. A noisy struggle went on in the background while the two girls tried to drag the monster dog away. It growled. Somebody yelled at it. The girls broke into hysterical giggles. At last, with Jamie’s help, the creature was dragged away, its claws scraping the floor, and shut up somewhere; but from time to time it let out a distant, lugubrious howl as if to encourage me.

“Can I do anything for you?” I opened my eyes to find Larine’s wide-set hare’s eyes and sharp nose in my line of vision. Her pale face was set in an aggressive frown, as if she had made up her mind to let no one but herself control this situation.

“Yes. Get some newspapers. For the rug.”

Her pale eyes contracted in some shock as she took in the implications of this. “Oh,” she said in the prim voice of a hostess whose guest has committed some unmentionable social error.

“Where’s Ross?” I asked her.

“I think he’s gone upstairs to be sick.”

“Tell him there’s no time for that.”

Her long, lank fall of hair twitched out of sight, and without troubling to deliver any more bulletins, she began to spread sheets of the
Globe and Mail
around and under me. After grappling with another spasm, I found myself in a sea of newsprint adequate for the parturition of a whale. With reluctance I felt a sort of respect for Larine. She had made a gesture worthy of Edwina herself.

“Help me off with these boots and pants,” I told her, adding, when I could, “Please,” to show she wasn’t the only lady around. “And could you boil a pair of sharp scissors.” These instructions made Larine’s lips thicken and pale, and she disappeared rather suddenly. One of the girls shyly knelt beside me to offer a pillow,
and I wished there’d been time to smile at her, but there wasn’t. The room was shifting and drifting in a surreal sort of way. The muscles in my thighs cramped miserably, and this trivial pain was harder to take than the long, rhythmic spasms of the expanding cervix.