The Tight White Collar (17 page)

“You're not going to be the last of the Coopers after all,” she had said. “I'm pregnant.”

“How do you know it's mine?” demanded Anthony brutally.

“Because Chris hasn't touched me since it started with you.”

“Don't give me that happy horseshit. He's sleeping in the same bed with you, for Christ's sake.”

“It's your baby, Anthony. I wouldn't lie to you about this.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” he asked a little hysterically.

“I don't know,” replied Lisa.

“I have a friend in New York who knows a doctor. I'll call her tonight.”

“You go to hell, Anthony,” said Lisa. “If you think I'm going to have an abortion, you're crazy.”

“Well, what else?”

“We could get married.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I'm not. Of course there'd be a stink, but then, you always told me that you didn't mind shocking Cooper Station anyway.”

“I've got to think,” said Anthony.

When she had gone, he sat for a long time and then he knew what he was going to do. He would go to see Doris Delaney Palmer. Perhaps he could be of some use in getting Chris and Lisa Pappas out of Cooper Station.

And in the gardener's cottage, Lisa, too, was thinking. She had not been entirely truthful with Anthony. Chris had had intercourse with her twice during the weeks of her affair with Anthony Cooper, and then she had pleaded pain and had said that she must go to see Jess Cameron.

Chris Pappas was not an unkind man.

“Maybe it's nerves,” he offered. “All this foolishness about that damned petition and everything. You go see Jess anyway, but I'll bet it's just that you're all upset about Doris Palmer. Don't you worry, honey. She'll never get anywhere with her campaign. I've got that signed contract and there's nothing she can do about that.”

Lisa sat at her kitchen table and her fingers drummed soundlessly against the Formica top.

It was just twice with Chris, she thought. It can't possibly be his baby. I know it belongs to Anthony.

But she knew that she did not know for sure and that if she went ahead and had the baby she would wonder for the rest of her life.

It was raining.

Margery Cooper sat in Robin's room rocking the cradle that was the bed of the ten-year-old child. It was a large cradle, a bed actually, with rockers where the legs should have been.

“Hush-a-bye, my baby, slumber time is coming soon,” sang Margery softly. “Lay your head upon my breast while Mammy croons a tune. The darkies are humming, their banjoes are strumming, soft and low.”

The pretty room was very still. Its pale-blue walls soft in the dim light.

“Hush-a-bye, my baby, slumber time is coming soon . . .”

Margery let her voice drift off.

The pale-blue walls had a dado of brightly colored circus animals. There was a light-blue rug on the floor and crisp white curtains at the windows and all along one wall there were white painted shelves stacked with dolls and stuffed toys.

Perfect, remembered Margery. Everything was going to be perfect for her baby.

In the cradle the child who slept there fitfully was truly ugly to look upon. She had a short, broad skull, coarse black hair, yellowish skin and slanted eyes. But the most terrible thing of all was to see the child awake and to gaze into the emptiness of those slanted eyes.

Margery Cooper looked away from her daughter and stared out the windows of the room. The summer rains fell heavily, as if they were going about a job they had been sent to do and meant to do it well. Water washed at every windowpane so that Margery could barely discern the shapes of the trees outside. Once Margery had loved the rains of summer falling in fruitful torrents to the waiting earth. But today she merely stared, unseeingly, at the blurred windows.

There were times when she felt that if she ever once let go of the tears that she kept dammed behind the wall of her self-control, they too, would fall like the summer rains, hard and unabatingly, to cover the earth. But her tears would not be fruitful drops to fall and enrich the soil. They would be salty and bitter and they would leave barrenness in their wake.

Margery turned and looked again at her daughter. Automatically her hand began its rocking and her voice picked up the lullaby.

“Hush-a-bye, my baby, slumber time is coming soon . . .”

“Why?” She asked silently as she had so often.

And the answer was always the same. Nobody knows.

But what shall I do?

There is nothing to be done.

“Hush-a-bye, my baby . . .”

Margery Cooper no longer asked her questions aloud. She went about the business of breathing, moving, living as if there were really something in the world that mattered besides Robin.

Now her hand stopped its gentle pushing against the cradle for the child slept soundly. She tucked a soft blanket around her and kissed her daughter's forehead.

“Sleep well, my darling,” she said softly. “Sweet dreams.”

Margery went quietly down the maroon-carpeted stairs of her house. It was going to be a long, long day and a longer evening. At seven o'clock there was going to be an emergency meeting of the Town Board of Guardians at which Doris Palmer, everyone knew, would present her petition for a referendum and ask that a date be set for a town meeting.

How ridiculous, thought Margery and sat down in one of the huge armchairs in her living room. Who could possibly care about one schoolteacher more or less? Nate seemed to care, though. In fact, he had managed to work himself into quite a state about the whole thing. What in the world is the matter with me today? wondered Margery.

She could not seem to sit still and asked herself worriedly if she could possibly be coming down with something. In ten years, Margery had never allowed herself to become ill even once. If she fell sick, who would look after Robin? Certainly Virgie was a help but she couldn't do everything alone and Nathaniel was worse than helpless around his own daughter. Jess Cameron? Margery shook her head. Jess was good and he meant well, but every time he was around Robin he began to nag Margery about putting the child into an institution.

“What will you do if you have another child?” he had asked.

And Margery remembered her own words to the doctor.

“Are you crazy?” she had demanded. “Another child after Robin?”

“Lightning doesn't usually strike twice in the same place,” Jess had said. “You can't save Robin, but another child might save you.”

“Save me! What are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say that if you had another baby you might save your sanity and Nate's and your marriage.”

“My mental state is in fine condition, Jess, and as for my marriage, it's fine, too.”

“Margery, you might try it my way, you know. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you.”

Margery sighed. “I know you wouldn't, Jess.”

“There's a doctor I know,” continued Jess. “He is a very good man, fine and kind and gentle and his only child is like Robin. He's given his whole life to caring for children like yours and his. He has a home, a sort of school, where he cares for them. Margery, for your own sake as well as Robin's and Nate's, go to see him.”

“All right,” she said wearily. “If it'll make you and Nate happy, I'll go.”

Margery had gone alone to see Jess's friend, Dr. Nathan Alter. The doctor showed her around the house and the school and explained everything to her in his soft, gentle voice.

It's true, Margery admitted to herself. Jess was right. Dr. Alter is a kind man.

The children, all so like Robin, came running to him, smiling as he walked across the lawns. They nuzzled against him, loving him. Margery saw a girl who seemed to be about twelve years old playing on one of the walks. The child had a miniature broom and she was making awkward, hesitant, sweeping motions at the ground.

“You see,” said Dr. Alter. “Some of them can be taught!”

“Oh, yes I know,” said Margery. “One doctor told me that Robin would never walk, but I've taught her to walk. How long did it take you to teach that little girl how to play with the broom?”

“Five years,” said the doctor proudly. “Notice, please.”

He walked up to the girl.

“Hello, Marya?” he said gently.

The child dropped the broom and reached for the doctor. Patiently, so patiently, smilingly, he picked up the broom and held it out. Marya fixed her eyes on the broom, reached for it hesitatingly and then, with an air of heartbreaking concentration, she gripped the broom, held it in the correct position and began to make the sweeping motion.

“You see?” asked the doctor jubilantly. “You see how well she remembers?”

Five years, thought Margery and burst into tears. At once, Marya dropped the broom and gazed at her. Slowly the child's eyes filled with great tears that spilled onto her cheeks.

“Please, please,” begged the doctor. “Please, Mrs. Cooper. It upsets the children.”

He went to Marya and turned the child away so that she could not see Margery. Instantly, Marya stopped crying and the doctor handed her the broom.

“Come, please,” said Dr. Alter and led Margery rapidly down the walk toward the house.

When they were seated in his office again, he said, “Mrs. Cooper, Mongoloids, such as the ones we have here, are very sensitive to affection and they respond just as quickly to tears. You must learn this first, before anything else. We do not weep.” His voice softened. “It is not easy, Mrs. Cooper, to look at them and keep from weeping. But we must all learn. And you must also learn, in fact, you must come to believe that an institutionalized child is happier than one who remains with the parents. We love the children here, Mrs. Cooper, but we are also impersonal. We have taught ourselves to take our days off and our vacations, and we have learned to forget the children while we are away. But most of all, Mrs. Cooper, we have learned not to weep.”

Margery stood up quickly. She was afraid that if she sat still any longer, listening to the doctor's calm, quiet voice, she would begin screaming.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Alter,” she said rapidly. “But I could never bring myself to leave Robin here. You have a lovely place and I know you treat the children well, but I simply could not leave Robin here.”

“What if you ever became pregnant again, Mrs. Cooper? What would you do with the second child?”

“In the first place,” said Margery, “Mr. Cooper and I do not plan to have a second child. However, if it happened we would all manage together as best we could.”

“I strongly advise you to abandon that latter idea, Mrs. Cooper,” said the doctor. “Do you actually suppose that a normal child could grow up happily in a home with a child like Robin? Don't you understand that your tension and nervousness and concern with your first child would communicate itself to the second one and make him miserable? No, Mrs. Cooper, with Robin at home you would never be able to give a second child the love and attention that is his right.”

Margery kept her eyes on her gloved hands.

“Then there won't be a second child,” she said.

“And your husband?” asked the doctor.

“Robin comes first,” said Margery.

“My dear,” said Dr. Alter, “you are making a very grave mistake.”

All the way back to Cooper Station, Margery remembered all too vividly the sights she had seen at Dr. Alter's school and she shuddered.

I'll teach her myself, she thought. I'll never send her away to a place like that. I'll teach her everything she needs to know and I'll do it alone.

And Margery tried. She tried with every grain of determination that was in her. She talked to Robin, sang to her, held her in her arms and rocked her. She spent long, long hours repeating one word, over and over again.

“Ma-ma.”

She pressed the child's fingers to her lips so that Robin could feel the sound of the word.

“Ma-ma.”

Robin looked at her mother with slanted, empty eyes and smiled. She rubbed against her mother's shoulder like a kitten seeking attention.

“Oh, please, darling,” Margery begged. “Please try. Please listen. Ma-ma.”

And Robin smiled.

Margery began to cry and immediately, the child, too, was weeping.

Margery grabbed her up and held her against her shoulder.

“I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry. Please don't cry.” She rocked back and forth in the chair and smoothed back the child's coarse hair. “Hush-a-bye, my baby, slumber time is coming soon. Hush, darling. I love you, darling. Hush. Hush.”

The rain was letting up, Margery noticed vaguely. Then she stood and started back up the stairs to see if Robin still slept. From the window in the upstairs hall she saw Lisa Pappas run across the graveled pathway and into Anthony Cooper's house.

I suppose it's true, thought Margery. What everybody is saying about her and Anthony. No wonder the town doesn't want her husband teaching here.

Even as Margery watched, the lights went on in Anthony's living room and in the moment before he drew the drapes, Margery saw Lisa standing in the middle of the room in sharp outline.

I wonder what they say to each other, thought Margery. Do they talk about everything, or do they just talk about love?

As if she could pierce the darkness and the curtains in the house across the street, Margery stared at the windows of Anthony's living room.

Maybe he has his arms around her, thought Margery. Maybe now he's kissing her and whispering that he loves her. Nate used to do that.

Margery turned away and went into Robin's room.

A mistake, she was thinking. A very grave mistake.

And what of Nathaniel? How does he feel? It's been a long time since I wondered what Nate was feeling. I wonder if Lisa Pappas knows how Anthony feels about everything. Odd, the way I noticed Nate's eyes today. It's been a long time since I looked into his eyes at all. But when I left him earlier today to come upstairs to Robin, he had such a bleak look about him.

Margery walked to the cradle and looked at Robin, who still slept, and suddenly she was tired, achingly, painfully, bone tired. Her throat felt thick and her eyes burned.

The first thing you must learn, Mrs. Cooper, she remembered, we do not weep.

She heard Nathaniel's car drive into the garage and a moment later the front door opened and closed softly.

Nate's always careful like that, she thought. He never makes a sharp noise that might wake Robin because he knows that it will hurt me.

And suddenly, with no warning, Margery Cooper's dam of self-control broke into a million pieces. Her tears came in a flood, pouring unbeautifully down her face. Her whole body ached with the pain of loosening and she ran out of Robin's room and down the stairs.

“Nate!” she screamed. “Nate! Where are you?”

Nate dropped his hat and briefcase and rushed with his arms outstretched to catch her while her voice, shrill and insane, filled the whole house. He could see Virgie, her wide, black face gray with fright, standing in the doorway, her hands twisting her white apron, her eyes watery.

“For God's sake, Virgie,” roared Nate. “Don't just stand there. Get Jess, quickly!”

He saw Virgie turn and run to the telephone and he watched helplessly as she fumbled with the receiver.

“Come quick,” said Virgie at last. “Mist' Cooper, he say come quick!”

Nate stood still in the hallway, holding Margery. He saw the pattern of the black and white parquet floor and he realized that he had never really seen it before. In the center of the floor, surrounded by black and white squares, the parquet was arranged to depict a gigantic snowflake. How odd, he thought foolishly. A black and white snowflake.

Jess Cameron came rushing through the front door.

“Robin?” he asked quickly.

Nate was unable to speak but just stared dumbly at Jess while his big arms cradled Margery.

Jess dropped his black bag on the floor and took Margery away from Nate almost roughly.

“Go pour yourself a drink, Nate,” he ordered. “A big one.”