Authors: Peter Cameron

Tags: #Gay & Lesbian, #Literature & Fiction, #Fiction, #Gay, #Romance, #Literary, #United States, #Gay Romance, #Genre Fiction, #Lgbt, #Gay Fiction, #Literary Fiction

The Weekend: A Novel (17 page)

BOOK: The Weekend: A Novel

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“What?”

“You sound so mean. It’s nothing to be proud of.”

Marian didn’t answer.

“I want to go to sleep,” said John. He rolled over, away from her, and lay still. He heard Marian crying, and felt her shaking beside him. He closed his eyes and listened for a moment, and then he rolled back, toward her, and held her.

Lyle remained sitting up in bed. What do you do, he wondered, when you have failed so miserably to live your life. When you would like to beat your life into the ground with a stick. Smack it until it is nothing but dust.

He got out of bed and stood by the window. The croquet mallets lay like discarded weapons on the lawn. The tablecloth, which had been left out on the table, fluttered in a breeze. But other than that, the world was very still and quiet, except for the continual sound of the river flowing. Lyle turned away from the window. He sat on the edge of his bed and rested his head in his hands. They smelled strangely of dirt, or blood. He held them in front of his face and breathed through them. He was holding his face on. He wondered if he would ever see Robert again. I’ll call him when I get back, he thought, and apologize. Apologize for what? For being honest? For not leading him on? But I led him on a little. Oh, but that is life: you meet someone and lead them on or they lead you on and you move forward. It is not such a bad thing. You would get nowhere if you were never led on.

He went into the bathroom to wash his hands and face. The moon had swung around and was shining in the front of the house now, and Lyle noticed the open door at the far end of the hall, the room there full of moonlight. He walked toward it. He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking in at the two beds standing side by side, the bedspreads pulled tightly across them with Marian’s deft hands. He sat down on the bed. There are things you lose you do not get back. You cannot have them, ever again, except in the smudging carbon copy of memory. There are things that seem irreconcilable that you must find a way to reconcile with. The simple passage of days dulls the sharpness of the pain, but it never wears it out: what gets washed away in time gets washed away, and then you are left with a hard cold nub of something, an unlosable souvenir. A little china dachshund from the White Mountains. A shadow puppet from Bali. Look—an ivory shoehorn from a four-star hotel in Zurich. And here, like a stone I carry everywhere, is a bit of someone’s heart I have saved from a journey I once made.

LYLE WAS IN BED reading Sigrid’s book. John and Marian and Tony were downstairs playing cards around the library table. Lyle was tired but he didn’t want to go to sleep. He wanted to stay awake until Tony came to bed, for his favorite part of the day was its conclusion: the moments before they fell asleep, talking together in bed. After a while he heard John and Marian come up the stairs and walk to their room at the far end of the hall. He wondered if they would try again to make a baby. He waited for Tony and fell asleep waiting and when he woke up he was still alone. He was not sure how late it was. He went downstairs. All the rooms were dark. He stood in the kitchen, thinking that Tony must have left somehow after all, when he saw him outside, sitting at the table beneath the mulberry tree, smoking. Tony had been a
real smoker but now he smoked only occasionally, alone, late at night.

Lyle opened the door and walked across the grass. He sat down across the table from Tony. Tony extinguished his cigarette.

“You can finish it,” said Lyle.

“I know,” said Tony. “I don’t want to.”

“Come to bed,” said Lyle.

“What time is it?” asked Tony.

“I don’t know. Late. I’ve been waiting for you. I fell asleep.”

“It’s been such a nice day,” said Tony. “A perfect day. I’m glad I stayed.”

“So am I,” said Lyle.

“I don’t want it to end,” said Tony.

“Come to bed,” said Lyle. “It’s time.”

They were quiet a moment.

“Did you finish the book?” Tony asked.

“Almost,” said Lyle. “It gets quite good. She just works too hard at the beginning, setting it all up.”

They sat there in the dark for a moment and then Tony said, “I told Marian.”

“What?”

“That I was positive.”

“Why?” asked Lyle. “I mean, why now?”

“I don’t know. I can’t wait forever.”

“No,” said Lyle. “I suppose not. Did you tell them both? Tonight?”

“No,” said Tony. “Just Marian. This afternoon, when we swam to the rock. She’ll tell John, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” said Lyle.

“I’m glad I told her,” said Tony. “I feel relieved.”

“Good,” said Lyle.

“I don’t want to get sick,” said Tony.

Lyle didn’t say anything.

“I think I’m more scared of being sick than I am of dying,” said Tony. “Isn’t that odd? I’m actually not really scared of dying. I suppose because it’s so abstract. I can’t imagine it. I’m too literal. But I can imagine being sick. I don’t want to be sick.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Lyle. “I don’t want you to be sick, either.”

“I can feel it coming, I think,” said Tony.

“What do you feel?” asked Lyle.

“Just scared of being sick in a way that makes me feel that it’s near. That it’s already happening, somewhere.”

“You look fine,” said Lyle. “You haven’t lost any more weight, have you?”

“No,” said Tony. “A little, maybe. I haven’t weighed myself lately. I don’t really want to know.”

“I think you should try not to worry about it. The less you worry, the healthier you’ll be.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” said Tony.

“I know,” said Lyle. “But it’s true.”

“I know,” said Tony. He paused, and then said, “In a way, I’d like to die now.”

“Why?” asked Lyle.

“I guess because I’m a coward. I’d like to die before it gets horrible. I was just thinking if I died now, on a beautiful day like today, my life—I don’t know. Do you think it’s all relative and when I’m sick it won’t be so bad? Not as bad as I think it will be, and I’ll be happy to be alive? Happy to be sick and miserable and dying but alive?”

“I don’t know,” said Lyle. “I think you have to wait and see.”

“Maybe it’s like a vacation,” said Tony.

“What?” asked Lyle.

“Death. No—I mean life. Maybe life is like a vacation. You know how on vacations you always pretend you’re having such a good time, but really—especially toward the end—you can’t wait to get home? All you want to do is get home and sleep in your own bed. Maybe life is like that. Maybe you realize that at the end, and you just want to get back. Maybe we’re just on vacation and we don’t know it.”

“Maybe,” said Lyle.

They sat for a moment.

“Don’t cry, Lyle,” Tony said. “Don’t be sad now. Come and sit over here.”

Lyle got up and sat down next to Tony. Tony held him. “I feel better now that we’ve had this talk,” he said. “I know you don’t, but I do. Thank you.”

After a moment Tony said, “I love you.”

Lyle didn’t answer.

“Do you know what your problem is?” asked Tony.

“What?” said Lyle.

“That in your life love is the subtext, not the text. It never gets expressed directly. It’s suggested, not stated.”

“You know I love you,” said Lyle.

“Yes,” said Tony, “I do. But sometimes I wish I didn’t need to try so hard to know it. It shouldn’t require effort on my part.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lyle. “I love you.”

“I know,” said Tony.

They were silent a moment. “I saw a fox before,” Tony said. “Before you came out. It hurried across the lawn. I think foxes are remarkable: they’re both feline and canine. I’d like to be a fox.” He paused. “Do you want to go for a swim?”

“It’s too cold,” said Lyle.

“I know,” said Tony, “but it will feel good. Come, swim with me, Lyle. And then we’ll go to sleep.”

“All right,” said Lyle.

They stood and walked down to the river and swam, quietly, in the darkness, and then they ran up to the house and got in bed, where gradually, by virtue of holding each other, they grew warm.

ONLY DOGS AND CATS and sleeping drunks and old women hastening toward church inhabited the streets of the East Village when Robert returned. He climbed the six narrow flights up to his apartment. Hector, his friend and roommate, was in the shower. Robert poured himself a glass of juice, and sat at the table. He heard Hector get out of the shower and go into his room. He was singing a song Robert didn’t recognize. Hector never sang when Robert was around. He had a terrible voice. After a moment he came in the kitchen. He had on shorts but no shirt.

“Hey,” said Hector, “what are you doing back so early?”

“I bolted,” said Robert.

“What happened?” Hector sat down.

“I just had to get out of there.”

“I told you weekends in the country with heterosexuals could be dangerous to your mental health,” said Hector. “Was it awful? Did you eat hamburgers and play croquet?”

“No,” said Robert.

“How was Lyle?”

“Weird,” said Robert.

“How weird?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was me. All of a sudden, things just kind of fell apart.”

“What things?” asked Hector.

“Well, his friends were about the most uptight people I’ve ever met. I could tell they resented me from the minute I got there. Then I overheard them dumping on me. And when I tried to talk about it with Lyle he freaked out.”

“It sounds very unenlightened,” said Hector. “Listen, I’m going to Jones Beach with David. Why don’t you come? You deserve to have some fun this weekend.”

“I’m tired,” said Robert. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“You can sleep on the beach.”

“I want to sleep in my bed. Plus, I have to work tonight.”

“O.K.,” said Hector. “Well, maybe we can go out when you get off. I’ll stop by.”

“O.K.,” said Robert.

“I’m sorry you had a shitty weekend,” said Hector. “Can I borrow your sunglasses?”

When Hector was gone, Robert lay down on his bed. He was too tired to get undressed. He looked up at the cracked ceiling. He turned over and cocooned his head with his arms, pressing his face into the crook of one elbow. He lay like that for a long time, listening to the noise of the city, before he finally fell asleep.

Nina had always been an indecently late riser, but Laura decided to wait for her before having breakfast. She made a pot of coffee and then set the table out by the pool. She sat in the chair she had sat in the previous morning, waiting again for Nina.

She waited patiently until noon and then she went inside and knocked softly on Nina’s door. There was no answer. Laura pushed the door open a bit and stuck her head inside. The bed was empty, neatly made. There was a note on it. She walked over and looked at it for a moment before she picked it up. She irrationally thought it might be an invitation. Nina was inviting her to something. But no. The note read: “I thought it better not to stay. We took a taxi to the train. I hope you had a nice dinner.” It wasn’t signed, but there was a P.S.: “Anders thanks you for your hospitality.” Laura sat on the bed and reread it several times.

She didn’t want to be in the house and she didn’t want to see the table set by the pool. She didn’t know where to go. She would have to get in the car and drive someplace. Get lost again. She went outside, but instead of getting in the car, she walked down the driveway and into the woods. She walked far enough so that she couldn’t see the driveway, or the house, or the road. Just woods all around her, summer woods, dense and buttered with sunlight.

Lyle woke up with a black eye. He had never had a black eye before. He stood for a while, looking at it in the bathroom mirror. It was such an ugly thing: the purple and yellow stain of it on his face. He wanted to stay away from everyone until it disappeared, but he knew that was impossible, so he went down to breakfast.

Roland was ensconced in his high chair at the table. Marian was sitting next to him, feeding him some yogurt. “Oh, my God,” she said, as Lyle entered the room. “Your eye!”

“Yes,” said Lyle. He sat down.

“Does it hurt?” asked Marian.

“No,” said Lyle. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Of course,” said Marian. “Here, let me get you some coffee.”

“I’ll get it,” said Lyle. He stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Where’s John?” he asked.

“Where do you think?” said Marian. She nodded toward the garden.

Lyle sat at the table for a moment, drinking his coffee, watching Marian feed Roland. “Could I do that?” he asked. “Could I feed him?”

“Of course,” said Marian. “Do you want Uncle Lyle to feed you?” she asked Roland.

Roland seemed not to care.

“Here,” Marian said, handing the spoon to Lyle. “He’s hungry. Just give him little spoonfuls till he won’t take anymore. He’ll turn his head away when he’s had enough.”

Lyle held the first spoonful out to Roland, who eyed it, and Lyle, for a moment, and then somewhat reluctantly opened his mouth. Lyle gently inserted the spoon. “Good boy,” he said.

Marian watched them and said, “It’s a lovely day. A little cooler than yesterday.”

“Good,” said Lyle.

“We have nothing planned. Just a lazy day.”

“Good,” said Lyle.

They sat in silence, intent on the feeding of Roland. Finally he turned his head away. “Finished?” asked Lyle. “No more?”

“You did very well,” said Marian. “Let me wipe his face off.” She got up and dampened a cloth.

“Let me,” said Lyle. He wiped the yogurt from around Roland’s small mouth. Then he picked him up, out of the high chair, and held him against his chest. “Can I ask you a question?” he said to Marian.

“Of course you may,” said Marian.

“Did you like Robert?”

Marian thought for a moment. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I did. But it’s hard to know, because, well, I didn’t really get to know him, did I? It was all so strained yesterday, and then with his running off like that. Why do you ask? Lyle, tell me. What happened last night?”

“Robert had the feeling you didn’t like him,” said Lyle.

“Did he? That’s a shame.”

“Actually, he said he overheard you telling John you didn’t like him.”

Marian didn’t say anything for a moment, and then she said, “Why did you do that?”

“What?” asked Lyle.

“Ask me that question, when you knew the answer. Why did you try to trap me like that?”

“I didn’t mean to trap you,” said Lyle.

“You didn’t?” asked Marian. “Then what did you mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Lyle. “I wanted to know what you’d tell me. What you’d say to me.”

“You didn’t think I’d tell you the truth?” asked Marian.

“I don’t know,” said Lyle. “I’m confused. Yesterday you told me you liked him.”

“Well, I did, yesterday. At least I was trying hard to. And I still
would be, today, if he were here. Besides, I don’t make decisions about whether I like people or not on the basis of a few hours in their company.”

“I think Robert thought you had.”

“I’m sorry he thought that. Is that why he left? Because he thought I didn’t like him?”

“He didn’t think it. He knew it. Or thought he knew it. He heard you say it.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” said Marian. “I was trying to be nice to him. I was trying to like him. I’m sorry if he overheard me say something that hurt him.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” said Lyle.

“Oh?” said Marian. “Don’t I? Isn’t that what you’re saying? That this is all my fault?”

“No,” said Lyle. “Not at all. It’s my fault, if anyone’s. He didn’t leave because you didn’t like him. He left because he thought
I
didn’t like him. Or love him. He wanted me to tell him I loved him, and I wouldn’t. So he panicked, and ran away.”

“He sounds like a spoiled baby,” said Marian.

“He is,” said Lyle. “We all are, deep down. Some of us are just better at hiding it than others.”

“I disagree,” said Marian. “I don’t think it’s a matter of hiding anything. I think it’s a matter of learning how to behave responsibly and respectfully. Learning how to consider other people. You don’t run off into the night just because someone won’t tell you that they love you. That’s hardly the behavior of a rational adult.”

“Yes,” said Lyle. “I know it isn’t.”

“You need to find somebody, Lyle—in time, at the right time—some adult, somebody who understands who you are. Robert may have been very sweet, but I don’t think he was that person. Do you?”

“No,” said Lyle. “But—”

“But what?”

“I liked him. Nevertheless, I liked him very much.”

“Well, of course you liked him. I understand that: he wasn’t stupid, was he, and he was good-looking, and he adored you. It’s no wonder you liked him. But that doesn’t mean he was right for you, does it?”

“No,” said Lyle. “In fact, that’s what I told him, last night.”

“You told him that?”

“Yes. He asked me.”

“Well, I suppose he deserved it then, if he asked you. In that case, I think you should just forget about him and have a pleasant day. The weekend’s only half over, you know. You’re not leaving until this evening, are you?”

“Yes,” said Lyle. “Or late this afternoon.”

“Good,” said Marian. “I thought maybe we could take a picnic lunch up the river in the punt. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fine,” said Lyle. There was a pause, and then Lyle said, “What punt?”

“I meant the rowboat,” said Marian.

“Then why did you call it a punt?”

“I don’t know,” said Marian. “I suppose because I like the idea of a punt. I like to think of it as a punt. Is that a crime?”

“No,” said Lyle. “Of course not.”

“Then why did you correct me? Do you think I romanticize everything?”

“A little,” said Lyle. “Sometimes.”

“Oh,” said Marian. “Well, I suppose you’re right. But I don’t see the harm in it. Really, I don’t. It doesn’t hurt anyone, does it? To call a rowboat a punt?”

“No,” said Lyle, “of course it doesn’t. It’s just that between us,
between you and me, I … I see no need. I want things to be honest between us, and clear.”

“I thought they were,” said Marian. “Have I been deluding myself about that as well?”

They were silent a moment. “Is he sleeping?” Marian asked. She meant Roland.

“No,” said Lyle. He looked down at Roland. “He’s wide awake. Alert as can be. He seems very alert for his age.”

“Does he?” said Marian. “Do you really think so?”

“Well, as far as I can tell. I don’t know many babies. But look at him watching me. He’s definitely thinking something.”

“I think it’s your eye,” said Marian. “It’s quite colorful. Does it hurt?”

“No,” said Lyle. “A little. Yes.”

“Aren’t you supposed to put steak on it? I think I’ve got some I could defrost.”

“Don’t bother,” said Lyle. “It’s fine.”

Marian reached out her arms. Lyle handed the baby to her. She held him and looked down at him. “Sometimes I’m scared,” she said.

“Of what?”

“Of Roland. Of how much I love him. He keeps me sane, and alive. And I think he shouldn’t. That it’s not right. That it’s I who should do that for him.”

“Well, can’t it work both ways?” asked Lyle.

Marian didn’t answer. She was crying. Lyle watched her. He did not know what to say.

Nina answered on the first ring with a breathless, terse hello.

“Nina,” said Laura, “it’s your mother.”

“Oh,” said Nina. “Hello.”

“I’m calling to tell you I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry about how I behaved and I’m sorry you left. I’m very sorry you left. I hope it doesn’t mean you won’t come up again.”

“I don’t know,” said Nina. “The schedule’s been changed. We’re going up to Toronto next week.”

“Toronto? What for?”

“They were having trouble getting permits in New York or something. I’m not sure. There was just a message on my machine when I got back.”

“When do you head up there?”

“I’m not sure. Thursday, I think.”

“And what are you doing till then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean are you occupied in the meantime? Perhaps you could spend the early part of the week up here. With Anders, of course.”

BOOK: The Weekend: A Novel

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