The Whole World Over (51 page)

"Unless what?"

"Unless he's been . . . well, for lack of a better word, brainwashed."

"Alan, I'm sure it was a matter of being coerced. Of being convinced
by this older boy—"

"He wasn't coerced. I saw him with that boy. George was fully, joyfully
involved in their games. Did you ever look at their games, listen to
what they were doing? Were they practicing this escapade the whole
time they were playing with those model horses? This is how teenagers
end up on drugs; their parents pay no attention to the details of how
they're living their lives."

"Alan, that's not fair."

Alan said nothing. He did not want to think about justice.

"I don't believe Diego is a bad child or even a bad influence," Greenie
said. "He got carried away with his imagination. There are much worse
crimes than that. But George will never see Diego again, I promise."

"Of course he won't, Greenie. Because as soon as we deal with the
police and the people who own the ranch, I'm taking George back to
New York. Honestly, I don't even give a damn about Diego or his
parents."

There was no traffic to hold them up and no exit looming, but the car
began to slow. Greenie pulled into the breakdown lane. She put the
car in park and stared at Alan. "Please, don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Take him. Oh Alan."

Alan closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. How could he be in this
tawdry place? How? He'd heard couples exchange deadly threats from
opposite ends of the couch in his office, vile threats involving homes,
pets, friends, and yes, not infrequently, their own children. Sometimes,
after they had left, he'd felt shamefully smug and lucky, knowing that he
and Greenie, whatever their troubles, would never be forced into such
extreme places.

When he did not respond to Greenie's plea, she began to sob loudly.
"You can't
do that.
You know he belongs here, he needs to be here with
me. I'm his mother! He has another two months of school! To change
his life all over again would be disastrous, I know it would. He would be
sure it was a punishment!"

"Would it be a punishment," Alan said quietly, "to return, with his
father, to a neighborhood he's always known, with his old friends,
the places he still remembers as his 'real' home? You heard him at
Christmas. And send him back to school here? He will be certain that
everyone knows what happened, what he did—and you know what?
They will."

"Please, Alan—"

"Look, Greenie, there's no reason for me to move out here now.
Would I be correct in saying that? Though the irony is that, as of today,
I am seeing precisely two patients. I would have seen one of them for the
last time this very afternoon!" He pointed at Greenie. "You—you can
always come back to New York, even if we're not together. You could
start another venture and—"

She gripped the steering wheel, as though Alan were threatening to
take the car. "Why did this have to happen?"

Which thing?
Alan nearly asked. Greenie teased out the one crumpled
napkin she had been using to soak up all her tears. She blew her nose,
stuffed the napkin in the breast pocket of her shirt, and put the car in
gear. Alan noticed that she wore clothes he had never seen, that her yellow
shirt fastened with snaps, even the cuffs, which were rolled up to
her elbows. She had lost weight since Christmas (the sweet wasting of
passion, he thought bitterly), yet she looked more, not less, substantial.
In her leanness, she looked more serious, experienced—more burnished
by the sun, as if she'd become a mountain climber when Alan wasn't
looking. By contrast, he felt as pale and shapeless as a city snowbank.
There had always been great differences between them, differences they
liked to acknowledge with pride and pleasure, but the contrasts he saw
now seemed like those of people destined always to clash.

THE TV WAS ON
. George watched, laughing at cartoon buffoonery.
Consuelo was on the phone, speaking rapidly in Spanish.

As soon as they walked through the door, Consuelo said good-bye
and hung up. George remained riveted to the television a few moments
longer. Only when he heard Alan's voice did he look away from the
screen.

Consuelo was embracing Alan, and try as he might, he couldn't freeze
her out. Greenie was right; Consuelo was faultless. She was a kind,
grandmotherly pillow of a woman who saw her job as cuddling, nurturing,
and taking this little boy from place to place—not disciplining him,
spying on him, or second-guessing his motives. "George's Daddy, we are
so glad to see you!" she said.

"I'm glad to be here," he said. What else was there to say? It occurred
to him, as she pulled away and smiled at him, that of course she had
no idea Greenie was dumping him. She might not even have met this
Charlie fellow.

George had not moved from the couch. "Hi, Dad," he said. "Daddy,
did you bring Treehorn?"

Alan sat next to George and put an arm around his shoulders. "No,
guy."

"You could have putten her in a suitcase."

"You have to make special arrangements. I didn't have time. A friend
of mine will take good care of her while I'm gone, and then . . ." He faltered.
Greenie was staring at him with desperation. She had seated herself
on the opposite side of their son. Consuelo busied herself in the kitchen.

Over George's head, Alan gave Greenie a pointed look. The look was
meant to convey that they mustn't crowd George and that it was Alan's
turn to speak with him, but she did not, or did not want to, understand.
She pressed her cheek against George's hair. "Have you had dinner,
sweetie?"

Without looking away from his cartoon, he shook his head. Alan
took the remote and turned off the TV. George looked up at him in
wordless protest.

"Show me what's new in your room while your mother makes dinner,"
said Alan. The look he gave Greenie this time fell just shy of a threat.

In George's room, Alan was shocked to see the row of horses on top
of the bookcase below the window. Shouldn't they have been swept
away by now? Hidden—vaporized?

"I see your collection is larger than when I was here before."

"Yes," said George. He rushed forward and picked up a black horse.
It was rearing up, as if in defense. "This one's newest. He's an Arab."

Alan took the horse. To hold it, now, felt like holding a toy revolver.
He pretended to examine the horse, then put it back in its place. He sat
on the bed. "I'm so happy to see you, George. I've missed you so much.
But you know why I've come right now, don't you?"

George nodded. He looked his father straight in the eye, his expression
shaded with defiance, not shame.

"I love you, George, but I'm upset about what happened with Diego.
Can we talk about that?"

George held a plastic Appaloosa. Casually, as if he were alone, he
made it gallop along the mattress toward Alan's thigh. "You can talk,"
he said furtively.

Alan lifted George to sit on the mattress beside him. He turned sideways
to face his son. "You let those horses go. You scared them into
running away."

George said, with a confidence that impressed Alan, "We let go the
ones they were breaking. They were making them wear the saddles.
They were making them be rided when they didn't want to be rided. We
knew they didn't. We saw them. Diego can read what they feel in their
faces."

"You thought they were unhappy."

George nodded with passion.

"Did you know that horses are a lot like dogs, George? What I mean
is that they aren't wild animals. They are meant to live with people.
They wouldn't know what to do without people to take care of them.
And they learn certain things so that people can be closer to them. They
learn to be ridden just the way a dog learns to walk on a leash. Sometimes
it's hard to learn, but they do."

"Daddy, there are
wild
horses."

"Yes, but not on that ranch, guy." Gently, Alan took the toy Appaloosa
from George. "You know that what you did was wrong and that you
put the horses in danger, don't you?"

George nodded.

"Didn't Diego know the horses might run into the road? They might
even have panicked and hurt you by mistake. Horses are very strong
animals."

George shook his head. "They would never hurt us, actually. We
are friends. Diego said they would go to the mountains, to their
rightly home. He said our masks would send them in the right direction
and then they would find their way, like cats who know how to get
home from far away when they get left behind. Like
The Incredible
Journey.
"

"Their home is that barn. And George, those horses belong to the
people who own the barn."

"Diego's dad owns the barn."

Alan could see how George might believe this, how perhaps even
Diego might think that his father, spending all day in the barns, caring
for the horses, must have a say in their fate. "Diego's dad has a job in
the barn," Alan explained. "That's different. He's responsible for the
horses, but they are not his."

"Is that why the police came? They thought we stole the horses?"

"No, George. But one of the horses was hurt. It's going to be all right,
but it was hit by a car. It was scared, and its leg was bruised."

George reached for the Appaloosa. Alan let him take it. Was it too
painful for George to accept the harm he'd inflicted, at least indirectly,
or was there something sinister in his refusal to apologize? Alan felt a
flash of anger.

"George." Greenie stood in the door. "I made pig-in-a-poke. With
the tiny tomatoes you like."

George smiled at his mother. Alan raised a hand. "In a minute," he
said. If he had to be the bad cop, he would. There would be so much
time to make up for it now. "George, did Diego ever ask you to do . . .
did you ever make plans like this together before?"

"Daddy, we love the horses. We wanted the horses to get free from
the ranchers and the cowboys. Actually, we wanted them to be happy.
So they could play games. We only let the baby horses go. Diego says
they're only one year old. That's too young for riding, I know it."

Alan nodded. "We'll talk about it later. Let's go find your dinner, and
some for me too. I'm very hungry."
I could eat a horse,
he thought, as
George dropped the Appaloosa on the bed and rushed from the room.

AFTER GEORGE HAD FALLEN ASLEEP
, the phone rang. Greenie listened
solemnly, talking very little, for the first few minutes. Alan began
to wonder if it was Charlie, if the man had enough nerve to call when he
must know Alan was right there. He was restraining himself from
snatching the receiver when Greenie said good-bye. "Thank you, Officer,"
she added.

She told Alan that the policeman who had answered the call about
the horses had good news and bad. The good news was that the ranch
owners, who had been fond of Diego as well as his father, were willing
to forgive the whole incident if the veterinarian's bill was covered.
Somehow, the indirect connection with the governor seemed also to
have impressed and possibly mollified them, the policeman confided in
Greenie. But the woman whose car had sideswiped the horse, she was
out for blood. Her car had sustained only minor damage, and she hadn't
suffered so much as a broken nail, but she claimed that she had been
so traumatized she doubted she would be able to drive again without
extensive therapy. She might be looking into suing someone, the officer
suggested to Greenie. He knew the type all too well.

"This is exactly the sort of thing I was afraid of," said Alan.

"I'll deal with it," she said. "I'll talk to her, and I'll deal with it. This
is a very small town. Maybe I have a connection to her somehow."

"Guess you have a lot of connections now, don't you?" Alan spoke
quietly, wearily, and when Greenie did not reply, he said, "I'm just too
tired to stay awake any longer."

He went into the bedroom. To his surprise, Greenie followed him.
She had already insisted he sleep in her bed. No doubt this was for
George's benefit.

Hastily, as if he were suddenly modest, he stripped to his T-shirt and
shorts and went to bed first. Greenie undressed with her back to him,
her every movement exuding resignation and sorrow.

Alan did not bother with a book, nor did she. She stood beside the
bed and pulled the chain to start the ceiling fan, then switched off the
lamp. As she turned back the covers to join him, Alan noticed the print
on the sheets, a scattering of tiny blue flowers that she would never have
chosen when they were living together; the moonlight invading the
room made the flowers stand out brightly.

Alan and Greenie lay awake a long time, careful not to touch. How
bitterly he thought of the shared wakefulness they had savored when
they fell in love. One night she had said, into the silence of their
patiently waiting for sleep in the dark, "Do you think our parents forgot
to teach us how to go to sleep? Do you think it's a life skill they skipped
by accident, the way my parents never told me the facts of life because
they knew my school taught sex education? Maybe they thought we got
sleep education too." This had delighted Alan. "Interesting theory,"
he'd said, "but don't you hate those people who snore the minute their
heads touch the pillow?" Greenie had agreed. "And I pity them. They
miss out on so much fretting. All that extra time to think about unpaid
bills and invisible tumors. Birthday cards you forgot to send."

Now, as he longed to be one of those despicably somnolent citizens,
he waited for her to start pleading her case, the case to keep George,
but she didn't. Above them, the fan made a shushing sound, like futile
consolation.