Time Enough for Love (88 page)

“I don’t mind. Although I like to think of
this
family as my family.”

“And we like to have you think of us that way, Son. Maureen, is our young lady home?”

“Just before you got home, Father. They are in the kitchen, on the excuse that she wanted to make a sandwich for Jonathan. Since I’m sure it’s an excuse to stay out there and spoon, I suggest that, if you want something from the kitchen, you allow me to fetch it; I’ll be noisy enough to let Nancy jump off his lap. Theodore, Nancy is engaged; we just haven’t made a formal announcement. I think it’s best to let them marry now, since he’ll be joining the Army almost at once. What do you think?”

“I’m hardly entitled to an opinion, Mrs. Smith. I hope they will be happy.”

“They will be,” said Mr. Johnson. “He’s a fine lad. I tried to sign him into the Seventh, but he insisted on waiting for his birthday so he could go straight into the Army. Even though he couldn’t be drafted for another three years. Spirit. I like him. Ted, if you need to go to your room, you can go around this other way and avoid the kitchen.”

A few minutes later the young people came out of the kitchen, made polite sounds without sitting down; then Nancy stepped out onto the porch to say good-night to her swain, came back in, and sat down.

Mr. Johnson smothered a yawn. “Time I hit the hay. You will too, Ted, if you’re smart. Too noisy around here to sleep late, especially where your room is.”

Nancy said quickly, “I’ll keep the young ones quiet, Grandpa, so Uncle Ted can sleep.”

Lazarus stood up. “Thank you, Nancy, but I didn’t get much rest on the train last night; I think I’ll go right to bed. Don’t worry about keeping quiet in the morning; I’ll wake up at reveille time anyhow. Habit.”

Mrs. Smith stood up. “We’ll all go to bed.”

Mr. Johnson shook hands as he said good-night; Mrs. Smith gave Lazarus a symbolic peck on the cheek such as she had given him on arrival, thanked him for a lovely evening, and urged him to turn over and go back to sleep if the reveille habit wakened him; Nancy hung back and kissed him good-night as her elders started up the stairs.

Lazarus went to his room and on into his bath. Maureen had told him not to hesitate to draw a tub; it would not wake the children. He started one, went back and opened his grip, got out the little package, took it into the bath and threw the bolt, there being no key in the bedroom door. It was a small flat box such as garters might come in; he opened it carefully, intending to rewrap it exactly as it had been.

Ah, the garters! Faded, as she had said, and clearly not new…and—Yes!—redolent with her own evocative fragrance. Would it last long enough for him to get it home, have the lovely, delicate aroma analyzed, amplified, and fixed? Probably—and with computer help a skilled scentologist could separate out the odors of satin and rubber, and amplify hers selectively. He would have to go to Secundus for such expert help. Worth the trip and then some!

Now let’s see those “naughty” mottoes—One read: “
Open All Hours
—
Ring Bell for Service!
”—the other: “
Welcome! Come in and Stir the Fire.
” Sweet darling, those aren’t “naughty.”

A plain envelope under the garters—He laid them aside and opened it.

A plain white card: “Best I could do, Beloved. M.”

A photograph, amateur work but excellent quality for this here-&-now: Maureen herself, outdoors in bright sunlight against a background of thick bushes. She was standing gracefully, smiling and looking at the camera—dressed only in her “French postcard” style. Lazarus felt a burst of passion. Why, you generous, trusting darling! Not your only copy? No, Brian would have made more than one print—undoubtedly had one with him. This print would have been locked somewhere in your bedroom. Yes, your waist
is
slender without a corset…and those are
not
broken down; they are lovely—and I’m certain what caused your happy smile. Thank you, thank you!

With the photograph was a little flat package in tissue paper. He opened it gently. A thick lock of red hair, tied with a green ribbon. The lock curled in a tight circle.

Lazarus stared at it. Maureen my beloved, this is the most precious gift of all—but I
do
hope you cut it so carefully that Brian won’t notice it’s missing.

He looked at each of her gifts again, restored them just as they had been, put the box into the bottom of his grip, locked it, turned off the tub, undressed, and got into the water.

But a lukewarm tub did not make him sleep. For a long time he lay in darkness and relived the past few hours.

He now felt that he understood Maureen. She was relaxed with what she was—“liked herself” as Lazarus thought of it—and liking yourself was the necessary first step toward loving other people. She had no guilt feelings because she
never
did
anything
that could make her feel guilty. She was unblinkingly honest with herself, was her own self-judge instead of looking to others, did not lie to herself—but lied to others without hesitation when needed for kindness or to get along with rules she had not made and did not respect.

Lazarus understood that; he lived the same way—and now knew where he got the trait. From Maureen…and through her, from Gramp. And from Pop, too—reinforced. He felt very happy, despite an unsatisfied ache in his loins. Or in part because of it, he corrected; he found that he cherished that ache.

When the doorknob turned, he was instantly alert, out of bed and waiting before the door opened.

She was in his arms, warm and fragrant.

She pulled back to shrug off her wrap, let it fall, came back into his arms, body to body, and gave her mouth fully.

When they broke the kiss, she stayed in his arms, clinging. He whispered huskily, “Why did you risk it?”

She answered softly, “I found that I must. Once I knew that, I realized that it was even less risk than our walnut tree. The children never come downstairs at night when we have a guest. Father may suspect me…but that makes it
certain
that he won’t check on me. Don’t worry, darling. Take me to bed.
Now!
”

He did so.

When they were quiet, she sighed happily and said, lips against his ear, arms and legs around him: “Theodore, even in this you are so much like my husband that I can barely wait till the war is over to tell him all about you.”

“You’ve decided to tell him?”

“Beloved Theodore, there was never a doubt that I would. I softened some of what I told you tonight and left out a little. Brian does not require me to confess. But it does
not
upset him; we settled that fifteen years ago. He convinced me that he really
does
trust my judgment and my taste.” Very softly but merrily she giggled against his ear. “It’s a shame that I so seldom have anything to confess; he enjoys hearing my adventures. He has me tell him about them over and over—like rereading a favorite book. I wish I could tell him this one tomorrow night. But I won’t, I’ll save it.”

“He’s coming home tomorrow?”

“Late. Quite late. Which is just as well, as I don’t expect to get
any
sleep once he arrives.” She chuckled softly. “He told me on the telephone to ‘b. i. b. a. w. y. l. o.’ and he would ‘w. y. t. b. w.’ That means: Be in bed asleep with my legs open and he will wake me the best way. But I just pretend to be asleep as I wake up no matter how quietly he tiptoes in.”

She gave a tiny giggle. “Then we have a happy little game. As he enters me, I pretend to wake up and call him by name—but never his name. I moan, ‘Oh, Albert, darling, I thought you would
never
come!’ or some such. Then it’s his turn. He says something like, ‘This is Buffalo Bill, Mrs. O’Malley. Hush up and get busy!’ Then I hush up and do the best I know how, not another word until we both explode.”

“Your best is superb, Mrs. O’Malley. Or was that your best?”

“I tried to make it my best—Buffalo Bill. But I was so dreadfully excited that I got all blurry so it probably was not. I’d like a chance to do better. Are you going to give me one?”

“Only if you promise
not
to do better. Darling, if that was not your best, then your best would kill me.”

“You not only talk like my husband and feel like him—especially
here—
but you even smell like him.”

“You smell like Tamara.”

“Do I really? Do I make love like her?”

(Tamara knows a thousand ways, darling, but rarely uses anything unusual—lovemaking is not technique, dear, it’s an attitude. Wanting to make someone happy, which you
do
. But you startled me with your command of technique; you would fetch a high price on Iskander.)

“You do. But that’s not what makes you so much like her. Uh, it’s your attitude. Tamara knows what is going on in another person’s mind and gives him exactly what he needs. Wants to give it.”

“She’s a mindreader? Then I’m not like her, after all.”

“No, she’s not a mindreader. But she feels a person’s emotions and knows what he needs and gives him that. It might not be sex. Aren’t there times when Brian needs something else?”

“Oh, certainly. If he’s tired and tense, I hold off and rub his back or head. Or cuddle with him. Maybe encourage him to nap, and then perhaps he really will wake me ‘the best way.’ I don’t try to eat him alive. Unless that’s what he wants.”

“Tamara all over again. Maureen, when Tamara was healing me, at first she didn’t even share a bed with me. Just slept in the same room and ate with me and listened if I felt like talking. Then for ten days or so she did sleep with me, but we just slept…and I slept soundly and had no nightmares. Then one night I woke up, and without a word Tamara took me into her, and we made love the rest of that night. And next morning I knew I was well—soul-sickness all gone.

“You are that way, Maureen. You know, and you do. I’ve been very homesick and much troubled by this war. Now I’m not, you’ve cured it. Tell me, what did you feel from me the first night I was in this house?”

“Loved you at first sight, like a silly schoolgirl. Wanted to take you to bed. I told you so.”

“Not how
you
felt—how did
I
feel?”

“Oh. You had an erection over me.”

“Yes, I did. But I thought I had concealed it. You noticed?”

“Oh, I didn’t see a bulge in your trousers or anything like that. Theodore, I never look down that far; men become embarrassed so easily. I simply knew you felt as I did—and I felt like a she dog in heat. Bitch in heat, I mean—I don’t intend to be prim in bed. The instant you met my eyes—standing, out in the front hall—I knew we needed each other and I grew terribly excited…and rushed out into the kitchen to get myself under control.”

“You didn’t rush, you moved with smooth grace, like a ship under sail.”

“That ship was sailing fast; I was rushing. I got myself under control but not less excited.
More
. My breasts ached and my nipples hurt, all the time you were here. But that doesn’t show. It would not have mattered had Father noticed my excitement except that he would not have invited you back—and I
wanted
you to come back. Father knows what I am; he told me so when he was helping me. He told me to face up to what I am and be happy with it—but that I must learn never to let my ruttiness show, things being the way they are. I’ve tried—but that night it was very hard not to show it.”

“You succeeded.”

“Brian tells me that I don’t show it. But that night was so difficult. I—Theodore, there is something boys do—and sometimes men—when they’re terribly frustrated. With their hands.”

“Certainly. Masturbation. Boys call it ‘jacking off.’”

“So Brian says. But perhaps you don’t know that girls—and women—can do something like it?”

“I do know. For a lonely person of either sex, it’s a harmless but inadequate substitute.”

“‘Harmless but inadequate—’
Quite
inadequate. But I’m glad you think it’s harmless. Because I went upstairs and took a bath—I
needed
one although I had bathed before supper. And did it, in the tub. And went to bed and stared at the ceiling. Then got up and locked the door and took off my nightgown—and did it and did it and did it! Thinking about
you
, Theodore, every instant. Your voice, how you smelled, the touch of your hand on mine. But it took at least an hour before I was relaxed enough to sleep.”

(It took me even longer, dear, and I should have used your direct therapy. But I was punishing myself for being a fool. Off my trolley, dearest one, as I know it is
never
foolish to love. But I didn’t see how we could ever show our love.) “I wish I could have been there, darling—because a mile or two away I was aching with it—thinking of
you
.”

“Theodore, I
hoped
you felt that way. I needed you so and hoped that you needed me just as much. But the best I could do was lock my door and do that and think about you, with nobody around but Ethel in her crib and her too young to notice. Oops! I lost you. Oh, dear!”

“You haven’t lost me, just that wee bit of proud flesh. Which will recover soon; you promised me a second chance. Change position? Shoulder pillow? Left, or right? I shouldn’t have kept my weight on you so long, but I didn’t want to move.”

“I didn’t want you to move as long as I could keep even a little of you in me. You aren’t too heavy; my hips are broad, and you let a woman breathe, sir. Put me on either side, whichever you prefer.”

“Like this?”

“That’s comfy. Oh, Theodore, this doesn’t feel like our first time; I feel as if I had loved you forever and you had come back to me at last.”

(Let’s get away from that subject, Mama Maureen.) “I’ll go on loving you forever, my darling.”

(Omitted)

“—told her bluntly that he would
not
marry her if she made any fuss over his joining the Army when he didn’t have to.”

“What did Nancy tell him?”

“She told him that she had been waiting to hear that, so now get her pregnant at once so they could have a few days’ honeymoon before he joined up. Nancy feels as strongly about warriors as her mother does. She came into my bedroom that night and told me what she had done, slightly teary but not worried over having jumped the gun.