Vacation (5 page)

She could be taking a walk, a series of walks, as exercise or for temp-erament or temperature regulation. She could be looking for something she lost, a valuable coin, an earring. She could be sad, require air, pavement. She could be pacing—not in her own home but out-of-doors, a cityscape pacing. She could be searching, not for something lost but for something not yet seen. Or she could be searching for a way to tell him, she could be looking for a brink to be on, or an edge to be off. She could be feeling too prominent, like the most prominent object in any scene, she could be fleeing that, wanting diminishment, wanting extraction, to be taken out of any given situation. Where could she walk to that she wouldn’t be?

She could be merely avoiding him? She could be taking the long way home?

It is ridiculous, he said, to have three lights lit and only one person.

Two people.

I only just arrived.

How do you know I wasn’t leaving on anticipatory lighting?

We’re both in the same room.

How was I supposed to know where you’d want to be? she said. Maybe I should have left the bedroom light on. Maybe I should have lit the back porch. Maybe I should have left on anticipatory lighting for me because I should have anticipated that you’d come home and carry on at me and I’d have to get up and leave the room.

Which she did.

And he followed.

That was the first month he followed her. So each weekday evening, that’s twenty, plus a few mornings, maybe twenty-five total the first month. He could apologize for each of those, if she would, like hearing or telling the same story twenty-five times. And she just might. But there wasn’t going to be anything fun in it. She may as well know that right up front.

There she was, his wife, walking under a string of awnings.

She said the cost was minimal and he said the issue wasn’t cost but waste. She said the waste was minimal and he said yes, but existent. She said she didn’t want to sit in the dark and he said then she should certainly have a light on. One light. And if she went into another room she should turn out that light and turn on the one in the other room. She said he was being a bully. She said she’d had a hard day. She was so tired. She said he should just leave, go someplace else where he could be in the dark. He said, for God’s sake, could they not fight? Could she just sit quietly beside him? And she said he could sit quietly in the dark by himself. She screamed it a little, You can goddamn well sit quietly in the dark by yourself. And he swung open the back door that let out to the landing (sudden cool air), screamed, Fine, I’m leaving! walked out, walked eight blocks (black branches against red sky), turned, went back.

There were the considerations of the bladder. Also of the stomach. Thirst. The organs had to be taken into account. The feet.

What the hell was she doing?

Now look, I know you weren’t at the office, he said.

She startled from her fuzzed fruit.

Of course not. We met over dinner with a client.

Where?

Why are you asking?

Why won’t you say?

Why are you badgering me?

His wife, spooned hand, rising from her seat.

This is what was going on within the plaster of their home during the months of him behind her and her never turning around, never wondering whether her own husband kept better track of his own wife than to let her toddle off down the cement. What kind of man did she suppose she had banished herself to and what kind of wife had he wound up with, a nutcase?

There she was, walking along the dark rim of Chinatown. Stopping. Her feet on the round of a manhole cover. Then going on.

Are you badgering me for any particular reason? she said. Are you referring to anything that has ever been in contact with this household before? Or did that question fly in from outside?

Is there something you want to say to me that could be an accusation or a threat? she said.

Because if so, please do, she said. Let’s see this fault of mine. Where is it?

Woman-walker, slack-rope artist, shilly-shallier.

Where is it? she said.

Myers—anyone could have seen him there, enclosed within paint, insulation, flooring, and ceiling, a wife with one hand raised in exas-peration, her mouth opening and closing.

Well? she said.

The whole paper caboodle of city hung on the sky behind her.

Well? she said.

Anyone could have seen him not say.

Chapter Five

The regional manager had many interesting questions.

What happened to you yesterday? Was it a magic trick? A sleight of hand? Did you forget to pull yourself out of a hat? I don’t need to tell you this is not the finest time for fun.

Myers, in Syracuse, one arm running the length of the hotel room desk.

Where’s Myers today? I said to everyone. Does anyone see him pushed up against a wall around here? Did he get stuck in a manila envelope?

I should have called sooner, Myers said. I’m in the wrong there. The important thing is we’re speaking now.

The regional manager made many interesting statements.

The important thing is yesterday’s absence and the ibid of that today and the fact that my caller ID is showing me a number which does not match the number of your office phone and of which I do not recognize the area code. That is the important event in your life today.

Yes, I need to talk to you about that, said Myers.

Now’s the time. The world over awaits.

I’m taking a vacation day.

What vacation. You’ve been in our employ four months. You don’t get any vacation. You get vacation in August.

I’m taking one yesterday and one today. (Myers looked at his watch.) And one tomorrow.

You want, you take vacation in August. You apply for it. Like everyone does. You submit a form six weeks in advance. We plan for your absence.

Melanie can mind my work.

Melanie cannot mind your work. Melanie is busy minding Melanie and Melanie’s work.

I’m taking a sick day, in that case.

What sick days. You take sick days when you’re sick. So which is it—are you sick or are you on vacation?

I’m both, said Myers. Listen. It’s both. I’m leaving my wife.

In the first month Myers followed her, they fought about light switches as well as lights. Dimmers, three levels. They fought about seven different things having to do with bicycles. They fought about round tin objects, lids, water, other liquids, other things having to do with liquid, with containers. She said they fought about everything.

He said, Not so. There was plenty they didn’t fight about.

See? Even that he had to contradict.

I’m sorry to hear that, Myers. Really I am. The best thing you can do is to keep your seat belt on, as they say. High hat the hell hole. Eyes to the front, and so on. Shoot the face of misfortune.

She’s moving out.

Excellent. Better off without her, I say. No offense. Take moving day off. Listen, make moving day on the weekend. Make moving day next month. Let her move herself. We need you here this week. It’s a mess in here. You’ve got your own project. Projects.

I’ve already left.

Don’t tell me things I can see, Myers. My eyes are on your vanished form over your desk. Where are you? Where are you phoning from?

Syracuse.

That’s no vacation. That’s a smudge.

To be accurate, they had not fought about most things.

They had not fought about the shape of certain objects, never disagreed about whether an object was round or tall. They had not fought about the outlines of things, how it worked so that one thing could be separated from another, what occurred to mark the division atomically. They had not fought about any of Newton’s laws or Kepler’s laws or whoever was in charge these days, whoever had won. They agreed on up and down and how that worked and how to trigger it. The nonsubstance of shadows, the substance of what the shadows were shadows of. They agreed on God-related issues (there is no God, they believed) and on all that follows (no barricading oneself in or jaunting off somewhere to upset or placate a jealous God) (no floating up and down like balloons) (no Body moved anything first or was there before anybody else). They agreed on many practical truths: Mathematics seems to work fairly well, they thought, as do the languages, with a few garbage alleys of misunderstanding. The social sciences, such as psychology, have their place but it’s tiresome to discuss them, especially Freud.

They even agreed on some aspects regarding lights—the way they work, the hardware, their function, etc.

What kind of man behaves this way? she said.

I mean, who did he think he was?

I mean, what was he supposed to be? A husband?

Let me tell you, husbands aren’t supposed to act this way.

Myers, are you there? Myers.

Yes.

I’m not a difficult man, am I?

No, you’re not.

We give the standard allowances and perks. Discount parking, yes?

I take the subway.

I don’t try to be an asshole.

No, you don’t.

You’ve put me in a difficult situation here. You’ve been working on the Smithson journals. This is a new account, your first project. You have been entrusted with this. You have been the point man. Anything to do with Smithson, you are pointed at, and you, in turn, point elsewhere. What is the point of having a point man I can’t point to? No one else knows what is happening with Smithson. Smithson is due the day after tomorrow so it is obviously no good for you to come back the day after tomorrow. Where are the files? Are the files on your laptop?

(Yes.)

I always bring my work home with me, sir.

Do we have backups here?

(The backups were in his briefcase.)

Safe in my briefcase, sir.

What is the point of having files I don’t have?

I don’t mean to drop the ball on this.

You are throwing the balls out the window. You are throwing other things out the window. Reputations. Money. Jobs—your job. Now, today. Today is a bad day. Today you are in Syracuse. I want you to pack up that laptop, get on an airplane, and come back to New York. That’s going to be expensive. Same-day fare, few direct flights. I will pay for it. That is my gift to you, my condolence card for your breakup. Get to the airport, come home, come here. Tonight you will stay in a hotel. On us. On me. Dinner too. With me. Bring your laptop. We are here for you in your time of need. Are you hearing this, Myers?

I am.

Good, see you this afternoon.

Okay, sir.

Don’t call me sir. Call me by my name.

Myers hung up. He sat in the protective circle of light formed by the hotel and by the present itself and these shone above him and around him but illuminated nothing. He called the front desk.

I’ll need a taxi to the airport, he said.

On Gray: Here is a fact Myers couldn’t know or even suspect. At the same moment Myers struck out down the hall for the elevator, suitcase rolling behind, Gray was elsewhere thinking, You know, that Myers fellow could be of some use just now. Gray was far away, stepping over a pockmarked Central American topography. He paused, considered the arrangement of gravel under his feet. Above, the sun soaped the clouds. He pulled some coins from his pocket, turned them over on his hand. Myers slid in and out of his mind like a bird in and out an open window. He went on.

Gray had had few thoughts of Myers in his life. The first ones had been as a student. He’d observed Myers’s head from the back of the room and studied its odd contours—not outrageous, but irregular. No one knew why. In the dorms the guys discussed whether he’d been in an accident or if it was the result of some sort of careful genetic planning. They were beyond teasing and no one wanted to ask. Myers had no close friends. From some angles the head appeared normal. Such as straight on. If Myers looked in the mirror each day he wouldn’t see anything strange at all. The guys gradually realized he wasn’t aware of it. This was interesting and Gray pondered it in class, but it was only one of many drifting thoughts: girlfriend (gum-chewing), dormmates (loud), the qualities of light in the room (daylight here, fluorescent there), the square of a morning toast, a skyscraper he’d seen in a dream.