He was at his desk, with the door to his office closed, before eight-thirty the following morning, trying to unravel, again, what had happened and how it had happened. He felt a little sick and apprehensive, and the more he thought about it, the more he tried to understand how he had ended up there, the more confused and sick he got. Finally he took a deep breath and called Linda. He suddenly felt a fluttering in his chest. He jammed his jaws shut. He mumbled an almost prayer. He wanted desperately to say something pertinent, but he couldnt think of a fucking thing to say. Hello, how are you? What the hell is that? How in the name of krist was he going to make small talk feeling so sick?
Hi, honey, how was the meeting?
(Holy shit, he could hear the smile in her voice and could hear his son in the background.) Fine. All finished.
Good. Im so glad. I really missed you last night.
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Me too.
Will you be home at the usual time tonight, sweetheart?
Yes.
O good. Have a good day, honey. I love you. Some small talk and she hung up.
She finally hung up. Finally, finally,
finally. How fucking long did they talk. Seconds? Minutes? Ten thousand lifetimes—Yeah, yeah. I know it was the first time I stayed away since we were married. What do you think I am, some kind of fucking goon? And get off my back. Im no goddamn leper. I havent done a goddamn thing every other son of a bitch in this world doesnt. So up yours.
And thus his day started and continued with frenzied attempts to lose himself in his work; he sent out for a quick lunch or an apple so he could eat the forbidden fruit and purge himself. O shit! what the hell is going on? The door to his office remained closed. From time to time during the day he suddenly started shaking and trembling, but it quickly passed. O krist!!!!
Work. Work! Get your ass to work and forget all this bullshit. Work ...
And so passed a murky and interminable day for Harry White.
And
for Linda, the wife of Harry White, the day was intermittently cloudy. From time to time a feeling of profound sadness would drag heavily through her and she would stop and look around frowning, trying to understand why she should feel the way she suddenly did. She hadnt felt like this since she was a teen-ager, and that seemed like so many years ago. Since then she had had moments of slight depression and loneliness, but not since she was married. In thinking about it she became more and more aware of how much she loved Harry and what a wonderful life they had together. She certainly was not bubbling over with joy and good will every day, but there just did not seem to be any sadness in her life with Harry—until now.
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O well, it was only natural to feel like this the first time Harry did not come home. After all, its an impossible trip at night and Harry had no choice. Nothing at all unusual about it. What really was unusual, from what she read and heard, was that two people (actually three counting Harry Junior) could be as happy as they are. A three-year marriage may not be a record, even in this day and age, but there did not seem to be many couples staying married that long who were as happy as she and Harry,
And it wasnt just the beautiful home and gardens—or even Harry Junior—she felt like this before they bought the house and before Harry Junior came along. It seemed like she felt like this since she had met Harry. Except, of course, that night when she turned him down and he left. That was the last time she could remember feeling lonely, those weeks that passed before he called again.
He excited her. And just thinking about him kept the excitement alive. And it wasnt just the excitement he aroused in her in bed, though she would quickly and happily admit that that had a lot to do with it and she could not imagine any man being a better or more exciting lover than Harry. Many, many times she thought about their relationship and what it was about him that made her so happy, and though there is always a certain amount of magic that can never be defined or even isolated, there were aspects of his personality that were precious to her.
She loved his laugh. It wasnt that it was exceptionally musical, or anything like that, but it was just so happy. It sounded as if all of him was having a good time. She could actually feel her eyes twinkle when she thought about it.
They twinkled too when she thought of his tenderness, of the way he held her hand or rubbed the back of her neck and shoulders, or kissed her ear lobe. . . . And the way he would smile and tap her gently on the tip of her nose for no reason at all—just sort of do it and smile. She closed her eyes for a moment and looked at his smile and felt his warmth....
And under all of this she could feel his strength. A strength
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that was not verbal, but real and inherent in his actions and attitude. He knew where he was going and how to get there. He knew nothing could stop him. And she knew that no matter what happened she could always, always, rely on him, that he would always be there to give her the strength and support she needed. He was dependable and his spirit was indomitable.. . .
The more she thought about him, the warmer seemed the sun, and by the time she was feeding Harry Junior his lunch she was smiling and humming and thinking of what she could prepare for Harrys dinner.
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12
Harrys life continued to be a series of little compromises, and revaluations of ethics and situations; of readjustments to life and then unwilling and agonizing acceptance of them that necessitated little lies, which, in turn, demanded more lies and readjustments and reevaluations. And it was not with the worlds ethics and morals that Harry was compromising, but with his own. That is what produced the conflict. That is what created the pain. And the most difficult aspect of this evolvement of Harrys life, the one element that was responsible for the confusion, was the fact that Harry had to deny, to himself, that these compromises and petty lies were actually happening. He had to somehow maintain, in his conscious mind, that nothing was wrong, that whatever was happening was normal and was simply a result of the pressures of his job.
After all, he was a
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successful man: respected in his business; a good provider; a man of considerable means and still only thirty years old. There was no doubt in his mind, and in the minds of his associates, that he would be a millionaire someday. No doubt at all. How could there be anything wrong?
And he had a wonderful family that he dearly loved and treasured, and they loved him. When he got home at night his son ran (well, maybe he more tottered than ran) to greet him, and his wife always had a big smile and a hug and kiss for him. Success. Yes, he was truly a successful man. How could there be anything wrong?
There couldnt be. That was obvious. A man as young and successful as Harry White could not have any real problems, and whatever might be responsible for that twisting in his gut and that tension that made him feel like a wound spring that was about to snap, would disappear in time. In the meantime, there was nothing wrong with his picking up a woman occasionally, or spending a night with one of their public relations people. It relieved that feeling, and he was becoming accustomed to living with the undefined feeling of guilt and remorse that he awoke with the next morning. The important thing was not to allow anything to interfere with his ability to work, and that tension did just that. He was willing to do anything to relieve that tension. He must be able to work.
And so another readjustment and lie inevitably followed the others and he stayed in town when there werent representatives to entertain, but it was a reason that was accepted and was always readily available.
But now it was becoming necessary to stay in town more and more frequently. There was less and less control. After each additional adjustment and lie he was depressed for a day or so and it was a struggle not to be silent and sullen around the house. Then he would become his old self in his constantly changing life, and life at home, as well as in the office, would seem normal as his emotions started on another upswing.
But then the timing of the pattern would c
hange and further
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adjustments would be necessary as the periods of depression came closer and closer together. One week Harry found himself staying in town twice, and on his way home that night he bought a split-leaf philodendron. He wasnt sure why, but he just felt an overwhelming urge to buy it. It was not exactly like bringing it home for Linda as an atonement for his behavior (Jesus, with her gardens that would be like giving an Eskimo snowballs), but it was meant as some sort of a present.
The next day he found himself thinking about the plant and bought a book on the care of philodendrons. He browsed through the book on the way home and became fascinated by the many varieties of philodendron and related species of house plants. That weekend he bought another plant, a smaller one.
I didnt know you were a plant lover, honey.
Neither did I. Guess I just got a bug or something, smiling at her. Maybe I thought that if you were going to garden on the outside, I would garden on the inside.
A family that gardens together, stays together.
That sounds good.
We/ll just have to be careful that our thumbs dont get too green; they might quarantine us.
They both laughed and Harry stared at the two plants.
The following week he brought home another plant, a spider plant set in a beautiful porcelain pot and hanging in a macramé holder.
Dont you think it looks great hanging in this window?
Yes it does. That macramé and pot are beautiful. Where did you get them?
What about the plant, isnt that beautiful too? After all, you dont want to hurt the chlorophytums feelings.
You sound like a botanist.
Ive been reading my book on the train, smiling. Anyway, theres a large florist and plant shop on Fifty-sixth Street that has an incredible selection of plants and pots and everything else.
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Well, hugging his arm, I never thought I would be naming a plant shop as a corespondent.
They laughed, each feeling tension draining from them, tension from a different yet similar source.
Harry bought two more books during the week and another plant and macramé holder on Friday. Buying a plant on Friday became a new routine, replacing the old one, and once again the undefined tension and anxiety were gone as he tended plants instead of women. In a few months there were plants hanging in front of every window. There were Columneas, Episcias, ivy-leaved Pelargoniums and even Ges-nerias. On the floor in an assortment of beautiful pottery were Dieffenbachia picta, Ficus elastica, Ficus lyrata, Schefflera, Podocarpus Chamaedorea seifrizii and other palms, and split-leaf philodendron. There was even philodendron and ivy crawling along beams in the living room.
Harry had to get up earlier and earlier, as the collection of plants increased, so he could check each one and make certain everything was all right and see to it that they got the proper amount of light and water; and mist them so their air would be humid enough. And on the train he read his books along with the Wall Street Journal.
Inevitably, of course, he brought home an African violet. That weekend he built shelves across a couple of windows for his African violets. Soon there were Wedgewood, Cambridge Pink, Dolly Dimple, Norseman, Lilian Jarrett, Wintergreen and plain boy, girl, fluted, variegated, black-green and rippled leaves. He bought special brushes for cleaning the leaves, and propagated new plants from cuttings.
For a while Linda stood in amazement as plant after plant came home and the house started to look like the set for a jungle movie; and then there was the worry and work of keeping Harry Junior from knocking them over or from digging in the large pots. But it was worth it. Harry seemed calmer and more animated since he had developed this hobby and was more like his old self—not so moody or listless; and, of course, she was much happier as a result of this change. In
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addition, of course, not having to take clients out and stay in the city overnight helped too. And she loved plants and so there was no real problem in adjusting to this newest change of scenery.
You know dear, any more plants and we will be suffocated by an overabundance of oxygen.
Well, with all the smog and pollution, if we have enough plants we can insulate ourselves from the world.
A garden of Eden?
Sure, why not?
At last, thank goodness, Harry stopped buying plants. And it seemed to happen at exactly the right time. They looked lovely and certainly added something to the house, and Harrys happiness with them made Linda happy, but she did not think they could get another one in the house.
There wasnt room for another plant in Harrys schedule. Eventually he did not care for them in the morning during the week, giving them a quick check at night, and giving them his attention on the weekends. Gradually they were ignored at night and he might get around to watering them on Sunday, and not always then.
And the feeling of tension and anxiety, those squirmy feelings in his gut and arms and legs, returned and increased. He could feel himself withdrawing from his family slightly and fought against it, but had no idea what weapon to use since the enemy was unknown. He fought against the twisting of his mouth and forced a smile on his face and loaded his family in the car one Sunday for a drive. The day was clear and sunny and Harry Junior was in his car seat pointing and asking. Harry started to relax, listening to his son, his wife and her laughter and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face.
But he could not seem to concentrate properly on his driving. He seemed to be slightly startled by other cars, pedestrians and traffic lights. Then he became aware of why. He kept looking at the women on the street, or in other cars, out of
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the side of his eye, not wanting Linda to know what he was doing. He fought like hell against it, but he just could not seem to control himself. He started getting nauseous from the fight and the guilt. He could not figure out what was wrong. Why couldnt he keep his eyes on the road? He fixed his eyes on the road and concentrated as hard as he could on keeping them there, but some goddamn broad with her skirt up around her ass was walking across the street and he could tell she was going into a store just a few feet away and he would have to hurry if he was going to get a look at that ass and see if she had a nice set of boobs—a panicky look back at the road and as soon as it registered in his haunted head that the road was clear he tried to look at Linda out of the side of his eye to see if she had been watching his eyes to see where he was looking and then looked back to the road (suppose I had hit a car), and sweet Jesus he was going crazy and he locked his eyes on the road again and he could hear Linda and Harry Junior and he could even hear himself answer her, and these couple a cunts came out of a store and he could barely see them and he slowed down hoping they would come into better view but the jerks were just strolling along like a couple of snails and he did not want to lose sight of them but he had to make certain Linda was not watching him now that he was slowing the car down and he had to make believe he was looking at something on Lindas side of the street so he could see what she was watching and it seemed to be safe and he quickly looked to the other side but those dumb broads were still taking their sweet goddamn time and not moving an inch an hour for krist sake and he was going to have to make a turn and then maybe in the turn he could get a look at them and he had to make sure that Linda was just watching Harry Junior, and he went into the turn and they were lovely especially the way the breeze blew their dresses against their crotch and one wasnt wearing a bra and he could see the nipples of her tits sticking a mile out and her— A car from nowhere and Harry jammed on the brakes and his car started to skid and there wasnt any car and Linda yelled, Whats
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wrong? and Harry fought against the skid as he saw a car crashing into the side of their car and Linda and Harry Junior were a mangled mess and he could hear their screams and he got the car to the side and stopped . ..
and closed his eyes and
fought against the tearing pressure behind his eye
s and the knotted nausea in his gut that seemed to be reaching up to his throat. . . .
Linda looked at him for a moment, calming herself, confused and bewildered by the suddenness of what had happened and by the fact that she had no idea why it had happened.
You all right, Harry? Anything wrong? No, no, shaking his head, fine. Im all right. What happened? All of a sudden— I dont know.
Is there something wrong with the car? No, leaning back in the seat and taking a deep breath. I dont think so. My foot just slipped. Everythings all right. Just startled me for a minute. Thats all.
O, thats a relief. I thought maybe you had a sudden pain or something. Anyway, smiling broadly, Harry Junior enjoyed it. He had a fine time. Hes still laughing, arent you sweetie?
Harry listened to them and watched them for a moment and slowly the fear drained from his body and the turbulence subsided and he started on the way home. He drove over cautiously and was shaking inside, but had no further problems and had no difficulty concentrating on his driving.
Later that afternoon he was sitting and reading the paper when Harry Junior suddenly dropped one of his toys, and he jerked up out of his chair and hit his head on one of the hanging plants. He growled low and viciously and grabbed the pot and yanked the macramé off the hook and threw the plant out the open door. Linda watched dumbfounded.
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13
Harry stayed in the city Monday night. The guilt and remorse the next morning were severe and painful, but not as bad as the constant fight against desire and those vague and undefined feelings of fear, anxiety and impending doom. And, in the final analysis, he had no choice.