The Fire-Dwellers

  Come on, flower. Time to get out of your bath. C’mon – that’s it.

  Newspaper story. Young divorced mother found in bathroom in catatonic state beside the body of her three-year-old son. A broken wine bottle had been plunged deeply into the child’s chest. Photograph showed girl being led away, her face dull, absent, her hands darkly bloodied up to the wrists.

  — She was a hophead, for heaven’s sake, Stacey. Yeh. Nothing like that, nothing even remotely like that could happen here. And then again, anything that could happen to anybody could happen to anybody. Anything. When I think that way, my guts turn over. Even if I never lay a hand on Jen in anger, never, what if I become temporarily deranged some day, some day when I’m feeling the trap worst, and yell and scream at her? Just because she isn’t yet school age and she needs me. You want to know something, God? Sometimes all I want to do is sit down quietly in a secluded corner and bawl my goddam eyes out. Okay, so you don’t want to know. I’m telling you anyway.

  Want some pretty-smelling powder, Jen? That’s right – you sprinkle it on yourself. Hey, how about that? Now you smell like a flower as well as looking like one.

  Stacey hugs Jen tightly and gently, wanting only to be aware of Jen’s warmth and perfection. But as she does so, she recalls that Hey, how about that? is Luke’s phrase.

  Mac still is not home. Stacey puts Jen to bed and goes downstairs to round up the boys. Duncan is in the kitchen, his face pressed against the screen of the back door, his shoulders in an attitude of dejection.

  Hi, honey. What’s the matter?

  Ian’s upstairs and he won’t let me in the room. It’s my room, too.

  What’s the matter with him?

  How should I know? He’s mad at me. He’s always mad at me.

  Okay, I’ll go and see.

  Stacey goes upstairs again and tries the door of the boys’ bedroom. It is locked.

  Ian?

  The voice that reaches her is sullen and suspicious.

  Whaddya want?

  Why won’t you let Duncan in? Come on, open that door right this minute. What’s the trouble, anyway?

  He’s a dumb moron and I don’t want him in here. Why can’t I have my own room? I’m sick of sharing with him.

  Because there are not enough bedrooms for you to have your own room, that’s why. As you very well know.

  Jen and Katie have got their own rooms. Why can’t they share for change? I hate Duncan in here with me. He’s always breaking my models and stuff. He hasn’t got any brains.

  Stacey feels her annoyance beginning, like a nettle sting in the mind.

  Now listen here, Ian, you unlock that door, you hear? Duncan has as much right in there as you, and he isn’t always breaking your models at all, and it’s time for both of you to go to bed. All right. I’m going downstairs and I’ll give you ten minutes. You open the door and we won’t say any more about it.

  Stacey goes back down to the kitchen. Duncan is still looking out into the back yard. Stacey sits down on a kitchen chair and finds to her surprise that she is crying.

  — For heaven’s sake, what’s the matter with me? I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know

  Duncan turns and sees her. He looks shocked.

  Mum – you’re not crying, are you?

  — Mothers don’t cry. Only kids. Pull yourself together, Stacey.

  No, not really. I just felt sort of tired for a minute, there. I’m okay now. Everything’s all right.

  Ian bawled today.

  What?

  He bawled. He never bawls, does he, Mum? But he did. I saw him. I guess that’s why he’s mad at me, maybe. He doesn’t like people to see him bawling.

  Duncan – tell me. What was wrong with him?

  He – well, a bunch of us kids were playing out on the Crescent after school, and Ian went out on the road after the football, only he didn’t see this car coming, and it just missed him. He said he didn’t want to play any more and when I went to look for him, he was in the basement, bawling.

  Oh Duncan – why didn’t you tell me before? Before I went upstairs. I didn’t know he was

  Stacey rushes back upstairs.

  — I was away away away with Luke making love with Luke and Ian was here and he might have been hurt. He might have been run over. Stacey, don’t be a fool. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you had been here. Maybe not, but even so even so even so. And Ian cried. Ian. Who never cries. Because of what happened to Peter Challoner and because Ian thinks about death – how much? Some people don’t know they’re ever going to die until it happens to them, but Ian knows he’s going to die. He knows it will happen to him some day. He’s ten, and he knows that already. Was it Peter’s death that taught it to him? Or has he known for a long time, in ways I don’t know anything about? Maybe he thinks of it as I’ve always thought of it, wondering what form it would take for me, what face it would wear, what moment in my time it would choose for our encounter, imagining it as sudden severed or seared flesh and then again imagining it as something to be fought for in senility when there isn’t any strength for even that battle and they keep you going against your will on tubes and oxygen, the total indignity, imagining it in order to defeat it, like a kid I used to imagine the dead men below in the mortuary, conjure them up on purpose so they wouldn’t take me by surprise, although in reality I never saw even one of them. I always thought that was why I thought about it, but Ian does too and his father deals in rejuvenating vitamins. Have I passed it on, along with the chromosomes and genes?

  Ian?

  Yeh?

  Honey, I’m sorry I was cross. I didn’t know – Duncan just told me – about the road – Ian, try not to let it upset you. It’s all right now.

  And from the bedroom, from behind the locked door, the sudden shrill desperate voice.

  Can’t you leave me alone? Can’t you just leave me alone?

  — Ian. Mac’s words. Ian, don’t – I can’t bear it. And you can’t bear the way I try to know, the way I try to enter your locked room, can you? All your locked rooms.

  Stacey goes down to the kitchen without another word.

  Duncan – you go to sleep in Daddy’s and my bed for now, and I’ll move you after a while. Ian’s kind of upset.

  Mac has just come in and has overheard.

  What’s the matter with Ian?

  Stacey tells him. Mac sets down his briefcase and prepares to go upstairs.

  He’ll open the door all right. I’m not going to have that kind of temperamental display.

  Mac – leave him.

  Now listen here, Stacey, it’s perfectly ridiculous for Duncan to go to sleep somewhere else just because Ian doesn’t choose to open the door. He’s got to learn to consider other people.

  Yes, but he needs consideration, too.

  He’s damn well going to learn to show a little responsibility.

  — My God, of course it’s not Ian he’s mad at. It’s me. Only maybe he doesn’t know it.

  Mac starts out of the kitchen, but Stacey takes hold of his arm.

  Mac, don’t you dare go up there. Just don’t. Ian has to be left alone for a while – he has to. Can’t you see? You, of all people, ought to be able to see that. You got no business knocking Ian for wanting to be left alone occasionally.

  Mac removes her hand from his sleeve. He turns and walks into his study.

  Okay. Have it your way, Stacey. Do anything you like with them. Ruin them, for all I care.

  Stacey looks at Duncan. His eyes are fixed on her face, but she cannot guess at all what he is seeing. Then he trudges upstairs. She hears him knocking very softly at Ian’s door and after a few minutes, the door opens. The boys go to bed in silence, without speaking to one another.

  — All right. I shouldn’t have said that, in front of Duncan. But you shouldn’t have, either, Mac. Damn you damn you damn you. Imagine saying Ruin them, for all I care. What in hell does he think Duncan’s going to make of that? That I’m no good and Mac couldn’t care l
ess about any of them? Mac, how could you? Let me tell you one simple fact – whatever you’re like, whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re going through, I don’t want to know, see? I just don’t want to know. Not any more. All right, I don’t have the guts to say it to you. But there it is. I hate you. I wish to God I’d never laid eyes on you. There it is.

  Doorbell. Stacey answers it, and finds Julian Garvey standing inside the veranda. He is a small man, and with old age he has shrunken even more. He has a wispy tonsure of pepper-grey hair, and his seamed red mottled face resembles a surly gnome. With Stacey, he is invariably courteous, even exaggeratedly so. He saves his salvos for Bertha.

  Evening, Stacey. I trust this isn’t an inconvenient moment? If you’re busy, just say so.

  No, not at all. Come in, Julian.

  Well, actually it was Mac I wanted to see, really. Is he home?

  Yes, he’s just come in. I’ll call him. He’s in the study.

  Oh – well, maybe I could go in there? I just wanted to have a private word with him. Get his advice, you know. I’ve been seeing these Richalife pills advertised all over the place, and I sort of wondered

  — Oh Lord. Sure. What else? You wondered if they’d restore your virility? Or prolong your life eternally? There’s one born every minute. And Mac will sell them to you, too. Never doubt it. He’s not the same guy as the one who told the pensioner on Grenoble Street that he needed encyclopedias like he needed a hole in the head. No. Mr. MacAindra has altered more than somewhat. Well, climb on the magic carousel, you stupid old bugger. Who gives a damn?

  Sure, Julian. Come right in.

  Stacey knocks.

  Mac?

  What?

  It’s Julian. He’s here to see you.

  Oh – okay. C’mon in.

  The door opens and Julian goes in. Stacey pours herself a gin and tonic and saunters quietly near the study. Unfortunately the door is thick and the voices are not loud, so she cannot hear anything except a low mumbling. At last Julian emerges. Stacey sees him to the door. His hands are empty.

  Mac said he didn’t really think man of my age, you know well, I just wondered

  Oh. Well, good night, Julian.

  Good night, Stacey.

  The study door is partly open and Stacey looks in. Mac is sitting at his desk with his head leaning against his outstretched hands, his palms covering his eyes.

  — Mac? Mac, I’m sorry. You did right – are you wondering if you did, or cursing yourself for it? You’re still the same guy at least in some ways and I’m the same too in some ways. I don’t hate you. Maybe you don’t hate me, either. I’m just sorry sorry sorry. For us both.

  For three days Stacey prowls the house, unable to settle to any work. She prepares meals numbly, almost without noticing. She intends to go over and try to talk to Tess, but she does not go. On the fourth morning the doorbell rings and Tess is standing in the veranda. Involuntarily, Stacey glances around. But Jen is playing in the back yard.

  Hi, Stacey. Have you got a minute?

  Sure. Come in. Have some coffee?

  Well, thanks. Don’t make it specially.

  No, I was just going to have some anyway.

  I thought I’d pop over and see if you wanted me to mind Jen. I mean, when you get your hair done.

  — Tell her. Say something. I can’t. I don’t know how. I’m embarrassed.

  Oh – well, thanks, Tess. But I’m not getting it done this week.

  Are you okay, Stacey? There’s nothing wrong, is there?

  N-no. I’ve just been feeling kind of tired these past few days. It’s nothing. Everything’s okay.

  — Coward.

  Well, I just wondered, seeing as you usually get it done about this time of week.

  No, I’m fine. I’m – getting kind of sick of going to the hairdresser’s every week. And she never does it the way I want it, anyway. I’m thinking of growing it and doing it myself.

  Well, it’s a time-saver if you do. I’ve always done my own.

  Tess?

  Mm?

  Are you okay? Are you feeling all right? I mean, there’s nothing worrying you?

  Tess’s eyes grow wide with question and alarm.

  What makes you say that, Stacey? Do you think I don’t look all right?

  No, it wasn’t that. Well, maybe I thought you looked a little worried or something.

  Heavens, everything is all right. I don’t know why you should think

  — Tell her why. Say it. You’ve got to. I can’t. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to say anything about anything. Maybe she believes everything is all right. Maybe it is all right, actually. Maybe it didn’t really mean anything, that day. Maybe it happened sort of accidentally, and she didn’t give it a second thought.

  Well, I’m sorry. I just wondered.

  No, everything’s fine. The doctor says my blood pressure’s much better, and he’s given me these new tranquilizers. Not that I really need them, but I’m very highly strung, as you know. I always was, even as a child. My father used to say Tess, quit jumping around like a flea – you get on my nerves. He was right. I always had to be doing something. I was always on the go. I’m thinking of taking up tennis again. What do you think?

  Good idea. You probably need to get out more.

  Oh, I go downtown a lot. I’m a great little bargain hunter.

  Yeh.

  Jake’s got a part in a new six-episode series.

  That’s good.

  Yes. He’s playing opposite Fay Faulkner. She’s a lovely girl.

  So-so, I’d say.

  Well, she’s got that very dark hair and that absolutely white skin. Jake says she’s very intelligent as an actress. He says not many of them are. He’s trying out for TV again. It would be wonderful if he got in. They ought to take him on – he’s got such an interesting face. He’d be so happy if he could. Not that he’s not happy right now, in radio, but I mean he’d be even happier. Oh, I meant to say, Stacey, if you want any of the HATSHEPSUT line of cosmetics, I can give you Mrs. Clovelly’s phone number.

  Thanks. I’ll let you know. I’m sort of overstocked at the moment.

  I think they’ve made a lot of difference to my skin. I really firmly believe they have. Don’t you think so?

  Yes – I think they probably have. I always thought you had a marvelous skin, anyway, though.

  It takes a lot of looking after, believe me. I’ve got one of those skins that has a tendency to be dry. It needs nourishment. I just have to keep at it.

  Yeh, well maybe I should try the night cream.

  — Tess. What’s the matter with us? Or maybe you really are only talking about the outer skin? I don’t know. I can’t get through the sound barrier any more than I can with any of them. Is it only me who wants to? (Is it only I who want to?) Goddam. I can only break through with one person. Luke Luke Luke

  I should be running along now, Stacey. Thanks for the coffee. You’ll give me a ring when you want to leave Jen?

  Yes. Sure. Thanks, Tess.

  — I won’t, though. Not ever again. And I don’t know how to explain it. I’ll have to quit going to the hairdresser’s. I can’t suddenly begin to take Jen along with me.

  When Tess has gone, Stacey checks to make sure Jen is all right and then goes upstairs. She sits on the bed and looks at herself in the full-length mirror.

  — I can’t get out. I can’t. There’s no way. Not now. I’ve got to. I’ve got to see him again. I can’t help it. It’s not a luxury, it’s a necessity. Look at that face in the mirror. You’re thirty-nine, kid. Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m not so terrible to look at. That’s odd – I look better to myself now than I did a week ago. Sure, and guess why. I do look better, though. I’m not a bad-looking woman. I haven’t got wrinkles – well, not many, anyway – even though I don’t plaster on the Avocado Wrinkle Cream. My legs are good, and so are my breasts. All right, I’m no glamour girl, but strong men wouldn’t necessarily flinch at the sight of me. Luke
thought I was all right. He liked it. He loved it. Oh my God, it was marvelous. I’ve got to see him again. And talk to him as well. He doesn’t need to. Okay, I know it’s crazy. I am well aware that it is even ludicrous. If it were the other way around, Luke ten years older, it wouldn’t seem peculiar in the slightest, so why should it, this way? It isn’t the number of years that count, it’s the way people feel about each other. I’m damn well going to see him again. You can’t. I’m going to. How? I don’t know – yet. That remains to be seen. Mac has a conference tonight. He won’t be home until midnight, more than likely. Oh Stacey. The more you want to level with everybody, the less you do. I know. You don’t need to tell me. Ease up on me, God, can’t you?