Five Legs Page 9
Dear girl, she’s. It’s. A frightful shock, an uncompromising burden that she has to bear. Even if she’s. So young too and there’s no doubt that her eyes held mine, she smiled that smile, a sad and knowing one as she went on down the hall. Even if she’s. Better off. Rough hands and the oil on her back, the shoulderblades like beating hearts. Be alright, won’t it, if I undo the top? I hate the line it leaves, Lucan aching in the garden’s warmth, smoothing in circles the oil, his fingers timid on the flesh and I couldn’t take my eyes away. Where she lay on the towel. Her softness bulged. Decent aren’t I, I mean, it looks alright? Lucan’s disobedient body; looks alright? Oh boy! Oil and perspiring in his hands! Gone now, and she’s alone and searching, lost and this surly Oswald has the nerve, the utter nastiness to. “Sure. Sure. But she’s more interested.” Snide voice, bored, and there’s no need, there’s just no need for. “More than usually aware, you might say, of the, the opportunities, the dramatic opportunities of this . . .” Cruel, what a cruel and. Oh boy! Lucan amazed, simply amazed at the vitriol, the black dislike, but then. What can you expect from a life like his?
“What do you mean? Susan?” Nancy picks it up, the silly bitch! Playing his game. “Oh what do you mean, I’ve never seen anyone so, so.” Expansive and scratching beneath my coat, my knowing smile for I’m right, the point is obvious; he proves it every time he speaks. “Why she’s simply wonderful.” In the mirror glancing and he sees, good Lord! The rushing truck, it’s chasing right behind, ten yards or less with clouds of throwing snow and the sound of its terrible wheels. Wouldn’t you know! Soon as you pass them every bloody time they speed up, they breathe right down your neck. Lucan on the descending road increases speed and it’s dangerous for chrissakes, we’re going too fast! Precipitous on either side, the porous snow and fences rattling past with Lucan scurrying ahead of the brutal shape. Staring and clutching the wheel for miles, it seems like. Miles and we’re too light on the road, we barely touch. Skimming, skimming the icy surface and that stupid boor stays right behind. My only hope, the only hope is that he’ll turn, perhaps. Perhaps he’s going to Hamilton or. Driving. Desperately driving. Rushing back too fast, too dangerously: intently steering gauging the road for miles and miles in the growing past and I’ve got no control, good Lord this isn’t the way, I must. Trees bare on the hill and a wind that blows in those bones. Those cavernous bones and I, walked in a rising, walked and saw. Dear God there must be! I do. I do. There must. For I do repent, I have and meaculpa have and do, I know. A wasted time and when I moved into her bed I left my. Work and the real world behind. Irresponsibility carried. God to its logical, Lucan. I didn’t, but should have seen. I didn’t. Please please forgive. Nightstreets we ran, pinwheel darkness in my eyes and my thesis, hah! Not a line dear God, and the course work only adequate. Never adjusted, that’s the. Doctoral work another life, and my years at Western far away. Confession, he knows so well because I went down there for my doctorate with a job promised for my return. Forgive me. Neglect and responsibility and selfishness that unaware. Overwhelms. Careless lives, day to day and. Think I’m pregnant Lucan. Matter-of-fact, how can she! Pregnant. Wow! Impose your selfishness and along comes some. Pregnant. Ergot. Ergot and quinine’s what they say. Both hands clenched to stay on the road, swinging on this curve, slow down, slow. Let him pass, for heaven’s sake let him. But then. Behind him, poking along in his filthy wake and blinded. Sure you bet, the world combines, it’s the whole bloody pattern. Why not a truck too? Not be pushed, no. Lucan Crackell’s not your man to be pushed. Around. And grimly. Got to try Vera, we’ve got to keep on trying. Are you sure, for as much as I. Still I can’t know, I’ve never seen her take them. Are you sure you’re taking them. Right?
For chrissakes Lucan, that’s not the trouble! (Whitefaced and bitter-voiced.) What’s the matter, can’t you see I’m sick! They make me, oh God they make me so sick. Bewildered Lucan, frightened. Patting her hand, pat-pat, an empty reassurance, jeez if I ever. Saw what can I? Lucan, cold serious, her voice, they’re not. We’ve got to face the fact. It’s almost three months now and they’re. Not going to work. Turning away with strands of her blonde hair falling down.
What are we going to do, then? My rising, for I thought. Dear God I was sure they’d. A fly that buzzing, bumps, and. Inescapable commitments. What on earth are we going to do? Can’t, she won’t want. Oh what a terrible . . .
Not looking up as, faintly, her voice. What. Do you want to do Lucan? Oh God poor girl. Emotions soft, chaotic in this vulnerable time and Lucan feels the tears behind his eyes as reaching, he strokes. Honourable, must do. And pats. The thing, can’t leave her betrayed. Betrayed and alone. Anyway she’s said.
I think, I think, I think we should get married. You know that. I’ve said it all along.
No. I’ve explained Lucan, not like this. Wan smiling with her face. Wouldn’t work, you know that. Pausing to consider the spring light on the air. I’ve had enough of. Strands of hair and her brushing hand, impatiently. Of marriage for convenience. Sighing, she stretches and her easy breasts. Huh! I’d rather.
Rather what, love? Terrible, a terrible thing but still. The only other way. The prospect of brutality, of sordid illegality. Dear God, I won’t like that! And my melting heart at his woman’s selflessness. You’d rather what?
I’d rather, I think I’d rather have the child and live alone. Good Christ, she can’t. Couldn’t do that, what would I. Into her eyes; she means it! People say, and what?
Good heavens Vera you can’t be. Serious. You couldn’t. Living alone, unmarried! Leaping to his feet and pacing in the room. With a, a. Baby! Just too much, too much that’s all, she can’t, couldn’t possibly.
Why not, Lucan, why can’t I be serious? Aggressive, in her voice her staring eyes. And what’s wrong with keeping a ba—
Well. Quickly. Well, ah. There’s. Money, money for example! You wouldn’t be able to work or anything for, for months and I, I haven’t got. Much. I mean, I’d help of course, you know that, but. Good Lord what can she be thinking of! Couldn’t send her, not from. What would London. Good Lord! Certainly Vera, I’d help as much as I could, but. But how do you know, I mean. After all these pills and. How do you know it’ll be. You know. Uncertain voice, careful, and her eyes keep watching me. That it will be. You know. Alright.
Don’t say that, don’t even suggest! Abruptly turning, rising to the window and her voice. You think I haven’t thought for chrissakes, you think that isn’t preying on me like, like poison? But Lucan, I. Hands, trembling hands in her shining hair, hands blue-veined that clutch at her robe’s lapels. I just, I don’t know what to do! That’s all. Spring ice melting.
You know what I think Vera. Yes, yes! He overwhelms with hands and voice her futile protests. But you don’t for whatever reasons, want it. Fine. I’m bound to respect, after all, your point of view. Cigarette, he lights a cigarette; reason’s restraint, that’s the thing, an ordered approach; and sitting, he straightens his trousers at the knee. Wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t have it any other way. Deep in lungs and forcing, blowing grey smoke, clouding her face. Pensive, staring dully through the window’s glass. Must say though, love, I think, really. That. Well I know how painful, lousy in fact, your marriage. Lucan puzzled, for surely she can’t think that I. Not the same, surely she doesn’t think it’d be the. I mean we’ve been living together, it’s not as if. Just a casual, a promiscuous affair. Turning to me, she turns and:
Lucan, could I have a smoke? She’s, she hasn’t been. Good Lord, I don’t think she’s even been listening! She . . .
Sure, sure love. He offers and she takes. Abstractedly. The lighter’s flame erasing shadows from her cheeks; falling, she sinks close-eyed and sighing back into the chair. Unreasonable. Growing resentment and the lines about her eyes. The fact is I think she’s unreasonable. Depression, that’s it, lethargy, emanating; reaching out to numb me. But I won’t be. No. Reason’s restraint and action of some ki
nd, and that’s for sure. We have to. Act. You can’t just muddle on. But how? She hasn’t, not once, she. The smoke in whorls between us; slumping unhelpful, passive, hands blunt fingered against her brow, she stares. And smokes. What in hell am I? Three times at least, or four! Get married, I said and I mean it too; haven’t just run off, haven’t abandoned selfishly the way some men would do. But she rejects for chrissakes, surely she knows! I. You know Vera, there is, there is another way. I’ve said, good, I’ve said it and her face returns. It seems to me that, if you don’t want to get. Married. Well. Staring, she’s not, not helping me at all for God’s sake, you’d think! Tremulous, her eyes and where’s the hardness, certainty, she used to be so. Goddamnit she’s! It seems there’s only one alternative. That’s all!
How, Lucan?
How! Good Lord, she’s so. Leaving it all to me, she’s forcing, making it look as though. Good God! C’mon Vera, you know perfectly well, don’t. Don’t make it any harder than it is. I’ve offered, you know I’ve offered, we could get. Married. Tomorrow! There, she has the choice and she can choose. And take our chances.
What do you mean, and her voice is sharp, chances? Too strong, don’t want to. Overdo it.
Well. Too strong, I retract the word Vera. Chances is too strong a word. I only mean. You said yourself you don’t want, that you’d prefer to marry again under. Under different circumstances. That’s all. God what’s the matter with her, where’s the love and closeness? Closeness, where’s the union that we’ve had? And, well as. Unpleasant as. You know. After all the pills and your sickness and everything. Twisting me, isolating every bloody word, she’s trying to make me seem, the. It’s just not fair, that’s. All. Said so yourself, didn’t you? That there’s a danger, that.
Okay. Okay Lucan! What about the, this alternative then?
Aah! Well a friend. Decisive rising and once around the room. I have a friend who knows of a doctor, a perfectly respectable doctor, he’s supposed to be. Very good. And it seems he. Turning away so I don’t have to, blankly staring into the street, God don’t. Don’t look at me! Choice, you have the. Seems he will. Will. You know. Oh God Vera! And suddenly on his knees, Lucan Crackell, tears in his voice and kneading her hands. Vera Vera! He’s a good doctor, I know he is and it’s not as if. They do it all the time in, Sweden. Kneeling. Her hands are moist and cold. I wouldn’t, wouldn’t even suggest if. Resting his face on her passive thighs, and my voice subdued. But you, you don’t want to get married, I know, and there is. There’s always the danger. God Vera, you know I. Love you. You know I do and it only takes a couple of hours to drive out there and back and we’ll. Her hand on his head and stroking, her breathing. What else can we do, desperate; what else can we do?
Nothing. Nothing I guess. Hands on my head and her lap. Thank God it’s turned and I can. Hamilton obviously, wheewh! Easing the old foot and wiping perspiration, relaxing for that was far too. Dangerous. Oh boy! Piling ahead it disappears among the trees: Lucan driving still in its sound; rough churning wheels, inevitable out of the impersonality of night it comes, scarring the earth with violent intent. Brutal hollow sound, his body struck and broken in the snow. Sick from the open door, retching dryly, sobbing. Dead white, her face and clenching hands, again, I’m going to be. Stop the. Soothing, trying my best, four times or five on the journey out and I’m sure I’ve, couldn’t have because there was no sign, but. Lost the way. Her body stiffening and Lucan’s sad attempts to comfort her: sliding from behind the wheel, sliding to hold, awkwardly, to pat with selfsame anguish in the gut and vomit bitter in my throat. Clumsy. Perhaps I should have turned and my hands seem rough. Gas station there, back where the land falls away, but. There was no, there’ll have to be a. Sign or something.
CRAPP, ONTARIO
HOME OF DOCTOR SOMEBODYOROTHER
ABORTIONIST
(Lions’ Club Three Blocks East)
Can’t have, it must be on ahead. Therethere Vera. What, jeez, can I say? Poor lost, my poor lost, my poor lost love on your brutal day. There Vera. There. Clumsy futile, what can I. Soon be. It will be all over soon. Before you know it. Filled with love and sickness, fear around my heart. The town, they know, they must. Lace-curtained watchers under shingled roofs, at strangers’ cars that stop before this winterpeeled and battered door with broken gingerbread above, along the eaves. My foot at an ornate scraper for the mud that clings and glancing, a glance at Vera huddled in the car. Pale too, my face I’m sure and glistening whitely. Jeez, I feel so. Waving my hand back but she doesn’t see, or perhaps. Perhaps she doesn’t want to anymore and Lucan cautiously, dear God my heart transported by these muddy feet! Cautiously into this cluttered unprofessional room, with. Good Lord! Antimacassars for chrissakes and tiptoeing, I’m tiptoeing over to this little bell. Ring and be seated. Eat me. So silent with the feet of mice in the walls. Careful finger, quietly, careful finger unwilling on the. RRRINGGG! Aargh! Good grief it’s right. Wow! What a. Right above my frigging head. Lucan sitting dutifully, uncertain on this patchworked afghan and, tensing, leaping to his feet with cushions scattered to the floor as bursting through the door he comes. Good morning, ha! Good morning, my boy. Bending, Lucan bending to retrieve the yellow satin, purple and yellow cushion by his feet. Don’t worry, don’t worry about that and clutching my hand, shaking intimately. You phoned me last night? Anguished with the cushion in my arm; pale face and moist pale hand, he.
Yes. Yes, you see we. Garish and lumpy. Blurred reproduction, three colours, of Niagara Falls. You see, we need. Oh God!
I know and when people are in trouble. Glittering eyes, tiny, and rimless glasses; pudgy hand on his heart, a moment. They come to me. From all over they come to me. And do you know why? Do you know why they come from as far away as Detroit? Two and three times, some of them, do you know why, eh? Eyes wet staring into mine; tiny eyes that wait.
No I, I can’t say that I.
Because I do a good job, that’s why! You notice, confidential lowering of his voice and jerking to the window, peering out, you notice that I haven’t asked your name. Bent and turning from the curtain’s lace he slowly winks, a long grotesque staring wink. Anonymity. He winks again with screwed up mouth and puffy cheeks. That’s right, I try to use a little modern psychology to ease the burdens my patients bear. Oh I know, alright, how people feel when they come to me. I certainly do. Stepping forward in the room, I know how you feel! Yes I do, I do indeed, how much you need me now and I respect. Eager in the dark, mice beneath the floorboards scamper; lace-filtered parlour light, the shadows cornered in this room and pale, she’s huddled, twisting there. Clearly. Tried, I’ve really, and it was yours. Eyes that standing stare, wet watching eyes and Lucan wilting, surrounded by accusations; terror and the rodent feet. Say, where you kids from?
Toronto.
Don’t. Raised hands protectively, he turns to stare. Don’t tell me about Toronto! Go down, I have to go down at least once a week. Sister-in-law’s there, my oldest brother’s widow, you know, and she. Gracious! I’m telling you, well. Intimate hand beside his voice, he leans. She doesn’t drink to drown her sorrows; she drinks to forget. It’s disgusting. Headshaking now, reproval and the twittering feet. And I have to drive down with her, with her supply I guess you’d call it. Ha-ha. Twice a week sometimes. She belts it back for a, why she must be, aah. Seventy-seven, yes. Seventy-seven if she’s a day, my brother was. How can he, what’s he? Swallowing, Lucan Crackell’s focused on the civic pledge that framed and hanging, oozes laurel vined and smiling on the wall. Perhaps it’s, you might think it’s unkind of me to talk this way about family. But I’m fed up, fed right up to here. Do you know, indignant voice, she doesn’t even put the exchange on her cheques! Pretty cheap, eh? And it’s not as if. She’s got, why my brother left her very well set up, very well indeed I might say. He was insurance, you know, and a real go-getter, believe me! Shouting yet she doesn’t even, I have to pay the exchange! That’s what really takes the cake, y
ou’d think after driving my poor brother, she drove him right into his grave, and make no mistake! Abruptly stopping. The shouting settles and his eyes are blank as pennies. Then, agitated in his corpulence, he zig-zags quickly into the room, he stops and staring at the wall. His wavering voice. You’d think she’d at least pay the exchange. Turning hopelessly and Lucan has to look away. It’s only fifteen cents, after all. Fifteen lousy cents. That’s not too much to expect is it?
I wave and she doesn’t come: beckoning but she shakes her head, so muddy-footed once again I walk to the splattered dripping car. Changed your mind, but? But. Not going, I’ve decided I’m not going in. Good Lord! Overflowing ashes from the dashboard tray and they’ve fallen where I’ve thrown them on the floor: her certain, apologetic face; I’m sorry Lucan, I really am but I won’t go in. Crossed her plump legs shining in the sun, it’s warm on my back. After all this and she. What are we going to do? But Vera, he’s. He’s not a bad guy and I’m sure, I know he. What on earth are we going to do? Lucan straining suddenly to see, for what’s that, it’s a. Good God! Couldn’t be. Wheels still turning and it’s on its back, a monstrous insect helpless on its back. Black and cream, its armour crumpled round the head and now their voices trumpet in. Babble in my ears. Skid marks and there’s nobody, not a frigging soul! Oh how terrible. Braking automatically we slow. “No, couldn’t be, it must be old, there’s no one here.”