After the Fire (26 page)

“Tessie said there's something the matter with you. I heard her. She told you, too, Nanny, don't you remember? I heard you both in the kitchen. Tessie said she thought you were queer because you didn't talk at all
that day when you came and we weren't home. She said you were a bad woman, and that's why Daddy went away from you. But I know that's not true. You're not bad, and Tessie is dumb. I hate her. I told Daddy.”

For an instant, Hyacinth closed her eyes. Then she heard her own voice coming as if from a hollow place far off. It seemed to echo in her ears.

“And what did Daddy say?”

“He said of course you weren't bad.”

Nanny, whose flush made two red wounds on her cheeks, interrupted him. “You need to be careful of what you say, Jerry. I don't remember that Tessie ever used the word
bad,
only
sick
. Be accurate. That means not making mistakes.”

“I am accurate. I am accurate, Mom. I always remember things, don't I, Mom?”

“Yes, you have a wonderful memory.”

“Oh, he does. I know that,” Nanny said. And turning to Hyacinth, she explained, “This is all a mistake. Nobody meant any harm. Tessie made a mistake about your being sick, too. Maybe you were that day. I don't know, I wasn't here, but you do seem very well today. Their Uncle Arnie talks about you to the children, and he's never said a word to them about your being sick, or anything. And he would have told them. He talks about you a lot.”

This woman was not fooling Hyacinth. Under the veneer of sympathy and the curiosity now verging on the prurient, there was perhaps a touch of malice, an inference that something was “going on” and that Uncle Arnie was perhaps more to her than a mere uncle.

This kind of thing was horrible for the children. They
needed to get off the subject immediately. Yet she could not help one more question.

“What else did Daddy tell you, Jerry?”

“He said Tessie should not talk like that. He said he was going to speak to her about it.”

Emma persisted. “You won't tell me when you're coming again, Mommy.”

“I'll tell you over the telephone, darling. I can't tell you right now.”

“Then can we go to your house?”

How could she say that she had no house anymore? “I'll tell you that over the telephone, too.”

“Why do you have to go away again today, Mommy?”

The nanny's interest was palpable. It was legible in her very expression, which said silently:
Now how are you going to answer that one?
Well, maybe you couldn't blame her. The situation really was out of the ordinary, a good topic for speculation and conversation.

“I'm going to school again, Emma, and I mustn't be late.”

“School? But you're grown up. Grown-ups don't go to school.”

“Sometimes they do,” Jerry said wisely. “Dad told me.”

That settled the question. If Dad told him, then it must be so.

“We really should start now,” said Nanny. “It's time.”

Promptly, they all stood and went through the lobby toward the exit and the car. Emma and Jerry went running ahead.

“Beautiful children,” said Nanny.

She might have been awkwardly trying to make amends. Or else to “rub it in,” either one. How to know the devious path of her thoughts, or anybody's thoughts? In any case, it did not matter because they would change nothing.

A few hours later, as the plane rose into the evening sky, Hyacinth tried to recall those final minutes, but her mind seemed to have gone empty. She did recall that last night, while she had sat making foolish fashion sketches, she had been full of anticipation. Yet today it had gone all wrong. It was not that Jerry and Emma were unhappy, for the nanny was good to them and it was plain that they liked her. Gerald, of course, adored them, so it was none of those things. It was only the cruel, undeniable truth that was slowly filling the empty space in her mind: Her children, her flesh as she always thought of them, the flesh of her heart—were slipping away. She was losing them.

Late one afternoon Hyacinth answered a knock on the door and found Arnie.

“I got no answer when I called today, so since I was coming up from Wall Street anyway and had to pass nearby, I thought I'd take a chance on finding you home.”

“I was at class till just now. I haven't had time to straighten up all this mess. You wouldn't think a little place like this would get so messy. But come in anyway.”

She was prattling as people can do when they are taken unawares and are already too unnerved to be
taken unawares. Standing in the doorway, Arnie was within reaching distance of the card table on which her work was spread, and she was so close to his face that she was able to catch its flicker of astonishment before he wiped the flicker away with a greeting.

“Well, stranger, long time no see.”

“But you hear me often enough on the telephone,” she said, and smiled at him, not because she felt like smiling, but because being the kindly person he was, he deserved a smile.

“Not the same. You want to go out to dinner?”

His eye had caught the still-unwrapped delicatessen sandwich next to the bottle of Evian water, as well as the shabby bed in the room beyond. He had seen everything. I swear he can read my mind, thought Hyacinth.

“Thanks, but no,” she replied. “Another time. This stuff that I'm doing here is due tomorrow at my second class in the morning. I'm really working hard,” she said brightly.

“Good, good. I won't get in your way. I'll stay a few minutes to rest my feet, that's all.”

Taking his seat across from her in the only other chair, he regarded her. And she, not even raising her eyes from the pencil and paper, was aware of being under close examination.

“How've you been doing?” he asked abruptly.

“Just fine. Busy and fine.”

“Put the pencil down for a minute and talk to me.”

The tone, both peremptory and anxious, surprised her, so she complied.

“I want you to level with me, Hy. You think I don't
know you're miserable? Jerry told Gerald about what happened last week when you were down there. And yesterday in the coffee shop after surgery, Gerald told me. So that's why I'm here. He was sorry about it, about the maid and the things she said. He'd like to be able to explain things to you himself. For the children's sake, it would be better for you and him to have a little friendly contact now and then, he thinks.”

Arson. A man killed. Consider yourself lucky. Get on with your life. Friendly contact.

“You can tell him for me, Arnie, that he should be ashamed of himself to give you a message like that. He doesn't mean a word of it, for one thing. And in these circumstances…. He knows better. So please don't ask me again, will you?” It was an effort to speak, and she said no more.

Arnie made a gesture of discouragement. “All right, I won't.” He sighed. “Beats me. I guess nobody ever said divorce is easy. The fallout from it goes on forever, maybe, like a nuclear explosion. Me, I never married, so I guess I wouldn't know. Why I never married? Don't know that, either. Christ, the pretty women we see in this kind of practice! Maybe that's what boggled my mind. You know, plastic surgery, when I was a beginner, I thought I was fixing up war wounds, accidents, and stuff like that. But most of it's turned out to be making women look younger.”

Gerald, too, had had aspirations. She remembered that young man in Texas who had been born with half a nose, and how Gerald had described the awful, freakish face, and how he had been remade, given a new
personality. So now it's pretty women, she thought. Well, that's all right. Somebody has to help them, too. And if some of them make extra payments to the doctor in bed, that's all right, too, as far as I'm concerned.

Where has the passion gone, the passion for him that fired me from the day I first saw him until the night it exploded into a real three-alarm fire? Gone. Gone. Dead.

Arnie mused, “Yes, yes. Too bad. I always tell you, don't I, that I like you both. And Gerald—Gerald was a find for me. My first partner was a dud. Poor handling of patients, and too many botched jobs in the OR. Lucky we weren't sued. But they're already talking about Gerald. He's the coming man down there. Top of the line, he is. Matter of fact, I'm thinking of cutting back, taking less pay, and leaving more to him. Not that I'm old. God, I'm not fifty yet. But I'd like to start taking it a little easier, spend more time outdoors with my horses.”

He was settling in for a cozy chat, and she began to feel impatience, recalling that occasionally he was given to such spurts of talk. When he gave her a long look, she had a quick recall of Francine's remark:
“This man's a little bit crazy about you.”
The thought unsettled her, and she seized at once on his last word to remark about horses.

“Plural, Arnie? You've bought a companion for Major?”

“This is different. I ride Major. The new one's a Thoroughbred, a beauty. He's a racehorse. I board him at the same place, though. Paid a fortune for him. You can
make a fortune, too, if he wins, but if he doesn't, it's still a hobby, full of thrills. You never watched a race?”

“No, never.”

It was a pity to be impatient with Arnie. For all his tough-sounding speech, his styled hair, and his sporty yellow silk tie printed with bridles and saddles, he had a quality of youthful artlessness that was in some way touching.

“Yes, it's an expensive hobby, but if I can afford it, why not? When I take a flyer and I win, I like to treat myself. Bought a honey of a little Mercedes over the weekend. Not quite up to a Lamborghini yet.” He laughed. “But I always give a big hunk of the win to charity. Kids' hospitals or something. Salves my conscience.” He laughed again. “Say, you're a kid yourself, back to school. How's it going?”

“Fine. It's interesting. I like it. I wasn't sure I would, but I do.”

“Sure. So maybe
it's
fine, but
you're
not.” Again, he stared at her. “This is no way to live. Look at this dump. And your supper here, a sandwich from the deli. When I think of the dinners you made in that house, a queen couldn't eat better. Why the hell don't you take Gerald's money? He's making enough, for God's sake. He's making plenty.”

“Arnie, you already know the answer, and a minute ago you said that you wouldn't ask—”

Waving away the objection, he continued, “This is no place for you. Weren't you able to do any better than this even without his money?”

“I have nothing except what I got when the house was sold. I've put the money away, and I have to live on the interest income. Have you any idea what apartments cost in this city?”

“Sure do. That's why I don't have one. It's cheaper and a lot more convenient to go to the Waldorf or someplace for a couple of nights when I come here.” Arnie stood up and peered into the bedroom. “Geez, the place is bare as a stable. Major lives better. Why didn't you bring some of your furniture at least?”

“Why, Arnie, it wouldn't fit here, can't you see? It wouldn't belong in the first place. And in the second, it literally wouldn't fit. Neither of the sofas would get up the stairs and through this door.”

“I guess you're right,” he said almost mournfully. “When I think. When I think of last Christmas at your house! It was sad without the kids' father, but they had you and your mother, and it was a picture, the way they looked eating chocolate cake and— What are you going to do, make Christmas for them here, for God's sake?”

She wished he would only go away and leave her alone. And in spite of herself, her eyes filled so that, not wanting him to see them, she got up to look out of the window. It was past dusk, but the street was as well lit as a stage on which diverse people, shabby and stylish, young and old, the working fathers coming home, the patrons of a Chinese restaurant, and the literati shopping for antique books, all went about their affairs. All had a lively purpose, or looked as if they did. They had somebody, husband or wife, children or friends or lover, waiting for them, or they looked as if they had.

Arnie's arm went around her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Don't cry,” he said gently.

He should not have said it, because immediately, the tears welled up again.

“I wish to hell I knew what this was all about,” he said, still very gently.

“He thinks I did it! That's why he's punishing me.”

In the next instant after she had spoken these words, and long after that, Hyacinth would have retracted them if she could. To think that she had let such shockingly dangerous words slip out of her mouth! Who could say that they would never slip carelessly out of Arnie's mouth sometime?

“That you did what?”

“Set the fire. Burned down your building.”

“What?” he cried, and released her. His eyes were wide in horror. “What? I don't believe it!”

“Yes, yes, it's true.”

And then something, some inner check occurred, and she was able to see that some amends, at least, must be made.

“Yes, isn't it crazy? When I was nowhere near the building? I hadn't been there in weeks. I was home with the children.”

“He must be out of his mind,” Arnie said. “Why the hell would you do a thing like that?”

“Very simple. On account of Sandy.”

“Why, if anybody did it, I'll tell you, it would have been Sandy. I wouldn't put it past the cheap tramp.”

Now, suddenly, fright grew into panic. And Hyacinth, grasping Arnie's lapels, looked straight into his eyes.

“Oh my God, you won't ever tell him or anybody what I just said, will you, Arnie?”

“Of course not, Hy. Would I hurt you?”

His eyes looked straight back into hers. They were very kind.

“No, I don't think you would,” she said.

“Your mother approves of me.” He was making a little teasing joke. “And if she does, that should be enough for you. She's pretty smart, that lady is.”

With the fancy handkerchief from his breast pocket, he wiped her eyes. “Trust me, Hyacinth. I have already forgotten what you told me. If anyone ever asks, and nobody will—why should they?—I'll say I don't know what they're talking about. I'm thinking of those two little kids, and I'm thinking of you. This is awful. You've been very unjustly accused.”