Are We There Yet? (13 page)

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Elijah doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know where to put his hands, doesn't know how familiar to be with Julia, especially with Danny watching. Julia sends him a winking look—something for them to share—and suddenly Elijah feels okay with the situation. Danny is harmless. Julia is everything.

It is, by European standards, obscenely early for dinner—
not yet seven o'clock. This makes it easier for them to change their reservation from two to three. It also ensures that the few other people in the restaurant will be English-speakers like themselves.

Even though most of the tables are empty, they are seated right next to a family of six. Their acquaintance is soon enough made—the youngest child, age three, grabs Elijah's shirt as he goes to sit down. The mother apologizes profusely, while Elijah profusely declares that it's no problem whatsoever. Soon enough, introductions are made, and Mrs. Allison Feldstein of Commack, Long Island, is telling the story of the Feldstein fam-ily's day in Pisa:

“We were worried that we'd be driving all that way for nothing—like those poor souls who drive halfway through South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore. You know what I mean? But Davey has a Sno-globe collection—don't you, Davey?—and he really wanted to have one from the leaning tower. And there's a restaurant two towns over from ours named The Tower of Pizza, so the kids wanted to go on account of that, ha ha. So we got in the car and drove there—it wasn't as long as we thought it would be. The drive was actually enjoyable. And when we got there, the town itself was a very pleasant surprise. It's so strange to see something in person that you've been seeing all your life. I mean, everyone knows the tower leans. But it's not until you're standing right there that you can truly understand what a spectacular kind of thing this is. It's really quite striking, especially when you're looking at it from behind. I mean, buildings just aren't meant to lean away from you, so it's startling when they do. The little one here was terrified it would fall, and I have to tell you, the thought crossed my mind, too. It probably crosses
everyone's mind. It shakes the fundamental trust we have in buildings. And it's a beautiful building—that's something you never hear about. It would be worth seeing even if it wasn't leaning. And the cathedral next to it—who even knew there was a cathedral? But it's really one of the most striking ones we've seen. It was all white and shadow. I loved it. And believe you me, we've seen more than enough cathedrals on this trip….”

As Elijah listens to this, Danny shoots a look at Julia—who rolls her eyes right back. They have become prisoners of Jewish Geography, inextricably bonded to these similar strangers in a strange land.

Mrs. Feldstein's children grow restless before either she or Elijah does. They are swapping itineraries—the Feldsteins are on their way to Venice and have just come from Rome. Danny begins to play with the remnants of bread on the tablecloth. Julia laughs at this and begins to flick crumbs his way. Elijah turns back to the table aglow with conversation—only to find his brother and his newfound love skirmishing playfully. It is the first time in a long time that he feels like the more mature brother.

As soon as he's back, Julia's attention returns to him, and he feels all right again. Danny feels the center slip away from him. He is once more a hypotenuse.

“How was your drive?” Julia asks, and even though it could be meant for either of them, both of them know it is Elijah's place to answer.

“Fine,” Danny says.

“If your idea of ‘fine’ is being trapped in a car with the Red Baron driving,” Elijah adds.

“You're mixing your transportation metaphors.”

“It's not a
metaphor
, it's a
reference
.”

Julia smiles. “I think I'm getting the picture,” she says, and the two of them are reduced to silence.

“You'll have to pardon us—we're brothers,” Danny says after a moment.

“Yes, I've noticed. I have four brothers of my own.”

Four brothers.
Neither Danny nor Elijah can imagine having four brothers. Separately, they wonder if it's harder or easier than having just one.

From this point on, Julia owns the conversation. Elijah admires the fact that she is charming enough to make the people she is with act charming as well. Danny's and Elijah's words suddenly run in paragraphs, not sentences. They tell her of their parents' trickery, of their lives back home. Danny talks about work, and even Elijah isn't bored—not totally. Julia seems interested, and Elijah is interested in the way she is interested.

The Feldsteins leave, with Mrs. Feldstein writing down a list of sites they have to see in Rome. The language of the restaurant slowly shifts to Italian. As the other patrons arrive, Danny, Elijah, and Julia lean into their table to offer critiques.

“What I want to know is this,” Julia begins. She has been drinking wine casually, and the effect can be heard in her voice. “All of the young Italian men are so gorgeous, right?”

“I hadn't noticed,” Danny sniffs.

“Liar!” Elijah cries. “They are absolutely beautiful, and you know it.”

“Okay,” Danny concedes.

“Exactly!” Julia smiles. “They all have this perfect proportion, this delicate balance of divinity and boyishness. I can hardly manage to walk down the street without kissing a dozen
strangers. When I'm around them, I feel like such a woman. So my question is this: What happens? You see all of these beautiful young men … and all of the old men are at least two feet shorter, round, and balding. There's
no trace
of the young men in the old men. None whatsoever. It's like they dance at the ball until they're thirty, then—poof !—the midnight bell chimes. They shrink back to size, and their Fiats turn into pumpkins.”

“What an awful thing to say!” Danny gasps in his most scandalized voice.

“But true, eh?”

“Absolutely true.”

There is a pause, and then Danny asks,“So what brings you here?” He is still thinking of her walking down crowded narrow alleyways, kissing strangers.

“It's an old story,” Julia says, leaning back in her chair. “Only for me, it's new. I went to school for industrial design. All my life, I've been fascinated by chairs—I know it sounds silly, but it's true. Form meets purpose in a chair. My parents thought I was crazy, but somehow I convinced them to pay my way to California. To study furniture design. I was all excited at first. It was totally unlike me to go so far away from home. But I was sick of the cold and sick of the snow. I figured a little sun might change my life. So I headed down to L.A. and roomed with the friend of an ex-girlfriend of my brother's. She was an aspiring radio actress, which meant she was home a lot.

“At first, I loved it.I didn't even let the summer go by.I dove right into my classes. Soon enough, I learned I couldn't just focus on chairs. I had to design spoons and toilet-bowl cleaners and thermostats. The math never bothered me, but the professors did. They could demolish you in a second without giving
you a clue of how to rebuild. I spent more and more time in the studio, with other crazed students who guarded their own projects like toy-jealous kids. I started to go for walks. Long walks. I couldn't go home because my roommate was always there. The sun was too much for me, so I'd stay indoors. A certain kind of indoors—the anonymous indoors. I spent hours in supermarkets, walking aisle to aisle, picking up groceries and then putting them back. I went to bowling alleys and pharmacies. I rode in buses that kept their lights on all night. I sat in Laundromats because once upon a time Laundromats made me happy. But now the hum of the machines sounded like life going past.

“Finally, one night I sat too long in the laundry. The woman who folded in the back—Alma—walked over to me and said, ‘What are you doing here, girl? ’ And I knew that there wasn't any answer. There couldn't be any answer. And that's when I knew it was time to go.

“I had saved some money—not much, but enough. I was far from home, and my first decision was that I couldn't go back. I chose Europe because it was somewhere else, and I'd always wanted to go there.”

“You thought you'd be happier here,” Elijah says.

Julia shakes her head. “Not really. But I figured if I was going to be miserable, I might as well be miserable for different reasons.”

“And are you miserable?” Danny asks.

“Strangely, no.”

He can't help but look her in the eye and ask more. “And have you found what you're looking for?”

Julia looks at him quietly for a moment, then shrugs.“I don't
even know what I'm looking for, although I hope I'll know it if I find it along the way. Sometimes I want to simplify my life into a single bare thing. And other times I want to complicate it so thoroughly that everything I touch will become bound in some way to me. I've become quite aware of my contradictions, but there's no true resolution in that.”

The waiter returns, a conversational semicolon. Dessert and coffee are deferred. Danny tries to look Julia in the eye again, but she is studying the tablecloth, finger-tracing lines around the remaining silverware.

Elijah reaches over and touches her hand. He feels nervous and brave. She looks up and doesn't pull away.

Danny takes care of the check.

Outside, night is just beginning. The sun has been down for some time, but the Italians use another definition for night. As Elijah and Danny leave the restaurant, they take turns holding the door for Julia. She murmurs thank you to each and lifts on her toes when her face first touches the night air.

“Now what?” Danny asks.

Elijah is taken aback. He thought it was obvious.

“We're going to go for coffee,” he says discreetly.

Danny's energy fades at once, confronted with a “we” that doesn't include him.

“Oh,” he says. “Of course.” Then, “Do you need money?”

“No. Thank you.”

Danny waits for a moment. He wants to see if Julia is going to say anything. If she wants him to stay, he will.

But Julia remains silent, swaying from foot to foot.

Elijah wants to ask his brother what he's going to do, but is afraid it will sound too cruel.

“Don't wake me when you come back,” Danny says instead. Then he turns to Julia and tells her it's been nice to meet her.

“Absolutely,” she replies. “Thank you for dinner. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon.”

“I'm sure.”

Danny moves his hand in a little wave and makes his departure. After he's walked a block, he turns around and sees Julia and Elijah in the same lamplight frame, discussing where to go next. Their bodies are not touching, but their expressions are. Danny turns back to the street and heads for the hotel.

“He seems nice,” Julia says, some minutes later.

“Well, I wouldn't call him naughty, if that's the other choice,” Elijah replies. They are walking alongside the Arno— the sidewalk is also a river, of men in jackets and women with jewelry headed out into the evening. The last thing Elijah wants to talk about is Danny.

“So the two of you don't get along?”

“Not really.”

How many times has Elijah heard this question before? Even though it's a question, it contains the speaker's own observation:
I've seen the two of you and know you don't get along. Isn't that true?
Elijah could say so much more than a simple “not really.” He could compile lists of incidents and spites. But then, when he recited them, he would sound bitter and mean—in other words, he would sound just like Danny. One of the worst things about Danny is the tendency to take on Elijah's qualities when talking to or about him. Elijah can hardly bear it. So ignoring it—ignoring
him
—seems like the best idea.

But Julia persists. “Still, he seems to care about you.”

Elijah wonders what observation
this
statement could be based upon.

“Not really,” he mutters again.

“I think you're wrong.”

Elijah is growing impatient—Danny is souring the conversation from afar. “
Look
,” he says, and immediately modifies his tone. “I guess you just haven't known us long enough. He doesn't really care about me at all. Not in any way that matters.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Here's an example.” Elijah stops on a street corner and points to his shoes. “My shoelaces. I know they come untied a lot. I am aware of the situation. But every chance Danny gets, he's telling me to tie my shoes. At least once an hour, sometimes more frequently. And I wouldn't mind it—I swear I wouldn't mind it—if he was actually concerned about my well-being. If he was worried about me tripping into traffic, I would tie them every time. But no. He doesn't care whether or not I fall on my face. He wants me to tie my shoelaces because untied shoelaces
annoy
him. They
embarrass
him. They
get on his nerves.
”

“How do you know?”

“Believe me, I know. If you live with someone all your life, you can tell when you are annoying them. Their face just shuts down. Their words sound almost mechanical, because they are reining in all the other emotions. I think I'd also know if I made Danny happy, but I never make him happy. Ever.”