Fearless (42 page)

It was Max, speaking in a whisper, “Carla. I’m at my apartment.”

“They let you go—”

“Yes!” he hissed in his hurry to tell her. “Listen. I can’t talk long. Can you meet me somewhere? Or do I have to go down to you?”

“Are you supposed to be—?”

“Carla, I don’t have much time!” He almost moaned. “Brillstein and my wife—they’re going to put me in a mental institution. I have to get away. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“No!” she said, shocked.

“You can’t?”

“No, I mean, they’re not going to put you away.”

“I can’t talk. Listen, I don’t know where…Grand Central. Do you know the Oyster Bar Restaurant?”

“No.”

“It’s underneath Grand Central. Take the Lex. That’s near you, isn’t it? Or a cab. I’ll pay you back. Go into Grand Central and look for the signs. The Oyster Bar Restaurant. Meet me there at noon. Don’t go in. At the entrance. Okay? Please?”

“Sure, Max.”

He hung up. He had sounded crazy. She was sad for a moment and didn’t want to move. She was reluctant to go out, blocks away from home, into the underground with beggars and crazies, to the middle of Manhattan filled with people, thousands and thousands, all indifferent, all strange.

It passed quickly. She had wished for something to do. Max needed her. Wasn’t that better than a job? If he was really crazy then she owed him her help all the more.

The trip uptown was scary. Everyone in New York seemed demented in one way or another. Many were openly so: in rags, shouting at invisible tormentors, thrusting paper cups and insisting on money as if you owed them charity. Many more were fearful, pretending to be self-absorbed while they peeked from behind newspapers, wearing earphones that disappeared into their clothing or shoulder bags, as if they were switchboard operators wandering sadly to find something they could plug into. The teenagers were scary, especially the black teenagers, whose eyes were so angry and so hopeless that she couldn’t believe there was any mercy in their hearts. She avoided meeting their defiant stares.

“Don’t look at him,” Manny had once whispered to her because she looked closely at a man on the subway whose pants were gray with filth, who had a cut across his forehead, and whose left shoe top had come off. “When you’re really poor you don’t want people to look at you,” he explained later. “All they got is their pride. You were shaming him. He could kill you for that.”

“Oh, come on, Manny!” She had laughed, nervous at the idea.

“Don’t laugh.” Manny had been grave. He pointed to the sky to emphasize the importance of what he was saying. “I know what I’m talking about. I was one of them in Manila. I didn’t care the Americans were so rich so long as they didn’t look at me like I was an animal in the zoo.”

She got to Grand Central without incident. The station seemed to be in another time. The curved interior walls were made of smooth gray stone as thick as a tomb’s. The clocks were old-fashioned and so was the lettering embedded in the walls that directed people to the trains or the exits. Carla thought it was too gloomy.

Max probably thinks it looks beautiful, she realized and felt better about this meeting. Grand Central was Max’s kind of place. At least he was still partly himself.

She found the Oyster Bar easily. It was also preserved from New York’s past. She liked it better. The arched entrance walls were cunningly made with once white tiles that now had a yellow tint. One half of the restaurant had snaking U-shaped counters to accommodate quick lunches; the other half had tables with red-checked cloths. It reminded her of her hardworking father.

She stood outside in the station’s tombs, soothed by the echo of footsteps. She saw Max from a long way off coming toward her. Behind him a cloud of dusty light from the street darkened his face. He walked like an old man.

She hurried to help him.

“Hello, Carla,” he said as she reached him and put her arm through his. He smiled at her anxious grip. “I’m okay. I’m just getting used to walking distances. I guess I don’t trust that my head is better.”

“How are your eyes?”

“They’re great!” he said. They paused at the archway leading to the main waiting room. “Wow,” he said, peering up at the vaulted ceiling. “Look at how much they’ve cleaned! It looks so grand, doesn’t it? A public place designed like a palace. And clocks with faces!” he said, beaming.

“That Oyster Bar looks good. Can we get something to eat?” Carla was hungry, and had been made hungrier by the sight of the lobster tank in the restaurant. But she also wanted Max to sit.

They had a delicious lunch. She loved seafood, but the sweet fat oysters Max ordered for her as a starter were new to her. Max insisted she have a lobster and they shared a thick chocolate cake for dessert. She was so full her stomach ached dully and her eyes felt heavy.

Max ate feverishly and jabbered about how he knew that Debby and Brillstein were going to have him committed. When she challenged this suspicion, he explained the lawyer could get more money that way.

“But your wife wouldn’t lock you up just to get more money,” Carla said.

“That’s not why. She’s got a choice. Either accept I don’t love her or decide that I’m crazy.”

“How do you know you don’t love her?” Carla said, not as an argument, a wondering question.

“I don’t think I ever did love her. I loved the idea of her.”

Carla slid down in her chair a little. The heavy meal was dragging her down. She wanted to yawn. “I don’t know what that means, Max,” she said, again not as an argument.

“I don’t even know what love is,” Max said. He yawned without restraint. “I’m exhausted.”

Carla laughed. “I could sleep right in this chair.”

“Let’s go,” he said. She didn’t ask where. She didn’t think about where either, although somehow she knew. He hailed a taxi—there were rows of them out on the street—and said, “The Plaza Hotel, please.” He sagged back, his head against the backseat. His Adam’s apple and strong chin made sharp angles. His face had only a trace of puffiness from the crash; a healing cut on his jaw gave his handsome features a romantic wound. “I reserved a suite this morning,” he said to the car roof. “Asked them to make sure it was on a high floor. It’ll be my last look at New York for God knows how long. I was too tired to figure out where to go. I thought I’d leave the state tomorrow morning. I don’t think they can institutionalize me if I move to another state.” He sat up and turned toward her. His eyes were lively, their pale blue as clear as a boy’s marbles. He reached for her hands. She gave them to him. His skin was soft and warm. “I want you to come with me,” he said.

Jonah. If not for Jonah, Max would not have minded the necessity of running away. He was even willing to lose New York City. He knew it too well. He could go to the prettiness of San Francisco; or relish Chicago’s earnest skyscrapers. Parody didn’t interest him so LA was out of the question. But he was willing to abandon buildings altogether—seek the spareness of the western desert. Or get out of the United States—confront Europe’s dead ambitions.

The truth was, he’d rather visit them. He didn’t know where to go to live. Perhaps someplace no one wanted to—like Oklahoma. A place where people left to come to New York. There Max could walk on a landscape without challenge. Maybe he could draw again; build himself a house that wasn’t fit for a family, that wasn’t fit for summering at the beach, that wasn’t fit for a person, but that fit only the earth and sky. A useless house, a child’s dream. Maybe after that he could believe in the practical world again.

He felt better as soon as he got away from his apartment and was alone outside in the city. He walked carefully, concerned that he was fragile, but nothing hurt. He felt well enough to go as far as Columbus Circle before hailing a cab to Grand Central.

Carla looked beautiful. She had nothing of the pale despair of her grief. The profound black of her thick hair framed her long face. Her chocolate eyes shined out of their deep setting. Her lips were a bold red against the glowing white of her skin. She was a beautiful animal and she didn’t know it. She moved with energetic grace but its flow was unconscious. And this healthy Carla had a clarity to her that was also beautiful. There was no guard at attention ready to stop the expression of her true feelings. She asked him whether he was crazy, and nodded at his answer as if that were all the reassurance she needed. She told him about making up with Manny, and yet when she added that she didn’t want to sleep in the same room with him anymore she made no attempt to justify her aloofness from her husband, despite his apologies and contrition. She said, I don’t like him enough to sleep next to him every night. She was honest in the only way it’s possible to be honest—by not knowing there was any other way to be. Max realized that when he was a young man he would have thought her dumb. She was a prize.

“Do you think I ought to work?” she asked while she enjoyed the Oyster Bar’s ridiculously sweet and slightly stale chocolate cake.

“When I worked I loved it more than anything,” he told her.

“I don’t think I could feel that way about a job,” she said. “And I don’t mean I should get a job for money. I mean I should do something good, you know? Maybe I could volunteer at the Foundling Hospital. I asked Monsignor O’Boyle if he could ask them.”

Max smiled to himself at the thought that no one would pay for her to do good in the world. Of course she was right.

“I wish I could teach,” she said. “I don’t know anything to teach. But I wish I could spend time with kids. Not only sick kids. Healthy kids deserve attention too, right?”

“You want to have another child,” Max said.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’m a coward. I can’t carry a baby and think about losing it all the time. I couldn’t take that.”

“You wouldn’t lose a baby.”

“No?” She smiled broadly. Her teeth were big and bright. He hadn’t noticed them before.

“No.” Max was positive.

“That’s good to know,” Carla smiled again. Her mouth opened wide with a laugh and he saw all those teeth again. Why hadn’t he noticed them before?

Because she hadn’t been smiling or laughing, he realized, and felt dumb. He was so tired from his walk and the big meal that he forgot to ask Carla if she would come with him to the Plaza before heading off to it. When she didn’t object to his instruction to the cabdriver he asked her to come with him on his flight from New York. She didn’t answer.

The desk clerk smirked when Max told him his bags would be arriving later. Max had forgotten he would need clothes whether he was going to Rome or Oklahoma. Maybe I’m not serious about leaving, he doubted himself.

The view was great. All of Central Park was spread below, the details of its paths, footbridges, hills, buildings, and lake exposed by the fuzzy brown leafless trees. Their room was high enough so that the rectangular borders of tall buildings on all sides could be seen, although the northern end was small. But the height proved the awesome truth that the park was made by man: nature re-created where it had been killed.

This city is what I’ve loved all my life, Max thought, appalled. A place.

“Lie down, Max,” Carla said. He turned and couldn’t find her. She had gone into the bedroom. He was surprised by this forwardness. He walked from the huge sitting room into a narrow bedroom. They must have created this suite from a larger one, Max decided. The bedroom seemed to be for a servant. Carla had drawn the drapes. Only a faint glow of the day’s gray light illuminated her. She had drawn the bedspread down but left the blanket and pillows untouched. Her shoes were off, tumbled onto to the floor at the foot of the bed. She had lain down on her side, fully dressed, facing the door.

“Come here and get some rest,” she said. Her hand touched the empty place near her.

He yawned. It was hot in the room. He pushed his shoes off and stumbled to her. The pillow was cool; its fabric smooth, but hard. He faced Carla. His hands folded into each other and lay beside her beautiful face. Her eyes were shut. She moved closer. Her hair spilled down over her shoulder and dripped black curls onto his hands. He smelled the sweetly dank fragrance of her hair and he smelled the lunch’s shellfish on both their mouths.

“I love—” he began.

“Shh,” she said. She touched his temple. His eyes shut as if she had pressed a button to close them. “You’ve helped a lot of people, Max,” she said. “You deserve to rest.” He felt a soft kiss on his forehead. He smiled and slept.

Carla woke to find Max’s hand under her cheek. He was asleep in the deep rest of a baby—eyelids smooth, brow untroubled, jaw slack.

The early sunset of winter had completely darkened the room. Through the open door to the sitting room there was a sickly amber light from the street.

She eased herself off the bed hoping not to wake him. He moaned faintly as she departed; but he stayed asleep. She went into the sitting room. It was a quarter after five. Manny was either home or soon would be. He might be patient about her absence for an hour. Then he would explode. She had to call him soon.

She turned on a lamp. Its switch made a loud noise. She listened for Max. There was no movement. The room—for a place in New York City—was very quiet. Only the occasional faint sound of a car horn or a siren could be heard. Sometimes a dim flow of water from one floor to another in the walls. Otherwise there was only a stillness that left her nothing to hear but the blood rushing in her ears.

She had to make a choice. Delay was no longer possible. Max needed her. He was lost. Although he was the same smart handsome man who had saved her sanity, he was troubled and distracted. But he was not crazy—except maybe about Brillstein and his wife. She could believe the lawyer might want to put Max away, although she had reason to think he was trying to settle the cases; besides she had told Brillstein she was going to tell the truth about what she did in the plane and the lawyer hadn’t threatened her. Nevertheless he was capable of putting Max in a funny farm if he could get more money. But she didn’t believe for a minute that Max’s wife would go along. The woman she met wasn’t capable of such a bad thing. Take Manny as an example. He wasn’t an especially good man and he loved money so much he could kill for it; still, he wouldn’t put Carla away to get more. She couldn’t believe Max had married someone more untrustworthy than she had. No. Max wants to run away, she told herself. She understood that much; she understood that Max couldn’t abandon his family unless he believed he was forced to and so he had made it up. To her there was nothing crazy about such a delusion—it was desperate common sense, a way of surviving.