People Who Knock on the Door (11 page)

13

B
y 10 Monday morning, Arthur was cycling toward the town’s main public library, and thinking of Maggie, as he had been since 7 when he woke up. Mercifully, his father had not disturbed him, and Arthur had stayed in his room until his father left for work. No comment that morning from his mother or grandmother about Maggie. By now, at 10, Arthur imagined her coming out of the anesthetic, feeling relieved, feeling hardly any pain at all, maybe none. He hoped that was the way it was.

“Morning, Miss Becker!” Arthur said with a smile to the dark-haired librarian in glasses at the desk.

“Hell-o, Arthur!” she replied, looking up from the book she was reading. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

Was it? The sun was shining, true. “Yes.” He put four books on her big desk and opened their back covers for her stamping in. What did the E. before Becker on her nameplate stand for, Edith? Elvira? Miss Becker wasn’t quite as dull as the Elvira type. She was almost pretty and surely not thirty yet.

“Zoo department, zoo department,” said Miss Becker, stamping. “Is that all you’re going to do this summer, read books?”

“Oh—um—I can think of worse fates.”

Arthur went into the big room full of shelves and partitions with books on either side. He paused by the New Acquisitions display, and chose a book of Searle cartoons and a book called
The New Physics
, which was full of mathematical formulae that he probably would not understand, but which had electronic photographs of things he did understand. These books could be borrowed for only a week. This reminded Arthur, as he drifted toward the science section, that his parents were off soon to California in the car; Robbie was going with them, and Arthur was sure his father wasn’t going to invite him. Not that Arthur wanted to go, especially in a car that would be pretty crowded with four, but his father wasn’t going to say anything such as, “Want to join us in S.F.?” if he took a plane, for instance. Rather amazing that his father thought him capable of taking care of the house alone for at least two weeks. To have the house to himself was going to be absolute heaven, Arthur thought.

He chose five books, got them checked out, and had gone through the wide doorway into the lobby, when Miss Becker called:

“Oh, Arthur! Almost forgot something. Talk about the absent-minded librarian!” She laughed and bent to pick up a white plastic bag from the floor beside her. “This is for you. Little present. I won’t be seeing much of you when you go off to Columbia, and I thought maybe you’d be going off somewhere this summer and you’d have time.”

Arthur was quite surprised. He could tell it was a book, a heavy book. “Thanks very much, Miss Becker.”

“Hope you enjoy it.”

Fantastic, Arthur thought. He’d known Miss Becker since he was about ten, and he remembered her helping him to find certain books whose titles he had brought with him on paper. But to give a book present to just an ordinary borrower! Would this day be full of miracles?

Apple sauce
, Arthur thought, when he was halfway home. His mother had asked him to pick up two cans. Arthur turned his bike around.

The house was empty when Arthur got home. His mother and grandmother had gone out to buy more curtain material, Arthur knew, and Robbie was with his friends at Delmar Lake. Arthur had an impulse to telephone Maggie now, at ten past eleven, instead of at noon as he had thought to do, but would she be still groggy, or would they say she was not allowed to speak to anyone as yet? Arthur went into his room and opened the present from Miss Becker. It was gift-wrapped in blue and gold paper. The book was
Life on Earth: Selected Essays
, a collection of the writing of some sixteen zoologists and biologists. most of whose names Arthur knew. A beautiful book! Inside, Miss Becker had written:

For Arthur Alderman. Onward and Upward and enjoy this.

Evelyn Becker

Arthur flipped through it, sniffing its new pages. Ah, bliss! He could have flung himself down and started reading any essay, with the same pleasure as any of the others.

But he’d call Maggie first, and now, while the house was empty. The hospital number had been in the back pocket of his trousers since last evening. He dialed, and asked for room eight sixteen.

A female voice answered.

A nurse, Arthur thought. “I’m calling—to speak to Miss Brewster.” At that instant, Arthur heard a car door slam in the garage.

“She’s right here,” said the female voice, then Maggie said:

“Hello? . . . Oh, hello, Arthur.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, sure I’m all right. And it’s over.” She sounded a little sleepy.

“Really—everything—It went okay?”

Maggie told him it was okay, everything. Pain? Not worth mentioning, said Maggie. And yes, her mother was there, and had just gone out to buy some Cokes, because the hospital had run out. And yes, she was coming home tomorrow, and wished she could that afternoon.

“That’s just great, Maggie!—Get some sleep now. When can I call you again—and not bother you?”

“Anytime. But not later than eight.”

When they hung up, Arthur jumped several inches from the floor. Marvelous news! And Maggie sounded so calm, as if it were any other day! Arthur composed himself, because his mother and grandmother were in the kitchen, taking things out of bags, murmuring to each other. Arthur joined them.

“Well, Arthur,” said his grandmother, “we had a most successful morning. And how about you?”

“Nice morning, thanks.” He saw yards of folded red-and-brown material on a chair. “How’s the curtain-making going?”

“Oh—um—rippingly, Lois?”

His mother was not smiling as she took things out of the fridge, starting to prepare lunch. “I had to do a patch over. Won’t happen again, I hope.”

“You’re looking quite cheerful this morning,” his grandmother said. “Maggie’s all right?”

“Yes, thanks. Just spoke with her.”

His mother lit the oven. “So it’s over now.”

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“Your father prayed last night, Arthur,” said his mother. “I want you to realize that—for what it’s worth to you. He has his own way of seeing things. He prayed as earnestly as he did for Robbie.”

Was it his mother’s way of seeing things, too? Arthur glanced at his grandmother, who was not looking at him. “About Robbie, Mom—Could you ask him not to talk to his friends about Maggie? I’m sorry he heard all that last night.”

“Oh?” His mother went briskly about her work. “Fifteen’s old enough to know a few things. It would hardly have been possible to hide things from him.”

Not the way his father was talking, Arthur thought. He had a sudden feeling that his mother had turned against him and was taking his father’s attitude. “I mean—the sooner this can blow over, the better, Mom.”

His mother did not reply.

“Maggie’s family’s not making a big thing out of it, so I don’t see why we have to.”

“All
right
, Arthur,” said his mother irritably.

Arthur waited, but nothing more came from his mother. “So—I’ll be pushing off.”

“Without lunch, Arthur?” said his grandmother. “Haven’t you got time?”

“N-no.”

His grandmother followed him into the garage, where his bike was. “Just wanted you to know, Arthur—I’m very glad Maggie’s all right. You’re among friends here. Don’t forget that.”

His grandmother was his friend, his father certainly not. And his mother? Arthur simply nodded once.

“Your father kept Loey up last night,” his grandmother whispered. “She lost her sleep.”

“Yep,” Arthur said, feeling awkward. He waved a hand and rode off.

At nearly 4, when there was a lull in business, Arthur asked Tom if he could go out for a couple of minutes to make a telephone call.

“Can’t you use our phone? Unless it’s very personal.”

Arthur thought, why not? Shoe Repair wasn’t home. He reached Maggie within seconds. She sounded wider awake and quite cheerful.

“Your mother there?” he asked.

“Not this minute. She’s coming at six to keep me company when I eat.”

“What’re you doing, reading? Watching TV?”

“Reading, yes—and thinking.”

“About what?”

“Very different things from what I usually think about. Tell you when I see you next time.”

That might have been ominous, but Maggie’s tone was happy. “What time you sprung tomorrow?”

“Noon.—Oh, I was up and around a lot today. I’m not bedridden.”

Maggie expected to be home by 2 tomorrow afternoon, and Arthur was to call her house after then. At 6:30 that evening, Arthur’s spirits were still high. His father came in, looking tired and depressed, and declined even a beer, though his mother and grandmother were imbibing in the kitchen, and Robbie was on his umpty-umpth Coke. New blue curtains hung in Arthur’s room, and since he was genuinely pleased by them, he told his grandmother so and kissed her on the cheek.

Robbie had been with his pals fishing all day, and he had a sunburnt nose and a bad nick in his right thigh, caused by somebody’s fishhook, Robbie said. Their mother changed the messy bandage and applied some of the white cream that Richard used to stop the bleeding of shaving nicks. Robbie sat at the table in shorts and a T-shirt, silent, shoving food in. Arthur expected his father to make some unkind remark, even an indirect one, about Maggie and This Awful Day, but he did not, and even the blessing had been mild, with nothing about wrongdoing. Still, his father looked like a man defeated, and therefore sad, and Arthur thought, what a small defeat, considering all the babies in the world! Would his father have been beaming if he and Maggie had had a baby on their hands in another seven months?

“Going anywhere tonight, Arthur?” asked his grandmother.

“Hadn’t thought about it,” Arthur replied. But apart from Maggie, that was all he had been thinking about. He had to get out of the house and hear some music.

During the coffee period in the living room, he telephoned Gus. Gus answered, sounding slow and preoccupied, and in the background, Arthur heard Gus’s siblings yelling.

“Sure, come on over,” Gus said.

As Arthur was leaving the house, his father stopped him. “I’d still like a word with you, when you come home—whatever the hour.”

Again, Arthur thought. They were in the front hall. “Well—can’t we have it now?”

“I think you’re a very callous young man.”

Arthur was aware of the heavy lines down his father’s cheeks. “All right. If that’s your opinion.”

Arthur waited, but his father said nothing else. Arthur opened the front door. A minute later, he was cycling toward Gus’s, inhaling the cool evening air.

The Warylskys’ house was no bigger than Mrs. DeWitt’s, but much better kept. Lights were on in all five front windows, because every room was occupied by the big family. Arthur put his bike up on the front porch, and Gus opened the screen door to greet him.

The house smelled of carrots. Several of the family were watching TV in the living room.

They carried beer cans up to Gus’s room. The room was small, with one front window, and Gus kept it in apple-pie order out of necessity. Tennis rackets and duffel bags had to go under the single bed, and there was no closet, just a pole Gus had rigged up for several hangers.

“What was the matter Sunday?” Gus asked.

“Oh—nothing. Just because it was Sunday dinner, my dad wanted me home.—Maybe because my grandma’s visiting.” Arthur drank from a beer can. “You think we could have a little music?”

“Got a new Beach Boys.”

Gus put the cassette on, not loudly, because his father was already asleep in the next room, Gus said. He and his father had worked from 5 o’clock until dark, setting up a fence in the yard of someone on Eastside. Gus was so tired he dragged his feet.

“Had a good day? You look like it,” Gus said.

“Pretty good, yep.” Arthur wanted to talk about Maggie, and couldn’t.

“Saw Maggie?”

“Spoke with her. I’ll see her maybe tomorrow.”

Gus sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, his feet near Arthur, who was also sitting on the floor. The soft music sounded perfect; the beer tasted great. Arthur heard a toilet flush somewhere, and a little girl’s voice call, “Night, Mommie!” Maggie might be asleep now, at 9:15. Or was she watching TV, or reading? Was she as happy as he? Maybe she was even happier!

“What do you think of Veronica?” Gus asked sleepily, pushing his frail glasses upward with a forefinger.

It took Arthur a few seconds to replace his vision of Maggie with that of Veronica, a medium-pretty girl with long dark brown hair, not very tall, a girl he had never much noticed. “All right,” said Arthur. “You like her?”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I dunno, she—”

“Does she like you?”

“I dunno.” Gus’s thin lips smiled. “You can never tell what girls really mean, maybe. I mean the way they really feel.”

Arthur waited, listening more to the music than to Gus. Funny to think of Gus being hung up.

“When you think,” Gus went on, “I’ve got four years of college ahead. And I was going to say, I dunno—how long this will last. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it. Maybe it’s better to consider it a short thing.”

“What will last?”

“The way I feel—or she feels.”

“Well, if you have any doubts,” Arthur said, his tone implying that to have any doubts nullified the whole thing.

“Can you expect a girl to hang on, I mean? They’re always flirting, playing the field. Veronica not so
much
, I think,” he added earnestly. “Or are you just supposed to change girls all the time—to be safe? That’s a lot of work.”

Arthur thought of asking if Gus had been to bed with Veronica, but thought that might invite the same question in regard to Maggie. “What does she say?”

“I think she likes me, but maybe because I like her. You see. But how long will it last for her?”

Arthur didn’t know what to reply, and what Gus had said depressed him, because it might apply to Maggie, too. How long would Maggie care about him? Then Arthur realized that Maggie had—definitely—liked him in bed. And also afterward. He had been over those fifteen or twenty minutes, in his memory, many times. If she hadn’t liked him then, she wouldn’t have made another date with him, wouldn’t have asked him to her house to meet her family. Everything got back to the fact of bed, Arthur thought. Or at least, that was quite important. Arthur forced himself to return to Gus’s situation. “Is Veronica going to college here?”