Tell Me If the Lovers Are Losers (21 page)

“Of course not,” Eloise soothed her. “You'll work for a year or two, at something you like, then get married and have children, whom you will raise well.”

“That sounds horrible,” Ann said. “Isn't there anything more interesting, or purposeful, in your crystal ball?”

“It sounds interesting to me,” Eloise said.

“To me also,” Hildy said.

“You want more glamour?” Eloise asked. “Romance? Excitement? Originality? I'm original. Niki's original. Hildy's original. Are we what you want to be?”

“No.” Ann shook her head. “But sort of. I mean, Niki's right about you, you're like the Munchkin and I really admire her. She's a scholar. Her life is dry and solitary, but it has integrity. So will yours. Whatever else happens or doesn't. I can't imagine you—belying your intelligence. That's what I mean by integrity. My life won't have that. And Niki has all that energy and will. I'd like to have that. Wouldn't you? She doesn't bend before anything. And Hildy—Hildy's wonderful. You know I think that, don't you, Hildy? Everybody thinks that. So I wouldn't mind. Although—” She thought of what she would have to relinquish.

“Yes. Although,” Eloise echoed her “What is it that Niki wants to do?”

“Who knows?” Ann asked. “To go to Berkeley.”

“Niki wants to relieve the misery of the world,” Hildy said, “but she does not want to wait to do that. So, she is angry and impatient. She wants to be where the institutions are under attack for their blindness and crimes. Where she can make changes happen.”

“Then what is she doing here?”

“She didn't get into Berkeley,” Ann explained. “She's going to transfer.”

Eloise nodded. “What about you, Hildy?”

“I will marry.”

Eloise raised her eyebrows.

“My husband to be is a farmer and has two children. There is much to do. I would like to raise chickens, I think, and have children of my own.”

“You sound so definite about it. When will all this take place?”

“July.”

“Next July?”

Hildy nodded. Ann nodded too, although she hoped something would occur to alter Hildy's plans, or at least postpone them.

“That rather depresses me,” Eloise said, voicing something Ann had never had the courage to put words to.

“I have this year for my own,” Hildy said. “You cannot understand.”

“But you know, I can understand it, better than most people,” Eloise said. “I've lived most of my life in rural towns. And I did make those calls with my mother. I am neither deaf nor dumb, so I understand quite clearly the terms of your choice. Of course, I wouldn't think of attempting to dissuade you—but I can't like it, can I? Not for you. Besides, what about the volleyball team?”

“You will find others,” Hildy said.

“It won't be the same,” Eloise said.

“How could it be? And why should it be?”

“You can't argue with Hildy,” Ann remarked to Eloise.

“Moreover”—Hildy ignored Ann—“it is the same thing, in
the microscope and the telescope. The details differ, but not the essential order.”

Eloise changed the subject. “Ann. Let me look at your science notes.”

“Want me to recite for you?” Ann offered.

“Please, not that.”

♦   ♦   ♦

Niki returned on Friday, during lunch. Ann went upstairs after the meal to pick up books and notebooks for her afternoon classes and saw Niki on the bed, her legs stretched out, her arms folded under her head. “Hi there,” Niki said.

“Hi. How was it.”

Niki waited for Hildy to enter, then, still supine, made her announcement. “I am a woman.”

Oh, no, Ann thought. Here it comes.

Hildy did not speak.

“I agree with you both,” Niki sat up. “It's not worth discussing. I had hoped, I must admit, for more. The earth to turn, transcendental experiences, two becoming one, lightning bolts. Something. But it's just another cheat, sex.”

Good, Ann thought, then we can drop the subject.

But Hildy took it up. “You think so? Truly?”

“Truly, truly. I wouldn't lie to you.”

“What then did you expect from it?”

“Honestly?” Niki asked.

Ann wondered if by remaining in the room she was behaving in bad taste.

“I expected something great. Something to take me out of myself. Or overwhelm me.” She shook her head. “The more fool I, right?”

“But that is what happens to animals,” Hildy said. “They come into season and give themselves over to their matings.”

“I kept wanting to laugh,” Niki said.

“And you did not?”

“Of course not.” Niki actually sounded shocked.

“What kind of man was this, when you could not laugh?”

“Hell.” Niki got off the bed. “What do you know about it anyway?”

“Something,” Hildy said. “More than you, I think.”

“Come off it. Ogling barnyard activities doesn't inform you about people. People are supposed to be different.”

“And they are,” Hildy said.

“Hildy, do you mean to tell me . . .” Niki asked, slowly. “Tell me just what you mean.”

“I have lived with a man for more than a year The man I am to marry when I return. He hired me when his wife died, to keep the house and the children. We have loved one another.”

“How did you keep it from your parents?”

“My father knew it must be so.”

“That's unbelievable.”

“But you see, I do know. And you do not, not yet. It is not an exercise you do, to learn how. It is not like practicing volleyball. It is a human experience. When you ask it to be something other, you cannot have it so.”

“You're saying it's my fault,” Niki said.

“No,” Hildy said.

“You're telling me you got there first and did better.”

“No.”

“Then what are you telling me?”

“You cannot separate the body and the soul. You make love not with only the flesh.”

“Oh come on. It's just nerve endings.”

“You know that is not so.”

“All right, lubricated nerve endings.”

Hildy shook her head.

“Anyway, I've got a class to make.” Niki pulled on a denim jacket and was grinning by the time she reached the door. “I'll tell you. They talk about California,” she said. “If they only knew.”

Ann congratulated Hildy. “You certainly took the wind out of her sails.”

“Did I? I hope not. I wanted to put the wind back into them.”

♦   ♦   ♦

They held a final practice early Saturday morning, just after breakfast, to prepare for the match with the juniors. They played for an hour, drilling passes, sets, serves. Afterwards, Hildy sat down on the floor of the gym, to discuss tactics.

“But what do you think, Hildy, how will it go?”

“I do not know. I have never seen the junior teams play, although I expect they are good. I cannot guess just how good.”

“How good are we?” Bess asked.

“We are solid,” Hildy said. “But there are so many small weaknesses—”

“And I'm one,” Bess said.

“In a team, weaknesses of that sort do not exist,” Hildy answered. “We have also strengths. Each player has strengths she gives to the team and takes from it.”

“And weaknesses,” Bess said.

“Yes. It is a matter of fitting those together. That is what I cannot see, how we will fit the parts together.”

“You're gonna have to make this on your own,” Niki said, not inappropriately.

“Look at it this way,” Ruth remarked. “We've already broken the pattern. So even if we lose today, we have reason to be satisfied. What did we expect, after all?”

“I expected to get about this far,” Sarah said. “I won't be unhappy.”

“But I will,” Hildy said. Even Niki looked surprised. “At first it seemed we could do well, but I was not sure how well. Then, I could see—so far ahead for us.”

“You
do
care about winning,” Niki crowed.

“Of course,” Hildy said. “Because it means you have done the best, because you have taken what you are and practiced until you are more. I cannot explain it. Except that when we all play together—then it is right. I had thought we might win though.”

“To the very end. Even the seniors,” Niki said. “Right? That's what I thought. That's what I want. And who says we can't?”

“Nobody says
you
can't,” Ruth answered. “It's the rest of us that hold you back. Except Hildy when she's on her game. If wanting it would do the trick, then you've got enough wanting to do it on your own.”

“You don't?” Niki asked.

“It looks impossible,” Ruth said. “Doesn't it?” she asked the others. “It's not just me, is it? Don't the rest of you feel that way?”

“That last game,” Ann said.

“Don't remind me,” Sarah said. “It was a miracle that we pulled it off. Niki's miracle, and none of my own.” She picked at the soles of her sneakers.

“Oh well,” Niki said.

“Yes. So what?”

“What is impossible?” Hildy said. “If it can be imagined, must it not be possible?”

“I don't buy that,” Niki answered. “Dreams aren't powerful, not in that way. The way we wish it would be. That's part of what's bothering us right now, that we had begun to dream and now we've begun to accept the loss. To dream the loss. Not only have we not lost it, we haven't even played for it yet. No dreams please.”

“But I could see it. I could see us doing it. I could see it for us. Not dream, see,” Hildy argued.

Niki stared at her a moment. “We know about the clarity of your vision.”

“Can you still see it?” Bess asked, hopefully.

Hildy shook her head.

Another large audience awaited this match. “Come to see the kill,” Niki said. “People are more interested in the kill than the chase.”

“I wish they would go away,” Ann said. “I wish we could all go away.”

“Soon enough, Annie,” Niki answered. “Who knows? We may cream them. This is the bottom junior team, remember?”

“Or we may hold our own,” Eloise encouraged.

Holding their own was difficult. The juniors were well drilled and accustomed to playing matches. They made mistakes, but did not become disconcerted by them. The freshmen were tense. They talked among themselves, quietly, usually to reassure.

The first game went slowly, serve frequently changing, teams frequently rotating. Both teams accumulated points steadily. Hildy's face held a constant vigilance. She was clearly enjoying herself, even though her game was still flawed by those slight miscalculations. The freshman team felt itself performing at a peak of concentration and skill. This was the high reach of their abilities. They won the first game, fifteen to thirteen.

Ann felt drained, but satisfied. Ruth trotted on the court to let Bess take her place by the benches.

“It's a good match,” Ruth said.

“It's a tough one,” Niki answered.

The second game started badly. Sarah lost service and the juniors kept it for a three point lead. After that, Ann fought off distraction and fatigue to keep up her level of play.

Like tennis players who have allowed their serves to be broken early in the set, they could maintain their progress, but not make up the lost points.

The score reached nine-six, juniors leading. Niki won serve back with a spike. The juniors won serve with a quick-time pair of passes. The serve careered back and forth, from team to team, never settling long enough to enable either team to gain points.

Ann strained to keep up, to play well, to predict accurately, to cover where she was needed. Beside her, sometimes in front of her, sometimes in back of her, Hildy, too, strained for the lost precision of her play. Out of the corner of her eye, Ann saw Hildy's chin grow determined and yet more determined. She heard grunts of disappointment as a shot went too wide or a block angled imprecisely.

Ann had the serve. She looked at the floor for a few seconds to gather herself together and make no careless error. She looked at the spot where she wanted the serve to go and judged she had room for some lack of placement. The serve arced perfectly. The receiving junior passed it forward. The setter at net sent it high up. The spiker rose with it and brought it down hard. Hildy moved too late into the block.

For a second Hildy stood where she had landed. She raised a hand, fist clenched, and hit herself on the thigh. She raised the other hand and removed her glasses and hurled them into the stands. They spiraled through the air, winking in the light.

Ann's eye did not follow them. She watched Hildy stretch, up, onto her toes, her hands large and strong, her legs spread apart. Then Hildy bent her knees and prepared for the next point.

The serve pelted toward Ann, low to the net, hard. Ann could do no more than block it with her forearms, a shot made as much from defensive reflex as from any choice. The ball flew off toward the center of the net, angled toward the floor Hildy slid underneath it and not only saved it but passed it well to Sarah, who returned it to the juniors.

The juniors set up a spike. Hildy blocked it, beautifully, without hesitation sending it back to the one uncovered place in the opponents' court.

The freshmen smiled, relaxed, and continued play. They were each as careful as before, only each seemed to have more skill in her hands, more craft in her placement. They were vigilant, but vigilant to win not defend. They had, it seemed, all luck with them—or so the juniors said. “Everything started
to fall your way,” they said, the juniors, after the second game. “You couldn't make mistakes. I've never seen such luck—no, really—it's enough to make you believe in fate or predestination or divine guidance or grace. But it was a good game.”