The Carousel (21 page)

“That’s all right. You need to know where I stand.”

“Yes, I realize, of course, that this foreign offer may blow away like hot air, but still we must know where we all stand, every one of us.”

“It’s not going away. I’ve gone over the figures,
and from the investment standpoint, they make sense. Those people are very eager.”

“People in town are anxious. Anxious about the Greys splitting up. The news has gotten around.”

“I know. One of the nurses here was worried about it. People, except for the usual merchants and contractors, don’t want any new community, and they don’t want to lose Grey’s Foods, she tells me.”

“Well, then?”

Clive reflected: “To Father and Dan, the wilderness is everything. Every tree, every little animal is precious. For me, it’s not so. As long as I can have a small part of it where my horse and I can be alone, that’s enough. But for them, it’s everything. If I vote with Dan against Ian and Amanda, the family and the firm will be torn apart. Two against two, through every court in the land. But if I vote with Ian, it will break Father’s heart. Either way, it will break his heart.”

Dan, waiting, could not restrain himself. “I can’t understand what’s happened to Ian. Although I told Sally it was temptation, the sheer size of the offer, I still can’t get it through my head.”

“Power and prestige. This is a tremendous, innovative project. It will be written about.”

“I wish I knew why your father stays aloof. Is it because he really doesn’t care?”

“He cares.”

“Then why won’t he say so?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve stayed aloof, too, Clive, unwilling to declare yourself. May I ask you why?”

Why? Because I was the odd man. Because it was easier not to be involved, to do my work magnificently—so they told me, and I knew it anyway—to live quietly with Father and let them all do what they wanted with the business. It made no difference to me. I needed nothing, a new suit now and then, books, a trip abroad now and then, that’s all. It’s different now. I have Roxanne. Now I am involved. Now I will speak.

“I’ll stand with you, Dan. I’ll vote with you. We’ll fight it out if we have to, and it looks as though we’ll have to.”

Dan grasped his hand. “By God,” he said, laughing, “by God, we will. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“I know what it means to you,” Clive told him.

“We ought to have a meeting with Ian and discuss it, and discuss the next step.”

“Are you sure you’re on speaking terms?”

“We’re not children, and we’ll have to be. We’ll certainly have to talk business, as well as keep the firm on an even keel until—well, until when. We can meet at your house any day this week that you feel up to it.”

Clive braced himself. He had not told anyone yet, had not spoken to anyone since the two doctors had left the room an hour ago.

“Not this week, Dan,” he said, wondering how the words were going to sound out loud on
his lips. “Naturally, when you have pneumonia, they take X rays of your lungs. They found a spot in the right lung, a fairly large one, in the right hilum. So then they did an open biopsy. The pathologist did a frozen section and came back in half an hour with the news. It’s cancer.”

Cancer. Now he had said it.

“My doctor brought a pulmonary specialist just now to talk to me. They’ll have to remove my lung.”

Dan’s eyes were wide and sad. It was clear that he was feeling a genuine compassion. So many people merely act appropriately, Clive thought, merely act.

“I told him I wanted to know the truth, always. If it’s spread beyond the lung, I want to know the truth, and he gave me his word.”

“Don’t leap ahead.” Dan spoke softly. He reached over to touch Clive’s hand. “It happens far more often that things turn out well than that they turn out badly. That’s statistically correct.”

Clive smiled. “Always the optimist, Dan.”

“No, I’m a realist. Can I do anything for you, anything at all?”

“Only in a negative way. Roxanne will be here any minute. Don’t say anything. I want to tell her myself when we’re alone. Poor girl.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Tell me, how’s my Tina? I’ve missed her and Rosalie these past few weeks.”

“She’s fine. Sally’s been riding with her.”

“That’s good, but I know she’ll be happy to go
with me again. I love that little girl. As soon as I get on my feet, we’ll have her up at Red Hill, now that the little house is finished. You see, your optimism is catching, Dan.”

September 1990

C
live was an oblong white bundle on the bed, connected to machines by a series of tubes. The intravenous tube was attached to his arm. From the area of his ribs, draining through a larger tube, came a yellow fluid, slightly bloody. Inserted in his mouth was still another tube leading to the respirator that, standing beside the bed, emitted a gentle, rhythmic sound. Pitying, Ian stood looking down at his brother. The man seemed smaller than ever, even shrunken, and his face was a sickly green. Still, what else would you expect of a man who had just had a lung removed? Poor guy. He didn’t deserve this.

Desperately, with pleading eyes, Clive was pointing to the tube in his mouth.

“Not yet, Mr. Grey,” the nurse said kindly. “Twenty-four hours from now we’ll take it away and you’ll be able to talk all you want.”

Roxanne was on the other side of the bed, looking scared. He hadn’t seen her since the day he had gone to the house and found her lying in the hammock dressed in those very short white shorts. Today she was a proper suburban lady, discreet and smart in a gray fall suit with a coral scarf over her shoulders. Having a keen eye for women’s clothes, he noted her fine dark brown bag and pumps, the simple gold earrings, and the pale glow of her nails. Recalling the long, dark red claws that she had taken care to display as she rested her hand on a tablecloth, he had to smile to himself. He had always known she was a fast learner, but this was extraordinary speed indeed.

“Poor man,” she mourned. “My poor man.”

She laid her hand, the one with the fiery diamond, over the limp hand that lay on the sheet. Ian was thinking, That ring cost him a bundle of money. It makes Happy’s look insignificant, and I know what I paid for hers.

“You must have lost ten pounds. But you’ll be out of here by Monday, and then I’ll fatten you up. I make the best potato soup. Maybe I’ll bring you some tomorrow if they’ll let you have it.”

Ian said sharply. “Monday? Who said Monday?”

“Why, the doctor, of course.”

He stood up and went to the door. “I need to talk to him. I’ll go see whether he’s in the building.”

“You don’t need to. I’ve already talked to him, and I’m Clive’s wife.”

“And I’m his brother,” Ian said, still sharply.

“I know you’ve already spoken to Mrs. Grey”—this title did not come easily to his tongue—“but she’s only been his wife for three months, while I’ve been his brother all his life.”

When the doctor’s eyebrows went up, Ian knew that he had spoken with asperity, that he had denigrated Roxanne. But the very thought of her taking the position of
wife
to any man named Grey had stabbed him, here in this building where serious matters were treated. His feeling of responsibility for his brother, his feeling of blood tie, had already come to the fore. But he softened his tone.

“You’ve removed his lung, so my question is, naturally, what is the prognosis?”

The doctor spoke precisely. “The spot on Mr. Grey’s lung revealed, as you know, carcinoma. When we removed the lung, we also removed nodes in the hilum area. We’re pretty sure we’ve made a clean job, gotten rid of everything in the lung area.”

“So that’s it?”

“Not quite. He’ll need a course of chemotherapy to be on the safe side. Two or three months’ worth. And naturally we’ll keep in touch with him, taking some bone scans, an MRI, tests as indicated. If we find nothing anywhere else as time goes on, we’ll congratulate ourselves that we have succeeded.”

“And that will mean a complete cure? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Mr. Grey, there can always be straying, microscopic cells anywhere in the human body that can’t be seen. But if after the most sophisticated tests that presently exist we find nothing, we shall emphasize the positive and rejoice.”

“Good. I want to be able to cable something positive to our father. He’s on vacation in Europe, and my brother absolutely forbade me to say anything that would bring him home unnecessarily.”

Back in the room, the nurse was washing Clive’s face with a cool cloth. The two stood there watching, uncertain, feeling superfluous.

“I think,” the nurse said, “he’ll be going to sleep soon. There’s really no reason for you people to stay here unless you want to. He’ll be just fine.”

“Well, in that case,” said Ian, “I’ll be going along. You have Mrs. Grey’s telephone and my number, too, in case you need us.”

“I wonder whether you might give me a lift home, Ian,” said Roxanne. “I’m without a car. Yes, dear,” she explained to Clive, whose eyebrows had formed a question. “Both cars conked out. Yours is still in for a tune-up, and my battery went dead this morning. They told me I’d have to wait an hour and a half for them to come, and since I wanted to get here, I called a taxi. So can you take me, Ian?”

“Of course, no trouble.”

But it would be. Half an hour’s ride making conversation with her. He had nothing to say. He
had everything to say: you conniver, you second-rate actress—but she was far from second-rate. She was superb. See her now, bending over that poor, balding, sweating head and clinging to that innocent hand. Hear her now.

“Good-bye, honey. Have a good night’s sleep. I’m sure they’ll give you something to help you sleep if you need it, but look, your eyes are closing already.”

She tiptoed out, whispering in the hall, “Poor Clive. He looks terrible, doesn’t he?”

“What did you expect, to see him dolled up for a day in the country?”

“You have no heart. He looks awful, and I’m worried about him.”

“I have a heart and you give a perfect imitation of a worried wife.”

“Listen, if you’re going to yell at me all the way home, I’ll take a taxi,” she said as they stood at the curb.

“Who’s yelling? I never yell.”

“Well, scolding. I don’t have to take it from you.”

“Then don’t take it.”

Two young men passing slowly in a red soft-top with the top down looked and whistled.

“Fresh,” she said, tossing her head, then turning to Ian. “I could take a lift from them, you know.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. Come on,” he growled, “get in the car.”

She sat down, carefully adjusted the seat belt to
prevent a wrinkle in her suit, crossed her legs neatly at the ankle, and rested her hands in her lap. It was a prissy-lady pose for her, whereas for women like Happy or Sally it was simply natural with nothing prissy about it. The comparison amused him. People in their million subtle variations were an endless amusement. Often he did not mind being delayed in an airport because he could always watch people. “The proper study of mankind is man,” he thought. Or women …

She was staring straight ahead with an intent expression, watching everything, drab women coming out of the cheap downtown stores, clutching their bundles, or sweating men, loading and unloading trucks. Traffic thickened as workers, their long day ending, hurried home. Only yesterday she had been part of all this hard life.

And he thought that she must sometimes awaken in the middle of the night with Clive beside her in the fancy bedroom that he had not seen but could imagine, awaken and be struck with amazement, or with horror at what she had done.

She said suddenly, “You don’t have to sulk.”

“I’m not. I’m driving a car.”

“You haven’t said a word.”

“Neither have you. You were looking very solemn.”

“I was thinking, it feels strange to be sitting here with you. And still, not so strange.”

“Let’s not go into that, Roxanne.”

“You’re right. Would you mind stopping off at
the deli for a second? I want to pick up a sandwich for my dinner.”

“I don’t mind. That’s not much of a dinner.”

“I’m not in a mood to cook for myself. It’s too lonesome. This way, I can sit in front of the TV, eat and go to bed.”

He made no comment.

“At lunch it doesn’t matter, but there’s something about eating by yourself in the evening that is so depressing.”

“Yes,” he said.

Actually, he had not given any thought to his own dinner. Happy had gone to Rhode Island for a couple of days to see her sister and her newborn baby. She would certainly have prepared plenty of food for him, but the prospect of poking around the refrigerator and heating the stuff, then cleaning up afterward, was dispiriting.

While he was thinking this, the traffic light turned red at the very corner where stood the best restaurant in the city. And suddenly he knew he was starved; his mouth was watering.

“I could use a good steak,” he said, “or maybe a veal parmigiana. Want to go in?” And then, too late, he remembered that this was the place where they had met almost three years ago.