The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg (95 page)

Roger was already at the bar of The White Rabbit when she went in to leave a note for Frank the next morning. His arm was around one of the new waitresses. His wife and kids were where by then, she wondered. Probably living in his abandoned SUV on just the same street where she and Alma grew up, all those years ago. Hey, she’d said. Hey, he said cheerfully. Actually, he hadn’t seemed to quite remember who she was.

Wear something pretty, Eli had said the night before as he left, and so she was wearing her favorite dress, with its little straps and bare back. Her hair was pinned up. He swung her satchel into the back of the truck and then they climbed in.

Beyond the windshield, the hills had an arresting, detailed look. Red and gold were beginning to edge into the leaves. The hills were like inverted bowls or gentle cones, covered with trees. She had the impression that she could see each and every tree. The trees, like the hills, were shaped like gentle cones or inverted bowls. Would you look at that, she said.

Huh, he said, that’s right. A nice little volumetric exercise.

He reached over and unpinned her hair.

This is a very crazy thing to do, she said.

Which is crazier? he said. This, or not this?

She must have been smiling, because he’d laughed. What a skeptic, he’d said. So, it’s a risk, yes? Okay, but a risk of what? Look, here’s the alternative, we meet, we like each other, we say hello, we say goodbye. Now there’s an
actual
risk. That’s pure recklessness. We’re scared—is that so bad? Because when you’re scared, you can be pretty sure you’re on to something.

She remembers a sudden, panicked sensation that something was wrong, and then all her relief because it was only the ring—she wasn’t wearing her dime store ring.

It’s pretty clear, he was saying, the things people know about each other in an instant are the important things. But all right, let’s say the important things aren’t everything. Let’s say the unimportant things count, too—even a lot. The point is, though, we can spend as long as we like learning those unimportant things about each other. We can spend years, if we want, or we can spend a few hours. If you want, I can bring you back here tomorrow. We can say goodbye now, if you want.

They watched each other, smiling faintly. The silence raced through her over and over.

Say the word, he’d told her, and you’re back where you were.

Past the gorge, where she went to swim sometimes with Nonie and Munsen, past the old foundry, past the quarry, the hills flowing around them, mile after mile, so little traffic on the highway, the sweet air pouring by and the sun ringing through the sky like trumpets. Then they were in the woods, among the woven streamers of sunlight and shadow. The dirt road was studded with rocks, and grooved, tossing her around as if she were on the high seas.

None of her drives in Nonie’s car had taken her in that direction, or nearly that far. There were no other people to be seen. Every leaf and twig signified, like a sound, or a letter of the alphabet.

By the way, she said, how did you know where to look for me last night?

Hey, he said. In a town that size?

Light brimmed and quivered through the leaves in trembling drops. All around was a faint, high, glittering sound. The cabin was a maze of light and shadow—all logs, with polished plank floors, and porches. And with the attic and lofts and little ladders and stairs, you hardly knew whether you were inside or up in a tree house.

There was running water, and there was even electricity, which he used mainly for the washing machine and the big freezer at the back. He brought her out past a group of sheds to the vegetable garden he’d been clearing and tending, and to the shiny little creek. If you walked into the woods, within just a couple of minutes you couldn’t even see the cabin. When the sun began to set they came back, and he showed her how to light the kerosene lanterns and the temperamental little dragon of a stove.

There was a lot of game in the freezer, Eli said; hunters often gave him things. But he’d kept it simple tonight—for all he knew, she might be the fainthearted sort.

He had opened a bottle of rich red wine and they ate wonderful noodles, with mushrooms from the woods and herbs, and a salad from the garden. He watched, with evident satisfaction, her astonishment at the bright, living flavors.

You have to live like this to taste anything like this, he said. Streamline yourself. Clear away the junk. Prepare for an encounter.

But anyhow, she’d said, and in the stillness she’d felt like a dancer, balancing—I’m not fainthearted.

How on earth was she accounting in those first hours, she wonders now, for the baby she had seen at the bar with Eli?

Well, if she’d thought of too many questions out front, she’d probably still be rotting away in that little town, living in somebody’s spare room. She’d been in no position at that moment to be thinking of the sort of questions whose answers are, Go back to sleep.

They were finishing off the bottle of wine when he explained that his partner Hollis and Hollis’s girlfriend, Liz, were taking care of Noah right now, as they did from time to time. It was all kind of improvisational, not ideal, but Zoe had been erratic and moody, so anyhow it was an improvement over that situation.

He rested his hand on her neck, and stars shot from it. If it had been up to her, the dishes would have stayed in the sink till morning—till winter. But Eli just held her against him for a blinding moment. Here’s some of that new stuff to learn about me, he said. I am very, very disciplined.

And what had she been dreaming about that first morning? She was hidden behind something. Something was about to happen to someone very far away, who was her. There were showers of burning debris. The noise that woke her came into the dream as an alarm, she thinks, but it all dissolved like a screen over the morning light, and there was Eli lying next to her, his eyes still closed, shadows of leaves moving across him like a rich, patterned cloak.

A mechanical growl was pushing through the racket of birds and leaves. She peered out and a mottled green truck came into view. The sun must have been up for some time—it was so bright! The door of the truck slammed, and Eli groaned. Hollis, he said, and opened his eyes.

She wrapped herself around him, but he kissed her, untangled himself, and drew his jeans on. There were dogs barking. Powder! T-bone! someone yelled. Down!

Well, they’re here, Eli said, and tossed her dress to her.

She’d watched from the top of the stairs as Liz transferred the baby over to him. The baby whimpered, and Eli put him on his shoulders.

A cigarette dangled from Hollis’s mouth, and a line of smoke swayed up past his gray eyes. Would you mind kindly keeping that shit out of the house, please? Eli said. And away from my kid in general?

Hollis pinched the cigarette out with his fingers and flicked it through the door. So how about some coffee? he said.

The dogs were milling and bumping at things. Don’t rush me, don’t rush me, Eli said. He stretched, then, and reached over to tousle Hollis’s floppy brown hair. I just got up.

Hollis inclined his head. Impressive, he said. Outstanding.

They’d looked like a tribe, Hollis and Liz and Eli, tall and slouchy and elastic. She sat on the stairs, rags of her dream still clinging to her, until he called for her.

It was Hollis who tracked down the guns and kept on top of the orders and sales. Because this guy’s too pure in heart to have a computer in his place, Hollis had said, tilting back to appraise her.

No phone line, Eli said, unruffled.

My point, Hollis said to her. So I’m stuck with it. He shook his head. Too fucking poetic, this guy.

You are so jealous, Liz told Hollis, sliding her hand inside the back of his jeans.

The good weather continued, and there was the garden and clearing away the persistent brush. There was plenty else, too—cleaning, and dealing with the wood for the stove, and endless laundry.

Mostly, of course, there was Noah. Eli was doing a lot of things to the cabin, and the wood chips and splinters and chemicals were flying around everywhere. And there were always tools, and work on the guns going on in the sheds.

You’ve really got to watch him every second, Eli said. And I mean every second.

It was true; if she turned around for a
second
he’d have gotten himself over to the stove or the door or a pail of something. So she watched and she watched. But at night, when Noah was asleep, she had Eli to herself and that was well worth the trouble of the day, and more.

Usually, it was he who cooked. Sometimes just vegetables, but sometimes rabbit or venison or little birds. Often, as evening came, the sky turned greenish—a dissipating, regretful color.

She remembers his voice coming through that color from outside, asking her to get the stove going. But when he came in almost a half an hour later, she hadn’t managed. I’m sorry, she said. How tired she used to get, back at the beginning! And she’d actually started to cry.

He looked at her and sighed. Here, he said. I’ll show you again.

Sometimes the woods shook and flared with thunder and lightning. The deer came crashing through the trees. Way down in the valley the little foxes jumped straight up from the grass. Sometimes, walking near the creek with Eli, Noah on his shoulders or back, she would hear just a little whisper or rustle somewhere, or there would be a streak in the corner of her eye. Are there snakes? she asked.

He folded his arms around her and explored her ear with his tongue. Not to worry. They won’t bother you unless you do something to stir them up.

At first Noah would go rigid when she tried to hold him. He’d swat at her if she bent down for him, and he’d scream when it seemed he thought Eli was in earshot.

And then Eli had to come in from outside and hold him or swing him around while she looked on. There we go, Eli would say when Noah calmed down. And sometimes he’d go back out hardly looking at her.

Noah was still only a baby then, but every day he was looking more like a little boy; every day he figured out new ways to resist and defeat her.

Just pick him up like a big ham, Eli said. Look. Like this, right, Noah?

He smiled at her as he went out, but later he’d taken her by the shoulders and looked at her very seriously. I know it’s hard, he said. But you’ve got to start taking some more responsibility around here. She averted her face as he leaned over to kiss her; she’d just sneaked a cigarette.

It was early on that they talked about Zoe. She wasn’t ready, Eli said; it wasn’t her fault. In fact, there was a lot that was his fault, really a lot, he hated to think about it. But anyhow, it was just the way she was constituted—she lacked courage. She was always dissatisfied. And she always would be, because she didn’t have the courage to face the fact that what happens to you is largely of your own choosing.

He turned back, then, to whatever it was he’d been doing. But she was still listening, she remembers; something was still flickering in what he’d said.

Does she want to see Noah? She’d asked after a moment.

That’s not a possibility, he said. His back was to her.

She was willing to leave her kid, he said. And that one’s on her.

Noah isn’t sounding so good. She can hear him snuffling from the kitchen. She goes to check. He’s a bit sweaty—maybe Alma’s right, that he’s got a little fever. But little kids get sick all the time. Anyhow, what makes Alma the authority? The hospital she works at is for crazy people, not for little kids.

Tomorrow she’ll get him some kind of treat—a fuzzy doggie toy, maybe. Or something. Not that there’s money to burn.

She remembers once trying chocolate syrup in his milk, trying a story, promising maybe a trip into town later with Eli, but Noah still whining and crying hour after hour. All right, that’s it, you behave now, she’d said. Or you’re going right in your crib and you’re not going to be seeing that bottle of yours anytime soon.