Tim (23 page)

"Yes, of course."

"Good! Call me John. By the way, I quite see what you meant when you told me Tim was spectacular. I don't think I've ever seen a better looking man, even in the movies." He laughed, peering down at his own too-thin body. "He makes me feel like a ninety-pound weakling."

"I thought you were going to say what a shame it is that someone so good-looking should be mentally retarded."

He seemed surprised. "Why should I think that? Not one of us is born without something beautiful and something undesirable within us. I admit that Tim's body and features are magnificent, but don't you think that a great deal of that absolutely stunning beauty comes from the soul?"

"Yes," Mary said gratefully; he understood, she had been right to choose him.

"He's a dear fellow, I could tell that immediately. One of the sweet ones. . . . Do you want me to have him assessed by the experts?"

"No, that isn't why I came to see you at all. I came because circumstances have placed me in what seems to be a total quandry, and I really don't know what to do for the best. It's awful, because no matter what I decide, Tim has to get hurt, perhaps badly."

The dark blue eyes never deviated from her face. "It doesn't sound good. What happened?"

"Well, it all started when his mother died nine months ago. I don't know if I told you she was seventy years old. Ron, Tim's father, is the same age."

"I see, or at least I think I do. Tim's missing her?"

"No, not really. It's Tim's father who is missing her, so much so that I don't expect him to live much longer. He's a fine old man, but all the light seemed to go out of his life when his wife died. I can see him fading away before my very eyes. He knows; he told me he knew the other day."

"And when he dies Tim's all alone."

"Yes."

"Does Tim have any idea of this?"

"Yes, I had to tell him. He took it very well."

"Has he any sort of financial security?"

"Plenty. The family put almost everything they had into making sure Tim would never want for money."

"And where do you come into it, Mary?"

"Ron-Tim's father-asked me if I'd take Tim when he was gone, and I said yes."

"Do you realize what you're in for?"

"Oh, yes. But there are unforeseen complications." She glanced down at her hands. "How can I take him, John?"

"You mean what will people say?"

"Partly, although if it was only that I'd be prepared to take the consequences. I can't adopt him, he's well over the majority age, but Ron has given me a complete power of attorney in Tim's affairs, and anyway, I have plenty of money myself; I don't need Tim's."

"What is it, then?"

"Tim's always been very attached to me, I don't know why. It was strange. . . . Right from the beginning he liked me, as if he saw something in me that I can't even see myself. It's very nearly two years since I met him. ... In those early days it was simple. We were friends, such good friends. Then when his mother died I went to see the family, and Tim's sister Dawnie, who is a very clever girl and devoted to Tim, leveled some dreadful and quite untrue accusations at me. She implied that I was Tim's mistress, that I was trading on Tim's mental weakness to exploit and corrupt him."

"I see. It was a shock, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I was horrified, because none of it was true. Tim was present when she said all this, but luckily he didn't understand what she meant. However, she spoiled it for me and thus for him. I was shamed. Tim's father was there, too, but he took my side. Isn't that odd? He refused to believe a word of what she said, so it shouldn't have made any overt difference in my friendship with Tim. But it did make a difference, perhaps unconscious, perhaps conscious too, I don't know. I found it harder to relax with Tim, and besides, I felt so sorry for Ron that I brought him along to the cottage with us at weekends.

"This went on for six months, almost, during which time Tim changed. He grew silent and withdrawn, he wouldn't communicate with either of us. We were terribly worried. Then one morning there was a terrific scene between Tim and me, it all came out into the open. Tim was jealous of his father, he thought Ron had replaced him in my affections. That was why I had to tell him his father was dying."

"And?" John Martinson prompted when she hesitated; he was leaning forward, watching her fixedly.

Strangely, the sheer quality of his interest gave her courage to continue.

"Tim was absolutely overjoyed when he realized that my feelings toward him hadn't changed, that I still liked him. Like is his special little word; he'll say he loves cake or TV Westerns or jam pudding, but if he's talking of people he's fond of, he always says like, never love. Odd, isn't it? His mind is so pure and direct that he took the literal interpretation of like and love; he listened to people say they loved food or a good time, but he noticed when they talked of another human being, they said like. So he says the same thing, sure he's right. Perhaps at that he is."

Her hands were shaking; she stilled them by clasping them together in her lap. "Apparently during this period when he thought I liked Ron better than I liked him, he was so perturbed that he sat down and worked out a way of proving to me that his own liking for me was genuine and undying. Television gave him his answer; he reasoned it out for himself that when a man liked a woman he showed her by kissing her. No doubt he also noticed that in movies such an action usually results in a happy ending." She shivered slightly. "I'm really to blame. Had I been more on the
qui vive
I might have averted it, but I was too obtuse to see it in time. Fool!

"We had a really dreadful scene, during which he accused me of liking Ron more than I liked him, and so on. I had to explain to him why I was paying so much attention to Ron, that Ron was dying. As you can imagine, he was shattered. Neither of us was our emotional self, we were upset and very tense. When the shock of learning about his father wore off a bit, it dawned on him that I still like him better than Ron. He sort of leaped to his feet and grabbed me so fast that I didn't realize what he was doing until it was far too late."

She stared at John Martinson pleadingly. "I didn't know what to do for the best, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to humiliate him by repulsing him."

"I understand that very well, Mary," he said gently. "So you responded, I take it?"

She had flushed in embarrassment, but she managed to speak calmly. "Yes. At the time it seemed the best thing to do, that it was more important to make sure he suffered no rejection than it was to push him away. Besides, I-I was in too deep myself, I couldn't seem to help it. He kissed me, and luckily I didn't have to contend with anything more serious than that, because we heard Ron calling us and it gave me an excellent excuse to break away from him."

"How did Tim react to the kiss?"

"Not quite as I imagined. He liked it too much, it excited him. From then on I could tell he was seeing me differently, that he wanted more of this new sensation. I explained to him that it was bad, that it was forbidden, that although it could happen between lots of people it couldn't happen between us, and superficially he understood. He really did grasp the fact that it was forbidden, and he cooperated splendidly. It's never happened again, nor will it in the future."

A sudden scream of laughter came from the house; Mary jumped in fright, momentarily losing her train of thought. Plucking at the clasp of her handbag, she sat voiceless and white-faced.

"Go on," he said. "It's never happened again, nor will it in the future."

"I suppose for Tim it must be like opening a door into a whole new world and then discovering that you can't enter. Yet all the time you know this, the door is still open and the new world is green and beautiful. I feel so sorry for him, and so helpless to heal him. I'm the cause of his misery. He won't do it again, but neither can he forget the time it happened. Ron had kept him absolutely ignorant about matters of a physical nature, and never having heard of it, let alone known of it, he didn't miss it. Now he's had a small taste, and it's gnawing at him without mercy."

"Of course." He sighed. "That was inevitable, Mary."

She looked past his head and fixed her eyes on a tiny spider crawling down the wall, unable to meet his gaze. "Naturally I couldn't tell Ron what had happened, and yet at the same time everything is changed. How can I take him when Ron dies? If Ron knew he'd never ask it of me, I'm sure. I
can't
take him now, it would drive me mad! At the moment I manage, I can keep Tim occupied and happy two days a week, especially with Ron there. But how can either of us contend with living in the same house together all the time? Oh, John, I just don't know what to do! If I thought there was any chance Tim might forget it would be different, I'd find the strength somehow. But I know he won't forget, and when I catch him looking at me, I. . . Tim isn't one of those unretentive simpletons, you see; he has the ability to absorb and cement memories if they make a big enough impression or he repeats them enough. Every time he looks at me he remembers, and he isn't clever enough to hide it. He's angry and hurt and very resentful, and though he understands it can't happen again, he'll never really understand why."

"Have you thought of a solution, Mary?"

"Not really. Is there some sort of hostel perhaps, where people like Tim who are adults physically but still children in mind could stay when they're all alone and have no family? If he lived in a place like that I could have him on weekends. I could manage that."

"Anything else occur to you?"

"Not seeing him again. But how can I do that, John? It wouldn't help him to hand him over to Dawnie-or is that simply selfishness on my part? Do I really mean as much to him as I think, or is it only self-delusion? I suppose it's possible that he might forget me once he's installed in Dawnie's house, but I keep seeing her and her husband living their lives with Tim as an afterthought. She has more important responsibilities, she can't devote herself to him the way I can!"

"There is another answer, you know."

"There is?" She leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, if you only knew how much I've yearned to hear you say something like that!"

"Why don't you marry Tim?"

Mary gaped at him, so dumbfounded that it took her a few seconds to say "You're joking!" The chair was suddenly too hard and confining; she got up and paced the length of the room once, then came back to face him. "You're joking?" she repeated pitifully, turning it into a question.

A pipe lay on the work table; he picked it up and began to fill it, tamping the tobacco down slowly and very carefully, as though by doing so he could concentrate on remaining calm. "No, I'm not joking, Mary. It's the only logical answer."

"Logical answer?
Heavens above, John! It's no answer at all! How can I possibly marry a mentally retarded boy young enough to be my son? It's criminal!"

"Utter twaddle!" He sucked on the pipe furiously, teeth biting down on the stem. "Be sensible, woman! What else is there to do but marry him? I can understand why you didn't think of it for yourself, but now that the idea has been put into your mind there's no excuse for throwing it aside! To do so would be criminal, if you like the word. Marry him, Mary Horton, marry him!"

"Under no circumstances!" She was stiff with anger.

"What's the matter, frightened of what other people will say?"

"You know I'm not! I can't possibly marry Tim! The very idea is straight out of cloudcuckooland!"

"Stuff and nonsense! Of course you can marry him."

"No, I can't! I'm old enough to be his mother, I'm a sour, ugly old maid, no fit partner for Tim!"

He got up, went over to her, took her shoulders, and shook her until she was dizzy. "Now you listen to me, Miss Mary Horton! If you're no fit partner for him, he's no fit partner for you, either! What is this, noble self-sacrifice? I can't abide nobility, all it does is make everyone unhappy. I said you ought to marry him, and I mean it! Do you want to know why?"

"Oh, by all means!"

"Because you can't live without each other, that's why! Good lord, woman, it sticks out a mile how besotted you are for him, and he for you! It's no platonic friendship, and it never was! What would happen if you chose the second of your two alternatives and stopped seeing him? Tim wouldn't survive his father more than six months, you know that, and you'd probably live out a full span of years like a shadow of your former self, in a world so gray and full of tears that you'd wish you were dead a thousand times in each and every endless day. As for your first alternative, there isn't any such place because what places there are have waiting lists literally years long. Tim would never live long enough to make it in the door. Is that what you want-to kill Tim?"

"No, no!" She groped for a handkerchief.

"Listen to me! You've got to stop thinking of yourself as a sour, ugly old maid, even if that's what you really are. I defy anyone to explain what one person sees in another, and as for you, you shouldn't even dare to query it. Whatever you think you are, Tim thinks you're something quite different and much more desirable. You said you didn't know what on earth he saw in you, that whatever it was you couldn't see it yourself. Be grateful for that! Why toss it away in an excess of self-sacrifice and pride? It's such useless, pointless self-sacrifice!

"Do you think he'll change, grow tired of you? Be your age! This isn't an exquisitely beautiful, sophisticated man of the world; this is a poor, silly creature as simple and faithful as a dog! Oh, you don't like my saying things like that, eh? Well, right at this moment there's no room for euphemism or illusion, Mary Horton; there's only room for the truth, as plain and unvarnished as the truth can get. I'm not interested in why Tim should have fixed his affections on you; I'm only interested in the fact that he has. He loves you; it's as simple as that. He loves you! As improbable, impractical, inexplicable as it may be, he loves you. I don't know why any more than you do, but it is a concrete fact. And what on earth is the matter with you, that you can even contemplate throwing his love away?"