Young Mr. Keefe (10 page)

“Loyal to what? To our Puritan ancestors …?”

And then, as though something suddenly snapped into focus inside his mind, he knew why, the real reason why he wanted to kiss her. It was not Claire he wanted; it was revenge, against Helen. As though, by taking Claire, he could put to rest the ghost of Helen. “You see,” he would be able to say to her spectre, “you have hurt me; I will repay you this way; I will profane your image.” The thought sickened him. He closed his eyes.
Be careful of that lighter, it will throw out sparks
. Like this. He knew he had to say something.

“Look,” he said. “We're not making any sense, are we? We've both had quite a bit to drink to-night … we're just two people who are very fond of each other. Let's not get carried away.”

She turned away sharply. “You're making me feel like a tramp!”

“I don't intend to. It's wonderful. I'm very flattered—you should be flattered, too.” He stood up. “Let's get back.”

She was silent. He wondered if she was going to cry, but she was not. Presently she gave a little shrug and stood up. They walked back together in silence. The moon disappeared when they reached the trees. With a little trouble, they found their beds.

Claire said, “Good night,” and her voice—he could not see her face now—sounded cold and distant. They separated.

For a long time Jimmy lay looking up into the blackness. A slight wind came up, stirring the leaves, tossing up sparks from the dying fire.

6

In the morning, he was the first to wake. The sun was coming brightly through the trees, and he had to spend a moment or two locating himself, remembering that he was on a mountain, on a hard sleeping-bag that had become wadded and uncomfortable beneath him.

He stood up. Claire and Blazer were still asleep. On their bed of pine boughs, they had rolled apart. He fished inside his knapsack for his bathing-trunks, found them, and slipped off his trousers. For a moment he stood there, tall and naked, wondering what they would say if they should suddenly wake and see him. Then he stooped, pulled on his trunks, and walked down towards the water. The footprints were still there in the sand. Carefully, he walked up and down over them, erasing them. For what reason, he didn't know. Perhaps, he thought, by erasing the footprints, I can erase the incident from my mind. For a long time, he stood looking out across the water. Then he turned, and saw that Claire was standing farther back, on a rock, watching him. She turned quickly and moved away. Had she had the same thought, he wondered? To erase the footprints in the sand? The glimpse he had of her, in blue jeans and a sweater, standing there, her blonde hair tousled and loose, printed itself on his mind, then dissolved. He went to the water's edge, leaned over, and splashed cold water in his face.

He walked to where the rocks formed stepping-stones out into the lake, and he tried to step out to the farthest one. He lay flat on his belly on the final stone and looked over its edge into the water. With his fingertips, he drew slow angel-wing patterns on the smooth surface. Not far from him a snake darted along the top of the water. He followed it with his eyes until it reached the bank and hid among tall weeds and rushes. After a while, he got up and started back to the camp.

Claire was fixing breakfast. Blazer lay on his back on top of the sleeping-bag, still foggy with sleep. “We have cereal,” Claire said brightly. “No eggs … I told you I was afraid eggs would break. And I've made coffee. I don't have any idea how it is.”

Blazer looked up. “Been in the water?”

“No,” Jimmy said. “It's not too good for swimming.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Well, the bottom's pretty mucky,” he said. “It's the kind of bottom that you step into, and your foot sinks. And a lot of bubbles come up. Besides, I saw a snake.”

“Coward,” Blazer said, and rolled over.

“I like to swim where I know what's on the bottom.”

“I think I'll go in,” Blazer said. He stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“You're not going to change
here
, are you?” Claire said quickly.

“Why not?”

“Well—”

“Jim's a man and you're my wife. You've both seen me in the raw separately, for God's sake. Why not together?” He pulled his trunks out of his knapsack and started off into the shrubbery, swinging them by the draw-string.

“It sounds like a sensible argument,” Jimmy said.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Claire said absently.

Jimmy stooped over the fire and picked up the bubbling pot of coffee. “Mind if I pour myself a cup of this?”

“Go ahead, please do.”

He poured coffee into a paper cup. “Smells good,” he said. “Any cream?”

“Evaporated milk … there, in the can.”

He poured milk into the cup and tasted the result. “Good,” he said, “very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I pour you some?”

“No, thank you.”

“About last night—” he began.

“Please,” she said sharply. “Never mind.”

“O.K.,” he said. “That's just the way I feel. Never mind.”

Blazer came out of the woods in his trunks and headed towards the water.

“Cereal?” Claire asked.

“No, thanks.” Jimmy looked hard into his cup.

“Aren't you going to have any breakfast?”

“I'm not too hungry …”

“I can make some toast …”

“No, thanks.” He drained his cup. “I'll see what Blazer's doing,” he said.

He found Blazer standing on one of the rocks, studying the water. “What's the matter?” he asked. “Aren't you going in?”

“I don't know,” Blazer said. “You're right about the bottom. It doesn't look too appetising. I saw a turtle over there—a snapper. How'd you like to step on one of those things?”

“Now who's the coward?” Jimmy asked.

Blazer leaped back on to the sand and laughed. “Well, let's all go in later,” he said. “There's safety in numbers.”

“Well … perhaps.”

The two of them stood side by side, looking at the lake. It was one of those increasingly rare moments, Jimmy realized, when the two of them were actually alone together. Ordinarily, he would have thought nothing of this; to-day, it made him feel awkward and embarrassed.

“Christ, I wish we didn't have to go back to-day,” Blazer was saying. “We really should have given ourselves more time—say a week. Then it would have been worth all the trouble getting up and getting down.”

“Yes, a week would be good.”

“Look,” Blazer said, “let's do it again some time. Could you take a week off from work? I could, and probably Claire could take some time off from her charity cases. Later in the summer—and the four of us can come up here together.”

“Four?”

“Sure, with Helen.” Blazer looked at him. “What's the matter between you and Helen anyway? You don't seem to include her—”

“Well, the fact is,” Jimmy said slowly, looking away, “we've—we've separated; I told Claire yesterday, on the lift. I'm sorry—I haven't been telling you the truth, I know. But that's the way it is. I wasn't going to tell you, but you'd have known sooner or later—”

“What happened? She walked out on you?”

The abruptness of the remark startled him. “Yes,” he said. “She left. She—she went home. It's—well, it's just one of those things.”

Blazer was silent. Finally, he said soberly, “I'm sorry to hear that, Keefe-o. I really am.”

“Well,” Jimmy said rapidly, “you never think that it will happen to you. I never did. And then it does happen to you, and you don't know what to do. I know I'm not unique, it's happened to lots of people. But—well, I just didn't have the guts to tell you before.”

“Forget it. It's just a hell of a shame.” He put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder. It was a spontaneous gesture—and, for Blazer, a boy not given to physical displays of affection, it was a singular one. “You're too nice a guy,” Blazer said.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. His chest reverberated with gratitude, suddenly, and joy. They started back.

“Didn't you go in?” Claire asked.

“No, we lost our nerve,” Blazer said.

“You're both cowards.”

They sat around the little fire, the steaming coffee pot. “Jimmy just told me about Helen,” Blazer said.

“Oh, did he?”

“Yes.”

“It's a shame, isn't it?”

“What do you think he should do?”

“What?” Claire asked.

“Do. What should he do?”

Jimmy wanted to stop the conversation. “You've both been wonderful to me,” he said. And, quickly realizing the vacuity of the remark, he added, “I mean you're both very therapeutic.”

“We—well, we want to help you in every way we can.”

“Sure,” Blazer said. “But how?”

His joy, in the moment by the rock, had disappeared. Instead, he felt a dry sickness in his throat. This was why he hadn't wanted to tell them. He knew they would begin entwining themselves in his problem, making it their own. And after all, it was his, his to decide.

“Look—” he began.

But all at once Claire and Blazer were deep in a conversation about him.

“Of course we've never met her …” Claire said.

“She was damned good-looking in that picture …”

He began hearing them from a distance, and, for a minute, it seemed as though they were actually moving away from him. “Of course she's probably one of those
determinedly
California girls …” “Yes, but Jimmy's a little New England, too, don't forget …” “But didn't he come out
here?
Didn't he try?”

Their words had no meaning now, heard through such layers of air, with what seemed like trees and water and finally mountains in between. He had retreated from them now, into his familiar trough of self-despair, and he wondered if they would miss him if he should actually stand up and walk away. Presently he stood up and walked towards the woods. They went on talking—two conspirators, mapping strategies, laying plans. Why don't they try to straighten out their own marriage? he thought angrily.

He walked slowly into the trees, along the path they had taken yesterday. Of course, he thought, they were only trying to be kind. Perhaps even last night Claire had only been trying to be kind. Was that possible? Well, he thought bitterly, he didn't want their kindness if their kindness came in these odd spurts. Claire, for instance. Yesterday, they had climbed up the mountain, and she had fallen. He had reached for her, and she had cried, “Don't touch me!” and she had meant it. Then later, in the night, she had begged him to touch her, and meant it, too. She was off and on. He was out of their sight now. He heard them calling him. He stopped, but didn't answer them.

And yet, he remembered, when Claire had asked him, “Would it be hard for you to love me?” he had answered no, that it would not be. Hadn't he meant that, too?

What is happening to me?
he wondered. And he thought, perilously, that perhaps there was some subtle ingredient in himself, some substance that, when it came into contact with others, precipitated unhappiness. Had this been what had destroyed his own marriage? And was it now destroying Blazer's?

“Jimmy!” Claire's voice called.

“Coming,” he answered.

Hadn't he perhaps known, when Claire woke him in the night, that going with her would lead only to one thing? And hadn't he gone with her, knowing? And if that were the case …

He turned and started back. If that were the case, if he was to blame … he tried not to think what it would mean if he was to blame.

“Where've you been?” Claire asked when he reached them.

“Just exploring,” Jimmy said, smiling hard.

“You didn't like us talking that way, did you? About Helen—we're sorry.”

“Oh, that's all right.”

“We promise not to do it again.”

“I know you must be pretty broken up about it,” Blazer said.

“No.”

“Sure. You must be, I'm sorry.”

“Please,” he said, “let's not talk about it. I'm not broken up. I've just got to the point where the subject bores me a little.”

“Sure, that's understandable.”

Claire said, “While you were gone, I did have one thought. Not that I'm an expert on broken homes or anything, but I
do
do that sort of thing in San Francisco …”

“I'm not a charity case,” Jimmy said.

“No—but what would you say if I were to try to see Helen? If I tried to talk to her. Would that help?”

“I'd say—”

“What? What do you think?” She looked at him searchingly.

“I'd say for God's sake let's shut up about it,” he said.

They were both silent.

Jimmy looked around. “Do you mind?” he asked. “I mean, would you think it was awful if I had a sip from that Thermos? I feel in the need of something, and I'm afraid a drink is it.”

Claire said softly, “It's hardly the cocktail hour—ten-thirty in the morning.”

Blazer looked at him. “Yeah, why don't you hold off?” he said casually. “We'll have to start back in three or four hours.”

“Oh, don't worry about me,” Jimmy said. He picked up the Thermos, tilted it, and drank deeply. Putting it down, he said, “That warms me up fine. Just fine.”

It was a large Thermos, and he looked at it, over the lip, inside. It was half-empty. Three hours? They would be starting back. Four hours, perhaps, and there would be enough. He patted the jar carelessly, and said, “I drink, you know.” They said nothing. Furtively he thought: Four hours? Would there be enough for four slow hours of time?

7

The opening scene, the earliest part, was vivid enough. It was the end, the weeks they had spent in the apartment on Capitol Avenue, that was the hardest to remember. He moved his mind back into this shadowy area of disjointed greetings and good-byes, trying to isolate the scenes, establish the sequence. Sitting by the rock in the warm sun, holding the cool yellow drink in his hand, he tried to put things together, one by one.