“Cannel coal.”
“Cannel coal?” He looked from fluttering flame to Edith, and back at flame appreciatively. “I wonder why?”
“I had the janitor bring them from the man across the street. It’s such a dreary day. I’ve been so cold.”
“Yeah? It’s so cozy. Only thing is, it’s expensive, I bet.”
“Moderately. But on occasion—” Smiling, in obvious discomfort, she thrust her legs out stiffly over the edge of the couch. “I thought I’d splurge.”
“Yes?” Shoes in one hand, socks in the other, Ira stood up. “Mind if I spread these on the radiator for a while? I bet they’ll start steaming too.”
“Please don’t stand on ceremony — after all these years. You can take your trousers off and dry them if you want to.”
“Oh, no! I just want to dry the socks. The shoes—” He flapped his hands in token of hopelessness. “They’ll take all night.”
“Yes? As long as that?” Again, there was no mistaking the stiffness with which her back slid up erect against the wall behind her — and the way her neck became rigid. “I had no business letting you come in all this weather. But I did desperately want to talk to you—” She laughed weakly. “As always.”
“That’s all right.” Ira sat down, tried rubbing toes together. “In front of this fire, after wading through all that rain, it’s like a reward—” He turned to look at Edith again, and stopped: something about her appearance he wasn’t taking into account, something amiss. He could feel his brow furrow as his gaze became intent. “You all right, Edith?”
“Not at the moment, I’m afraid.” She grimaced uncharacteristically, more in annoyance with herself than in pain. Still, the way she shifted her body on the couch bespoke extreme discomfort.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve had the abortion.”
“When?”
“This morning. At about half past ten.”
“Pete’s sake, you let me talk about socks and shoes, and you’ve had an abortion? Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve canceled classes. Tomorrow too probably. I called up the secretary of the English department—”
“What does the doctor give you? Does he know?”
“She.”
“All right, she. Does she know?”
“I’m to see her tomorrow morning again. It’s bearable. I’m sorry I’m so — conspicuously uncomfortable.” She grimaced again. “The doctor scrapes the inside of the uterus, scrapes the embryo off. It’s like an induced miscarriage—”
“I know. You told me.”
“Of course, there’s some internal hemorrhaging—”
“And as much pain as that?”
“That’s what worries me.”
“No wonder you keep moving around.”
“I just hope there are no complications. Infections and that sort of thing.”
“No.” Ira was silent, his own helplessness manifest. “Can I do something? Can I get you something to eat?”
“Oh, no. Thanks. I’ll have a cup of canned soup later. I’m not altogether helpless; I just feel awful.” She smiled bravely. “I’m sorry. I must look like something the cat dragged in.”
“Oh, no. What’s the difference?” Ira felt oppressed by the sheer gravity of the event, oppressed, compelled to undivided focus. “Infections. That’s something to worry about.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right, I’m sure. There may be a few more complications than usual.”
“I hope you’re wrong. Anybody with you? Anybody coming? I mean Lewlyn.”
“No.”
“No?”
His fists struck both thighs. Thoughts slipped one past the other in his mind, rendering all opaque. Jesus, he could pass judgment — or he could feel disapproval — freely about Lewlyn. Real indignant. The night the Yankees won the series, he and Stella, Murderers’ Row, all right.
“You’re an angel to bear with me this way,” said Edith.
“Oh, no! Gee whiz.”
“You are. You’re the only one I care to see.” Her small hands in her lap, slack torso against the wall, brown eyes very large in the sallowness of pallid olive skin. “I’ve finished with all my lovers, I’m glad to say.”
All? Ira made no attempt to reply. The word all bulked in his mind, too unwieldy to budge.
“To make matters worse, Larry was here yesterday. That was quite a session.”
“Yesterday? He didn’t say anything to me.”
“Hardly surprising.” Nuances never found him prepared: Hardly surprising. “He came to resolve certain doubts he had about his mistress. About me— Are you in a draft?”
He had sneezed. The current of air flowing close to the floor had cooled his bare feet. He eased his sopping pants cuffs away from his shins.
“I’m all right.”
“Here, put this cushion over them.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Please, lad, I don’t want you catching another cold. I have a blanket somewhere—”
“That’ll be fine. That’s enough.” He got up with forestalling haste and took the cushion she proffered, went back to the wicker armchair, and snuggled his toes under the velvety cover.
“That’s plenty.”
“You sure? I can’t tell you how guilty I felt about your last cold.”
“Nah.”
“Larry felt that our relationship was no longer the same as it had been, that I no longer loved him, that he was no longer as dear to me as he had been. I no longer gave him the kind of encouragement I once had. He sensed my indifference. He sensed all kinds of changes had taken place between us — all of which was true. And then he asked me point-blank: was I having an affair with Lewlyn?” Edith straightened her back again. “I said I was—”
“Yeah, but—” Ira interrupted impulsively, mechanically. “You said it was over.”
“I said I was — deliberately. I might have added ‘had been,’ but I didn’t.”
“No?” How complex the form of those delicate lips in the face across the room now seemed.
“On the eve of an abortion, I no longer felt like coddling him. Perhaps I was a little hardhearted. But he seemed to have recovered very well from that one incident involving his heart, and it was time he knew the truth. He didn’t own me; he couldn’t possibly own me. I didn’t tell him he’d become too commonplace for words. I did tell him I was pregnant — there was no possibility in the world the child was his. Not the least. And for very obvious reasons. For very obvious reasons.”
Ira’s attention sheered away. There it was again: the cramped synopsis of cat on the wall, and the shriek, and the bunny-hugging—
“Cruel of me to tell him, because he would certainly know as much. I told him I was sure the child was Lewlyn’s. Oh, we had quite a session. I didn’t tell him how much I would rather have the child than go through an abortion. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I could help. Good heavens, if only there were a man who saw fit to marry me and give the child color of legitimacy—” Her pallor increased, her large brown eyes became protuberant and her countenance resentful.
“I wonder what I would have done if I were a man who loved, or thought I loved, a woman who was pregnant by another man — would I feel enough protectiveness to overcome my jealousy or vanity? I wonder. I think I would. I did as much for a friend once with much less at stake. But I really shouldn’t complain. I was fortunate.”
“Fortunate!” Ira could hear his own Yiddish intonation.
“Larry ranted at me: I was promiscuous, I was loose. I was unfaithful. All sorts of rubbish. Fie on thee, I thought: I told him I was due to have an abortion tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Ira felt the momentary throb of headache, as if he had gulped down too much ice cream. “You mean today?”