Felix, the suburban father still wearing his blue Sunday Mass suit walked the length of his property holding the hand of his three-year-old son Bruce. He scrutinized the length and breadth of his seventy-by-a-hundred corner plot with the uncompromising eye of a patroon. He could feel spring pulsing in the air, rushing through his blood, singing in his veins. Felix Anders was ready for love again. Patroon-like, he studied his real estate.
“Brucie,” he said quietly, “spring is coming.”
Brucie, who was walking at the moment with a full diaper, nodded and repeated, “Sp’ing.”
“Stop beating your sister, Brucie,” Felix said “Love her. Spring is coming.”
“Love,” Brucie repeated.
The development seemed alive again after the siege of winter. All around him Felix could see people putting in shrubs and plants, people liming, giving their lawns a pre-seasonal mowing, putting up screens, painting fences. With faint superiority, he looked about him. He glanced at the women only briefly. Everyone in the development knew that Felix Anders was a reticently cold gentleman who was devoted to his explosive wife. Nothing in Felix’s glance contradicted this supposition. God, they look sweet, he thought. No more winter coats now, only sweaters and slacks, nice round little backsides and nice rounded breasts. God, women are sweet!
Across the street, behind the Cape Cod, he could see Don Gault working with a shovel. Felix looked in both directions before he crossed the street, somewhat disdainfully, as if he knew no vehicle would have the audacity to run him down. He walked past the Gault garage and then onto the grass to where Don was digging outside the kitchen windows. He did not say hello. Felix very rarely said hello first.
“Hi, Felix,” Don said, wielding the shovel.
It amused Felix that Larry Cole was having an affair with Don’s wife. It amused him greatly that a Tarzan-muscled he-man like Don Gault had a wife who was running around. It was with remarkable restraint that Felix did not burst out laughing in Don’s face.
“Hello there, Gault,” he said. “Digging a garden?”
“No,” Don said. “I’m putting in a patio.” He rested the shovel against his hip, and then wiped sweat from his forehead. “It sure is hot for March, isn’t it?” he said.
“Very unseasonable weather,” Felix agreed. “A concrete patio?”
“No, bricks. I’m going to lay a bed of sand, and then set the bricks in it.”
“I see,” Felix said.
The situation was rather hilarious. Felix hummed with the secret hilarity of it. He could not think of a more enjoyable situation than discussing patios with Don Gault when he knew Margaret Gault was running around with Larry. The entire concept was almost too comical to contain.
Don put the shovel down and reached into his pants pocket. Pulling out a package of cigarettes, he said, “Smoke?”
“Thank you,” Felix said. “I’m trying to cut down.”
“Live it up a little,” Don said. “Go ahead, have one.”
“No, thank you,” Felix repeated. “It’s my only weakness, and I’m really trying to cut down.”
“It takes a lot of will power,” Don said. “The temptation is always there. Does your wife smoke?”
“Yes.”
“Mine does, too. Not a lot, but there are always cigarettes in the house. It’s a great temptation.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Felix said. He thought about temptation, and he thought about Don Gault’s wife, and he had trouble keeping a straight face. He felt somewhat like God. The thought gave him no religious qualms. Today, on this day so close to spring, with his secret knowledge humming within him, talking to Don Gault, he felt somewhat like God.
“How is Margaret?” he asked kindly.
“Oh, just fine,” Don said. “Same as ever.”
“And Patrick?”
“Fine,” Don said. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”
“No, no,” Felix answered, “go right ahead.”
Don lighted the cigarette and returned the package to his pocket. “You ought to learn to relax, Felix,” he said. He did not say it unkindly, but immediately afterward he added, “Don’t take offense.”
“No offense,” Felix said, smiling benignly.
“You always seem so... tense.”
“I’m not tense at all.”
“Well, dignified then. That’s what I mean.”
Felix smiled. “I don’t see anything wrong with maintaining a little dignity, Don.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Don said. He picked up the shovel. “You should live it up more. Get to know people. You’re a hard guy to get to know.”
“Really?” Felix asked. He smiled pleasantly. “Well, my life’s an open book, Don. I’m a butcher. I work in Manhattan. I live right here in Pinecrest Manor with the most wonderful woman in the world, and three adorable kids. I’m a happy man.” He paused. “Maybe I am a little quiet and introspective sometimes. Perhaps I think about things too much. But I’m sorry I give the impression of being difficult to know.”
“Well, maybe I was mistaken.”
“I guess a man like me becomes so involved with his own family that he forgets about his neighbors. I’m certainly sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
“No, no, forget it,” Don said. “Please, forget it.” He drew in on his cigarette. “How’s Betty?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“The kids?” Don asked, looking down at Brucie and tousling his hair.
“All in fine shape,” Felix said.
“Good, good.”
Both men were silent for a while. Don smoked his cigarette, and Felix hummed secretly with his silent knowledge. Don didn’t seem too anxious to get back to work.
“Where’s Margaret now?” Felix asked.
“Inside. Napping.” Don shrugged. “Lazy Sunday.”
“Sleeps a lot, does she?”
“Catches a nap every now and then. You know how women are.”
“Certainly.” Felix smiled. “Tired, is she?”
“Not tired, just... you know. A little sleepy, I guess. You know.”
“Sure.”
They stood silently for another few moments. At last Felix said, “Well, I guess I’ll be strolling along. Let you get back to digging up that grass.”
“I’ll see you,” Don said. He stepped on his cigarette and then pushed the point of his shovel into the earth.
“Shobel digger,” Brucie said.
“Yes,” Felix answered. “Shobel digger.” Turn the earth, Don, he thought as he walked away. Don’t let any grass grow under your feet. Your sweet wife sure as hell isn’t letting any grow under hers.
He almost burst out laughing.
God, it was good to be alive. God, it was wonderful!
“Do you know why she sleeps so much, Brucie?” he asked his son.
“S’eep?” Brucie said.
“Yes, seep. Do you know why?”
“Why?” Brucie asked, annoyed by the diaper, not having the faintest idea what his father was talking about, but humoring him anyway.
“Because when she sleeps, my son, she escapes. She flies to the arms of her lover. That’s why. Love. Be a lover, son. When you grow up, love them all.”
“Okay,” Brucie said, nodding, still not understanding a word his father was saying.
Felix Anders was ready.
He walked the streets of Pinecrest Manor, and he nodded politely to all the busy busy men, and he glanced only briefly at the sweet women in their sweet slacks and sweaters, so rounded, so sweet. He was ready.
When he saw the dark-haired girl, he didn’t recognize her at first. She was wearing tapered black slacks, and she was bent over digging into the earth at the front of the house, the black hair hanging girlishly over one eye. She looked very feminine and inexpert and Felix thought, How goddamned sweet women are.