12
Outside Mark’s window the swallows fussed in the live oak tree.
“After all, as civilized people we’re supposed to be a little tolerant,” Mark said. “So she told a lie. What of it?”
“Honestly, darling. I didn’t say anything of it. I merely mentioned the fact that she was a liar and I wished she’d go away. We don’t owe her anything.”
“Except the house.”
“We’re paying for that,” Evelyn said. “What’s more, I’m not civilized. I’d like to march right up to her and say, come on, cookie, explain yourself.”
“You’d like to but you won’t.”
“Well...”
“And maybe she can’t explain herself. Did that ever occur to you?”
“She can. Everyone can, up to a point.”
“All right. You explain yourself to me up to a point.”
Evelyn raised one eyebrow. “I don’t consider that very funny.”
“I was completely serious.”
“I can explain myself very easily, as a matter of fact. It’s other people who are complicated. You,” she said gloomily, “and Jessie and Mr. Roma, everyone, practically.”
Mark smiled. “Me’s a little queer. Righto.”
“That reminds me, if you’re going to go out in that silly rubber raft, you’d better use some suntan oil.”
“What’s silly about it? It was a bargain. War surplus. Complete with two paddles, twenty-five bucks.”
“I thought you bought it for Jessie’s birthday.”
“I’ll get her something else.” He stepped into his swimming trunks and pulled the drawstring tight and automatically drew in his stomach.
“You have quite nice legs,” Evelyn said thoughtfully.
“All the better to...”
“And a vulgar mind.”
“Righto again, little mother.”
She glanced at him, half-pleased, half-suspicious of his mood. “What’s behind all this fine fettle?”
“You.” He lifted her off the floor and pressed a kiss on her throat. “You, angel.”
“Me and who else?”
“God, here we go again. Hand me the oil, will you?”
“I’ll put it on for you.”
She smoothed the oil on his shoulders and back. His skin was still peeling a little from his last sunburn, and she touched it very gently.
“Change your mind and come with me,” he said.
“No, thanks. You only want me to help with the paddling. Remember last time I went out in a boat with you — at Fire Island? All you did was snarl out orders like Captain Bligh.”
“It was windy and we were drifting. Nor did I snarl.”
“And Captain Bligh was just a sweet old man, right.” She paused. “Why don’t you take someone else with you?”
“Such as?”
“Well, Mrs. Wakefield would probably enjoy it.” Evelyn’s voice was as bland as the oil on her fingertips. “She’s a good swimmer, too. You wouldn’t have to worry about drifting. She could just take the rope between her teeth and swim the boat in.”
“Very funny.”
“I think so.”
“What would you do if I really did ask her?”
“I don’t know. Try me.”
“I will.”
Evelyn’s smile was shaky as she screwed the top back on the bottle of oil. “Go ahead.”
“I wish I understood you. I know you’re jealous of the woman — why needle me into taking her out in a boat?”
“Because I know you want to. I might as well be the one to suggest it, it’s easier on my pride.”
“I don’t want to. I’d rather take you and Jess.”
She ignored that. “I feel noble as hell, sending my husband off on the high seas with another woman.”
“Listen, Evelyn. If it’s going to bother you, I won’t go. Let’s skip the whole thing.”
“I’m not bothered in the least. Honestly.” She turned at the doorway. “If you see a hot jealous little face peering at you from the window, it won’t be mine.”
“Won’t it?”
“Have fun.”
She went downstairs and sat for a long time in the living room with the drapes closed, wondering why, when she talked to Mark, she used superficial frivolous words that never indicated the storm of passion in her heart.
The air was windless, but out beyond the breakers the swells were long and deep, and the boat rose and fell like a yellow balloon.
“There’s a storm somewhere,” Mrs. Wakefield said, as if to herself. “Perhaps a thousand miles away, but still we feel it in the swells; the whole sea is disturbed.”
The rubber bottom of the boat was thin and pliable. It moved as the sea moved, it breathed under the soles of her bare feet. She stood up, and it was like walking on the water; she felt the storm a thousand miles away with the soles of her feet.
“Sit down,” Mark said.
His voice startled her. In the prow of the boat with her back to him, she had almost forgotten he was there.
“Sorry,” she said.
“If you’re tired of paddling I’ll put out the sea-anchor.”
“That would be nice.”
She sat down facing him, with the paddle across her knees.
He threw out the funnel-shaped piece of canvas to keep the boat from drifting, and in a few minutes the rope tautened and pointed the prow shoreward.
Twenty yards away, on a clump of kelp, a pelican sat, curious and unafraid, eyeing the fat yellow monster with two heads and four arms. The pelican meditated, moving his beak like an aged man chewing his gums. The sea monster did not alarm or surprise him. He was an old bird and knew his enemies.
She would have liked to take the pelican and make it her own, but she knew he was more powerful than she was; and so she shouted at him and waved the paddle to frighten him away.
“Leave him,” Mark said. “Pretend he’s an albatross.”
Her smile was faint, fleeting. “You’re not ancient enough to be the mariner.” But she put the paddle down again, and the old bird sat ruminating, until the yellow monster drifted slowly away, its four arms quiet.
She couldn’t own the pelican, but the storm was hers alone. Sliding under her feet from a thousand miles away, the storm belonged to her; she owned the weather. It was as if no one knew about the storm, or felt it, except herself and Mark, whom she had told. Just the two of them, sharing a secret...
“Your — wife is very sweet,” she said, looking a little self-conscious. “It’s kind of her to put up with me like this.”
“No trouble at all.”
“And Jessie — I’d almost forgotten there were children like.. like that.” She pressed her hand against her forehead. “Really, I think I’m getting a little — seasick.”
“We can go back.”
“No, not yet. I’ll get over it.”
“Breathe as deeply as you can.”
“I’ll try.”
She breathed deeply, through her mouth, and her full mature breasts rose and fell. He turned his eyes away, a little disturbed and a little angry at himself, too, as if he’d been caught staring down the front of a blouse.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you. I’d hate to turn back now. I love it out here.” Her arm drifted in the water like a pale floating eel. “John and I used to row out here sometimes and dive for lobsters. But Carmelita would never cook them, she thinks they’re poisonous unless they come from a fish market or out of a can. So we cooked them ourselves while Carmelita stood around expecting us to drop dead.”
“She’s a little eccentric,” Mark said.
“Oh, no. She merely has convictions.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Mrs. Wakefield smiled. “She’s a happy woman, though. She has built her own life and she needs no expansion. Not another brick is necessary. Perhaps some day some of it will fall away, like mine, and repairs will have to be done. But meanwhile... meanwhile, she is a happy woman.”