It will be on my conscience forever, of course: the revenge of the universe for the groom’s mercilessness toward a fellow creature. But in what way does the dainty little doll-bride deserve such a thing, to have the dripping fist of fate grab her tiny companion and hurl him to earth in splinters? In the great flip-book of heaven, where our movement is created and the story reveals itself, what’s to be made of some tragedy in miniature: not two people embracing to waltz with perfect steps and swirling tux tails and a voluminous skirt; not an agile fox chasing a rabbit that outwits him at the last second by burrowing into the hole of a tree… instead, one tiny figure approaching another, clasping that person’s hand, both turning to face the viewer and to take a modest bow, then suddenly we see only the legs of one figure who levitates, the toes of tiny shoes dangling atop the page. Then nothing. Only the bride. White space.
Our flipping thumb runs out of space and time. We can only raise our first finger in the universal sign: a lesson must be learned.
Having learned it, I pass it on.
THE STROKE
“We don’t like the children.”
“We do love them, though.”
“Doesn’t matter. We want them to go away.”
“I don’t want Amity to go. She came all the way from Santa Cruz. And I’m sure she didn’t really want to come.”
“She criticized your new glass frames. Then she bragged about her vacation. We don’t like to hear about other people’s vacations.”
“The worst thing is that she’s still with that Andrew. How can she stand that braying voice? At least we didn’t have to hear about Turks and Caicos from him, talking through that big nose like it’s a megaphone.”
“Remember when the hurricane was coming and the police cars came around with recordings blasting, telling us to leave the island?”
“We were dancing inside Harry Burns’s new house. We just kept dancing. He had those expensive shutters that rolled down and locked, so we were inside with the lights on until they all went out.”
“Key West was such a disaster. It would have gotten more attention if New Orleans hadn’t been destroyed.”
“And our little Kenneth, living in the Garden District. He thinks we care that he’s gay, and we don’t care. We’ve run out of different ways to insist that we’re happy if he’s happy. He glowered even as a little child. Maybe his bad eyes are hereditary.”
“You should talk. Wouldn’t you know that your pigeon-toed walk would be exactly the way poor Amity perambulates. None of the other goslings ever walked that way. She imitated everything you did. She still holds her hand out like it’s got a cigarette in it, and you gave up smoking thirty years ago.”
“Don’t you like the way they all chipped in for presents? For, excuse me, modern things? You can bet Kenneth bullied them all into that.”
“I don’t want any of those things. I like to make tea with loose tea in a tea ball. I hate tea bags, and I certainly don’t need a machine to make tea.”
“It’s modern.”
“That did make him sound so gay, didn’t it? ‘You need some new things, some modern things.’ Jesus.”
“Do you think they’re trying to hear us? I always thought they were listening like little foxes when we were fucking. Now I guess they know we’re not doing that.”
“We could listen intently and see if any of them are masturbating.”
“No one does that in their parents’ house. They forget they have genitals.”
“And didn’t you think Henry went on a little too long about the failure of the human pyramid? No one wants people to fall at a circus, but that’s old news. I think he just didn’t know what to talk about.”
“He never got over not being accepted at your alma mater.”
“Most people would think Stanford was every bit as impressive as Yale.”
“Well, but he’s not as rich as his classmates. He’s still brooding about not making it off the wait list at Yale.”
“He and Kenneth don’t seem very buddy-buddy, the way they did when they were younger. Into their twenties, I mean. After that it seems Kenneth only wanted to talk about how the gay world operates, which I notice he’s finally shut up about.”
“They all get along. I was happy to hear that Amity thought she and Jason might visit Kenneth in Brooklyn.”
“He’s got a place big enough to hold the next circus.”
“I know. I still don’t understand how he could afford it, even with those two Russian girls living in the basement.”
“Garden apartment.”
“I don’t like euphemisms.”
“You have divinely dimpled thighs.”
“I have a major cellulite problem.”
“Let’s make noise so they think we’re fucking.”
“They wouldn’t think that. They’d think you were trying to strangle me, or something.”
“Speaking of which, I think it’s absolutely ridiculous that you’ve got a scarf coiled around your throat even when you’re in your nightgown. As if I care about the tightness of the skin on your neck.”
“You wear lifts in your shoes.”
“I don’t. They’re orthotic inserts.”
“We love to bitch at each other, don’t we. Remember when we had real arguments? I hated your secretary. I still resent how bossy she was. Or I resent how cowardly you were in her presence. It bothered you so much that she was overqualified for the job. Why didn’t you hire someone unqualified?”
“Say that again. I like to see your expression when you say ‘unqualified.’ Also, may I ask why you’re suddenly sitting on the bed staring at me and acting like I’m obliged to be the evening’s entertainment?”
“Well, you’re a helluva lot better than having to sit out there with them watching Breaking Bad shows they missed. Though Amity isn’t. She’s knitting and trying to be sociable. I taught her some things too well.”
“I taught Kenneth to fish and he lost the fishing pole. And Amity crashed the car in driver’s ed. Remember that?”
“Don’t bring it up to her anymore, even if you do find it so funny. I’m serious about that.”
“Can’t you say ‘unqualified’ again?”
“Why don’t you have your pajamas on?”
“Because I’ve suddenly become very old and terribly tired. If I didn’t have a machine to brew my tea, I might never have the mental energy to make tea again. Let alone climb onto a riding mower. I’m senile, and I’m afraid of that big new shiny machine. It’d be like jumping onto the back of a bull.”
“Put your pajamas on.”
“I don’t think I’ll wear them anymore. I think I’ll skinny dip into bed.”
“I don’t care what you do, but I’m about to turn off the light.”
“We haven’t had our ritual!”
“That’s out. We’ve got to live in the modern world. We have to change our old habits. I see that now. I don’t care if you skip it tonight, but please do something other than mock the children’s good intentions.”
“You like the tea machine?”
“I do not. But I’m not fixated on it.”
“It will have to be visible when they Skype us!”
“They know perfectly well we’re never going to do that.”
“But Kenneth can be quite a nag, can’t he?”
“And you can be quite the chatterbox. Good night.”
“Oh, I’m just kidding. Let me take off all my clothes and throw them on the floor like the vile man I am, taking extra care to put my smelly socks on top of the pile… there… and hand me that hairbrush, if you’ll be so kind.”