I didn’t know he had left. I slept late that Monday and finally dragged myself out of bed. I had perspired a great deal during the night, always a sign for me that sleep was less untroubled than I might remember it. My skin felt clammy. I went and stood under the shower and got out technically clean but still clammy somehow. Then I huddled over the toilet and threw up.
I examined myself in the mirror and put the palms of my hands over my stomach. I am so thin to start with that I began to show almost from the moment of conception, or so it seemed. According to the best medical information, I would at any time now begin to feel life. A new life moving inside me. A new life having the misfortune to be born to me.
There was fresh coffee in the kitchen. On the kitchen table was the typewriter and the pile of manuscript. I went over to see if Harry had written anything, but the last page was of Rhoda’s plaintive chapter. Nothing had changed. I poured myself a cup of coffee and drank about half of it and poured the rest down the sink. Then I went to the bathroom, feeling nauseous, but nothing came of it. Just a brief attack of dry heaves.
I went outside and checked the shed, but Harry wasn’t there. I went inside and couldn’t find Rhoda. I went outside again and pulled a few weeds out of the garden, and while I was doing this Rhoda came out from the woods and approached.
“Where’s Harry?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Isn’t he working?”
“No. He’s not around the house, either.”
“I thought he was working.”
The old Chevy was gone. I got into the new car and drove it to the station, and the Chevy was parked there. I came back and told Rhoda.
“He’s gone to New York,” I said.
“It’s only Monday.”
“I know. I guess he had to get away.”
“He’ll be back.”
“Will he?”
“Maybe something came up, business or something.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ll hear from him.”
“Rho, I ruined everything.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not being silly. Everything was perfect. I guess I couldn’t stand everything being perfect and I had to find a way to fuck it up.”
“It’s not fucked up.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
I put my hands on my stomach. “I always wanted to get pregnant. You can’t believe how much I wanted it. I finally got myself to the point of believing that I didn’t really want to. You know the excuses you invent for yourself.”
“Not me. I never wanted to be pregnant.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“Well, I did. Desperately. And invented excuses, that I wouldn’t be capable of being a good mother, that a baby would just get in the way, that what Harry and I had was complete by itself and a baby would interfere. The excuses that people always make for themselves. And then I had to, I had to go and pick up those idiots-”
“That was the first time you were ever unfaithful, wasn’t it?”
“Unless I count you.”
“But the first time with a man.”
“They weren’t men. They were boys.”
“The first time.”
“The first and only time.”
“These things happen, Priss.”
“Yes, they do, don’t they? But why did I have to tell him? Why couldn’t I keep it to myself?”
“And eat your heart out for the rest of your life?”
“I could stand it.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not sure you could, love. I’m not sure of that at all. If you could have stood it, you wouldn’t have blurted it all out on paper. That wasn’t a confession, Priss, that was a scream.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. That was an emotional abscess. All that poison in your system coming to a head. You had to get it all out of you.”
“Why couldn’t I just go to a priest? Or a psychiatrist? Why dump all that garbage on Harry?”
“Because we don’t use priests or psychiatrists. We use each other.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Priss-”
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He will.”
“But what if he doesn’t? Rhoda, I cut his balls off, don’t you see that? I did the one unforgivable thing to him and I’ll never see him again. I ought to leave.”
“You?”
“I ought to go away from here.”
“Stop it.”
I didn’t stop it. I stopped saying it, but I didn’t stop it inside my head. It kept on going around and around inside me. I was the excess baggage. I was the overweight. I was the nigger in the ointment. I mean in the woodpile. What is it that you have in the ointment? Flies. A fly in the ointment.
I went inside and took another shower. Lady Macbeth, except with me it wasn’t the hands, it was the body. “Here’s the smell of the come still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little snatch.”
Days went by and there was no Harry. My mind invented fates for him. He had met some other girl and had hied himself off to Acapulco with her. He had walked in front of a bus, or leaped in front of a subway, or hanged himself in a closet. He was drunk, lying somewhere in a gutter. He was-he was anywhere but at home where he belonged, and no matter how many showers I took I still felt dirty.
“It’s too late for an abortion, isn’t it?”
“By a couple of months. What kind of talk is that, anyway? You don’t want an abortion.”
“Don’t I?”
“Of course not, Priss. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t want the baby, either.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“Will I? I don’t think so. What happens if a person has an abortion after it’s too late to have an abortion?”
“She misses her train.”
“Huh?”
“Christ, stop it. I don’t know what happens. Probably the mother dies.”
“Oh.”
“Stop this shit, will you? Do you have any idea what that would do to Harry?”
“How would he find out? I’ll never see him again.”
“You don’t believe that crap yourself.”
“Maybe not. Rhoda-”
“What?”
“I could go somewhere else and have the baby.”
“What’s wrong with the local hospital?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean but I’m damned if I’ll dignify it by taking it seriously.”
“I could just go away.”
“Why?”
“And live somewhere by myself with my baby.”
“Wonderful.”
“It might be best all around.”
“Uh-huh. Harry’ll be somewhere in New York or Acapulco or wherever you’ve decided he is now, and you’ll be somewhere with your baby-where, by the way?”
“I don’t know. Boston. I don’t know.”
“Sensational. You’ll be in Boston with your baby, and I’ll be here with my baby. That’s just what I always wanted, Priss. I mean, I love it here, the woods and the hills and the birds and the flowers, don’t get me wrong. I love it, but the idea of living here all by my lonesome doesn’t appeal to me. I’m not the type.”
“You won’t be alone.”
“Right, I’ll have the kid.”
“And Harry.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll have Harry. Once I’m out of your lives the two of you can be together again and-”
“If you weren’t knocked up I think I might just kick you in the stomach.”
“I can’t help it, Rhoda.”
“Well, you’ve got to help it. You’re being ridiculous and you know it.”
“Maybe, but-”
“Cut it out, huh?”
Somewhere along the line I called Marcia Goldsmith. I don’t know why.
“Miss Goldsmith? You don’t know me, but my name is Priscilla Kapp.”
“Oh?”
“Harry’s wife.”
“Of course, Harry’s wife. How do you do?”
“I wondered if Harry happened to be there, or if you happened to know where he is.”
“He’s not with you? No, I don’t suppose he is, or this conversation wouldn’t be happening. No, I don’t know where he is. I occasionally see him on Wednesdays when he comes to town, if we happen to be working on a book together, but-”
“Uh, Marcia, that is, is it all right to call you Marcia?”
“Be my guest.”
“Because I know that you and Harry, that he sleeps with you on Wednesdays. Pardon me?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I mean, I’m not calling up to do the jealous wife bit or anything. I’m not even calling up to be civilized about it as far as that goes. It’s just that-”
“There’s not really anything to be civilized about, Priscilla. I trust it’s all right to call you Priscilla?”
“Of course.”
“I mean, Harry and I are not in the same league with Heloise and Abelard, you know. It’s just a way of carrying the collaborative process to its logical conclusion.”
“I know all that. Harry told me.”
“Did he really.”
“Yes. The thing is I don’t know where he is, and I just want to make sure that, well, that everything’s all right, and all that.”
“I haven’t seen him since Monday.”
“Oh, you did see him Monday?”
“Yes. He had a suitcase. He didn’t stay long, and I don’t know where he went. I had the feeling that he went back home to Connecticut.”
“Massachusetts.”
“Of course, Massachusetts. I wish I could be more help to you, but I don’t really know anything.”
“I see. If he should happen to get in touch with you-”
“I’ll tell him you called.”
“Yes, I guess that would be best. Tell him I called.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll tell him you called. Any messages?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, then, Priscilla, I’ll just tell him you called.”
“Tell him I love him.”
“Uh, sure. That you called, and that you love him. I’d better write this down. I was sleeping-”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s nothing, I had to get up anyway because the phone was ringing. No, I’d better make a note of this, though, because sometimes when I wake up I have trouble remembering whether something really happened or whether I dreamed it. And I have a feeling this might be one of those happenings I would tend to dismiss as a dream. ‘Harry’s wife Priscilla called and said that if I heard from him I should tell him she called, and that she loves him.’ That’s it?”
“I guess so.”
“It does have a dreamlike quality to it, doesn’t it? Well, if that’s all, Priscilla-”
“Yes, I guess that’s all.”
“It’s been very interesting talking to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me.”
“Maybe we’ll all get together sometime.”
“Maybe we will. Anything’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Good-bye, Marcia. And thank you again.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Good-bye, Priscilla. Keep in touch.”
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, good-bye, then.”
“Good-bye.”
I reported the conversation to Rhoda. “She seems very nice,” I said.
“I’m sure she is.”
“We should all get together.”
“Maybe,” she said, doubtfully. “Priss, let’s make love.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Please, let’s.”
“Maybe later.”
I was taking another shower-I always seemed to be in the shower-when the curtain was drawn back and Rhoda got in with me. “I thought I’d soap your back,” she said.
We washed each other.
“Remember doing this at school?”
“I remember.”
“We used to giggle.”
“Yes.”
We got out and dried off, and she led me to her room. She had evidently gone out earlier and come back with a jug of California burgundy.
“Remember?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s get a little drunk. Remember how I taught you how to hold the bottle and drink from that jug?”
We drank quite a bit of wine and we made love. It was very warm and tender. I kept wanting to cry, but didn’t.
“Priss? Even if it’s just us, just you and me, if he doesn’t come back, it’ll be all right.”
“It will?”
“We’ll be two old dykes with our children. It will work out fine.”
“It will?”
I stayed in bed until she feel asleep. Then I got up and wanted to take another shower but didn’t. I took the jug of wine with me and went into the living room. I drank quite a lot of it, I guess.
I thought about Glory. I wondered if there was any way at all to get in touch with her. I decided that there wasn’t, and that it was probably just as well.
Then I took all the sleeping pills and went to bed.