Nantucket (5 page)

“Joe would have been a good Quaker,” said Cynthia quietly, keeping a straight face as Shiva laughed.

“Do you have any temples on Nantucket, Andrew?” said Rosemary. “Shiva will be happy to visit them if you have any temples.”

“I'm afraid we don't have any temples,” said Andrew.

“The whaling museum,” ventured Shiva. “The slaughter of majestic mammals.”

“The courage of sailors,” said Rosemary.

“Well, whatever it is, people tend to visit it,” said Andrew.

“Visit what?” said Joe, turning to Sally.

“The whaling museum.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Gotta see the whaling museum. Lotta money in whaling once.”

“Joe reduces everything to money,” said Cynthia. “He turns reality into physics.”

Andrew thought that was quite a witty comment, but no one was laughing.

“Or biology,” said Joe a bit defensively.

“Or tax planning,” said Shiva, which made
Joe
laugh. “But you are right, Cynthia. There are many ways of apprehending reality. You must take the right arrow from your quiver, depending on what beast you pursue.”

“Do you hunt?” said Cynthia. “Joe's not much good with guns.”

“I have shot a lot of birds,” said Shiva. “Europeans like you to do that. Also deer.” He paused, and it seemed to Andrew that he was studying Cynthia. How far a shot? What adjustment to make for the wind? There were so many ways the weekend could blow up. “In my youth,” said Shiva, “I shot a tiger. Now it is forbidden.”

“Oh, I would love to see a tiger. In the wild, I mean.”

“That could be arranged,” said Shiva. “Joe could come too. He would not need a gun.”

Cynthia looked across the table at Joe. She seemed to Andrew, if only for a moment, like a child asking to go to the circus – asking with the same innocent air that made so many Americans want to watch her on television while they had breakfast, the same innocent air that made her a dangerous interviewer. It was all an act, Andrew realised.

“That's a handsome offer,” said Joe.

Meaning, “we'll see,” said Andrew to himself. Joe was eager for the deal. Letting Shiva entertain his wife was no problem, so long as he got the patents. He'd even go to India himself, if they did a deal. Closing party, maybe. Lotta money in India. That was how Joe's brain worked.

“Do you have your own jungle?” Cynthia asked Shiva.

“I think you could say that,” said Rosemary, but Cynthia ignored her.

“We tend to call it a forest,” said Shiva.

“With temples?” said Cynthia.

“Quite a few,” said Shiva. He turned to Andrew. “But Prospero, my friend, I want to see all of your magical island.”

Joe and Cynthia looked confused.

“Hero of Shakespeare's
The Tempest
,” said Rosemary. “Shiva's unnaturally fond of Shakespeare.”

“No, Rosemary,” said Shiva, as if admonishing a child. “
Naturally
fond. How can anyone fail to love Shakespeare's plays?”

“Well, I've read them all, and some are distinctly better than others,” said Rosemary.

“She's read them all,” said Shiva, mimicking his wife. “And
she could write you a very good paper on
Hamlet
. But she does not
feel
them as I do.”

“What he means,” said Rosemary, “is that Shakespeare's characters are kings and princes, and that being a prince himself, Shiva responds to the plays in a visceral way, whereas Rosemary – being merely the daughter of an earl, and only the fourteenth of the title, making him a virtual parvenu – that poor Rosemary, despite her commendable mastery of the apparatus of scholarship, can never
really
appreciate the plays.”

“Are you
really
a prince?” said Cynthia, cutting Rosemary off.

“I fear I am,” said Shiva.

“Haven't you ever slept with a prince, Cynthia?” said Rosemary.

Cynthia ignored the question, but Joe responded: “She'll never tell, you know. She's a perpetual virgin – acts like every orgasm is a surprise.”

A flicker of embarrassment crossed Cynthia's face. Sally came to her rescue. “I wish I could do that,” she said.

“It gets old,” said Joe. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Joe went on: “What I like, since we're talking about sex, and I suppose we should, Shiva – it's a way of getting acquainted when you think about it, a way of letting down your guard – what I like is a bit of struggle followed by enthusiastic participation. If a girl's got some…preferences, she ought to own up. If a man's got some preferences, the girl ought to figure out what they are. Don't you agree, Shiva? Andrew?”

“Would that life were so simple,” said Shiva. “But let's talk about this later – man to man.”

“Oh, please,” said Rosemary.

A casual observer might have concluded, Andrew told
himself, that Shiva was way more sophisticated than Joe, that he was making fun of the American, even. But Andrew knew better. Someone who knew what Joe had accomplished as a businessman might have concluded that Joe was playing dumb to get Shiva to drop his guard. In Andrew's view, that wasn't true either. They each knew exactly what the other was doing. They were just warming up – like tennis players hitting balls back and forth before a match.

“Caliban,” said Sally, as if on cue. “Andrew said you wanted to meet him, Shiva.” Cathy must have told her that, Andrew realised; he didn't remember doing so himself

“See him,” said Shiva. “I'd want to keep my distance. I have no need to
meet
a monster, which I think would mean
engaging
with him.”

“One
engages
if the monster is inside oneself,” said Andrew.

Rosemary turned and looked at him. “As it usually is,” she said. It felt like she'd noticed him for the first time.

“I've never felt I had a monster inside me,” said Joe.

“But you do,” said Sally. “Everyone does.”

“I don't,” said Cynthia.

“Of course you do,” said Rosemary. “Cathy is right. Everyone harbours a monster. Monsters are a culture's metaphorical representation of its desires and fears.”

“And good sex,” said Sally, “means bringing the monster out – talking to him, talking about him sometimes, parading him even.”

“And you're good at that?” said Joe.

“Some people have thought so,” said Sally, glancing at Andrew. “But going back to Caliban…”

“You're going to tell us that Moby Dick is Nantucket's Caliban,” said Rosemary.

“Well, I wasn't,” said Sally.

“But it's an interesting idea,” said Andrew, responding to Rosemary. “The whale is certainly present in spirit…”

“I was going to say,” said Sally, refusing to let Andrew divert the conversation, “that Caliban is pure sexual energy, which some cultures fear and some accept.”

“Prospero,” said Rosemary, “being a very wise man, has Caliban under his control. Shakespeare is saying that sex, like power, is what you make of it.”

“Or what you let it make of you,” said Sally.

“Ahab's obsession makes
him
a monster,” said Andrew. “It makes him just as much a monster as the whale is. Obsession deforms us all, though some more than others.” The thought briefly visited him that if obsession made monsters, the Governor of Massachusetts qualified. He'd been running for office since he was twelve.

There was also the thought that Sally had an agenda. Just what it was, Andrew couldn't say. But she'd clearly brought Caliban into the conversation in order to talk about sex – and to tease Andrew. She had to know he'd be wondering what would happen later that night.

“My obsession is my audience,” said Cynthia. “I want to please them every single day, so they will tune in the next day. I don't think that makes me deformed.”

“And it does not,” said Shiva courteously.

“Lotta people think I'm obsessed with business,” said Joe.

“I try not to be,” said Shiva, “but sometimes I have no choice.”

Sally started to clear away the salad plates. Andrew was going to have to figure her out. She knew
The Tempest
, which he would not have predicted. She believed in parading monsters.

Cynthia got up to help, which was also unexpected. Maybe there was something she wanted to say to Sally. Like, “Stay away from my husband.” Joe was clearly intrigued.

Rosemary evidently didn't wait tables. With the others occupied in the kitchen, she was suddenly the only woman at a table with three men. It seemed to Andrew that she was somehow emphasising that point by being unnaturally still. It was impossible not to look at her. She could never be possessed, only desired. She accepted observation in the same way Andrew accepted Cathy's failure to give him as much sex as he wanted. Except that passivity made Rosemary beautiful and it made Andrew deformed.

“Does your wife go topless, Andrew?” Shiva said suddenly. “Or perhaps I should ask, what is the custom on magical Nantucket?”

Andrew didn't know how to answer. Cathy was a prude, but Sally clearly wasn't. He couldn't predict what she'd do.

“Lady Rosemary does not,” Shiva continued, as if his wife weren't sitting there. “Doesn't even sunbathe. Wraps herself up in long sleeves and long trousers with a big floppy hat. You'll see tomorrow. She claims it has to do with her sensitivity to the sun, but I think it is pure selfishness. Someone as beautiful as Rosemary should be
required
to show herself from time to time.”

Andrew had no idea where this was going. He didn't know what to do. He didn't like the idea of Rosemary being put on display, like Hester in
The Scarlet Letter
, as if her beauty were a crime. Hester hadn't had to disrobe, of course. It was Puritan New England. She'd just had to embroider a red “A” on her blouse. Perhaps Shiva had had something tattooed on Rosemary and that was why she kept covered up. What a
horrible, fascinating idea.

Andrew's imagination changed religions and became a many-headed Hindu god. Shiva was a prince. Not that many generations ago, Lady Rosemary would have been his absolute possession, to do with as he wished. He came from a long line of men who had exercised such power. And women who had leapt on their husbands' funeral pyres. Rosemary's stillness was a reminder of that history. It was like a literary reference that gave depth and resonance to a text – only it was a gesture rather than words, and its impact was on Shiva and the life they shared. But was Rosemary's intention to give Shiva pleasure or to mock him? She did not strike Andrew as someone inclined to self-sacrifice.

Shiva began to laugh. For a moment Andrew thought the Indian had read his mind, but he seemed to be addressing Joe. “You said we should talk about sex as a way of becoming acquainted.”

“Well, since you ask,” said Joe, flustered for just a moment, “I don't know if Cyn goes topless. She never has when I've been around.”

“Sin Goes Topless,” Rosemary repeated. “Sounds like the title of an X-rated movie.” The threat had gone out of the conversation, which was a relief. Or maybe it was Andrew's imagination that had calmed down.

“Yeah, funny about her name, isn't it?” said Joe.

“I think of her as ‘Cynthia Jane,' of course,” said Rosemary, but offered no further explanation.

Before Andrew could question her, Sally and Cynthia came in from the kitchen, carrying red and yellow plates of food. Cathy had gone to some trouble finding dinnerware that was both casual and beautiful – but not French provincial,
which she insisted had become a cliché. “I thought leg of lamb tonight and lobster tomorrow,” said the hostess.

“Sweetheart?” said Andrew. It felt quite daring calling Sally that. “Sweetheart, Shiva wants to know if this is a topless beach. I said I didn't know. There are so few houses at this end of the island.”

“It's whatever we want it to be,” said Sally, as if it were a question people often asked. “Personally, I find topless jolly. But I'll keep mine on if it troubles any of you.” She set down three plates and went back towards the kitchen without waiting for a response.

“Cynthia?” said Shiva. It occurred to Andrew that the Indian was actually quite interested in the answer.

The glamorous Texan reached across the table and set down a lime-green bowl full of tossed salad. “You'll have to wait and see, won't you?” she said, not looking at him. She's decided innocent won't work, Andrew told himself.

“Wine, please, Andrew,” said Sally. He got up and went to the sideboard, and then turned around to ask who was drinking what. Whoever was in charge of this party, it didn't feel like he was. It felt like losing control when he was first learning to ski. He'd never mastered skiing. Cathy was much better at it.

“Try the cabernet, Joe,” said Sally.

“I believe I will,” he said.

“Same for me, Andrew,” said Sally.

“Same for all of us,” said Rosemary, “and if Cyn and Shiva choose to leave it, that's their loss.” She paused. “I like that for a movie title too: ‘Sin and Shiva,' the Bollywood classic.”

It occurred to Andrew that Rosemary was authorising her husband to have a little fun with Joe's wife. He had no idea whether that would be helpful or disastrous to his deal. You had
to accept that billionaires did that sort of thing. Andrew lived in a different world, even if he had visiting privileges.

There was a lot of passing glasses and distributing dinner plates and handing round the salad and the platter of lamb and roast potatoes. “Family style,” said Sally. “It suits the beach.”

“Yes,” said Cynthia. “Imagine if we were a family – six sisters and brothers.”

“We'd argue,” said Shiva. Andrew recognised that as a reference to his disputes with his half-brothers. Joe had to get comfortable with the state of that litigation. He needed to arrange for the two of them to have a walk on the beach.