Authors: Ellen Pall
Slightly Abridged (18 page)
“Oh, I just wanted to hear about your writing career,” said the hostess, and the rest of the meal vanished into the maw of this (to Juliet) exceedingly tedious subject. As they all washed dishes and tidied up, Caroline changed her focus to conduct a vigorous interrogation on the subject of Murray's sculpture. The moment the last dish was done, she declared herself bushed, showed them how to bank the fire and turn down the thermostat when they went to bed, and (with one final offer of her room if they wanted it) went upstairs for the night.
There followed a long, strange moment during which Juliet and Murray stood as if stunned in the vast livingâdining room, like children whose parents have suddenly, weirdly, incredibly, turned over the house to them.
Then they went to the leather couch. They sat down side by side, Juliet first, Murray a moment later, a few careful inches away. She looked into the fire and, on the edge of her vision, saw that he was doing the same. They sat this way for some minutes, silent.
The fire crackled and spat. Then Juliet became aware that Murray had turned his head and was looking at her. She turned her head and looked at him. His dark face flickered, liquid under the light of the fire, his small, bright eyes glittering. As near as she could read them, he was willing to go either way.
She looked down at her hands, feeling as she did so the pulse of blood in her ears. Her hands lay folded with deceptive calm in her lap. She looked up again at him. She closed her eyes.
A long second passed. She heard the rustle of his clothes, the
slight groan of the couch as he leaned over. He kissed her mouth, a slow, solemn kiss. His lips were soft but dry, as if, she thought, he had not kissed anyone in a while. The small part of her consciousness that was not completely absorbed in sensation considered, in turn, the cold, narrow white beds upstairs, the diaphragm she had left safe in its little case in her medicine chest back home, the time of the month, and the fact that she was wearing a black bra with white underpants. Then Murray moved forward, brushing his mouth across her cheek to the side of her neck.
slight groan of the couch as he leaned over. He kissed her mouth, a slow, solemn kiss. His lips were soft but dry, as if, she thought, he had not kissed anyone in a while. The small part of her consciousness that was not completely absorbed in sensation considered, in turn, the cold, narrow white beds upstairs, the diaphragm she had left safe in its little case in her medicine chest back home, the time of the month, and the fact that she was wearing a black bra with white underpants. Then Murray moved forward, brushing his mouth across her cheek to the side of her neck.
She fell back onto the couch, bringing him with her, slid her hands up under his sweater, and relinquished thought.
Mrs. Caffrey Recalled
At ten minutes before one o'clock the next day, Juliet sat on a
wooden bench at the Regency Funeral Home, trying to figure out what to say when her turn at the podium came.
wooden bench at the Regency Funeral Home, trying to figure out what to say when her turn at the podium came.
There were forty or so people gathered already in the small sanctuary. The Regency, despite its highfalutin name, was modest, homey rather than stately, and decorated in plain, dignified style. Juliet had expected most of the mourners today to be old, but perhaps Ada had outlived her cohort too thoroughly for that. Many were quite youngâAdirondActors, she suspected, and, no doubt, Free Earthers as well. Not surprisingly for Ada, there were more men than women.
The only people she recognized, Tom and Cindy Giddy, had come in soon after Murray and herself. Cindy, dressed in a slim, black pantsuit trimmed with silver zippers and chains, spotted Murray at once and sent a deeply interested glance his way. While her husband stopped to say hello to someone near the back of the sanctuary, she came forward, nodded at Juliet, favored Landis with a husky hello, then slipped into the bench directly across the aisle from them.
A minute later Tom came up and offered a more traditional greeting to the visiting New Yorkers. He was nice enough, Juliet
noticed, to refrain from making any jokes about their misadventure yesterday. Then he had been wearing a parka and a hunting cap with the flaps down; today he was dressed in an ill-fitting blue suit, his thinning blond hair brushed straight back from his face. Even so, he had an outdoorsiness that contrasted strangely with his wife's flashy, stylish, sulky look. Despite his smile, he looked uneasy, tugging at his collar and absently pulling his suit jacket down. With something of nostalgia, Juliet remembered the mental image conjured for her by Ada Caffrey's first mention of her “neighbors” in the country: the cheerful, pie-baking, sturdy wife, the beefy, hard-working lunk of a husband, the two of them kindly dropping by now and then to leave casseroles and loads of chopped firewood for the frail old lady next door. The Giddys she had invented for Lord Spafford's estate were all right, she supposed, but she must be sure in the rest of “A Christian Gentleman” to work against these stereotyped notions of “country” and “neighbors.” Perhaps she would go back to the innovative Sir Francis Browne and spike him up a bit. After all, the experimental farmers of the time had been a sort of avant-garde.
noticed, to refrain from making any jokes about their misadventure yesterday. Then he had been wearing a parka and a hunting cap with the flaps down; today he was dressed in an ill-fitting blue suit, his thinning blond hair brushed straight back from his face. Even so, he had an outdoorsiness that contrasted strangely with his wife's flashy, stylish, sulky look. Despite his smile, he looked uneasy, tugging at his collar and absently pulling his suit jacket down. With something of nostalgia, Juliet remembered the mental image conjured for her by Ada Caffrey's first mention of her “neighbors” in the country: the cheerful, pie-baking, sturdy wife, the beefy, hard-working lunk of a husband, the two of them kindly dropping by now and then to leave casseroles and loads of chopped firewood for the frail old lady next door. The Giddys she had invented for Lord Spafford's estate were all right, she supposed, but she must be sure in the rest of “A Christian Gentleman” to work against these stereotyped notions of “country” and “neighbors.” Perhaps she would go back to the innovative Sir Francis Browne and spike him up a bit. After all, the experimental farmers of the time had been a sort of avant-garde.
She tried to return her thoughts to what she would say when called to the podium. It was fortunate that most of her relationship with Ada had developed long distance, through letters. Because of that distance, she found it possible now to think of her almost as a character, and that made it easier to decide what to say. She would talk about how she had come to know Ada, about the dowdy, depressed Mrs. Caffrey she had imagined before they met, then how the real Ada had astonished and entranced her. Her eyes coming to rest absently on Cindy as she worked out the shape of an ending, she happened to catch the dark, sly gaze Mrs. Giddy cut across the aisle to rest, briefly but with unmistakable lust, on Murray. Tom, seated between the two, straightened as he also saw, his jaw tightening visibly. He was, Juliet realized all at once, lovesick.
She turned her own eyes to Murray, feeling a bit love-sodden herself. It ought to be easy to think about Ada now, to mourn her,
in this of all places. Instead, she was intensely, delightedly aware of Murray Landis's warmth beside her. Well, Ada would surely have approved of such a distraction. Juliet noticed his hand resting in mute invitation on the polished wood between them. Gratefully, her own hand crept into it. Murray, she was glad to reflect, had not seemed to notice Cindy Giddy at all.
in this of all places. Instead, she was intensely, delightedly aware of Murray Landis's warmth beside her. Well, Ada would surely have approved of such a distraction. Juliet noticed his hand resting in mute invitation on the polished wood between them. Gratefully, her own hand crept into it. Murray, she was glad to reflect, had not seemed to notice Cindy Giddy at all.
Around them, people in ones and twos continued to arrive as one o'clock came and went, filling the rows of benches, their voices hushed. There was no casket on display. As Juliet understood it, Ada's cremation was to be an unceremonious eventâperhaps had already taken place.
Juliet kept scanning the faces for one to match Matthew McLaurin's hesitant, faint voice on the phone. But when at last a dark-suited funeral parlor functionary appeared at the lectern to start things by introducing him, it turned out that McLaurin was someone she had failed even to notice, a tall, bulky, thirtyish man with a broad red face and a silver ring through his lower lip. She had been looking for a bony, weasly misfit. The real Matt wore his plain wool suit as if suits were a kind of garment unknown to him until this morning, as if he had been inserted into it by machine. His thick brown hair was chaotic, longish, jammed back behind the ears. His wide-boned, dark-eyed face looked raw and artless. He set a thin pile of pages on the lectern, then fiddled uncomfortably with the microphone, touching it as if it might crumble or explode in his hands.
“Good afternoon,” he finally said into it, then cringed back from the amplified parody of his reedy voice. With a small smile at his own nervousness, he went on, “I'm here today as a friend of Ada Caffrey. Which I hopeâwhich I guess we all are.”
His anxious eyes flew over the scattered assembly. Juliet upgraded his shyness from excruciating to cataclysmic. And yet he was the one who drove Ada to Albany for poetry slams. Should a microphone frighten him?
“Ada was a wonderful friend to me,” he was saying, reading
from the papers on the lectern. He looked up only now and then; his voice trembled slightly. “It's funny, but I often felt she was the younger of the two of us. And now that she's gone, I feel as if I've lost a contemporary. I don't think Ada would want us to dwell on the manner of her death, so I'm not going to. Instead, because she loved poetry, I'm going to read a poem I wrote for her just a week ago, when I learned she had left her home and her land to Free Earth.” He smiled self-consciously. “It's new, so you'll have to forgive me if it isn't, you know, perfect. Anyway, it's called âHome.'”
from the papers on the lectern. He looked up only now and then; his voice trembled slightly. “It's funny, but I often felt she was the younger of the two of us. And now that she's gone, I feel as if I've lost a contemporary. I don't think Ada would want us to dwell on the manner of her death, so I'm not going to. Instead, because she loved poetry, I'm going to read a poem I wrote for her just a week ago, when I learned she had left her home and her land to Free Earth.” He smiled self-consciously. “It's new, so you'll have to forgive me if it isn't, you know, perfect. Anyway, it's called âHome.'”
The little sheaf of pages rustled as Matt turned to the poem.
“âHome,'” he said, looking up with another quick smile, then down at the page again.
“Whose house is this? Of blood and bone,
of wood and brick, of turf and stone?
Whose world is this?
Not mine alone.
Nor is this flesh I seem to own.
Nor do I go when it is gone;
Nor will you, while my heart is warm.”
of wood and brick, of turf and stone?
Whose world is this?
Not mine alone.
Nor is this flesh I seem to own.
Nor do I go when it is gone;
Nor will you, while my heart is warm.”
There was the awkward silence that often follows a speaker's words in such solemn situations. People shifted in their seats, reminding themselves not to applaud. Juliet, even as she felt tears spring to her eyes, found herself coolly assessing the poem. The curse of the one-time English professor, perhaps never to be outlived. But whatever the formal attributes of “Home,” it was certainly earnest and tender, she noted. She would like to read some of the angry poems Ada had spoken of. There was certainly something off about Matt McLaurin. He was shy to the point of furtiveness. He lookedâWhat was it? Hunted. He looked hunted.
Why?
Meantime, he was introducing a person named Chad Blynn,
president of the Gloversville-Espyville Free Earth Society chapter. A tall, wiry man in his early forties, Blynn rose and took the lectern. He wore black Levis and a thick, brown turtleneck sweater. Despite his age, he had the tense, unhappy face of a graduate student. Glasses flashing, he began to speak rapidly of the devastation local industry had wrought on the land and waterways.
president of the Gloversville-Espyville Free Earth Society chapter. A tall, wiry man in his early forties, Blynn rose and took the lectern. He wore black Levis and a thick, brown turtleneck sweater. Despite his age, he had the tense, unhappy face of a graduate student. Glasses flashing, he began to speak rapidly of the devastation local industry had wrought on the land and waterways.
“Ada Caffrey knew all this firsthand,” he declared, his pale hands grasping the lectern. “As a girl, her family depended on the bounty of the cultivated land. She grew up close to nature. Yet even when she was a girl, in the 1920s, the Cayadutta Creek stank with pollution. Every day the tanneries dumped more waste into it. In 1947, Ada lost the great love of her life, Frederick Asquith, to cancerâcancer Asquith developed working on the finishing line at Craigie Leathers. Many years went by, but Ada Caffrey never forgot.”
Juliet looked around. While some of Blynn's listeners nodded righteously, a mulish look had come over others. Even Caroline Walsh had admitted that the causal link between the tanneries and the local cancer rate remained to be proven. No doubt there were many present who would welcome a new heyday for the tanneries if it meant the return of jobs to the town. Juliet wished she knew whether Claudia Lunceford, despite her personal antipathy to her late aunt, was here.
Meanwhile, Blynn was going on about Ada. (“She knew that the earth is forgiving, but she also knew its limits. She knew that those who take from the earth must also learn to give back. And so we are honored, we are humbled by the act of giving represented by the legacy of ⦔) From the generality of his remarks, Juliet gathered Blynn had not known Ada well, perhaps not at all. Then, suddenly, Matt was at the podium again, this time asking Ada's friend Juliet Bodine to come up and share her thoughts. Murray squeezed her hand as she left him.
A perverse flicker of annoyance leapt inside Juliet as she walked to the lectern. Forgetting her own reluctance to attempt a
eulogy, she began to feel resentful. She wasn't afraid to speak publicly. Did Murray think she was? That squeeze of the hand, as if he were wishing her luck ⦠She didn't need luck. She was a poised and seasoned speaker. Even as these thoughts ran through her head, she chastised herself for taking a kind and supportive impulse in bad part. Maybe Suzy was right; maybe she just didn't want to let anyone get close to her.
eulogy, she began to feel resentful. She wasn't afraid to speak publicly. Did Murray think she was? That squeeze of the hand, as if he were wishing her luck ⦠She didn't need luck. She was a poised and seasoned speaker. Even as these thoughts ran through her head, she chastised herself for taking a kind and supportive impulse in bad part. Maybe Suzy was right; maybe she just didn't want to let anyone get close to her.
She took the podium calmly, carefully adjusting the microphone. In relaxed, undramatic tones, she described how she had come to know Ada, how the reality of the woman had overthrown her expectations. Satisfied grunts of recognition and short bursts of laughter greeted her description of Ada at the Plaza, Ada atop the Empire State Building, Ada kissing the startled Ashtray emcee. Only as she finished did she allude to her violent end, speak of her own personal distress that a visit to her city should have been the occasion of Ada's death. By the time she left the lectern, a few people were fighting tears. The Free Earthers, initially slightly aglow in the aftermath of Chad Blynn's remarks, looked appropriately sobered. Juliet noticed Tom Giddy trying to take his wife's hand; but Cindy pulled away, crossing her arms. Matt McLaurin, seated in the front row so that he could come and go from the lectern, bowed his head and closed his anxious eyes.
Juliet had avoided looking at Murray during her talk. But as she finished, she allowed her gaze to meet his. His eyes were, she found, filled with admirationânot soppy, kindly admiration, but respect. She returned to her place next to him feeling pleasantly vindicated.
Not that she could have explained why a person needs to feel vindicated after another person treats her with unnecessary kindness.
Anyway, it was a relief to be forced to quit scrutinizing her own flaws and pay attention to the extremely elderly man currently making his way toward the front of the room. McLaurin had asked whether anyone else wished to speak, and this gentleman had put up his papery hand. Leaning heavily on the back of each bench as he passed, he finally reached the safety of the lectern. He wore a
gray pin-striped suit that probably fit him a couple of decades ago but now hung so loosely on his stooped, diminished skeleton that his pant cuffs threatened to trip him. His complexion, however, was still fresh and ruddy, and his expression showed a personality still lively and wry.
gray pin-striped suit that probably fit him a couple of decades ago but now hung so loosely on his stooped, diminished skeleton that his pant cuffs threatened to trip him. His complexion, however, was still fresh and ruddy, and his expression showed a personality still lively and wry.
“My name is Bert Nilsson,” he said, his slow voice quavering slightly. “Over the years, I was Ada Case's friend, Ada Case's lawyer, and Ada Case's lover. That's a statement quite a few men hereabouts could makeâexcept for the lawyer part. And I just want to say for all of us that Ada Case Lensbach Lloyd Caffrey was a lady. And that's all I'm going to say.”
And with that, he turned and began the long shuffle back.
Matt, meantime, was left to take the podium amid the laughter Bert Nilsson left behind. Disconcerted, he asked if anyone else cared to speak. When no one did, he noted that refreshments would be served in an adjoining room and so, awkwardly, closed the ceremony.
The Regency's “family parlor,” furnished like a large living room, contained a long table on which orange juice and cider were now offered in paper cups, alongside a platter of cheese cubes and crackers. Juliet had expected only a few people would linger, but the room filled almost at once. She made a mental note for “A Christian Gentleman” that one feature of country living was no doubt a scarcity of social gatherings and a consequent tendency to make the most of those there were.
“See if you can find out what the Giddys knew about Ada's manuscript,” she whispered to Murray, then bolted away in pursuit of the elusive Matt, who seemed hungry after conducting the service and had gone straight for the cheese. Trapping him in the small space between the serving table and a window, she reached out to shake his hand and at the same time deftly rotated him so that his back was to the room. Behind him, she could see Tom Giddy pour himself a cup of orange juice, then stand absently revolving it in his hands.
“That was a beautiful memorial,” Juliet said. “I loved your
poem. You're very gifted. Do you often read at slams?”
poem. You're very gifted. Do you often read at slams?”
Matt's large face mottled as he blushed. “Not very often. I'm working on that. Usually, I just go to listen.”
“How is your little girl? Is she here?”
Juliet briefly pretended to look around, noticing as she did so that Murray was talking to Bert Nilsson. The Giddys had begun to form the nucleus of a little knot of peopleâfriends of Tom, to judge from Cindy's bored stare. She hoped Murray would grab them before the chance went by.
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