The Book Borrower (21 page)

—Well, you think that, said Deborah. You forgive yourself a lot.

—You think I forgive myself for something I shouldn't?

—Oh, you let yourself fight with Harry. You let yourself say things to me. There's a lot of letting going on. Especially about Peter.

—Well, I don't hide things. That's true, said Ruben.

—I just think you should watch yourself.

—I've spent my life watching myself. Then she said, What about Peter? Do you think Peter's in worse shape than I know?

Deborah said, Oh, I guess Peter's all right. But sometimes it takes my breath away, the things you say to him. You have no tact, Toby. You forget he's only a kid. You loom over him.

—He's twenty-one!

—But to him, you're still a grown-up, and he's a kid. I'm sure you do things to him—well, like the way you talked to me. When I talked about my student, and the ghost of her aunt. I could just feel you thinking, What stupidity is going on in that classroom!

—But I wasn't thinking that.

—You don't think I'm a good teacher, said Deborah.

—I think you're a great teacher!

—No, you don't. You think I'm just going through a set routine and the students don't get their lives changed. You're always talking about how your students change. Even this one who hates you. Is this a full-year course?

—Yes.

—Well, I guarantee you by April you'll have some great thing going with this student. You'll love each other. I'll be certain that nobody understands love but you.

—I don't think this is fair, said Ruben.

—Well, probably it isn't, Deborah said.

They came to the trailhead in silence. Now they walked on the park path. Ruben had to hurry home or the chicken wouldn't be cooked in time for supper. But she said, Sometimes I suddenly see myself through your eyes, and it scares me.

—Well, you scare other people.

—Do I scare you?

—I never know what you're going to say, said Deborah.

—You want to know what I'm going to say?

—No.

—That would be boring, if you knew what I was going to say. We just agreed that, didn't we?

—Well, of course. But you're critical.

—I don't think I'm more critical than you, Ruben said.

—How could you say that? You want to divorce Harry just because he thinks you mean race when you don't?

—I didn't really want to divorce him.

—Oh, I know that. I'm not that dumb. But I wonder what you'll want to do to me the next time I misunderstand you.

Ruben held Deborah's arm. Deborah, I love you.

—I know you love me. But all the same, sometimes I'm at the lower limit of what you can stand.

—No.

She followed Deborah home. She couldn't separate at the corner. You have to tell me you don't think these things! she said.

But Deborah wouldn't. How about Janet? she said. How about what happened with Janet Grey?

—Oh, Janet Grey, Janet Grey. That was ten years ago.

—I should forget it, I know . . .

—You will never forget Janet Grey!

—Why did you do it?

Ruben had done it. She had told Janet Grey she wasn't sure Deborah was a good teacher, and Janet Grey had fired Deborah. Two years later, Janet had made friends again with Deborah, and that was what she said.

Deborah said, Maybe a little dull. That's what she said you said.

—I know. I know that's what she told you. I just don't re-member it.

They stood in the light of the streetlight. It was cold, and Ruben had to go home and make supper. She looked up at Deborah. I'm sorry, she said.

—I know you're sorry, Deborah said. I have to go home. I'm going to see my mother after dinner.

—Your mother? Tonight?

—It's only an hour away. I'll stay over.

—But you never mentioned your mother. I don't know what's happening with her.

—Oh, the same. She fell. She didn't break anything, but she's bruised. And I haven't seen her for two weeks. Tomorrow I'll help with her shopping.

—I'm sorry we didn't talk about your mother.

—It's all right. Deborah hugged her lightly and walked away, and Mac followed her.

—Wait, said Ruben. She ran after Deborah, and when Deborah turned she took Deborah's head in her hands and kissed her on the mouth.

Deborah said, Hey, it's all right. She touched the tip of Ruben's nose and turned away.

Ruben walked home. Her house looked dark. Ruben stepped into her square front foyer. She stood still. The living room and dining room and Harry's study were dark, and in front of her the wooden staircase looked smooth and elegant in the dark, though she knew it needed to be scraped and stained. Beyond the stairs, there was a light in the kitchen. She was cold. Once the sun had gone down, she'd wanted a hat and coat. Granny went into the kitchen, and she heard Harry greet the dog. She didn't call out, but went upstairs and took off most of her clothes. She put on sweatpants, slippers, a turtleneck, and her longest, loosest, oldest sweater. She was still protesting to Deborah, scared and apologetic, and also angry, because she knew

Deborah was nutty at such times; and also not angry, because Deborah was right.

Now she went downstairs and into the kitchen. Granny's water dish was empty. I thought you were Peter, Harry said.

They heard Peter come in. I'm microwaving that spaghetti sauce, said Harry.

—There's a chicken, said Ruben.

Harry said, Did you find my watch?

—Is it missing?

—I told you it was missing. I guess you didn't find it.

—When did you tell me?

—This morning.

Peter said, I didn't take it. Honest, I didn't take it. He cringed and squeaked.

—I know, I know, said Harry.

—How's your sculptor? said Ruben.

—Oh, she's good, Peter said. She's always good. Good and rich.

—Rich in money, or rich in something else? Harry said.

—Not rich in money. Rich in marriages, said Peter. She was married three times.

—And they're all gone? said Harry.

—All the husbands gone. Maybe I'll be the fourth. She's started a book. She can't see well enough to type. Or so she says. I think she just likes the shock effect—dictating and watching me react.

—What's her book about? Ruben said.

—Her life, mostly in the fifties so far, when she lived in Malta. She had a husband who cut off her hair while she slept. He sold it.

—Like in O. Henry but backwards, said Ruben.

—That's right, Peter said. You know that story, The Gift of the Magi? Well, this is The Madge of the Gifti.

Harry said, Which story is that? and Ruben said it was about a woman who sells her hair to buy the man a watch fob while the man sells his watch to buy her combs.

Harry said, I've never known what a watch fob is.

—I don't know, either, said Peter.

Ruben got the chicken ready. She would cook it in a pot on top of the stove because she was so cold. There would be good hot broth. Deborah made me feel bad, she said.

—Oh, you're always upsetting each other. Toby, I'm cooking.

—What are you cooking?

—Spaghetti. I told you. I'm heating that sauce.

—There isn't enough. We'll have chicken, too. She filled Granny's water dish and fed her. Granny lay under the table, already asleep, but she got up and walked over stiffly when Ruben put her dish down.

Ruben put the chicken into the pot with water and an onion. There was still parsley in the garden. She went out in the dark, getting cold again, to find it.

Harry said, What did the sculptor's husband do with the money when he sold her hair?

—It must have been nice hair, Peter said. He got a lot of money.

—What did he buy?

—He bought loot, I guess. She's always talking about loot.

—She was stubborn, he continued, after a pause to open a beer. They were poor and she wouldn't do anything to help.

—Why didn't he sell something of his own? said Ruben.

—His watch, said Harry. That's what you did with my watch, Toby, you sold it.

Peter laughed and laughed. Then he said, I made most of that up. I made most of that up about her hair.

—You mean he didn't sell her hair?

—She said he gave her a haircut while she was sleeping. That's all she said.

—What about the Madge of the Gifti?

—I made that up, said Peter.

It worried her; she wanted to just find it amusing, that he turned and turned like that, but she couldn't. She wondered if the sculptor minded. Maybe she liked it. The water for the spaghetti boiled. She wondered if this sculptor called Cooper might like to know her.

—She stayed married to him a long time, Peter said.

—Is
this
true? She tried not to sound harsh. What would Deborah say about the way she sounded?

—Oh, yes, this is true.

—Did they have kids?

—I don't think so.

They carried plates of spaghetti into the dining room. Ruben took only a little, leaving room for chicken, but Peter and Harry ate and wandered away. When the chicken and broth were ready, Ruben ate some. She drank wine all by herself.

Peter came back into the kitchen while Ruben was still eating. He took a beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and came to sit with her. I'm attracted to Cooper, he said.

—Really?

—Sort of. She has short white hair that sticks out from her head and I want to press it to her head. He spread his long hands.

—Well, I'm glad, said Ruben. That's the sort of surprising feeling I wanted you to know about, when I was trying to grow you.

—I'm glad you're glad. When you were trying to grow both of us?

—Of course. Then Ruben said, I want to meet Cooper.

—Oh, I think that could be arranged.

—Are you working this weekend?

—A little, said Peter. She wants me to drive her someplace. Ruben finished her chicken. She scraped her plate into the garbage and went for her teaching folder. She still had five papers to mark and then she'd plan her class. She was tired and achy, as if she might catch cold. Peter drank his beer and Ruben settled down to work at the dining room table.

This time she'd asked the students to write two letters, each making the same argument, one to a friend and one to a stranger. The first paper she looked at that evening was about the broken computers at the public library. The student pre-tended to write one to her cousin and the other to the mayor. The students wrote lively letters to their friends and boring letters to the mayor; they thought it was inappropriate to be interesting when writing to the mayor.

The next paper was Maddy's. She'd taken the opposite position in the two letters. Maddy wrote a letter to her boss, thanking him for her job evaluation. She said, I sincerely appreciate your many constructive suggestions. In the letter to her friend, she said the boss was crazy and that she disagreed with everything he'd said.

Ruben wrote, You didn't follow instructions.

Peter left the room.

The next two papers were short. While she was reading the next to the last one, the phone rang. It was a little late for a call. She hoped it wasn't for her. She stood up. She'd been sitting on her foot and it was asleep. She shook it as she picked up the phone, wondering where in the house Harry and Peter were.

—Toby, said the voice. It's Jeremiah. Deborah was in an accident. She's in the hospital.

She couldn't speak. She kept nodding, knowing while she was nodding that Jeremiah couldn't see her. Deborah had had an accident on the way to her mother's house. A driver had lost control of his car and crossed the median divider and rammed into her car. The hospital had called Jeremiah, and he'd had to call her mother. He didn't know how bad it was. Now he was leaving for the hospital.

—But what's wrong with her? Ruben said, even though he'd said he didn't know.

—I don't know. I'll call you. Would you let the dog out in the morning?

—Of course.

—I have to go.

—Wait!

—What?

—Nothing, she said. I love you both.

—I'd better go. He hung up.

She held on to the phone, then she heard the dial tone and hung up. She was sitting. At some point while listening to Jeremiah, she'd sat down and pulled her chair up to the table. Now she had to stand up and walk around the table to hang up the phone. Her arm hurt from holding the receiver. She hung up and sat down in the nearest chair and rubbed her arm.