The Book Borrower (28 page)

—No, said Harry. He had pushed back his chair and was folding his napkin. I never noticed that.

—I can't think of a good example. Yes, I can. When he comes home, the first night, he looks around at us and tells us what we're up to. He says, I see you're buying lots of red things, if I've bought red pot holders. That's not a good example after all. . .

—Maybe what I like most, said Harry, is reading, at a certain point in the book, when you can't stop and yet there's more.

—Fucking followed by ice cream, Ruben said then, deciding that that was something she really did like a great deal, and it was feasible, so they left the dishes on the table and took each other a bit shyly in each other's arms. They weren't used to approaching it from precisely that direction. They went to bed and in the fervor of experiment tried this and that. For the first time since Deborah died, Ruben didn't weep when the first good, loose feelings went through her. After they'd made love and lain in the bed for a while, Harry said, Now the ice cream.

There was mocha almond ice cream in the freezer and they were eating it in the living room, naked under their bathrobes, when they heard feet and voices on the porch. Granny, who'd been eyeing the ice cream bowls, ran to the door and barked as a key turned in the lock. Harry pulled his robe over his knees. In came Peter, Berry, and Mary Grace. Toby Ruben stood up and checked her robe and offered ice cream ail around. Sure, said Berry.

—One of my parents' best traits, said Peter. Ice cream in the house all the time.

—We never had that, said Mary Grace. She was wearing an old black wool coat that Ruben was pretty sure was Peter's.

—When we're married, said Peter, there will always be Ben & Jerry's, no matter how poor we are.

—To your health and that of your bride, Berry said hoarsely, with a huge yellow-toothed mocking smile.

—Mary Grace, said Ruben, are you on vacation? She was being parental and difficult on purpose. She knew Mary Grace was not on vacation.

—She's taking an unscheduled break, Peter said.

—I'm playing hooky, Mary Grace said, with an unconvincing smile. Anxiety filled the living room, squeezing out sexual sweetness. Berry and Peter and Mary Grace sat in a row on the sofa.

Mary Grace said, I should call Daddy. He's crying tonight.

But she didn't stand up.

Berry said, Why is he crying?

—Because my mother died.

—Oh, yes, said Berry. I forgot. Berry's dark eyes bulged slightly and her white hair stuck out all over her head. It was as short as a man's. She had big features. She wore the same dark green smock she'd worn the only other time Ruben had seen her, when she came to their house the day after Deborah had been hurt. Ruben hadn't seen her since then, and she felt angry at Berry before she remembered why: because Berry had said if her friend was dying, she'd have to find new friends. Berry sat with her elbows on her knees. She'd put her dish on the floor for Granny to lick without asking whether that was all right. She looked around mischievously at all of them. She was an old woman, but she sat like Peter, like a kid.

Berry had to have known it was unsettling to toast Peter and Mary Grace as a bride and groom. She was unsettling.

Then she said, Nothing fancy in this house. I can come in my work boots.

Berry did wear leather work boots that looked dusty. Mary Grace wore her snow boots.

—Berry, said Ruben, slightly mollified, do you still make sculptures?

—We all make sculptures, Berry said. You are making one right now.

Ruben had her ice cream bowl on her knee. Her leg was bent at the knee and the bowl was on top. Berry sketched in air a shape that consisted of a straight line and a broken line and a round object.

—Will you visit my class? Ruben said. I promised my stu-dents I'd invite you.

—What time is this class? When Berry heard that the class met in the morning, she said she'd visit it if Ruben would buy her breakfast beforehand. I like The Paragon, on Winthrop Street, she said.

—Sure, said Ruben. It'll be fun.

—Since I take it you are not offering me an honorarium.

—No, said Ruben. Of course I should, but the college won't give me any money for it. She wondered if she should pay Berry herself.

—Cooper's rich, said Peter. He had said it before. She can do it as a good deed. Famous people should give a little.

—Are you famous, Cooper? Mary Grace asked her seriously.

—I am, said Berry. And they all laughed. She said, Five or ten years ago, I didn't know whether or not I was famous. I thought I'd go and take a look at my outdoor pieces. There were seven, but two were destroyed, one accidentally. The five were widely separated. It took weeks. They were in parks, and the parks were alike. I'd leave my car and walk until I found the park, courthouse square, what have you. I liked catching sight of what I'd made. Once, it was a windy day. This was in upstate New York. I walked—finally I saw a patch of green, and there it was. It's called
Magnet.
It's a big curved stone and riveted to it is a shape like a bird. It has been described as cynical and witty, but I wasn't amused when I made it, which was during the war. Of course it was covered with pigeon droppings—Berry grinned around at them all. She continued, Not much was going on in that neighborhood. I sat down on the ground and waited for something to happen. Now if this was television, a wise old black man and a smart little kid would come along, and say my piece had consoled them through heartbreak. But nothing happened except the thing sat there and I sat there.

Berry stopped talking and Harry said, But what made you know you are famous?

—You don't think I am, do you?

—I have no evidence one way or another, said Harry. But I thought this story was going to be how you realized—

Berry said, People nowadays have predictable minds, which is worse than evil. People who think evil but unpredictable things are not as bad as people with predictable minds.

—Do you mean I have a predictable mind? said Harry. I happen to be extremely interested in this story, because I am the budget director of the parks department for this city. We've installed some sculpture ourselves, and considered doing more, and I'm always looking for insights.

—I don't agree, said Mary Grace, to Ruben's surprise. Look at Hitler. If he hadn't been creative maybe he wouldn't have figured out the gas chambers.

—Boredom is the worst, said Berry, giving her a big smile. You can't help all this delicate moral deliberation, Hitler and the like, because your mother died. Get over it and go back to thinking clearly.

—I never thought clearly, said Mary Grace.

—Poor motherless child, Berry said. Then she smiled at Ruben. Are you naked beneath that soiled wrap? Ruben pulled it more tightly, said, Of course not, stood up.

But Harry said, She is, she is, and so am I!

—Carnal adventures! said Berry. I'm afraid we interrupted you.

—We were going to lick the ice cream off each other, Harry said.

Ruben was upset that Mary Grace was hearing these things, and hearing them about her, who should have done nothing all day but mourn Mary Grace's mother. She left the room and climbed the stairs, her hand seeking comfort from the dark carvings on the banister, which often seemed like something she hadn't earned and wouldn't have expected to have. The dark curved woodwork belonged in a fancier, cleaner house. Mary Grace was laughing and blushing and looking in all directions when Ruben looked over the banister at her. Berry was giving Harry her big grin, full of yellow teeth.

Peter had one leg bent at the knee, the ankle crossed over the other knee, and he rocked forward and back, just a little, like a boy pretending he was old. Ruben could see that he, too, was a sculpture, and wondered whether Berry meant that these days she just looked at the shapes of things, the shapes things happened to make. Climbing the stairs, Ruben worried for a minute about Peter, but sometimes the worry was terrifying and just now it was not. In the bedroom she took off her robe, put on a flannel nightgown, and went to sleep, her living room full of people, her arms around dead Deborah under the blanket.

 

For days and days, not much of Peter. He'd spent nights at Berry's before, and when he passed through, sometimes he said he was staying there. Some days he stayed with Mary Grace.

—Jeremiah doesn't mind?

—He doesn't notice.

Sometimes Peter appeared in the kitchen, sitting on the step stool at the counter, eating cold cereal any time of day. Once, she heard the television in the night, but he was gone by morning. Harry said one morning, He dropped out of college and now he's dragging her out of college, and Ruben felt Deborah's dismay from where she was helplessly dead.

—He learns as much from Berry as he did in school.

—And is she learning from Berry?

—They're always together. A threesome.

—I'm not so sure. I think he tantalizes each of them with the other, Harry said. I think Berry's a witch. She's teaching Mary Grace to worship the devil.

—Witches are like Druids, Ruben said. Not wicked.

—I don't mean Berry's a Druid, Harry said. I mean she's a bad old woman.

Ruben was surprised, because she thought Harry liked Berry, and she had liked her more after the ice cream night, though she didn't know why. One day she waylaid Peter in the kitchen. I want to see Berry's sculpture, she said. She thought she might describe it to the students in advance of Berry's visit, which was set for the last class of the term.

—I'll take you, Peter said, but she had to ask twice more. Ruben realized that she expected the sculpture, somehow, to be comforting, despite Berry's peculiar notions. Berry seemed to understand that feeling bad is sometimes necessary. Some of Ruben's friends tried to help her feel better, but that was not allowed, was not possible, was not desirable. Whenever Ruben stopped and looked inside herself, she saw a woman flinging her arms wide and screaming, a sculpture of grief.

Berry lived in a small two-story house with aluminum siding, in a dilapidated neighborhood. Peter drove Berry's big old green Ford into the driveway. She's home? Ruben said. She doesn't mind?

—She's always home. And I don't know what she minds.

A yellow dog came to the door when Peter turned the key. He looked like Mac, but he was a somewhat bigger, younger dog, with a slightly different expression. He licked Ruben's hand solemnly. He had made his way around something and he blocked the door. Ruben pushed him to enter. A shape as tall as she stood just behind the door, so it couldn't open all the way. It was a stone carving, almost abstract, of a man's head. Ruben said, I didn't think they'd be so big.

—This one was outside for a long time. In a garden of a private school in Pittsburgh. When the school closed, they told Cooper she could have the sculpture if she'd come and get it. She drove down there and got people to help, and put it on her truck.

—She has a truck?

—She used to.

The head was so big that its bigness—in the ordinary room with its two windows side by side and broken Venetian blinds—was more noticeable than whether it was good. Ruben had a feeling it was good, because it stirred her. She wanted to touch it. She wanted the huge stone tongue, which protruded slightly, to lick her.

Now she heard sounds. Berry was coming down the stairs. She came in saying, Is this the day? She was in the familiar green smock and sweatpants, and her hair stood straight up.

—The day? said Ruben.

—No, Peter said. It's two weeks off. She means visiting your class.

Berry looked doubtful, and Peter said, Come off it, Coop. Stop pretending you're senile. It won't work with me.

Ruben said, I came to see your sculptures.

—Big enough for you? she grinned. She slapped the head affectionately. Berry looked powerful, but she was short, smaller than what she'd made. Your mother has new glasses, she said to Peter. They were Ruben's new metal-frame glasses.

—Is it all right to touch them? Ruben asked.

—Sure. Kids climbed on this one. Berry slapped it again and looked at it critically. I don't like the left nostril, she said.

Ruben looked. The nostrils were cone-shaped indentations in the stone of the nose. They were at different angles from each other. She said, Your left or the head's left?

Frank. I call him Frank. Frank's left. But maybe it's all right. Maybe it is effectively disturbing. Ha! She gave a half laugh, half snort.

Ruben looked at the two other sculptures in the room. There was no furniture. Berry said, I used to rent this place. The land-lord was afraid my stuff would break through the floors. So I said, Shut up—I'll buy it.

—The floors look all right, Ruben said.

—Of course they are.

—Of course they are
not,
said Peter. You know you were warned about that. He spoke as if he'd been with her for years, as if he'd always partly been Berry's. It was a relief.