The time traveler's wife (11 page)

"I've heard of him," Clare says, as
though she's speaking of a long-lost favorite uncle, or the host of a TV show
she used to watch when she was little.

"He wanted order and reason, and God, too.
He lived in the thirteenth century and taught at the University of Paris.
Aquinas believed in both Aristotle and angels."

"I love angels," says Clare.
"They're so beautiful. I wish I could have wings and fly around and sit on
clouds."

"Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich."'
Clare sighs, a little soft sigh that means I don't speak German, remember?
"Huh?"

"'Every angel is terrifying.' It's part of
a series of poems called The Duino Elegies, by a poet named Rilke. He's one of
our favorite poets."

Clare laughs. "You're doing it
again!"

"What?"

"Telling me what I like." Clare
burrows into my lap with her feet. Without thinking I put her feet on my
shoulders, but then that seems too sexual, somehow, and I quickly take Clare's
feet in my hands again and hold them together with one hand in the air as she
lies on her back, innocent and angelic with her hair spread nimbus-like around
her on the blanket. I tickle her feet. Clare giggles and twists out of my hands
like a fish, jumps up and does a cartwheel across the clearing, grinning at me
as if to dare me to come and get her. I just grin back, and she returns to the
blanket and sits down next to me.

"Henry?"

"Yeah?"

"You are making me different."
"I know"

I turn to look at Clare and just for a moment I
forget that she is young, and that this is long ago; I see Clare, my wife,
superimposed on the face of this young girl, and I don't know what to say to
this Clare who is old and young and different from other girls, who knows that
different might be hard. But Clare doesn't seem to expect an answer. She leans
against my arm, and I put my arm around her shoulders.

" Clare!" Across the quiet of the
Meadow Clare's dad is bellowing her name. Clare jumps up and grabs her shoes
and socks.

"It's time for church " she says,
suddenly nervous.

"Okay," I say. "Um, bye." I
wave at her, and she smiles and mumbles goodbye and is running up the path, and
is gone. I lie in the sun for a while, wondering about God, reading Dorothy
Sayers. After an hour or so has passed I too am gone and there is only a
blanket and a book, coffee cups, and clothing, to show that we were there at
all.

AFTER THE END

Saturday, October 27, 1984 (Clare is 13, Henry
is 43)

Clare: I wake up suddenly. There was a noise:
someone called my name. It sounded like Henry. I sit up in bed, listening. I
hear the wind, and crows calling. But what if it was Henry? I jump out of bed
and I run, with no shoes I run downstairs, out the back door, into the Meadow.
It's cold, the wind cuts right through my nightgown. Where is he? I stop and
look and there, by the orchard, there's Daddy and Mark, in their bright orange
hunting clothes, and there's a man with them, they are all standing and looking
at something but then they hear me and they turn and I see that the man is
Henry. What is Henry doing with Daddy and Mark? I run to them, my feet cut by
the dead grasses, and Daddy walks to meet me. "Sweetheart," he says,
"what are you doing out here so early?"

"I heard my name" I say. He smiles at
me. Silly girl, his smile says, and I look at Henry, to see if he will explain.
Why did you call me, Henry? but he shakes his head and puts his finger to his
lips, Shhh, don't tell, Clare. He walks into the orchard and I want to see what
they were looking at but there's nothing there and Daddy says, "Go back to
bed, Clare, it was just a dream." He puts his arm around me and begins to
walk back toward the house with me and I look back at Henry and he waves, he's
smiling, It's okay, Clare, I'll explain later (although knowing Henry he
probably won't explain, he'll make me figure it out or it will explain itself
one of these days). I wave back at him, and then I check to see if Mark saw
that but Mark has his back to us, he's irritated and is waiting for me to go
away so he and Daddy can go back to hunting, but what is Henry doing here, what
did they say to each other? I look back again but I don't see Henry and Daddy
says, "Go on, now, Clare, go back to bed," and he kisses my forehead.
He seems upset and so I run, run back to the house, and then softly up the
stairs and then I am sitting on my bed, shivering, and I still don't know what
just happened, but I know it was bad, it was very, very bad.

Monday, February 2, 1987 (Clare is 15, Henry is
38)

Clare: When I get home from school Henry is
waiting for me in the Reading Room. I have fixed a little room for him next to
the furnace room; it's on the opposite side from where all the bicycles are. I
have allowed it to be known in my household that I like to spend time in the
basement reading, and I do in fact spend a lot of time in here, so that it
doesn't seem unusual. Henry has a chair wedged under the doorknob. I knock four
knocks and he lets me in. He has made a sort of nest out of pillows and chair cushions
and blankets, he has been reading old magazines under my desk lamp. He is
wearing Dad's old jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, and he looks tired and
unshaven. I left the back door unlocked for him this morning and here he is. I
set the tray of food I have brought on the floor. "I could bring down some
books."

"Actually, these are great." He's
been reading Mad magazines from the '60s. "And this is indispensable for
time travelers who need to know all sorts of factoids at a moment's
notice," he says, holding up the 1968 World Almanac. I sit down next to
him on the blankets, and look over at him to see if he's going to make me move.
I can see he's thinking about it, so I hold up my hands for him to see and then
I sit on them. He smiles. "Make yourself at home," he says.

"When are you coming from?"
"2001. October"

"You look tired." I can see that he's
debating about telling me why he's tired, and decides against it. "What
are we up to in 2001?"

"Big things. Exhausting things."
Henry starts to eat the roast beef sandwich I have brought him. "Hey, this
is good." "Nell made it."

He laughs. "I'll never understand why it
is that you can build huge sculptures that withstand gale force winds, deal
with dye recipes, cook kozo, and all that, and you can't do anything whatsoever
with food. It's amazing."

"It's a mental block. A phobia."

"It's weird."

"I walk into the kitchen and I hear this
little voice saying, 'Go away.' So I do." "Are you eating enough? You
look thin."

I feel fat. "I'm eating." I have a
dismal thought. "Am I very fat in 2001? Maybe that's why you think I'm too
thin." Henry smiles at some joke I don't get. "Well, you're kind of
plump at the moment, in my present, but it will pass."

"Ugh."

"Plump is good. It will look very good on
you."

"No thanks." Henry looks at me,
worrying. "You know, I'm not anorexic or anything. I mean, you don't have
to worry about it."

"Well, it's just that your mom was always
bugging you about it."

"'Was'?" "Is."

"Why did you say was?"

"No reason. Lucille is fine. Don't worry."
He's lying. My stomach tightens and I wrap my arms around my knees and put my
head down.

Henry: I cannot believe that I have made a slip
of the tongue of this magnitude. I stroke Clare's hair, and I wish fervently
that I could go back to my present for just a minute, long enough to consult
Clare, to find out what I should say to her, at fifteen, about her mother's
death. It's because I'm not getting any sleep. If I was getting some sleep I
would have been thinking faster, or at least covering better for my lapse. But
Clare, who is the most truthful person I know, is acutely sensitive to even
small lies, and now the only alternatives are to refuse to say anything, which
will make her frantic, or to lie, which she won't accept, or to tell the truth,
which will upset her and do strange things to her relationship with her mother.
Clare looks at me. "Tell me," she says.

Clare: Henry looks miserable. "I can't,
Clare."

"Why not?"

"It's not good to know things ahead. It
screws up your life." "Yes. But you can't half tell me."
"There's nothing to tell."

I'm really beginning to panic. "She killed
herself." I am flooded with certainty. It is the thing I have always
feared most. " No. No. Absolutely not."

I stare at him. Henry just looks very unhappy.
I cannot tell if he is telling the truth. If I could only read his mind, how
much easier life would be. Mama. Oh, Mama.

Henry: This is dreadful. I can't leave Clare
with this. "Ovarian cancer," I say, very quietly. "Thank
God," she says, and begins to cry.

Friday, June 5, 1987 (Clare is 16, Henry is 32)

Clare: I've been waiting all day for Henry. I'm
so excited. I got my driver's license yesterday, and Daddy said I could take
the Fiat to Ruth's party tonight. Mama doesn't like this at all, but since
Daddy has already said yes she can't do much about it. I can hear them arguing
in the library after dinner.

"You could have asked me—"

"It seemed harmless, Lucy...."

I take my book and walk out to the Meadow. I
lie down in the grass. The sun is beginning to set. It's cool out here, and the
grass is full of little white moths. The sky is pink and orange over the trees
in the west, and an arc of deepening blue over me. I am thinking about going
back to the house and getting a sweater when I hear someone walking through the
grass. Sure enough, it's Henry. He enters the clearing and sits down on the
rock. I spy on him from the grass. He looks fairly young, early thirties maybe.
He's wearing the plain black T-shirt and jeans and hi-tops. He's just sitting
quietly, waiting. I can't wait a minute longer, myself, and I jump up and
startle him.

"Jesus, Clare, don't give the geezer a
heart attack."

"You're not a geezer."

Henry smiles. He's funny about being old.

"Kiss," I demand, and he kisses me.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"I got my driver's license!"

Henry looks alarmed. "Oh, no. I mean,
congratulations."

I smile at him; nothing he says can ruin my
mood. "You're just jealous."

"I am, in fact. I love to drive, and I
never do."

"How come?"

"Too dangerous."

"Chicken."

"I mean for other people. Imagine what
would happen if I was driving and I disappeared? The car would still be moving
and kaboom! lots of dead people and blood. Not pretty."

I sit down on the rock next to Henry. He moves
away. I ignore this. "I'm going to a party at Ruth's tonight. Want to
come?"

He raises one eyebrow. This usually means he's
going to quote from a book I've never heard of or lecture me about something.
Instead he only says, "But Clare, that would involve meeting a whole bunch
of your friends."

"Why not? I'm tired of being all secretive
about this."

"Let's see. You're sixteen. I'm thirty-two
right now, only twice your age. I'm sure no one would even notice, and your
parents would never hear about it."

I sigh. "Well, I have to go to this party.
Come with and sit in the car and I won't stay in very long and then we can go
somewhere."

Henry: We park about a block away from Ruth's
house. I can hear the music all the way down here; it's Talking Heads' Once In
A Lifetime. I actually kind of wish I could go with Clare, but it would be
unwise. She hops out of the car and says, "Stay!" as though I am a
large, disobedient dog, and totters off in her heels and short skirt toward
Ruth's. I slump down and wait.

Clare: As soon as I walk in the door I know
this party is a mistake. Ruth's parents are in San Francisco for a week, so at
least she will have some time to repair, clean, and explain, but I'm glad it's
not my house all the same. Ruth's older brother, Jake, has also invited his
friends, and altogether there are about a hundred people here and all of them
are drunk. There are more guys than girls and I wish I had worn pants and
flats, but it's too late to do anything about it. As I walk into the kitchen to
get a drink someone behind me says, "Check out Miss Look-But-Don't-Touch!"
and makes an obscene slurping sound. I spin around and see the guy we call
Lizardface (because of his acne) leering at me. "Nice dress, Clare."

"Thanks, but it's not for your benefit,
Lizardface."

He follows me into the kitchen. "Now, that's
not a very nice thing to say, young lady. After all, I'm just trying to express
my appreciation of your extremely comely attire, and all you can do is insult
me..."He won't shut up. I finally escape by grabbing Helen and using her
as a human shield to get out of the kitchen.