The time traveler's wife (25 page)

"How come you never told me about
this?"

"Well, by the time you all got home I felt
kind of stupid, and I knew that Daddy especially would think it was a big deal,
and nothing really happened.. .but it wasn't funny, either, and I didn't feel
like talking about it." Alicia laughs. "I asked Grandma once if there
were any ghosts in the house, but she said there weren't any she knew of."

"And this guy, or ghost, looked like
Henry?"

"Yeah! I swear, Clare, I almost died when
you guys came in and I saw him, I mean, he's the guy! Even his voice is the
same. Well, the one I saw in the basement had shorter hair, and he was older,
maybe around forty... "

"But if that guy was forty, and it was
five years ago—Henry is only twenty-eight, so he would have been twenty-three
then, Alicia."

"Oh. Huh. But Clare, it's too weird—does
he have a brother?" "No. His dad doesn't look much like him."
"Maybe it was, you know, astral projection or something." "Time
travel," I offer, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, right. God, how bizarre."
The TV screen is dark for a moment, then we are back with Donna in her
hydrangea bush and Jimmy Stewart walking around it with her bathrobe draped
over one arm. He's teasing her, telling her he's going to sell tickets to see
her. The cad, I think, even as I blush remembering worse things I've said and
done to Henry vis a vis the issue of clothing/nakedness. But then a car rolls
up and Jimmy Stewart throws Donna her bathrobe. "Your father's had a
stroke!" says someone in the car, and off he goes with hardly a backward
glance, as Donna Reed stands bereft in her foliage. My eyes tear up.
"Jeez, Clare, it's okay, he'll be back," Alicia reminds me. I smile,
and we settle in to watch Mr. Potter taunting poor Jimmy Stewart into giving up
college and running a doomed savings and loan. "Bastard," Alicia
says. "Bastard," I agree.

Henry: As we walk out of the cold night air
into the warmth and light of the church my guts are churning. I've never been
to a Catholic Mass. The last time I attended any sort of religious service was
my mom's funeral. I am holding on to Clare's arm like a blind man as she leads
us up the central aisle, and we file into an empty pew. Clare and her family
kneel on the cushioned kneelers and I sit, as Clare has told me to. We are
early. Alicia has disappeared, and Nell is sitting behind us with her husband
and their son, who is on leave from the Navy. Dulcie sits with a contemporary
of hers. Clare, Mark, Sharon, and Philip kneel side by side in varying
attitudes: Clare is self-conscious, Mark perfunctory, Sharon calm and absorbed,
Philip exhausted. The church is full of poinsettias. It smells like wax and wet
coats. There's an elaborate stable scene with Mary and Joseph and their
entourage to the right of the altar. People are filing in, choosing seats,
greeting each other. Clare slides onto the seat next to me, and Mark and Philip
follow suit; Sharon remains on her knees for a few more minutes and then we are
all sitting quietly in a row, waiting. A man in a suit walks onto the
stage—altar, whatever— and tests the microphones that are attached to the
little reading stands, then disappears into the back again. There are many more
people now, it's crowded. Alicia and two other women and a man appear stage
left, carrying their instruments. The blond woman is a violinist and the mousy
brown-haired woman is the viola player; the man, who is so elderly that he
stoops and shuffles, is another violinist. They are all wearing black. They sit
in their folding chairs, turn on the lights over their music stands, rattle
their sheet music, plink at various strings, and look at each other, for
consensus. People are suddenly quiet and into this quiet comes a long, slow,
low note that fills the space, that connects to no known piece of music but
simply exists, sustains. Alicia is bowing as slowly as it is possible for a
human to bow, and the sound she is producing seems to emerge from nowhere,
seems to originate between my ears, resonates through my skull like fingers
stroking my brain. Then she stops. The silence that follows is brief but
absolute. Then all four musicians surge into action. After the simplicity of
that single note their music is dissonant, modern and jarring and I think
Bartok? but then I resolve what I am hearing and realize that they are playing
Silent Night. I can't figure out why it sounds so weird until I see the blond
violinist kick Alicia's chair and after a beat the piece comes into focus.
Clare glances over at me and smiles. Everyone in the church relaxes. Silent Night
gives way to a hymn I don't recognize. Everyone stands. They turn toward the
back of the church, and the priest walks up the central aisle with a large
retinue of small boys and a few men in suits. They solemnly march to the front
of the church and take up their positions. The music abruptly stops. Oh, no, I
think, what now? Clare takes my hand, and we stand together, in the crowd, and
if there is a God, then God, let me just stand here quietly and
inconspicuously, here and now, here and now.

Clare: Henry looks as though he's about to pass
out. Dear God, please don't let him disappear now. Father Compton is welcoming
us in his radio announcer voice. I reach into Henry's coat pocket, push my
fingers through the hole at the bottom, find his cock, and squeeze. He jumps as
though I've administered an electric shock. "The Lord be with you,"
says Father Compton. "And also with you," we all reply serenely. The
same, everything the same. And yet, here we are, at last, for anyone to see. I
can feel Helen's eyes boring into my back. Ruth is sitting five rows behind us,
with her brother and parents. Nancy, Laura, Mary Christina, Patty, Dave, and
Chris, and even Jason Everleigh; it seems like everyone I went to school with
is here tonight. I look over at Henry, who is oblivious to all this. He is
sweating. He glances at me, raises one eyebrow. The Mass proceeds. The
readings, the Kyrie, Peace be with you: and also with you. We all stand for the
gospel, Luke, Chapter 2. Everyone in the Roman Empire, traveling to their home
towns, to be taxed, Joseph and Mary, great with child, the birth, miraculous,
humble. The swaddling clothes, the manger. The logic of it has always escaped
me, but the beauty of the thing is undeniable. The shepherds, abiding in the
field. The angel: Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great
joy...Henry is jiggling his leg in a very distracting way. He has his eyes
closed and he is biting his lip. Multitudes of angels. Father Compton intones,
" But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart"
"Amen," we say, and sit down for the sermon. Henry leans over and
whispers, "Where is the restroom?"

"Through that door," I tell him,
pointing at the door Alicia and Frank and the others came in through. "How
do I get there?"

"Walk to the back of the church and then
down the side aisle." "If I don't come back—"

"You have to come back." As Father
Compton says, "On this most joyous of nights..." Henry stands and
walks quickly away. Father's eyes follow him as he walks back and over and up
to the door. I watch as he slips out the door and it swings shut behind him.

Henry: I'm standing in what appears to be the
hallway of an elementary school. Don't panic, I repeat to myself. No one can
see you. Hide somewhere. I look around, wildly, and there's a door: boys. I
open it, and I'm in a miniature men's room, brown tile, all the fixtures tiny
and low to the ground, radiator blasting, intensifying the smell of
institutional soap. I open the window a few inches and stick my face above the
crack. There are evergreen trees blocking any view there might have been, and
so the cold air I am sucking in tastes of pine. After a few minutes I feel less
tenuous. I lie down on the tile, curled up, knees to chin. Here I am. Solid.
Now. Here on this brown tile floor. It seems like such a small thing to ask.
Continuity. Surely, if there is a God, he wants us to be good, and it would be
unreasonable to expect anyone to be good without incentives, and Clare is very,
very good, and she even believes in God, and why would he decide to embarrass
her in front of all those people—I open my eyes. All the tiny porcelain
fixtures have iridescent auras, sky blue and green and purple, and I resign
myself to going, there's no stopping now, and I am shaking, "No!" but
I'm gone.

Clare: Father finishes his sermon, which is
about world peace, and Daddy leans across Sharon and Mark and whispers,
"Is your friend sick?"

"Yes," I whisper back, "he has a
headache, and sometimes they make him nauseous." "Should I go see if
I can help?"

"No! He'll be okay." Daddy doesn't
seem convinced, but he stays in his seat. Father is blessing the host. I try to
suppress my urge to run out and find Henry myself. The first pews stand for
communion. Alicia is playing Bach's cello suite no. 2. It is sad and lovely.
Come back, Henry. Come back.

Henry: I'm in my apartment in Chicago. It's
dark, and I'm on my knees in the living room. I stagger up, and whack my elbow
on the bookshelves. "Fuck!" I can't believe this. I can't even get
through one day with Clare's family and I've been sucked up and spit out into
my own fucking apartment like a fucking pinball—

"Hey." I turn and there I am,
sleepily sitting up, on the sofa bed.

"What's the date?" I demand.

"December 28, 1991." Four days from
now. I sit down on the bed. "I can't stand it."

"Relax. You'll be back in a few minutes.
Nobody will notice. You'll be perfectly okay for the rest of the visit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Stop whining," my self says,
imitating Dad perfectly. I want to deck him, but what would be the point? There's
music playing softly in the background.

"Is that Bach?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it's in your head. It's
Alicia."

"That's odd. Oh!" I run for the
bathroom, and almost make it.

Clare: The last few people are receiving
communion when Henry walks in the door, a little pale, but walking. He walks
back and up the aisle and squeezes in next to me. "The Mass is ended, go
in peace," says Father Compton. "Amen," we respond. The altar
boys assemble together like a school of fish around Father, and they proceed
jauntily up the aisle and we all file out after them. I hear Sharon ask Henry
if he's okay, but I don't catch his reply because Helen and Ruth have
intercepted us and I am introducing Henry. Helen simpers. "But we've met
before!"

Henry looks at me, alarmed. I shake my head at
Helen, who smirks. "Well, maybe not," she says. "Nice to meet
you— Henry." Ruth shyly offers Henry her hand. To my surprise he holds it
for a moment and then says, "Hello, Ruth," before I have introduced
her, but as far as I can tell she doesn't recognize him. Laura joins us just as
Alicia comes up bumping her cello case through the crowd. "Come to my
house tomorrow," Laura invites. "My parents are leaving for the
Bahamas at four." We all agree enthusiastically; every year Laura's
parents go someplace tropical the minute all the presents have been opened, and
every year we flock over there as soon as their car disappears around the
driveway. We part with a chorus of "Merry Christmas!" and as we
emerge through the side door of the church into the parking lot Alicia says,
"Ugh, 1
          
knew it!"
There's deep new snow everywhere, the world has been remade white. I stand
still and look at the trees and cars and across the street toward the lake,
which is crashing, invisible, on the beach far below the church on the bluff.
Henry stands with me, waiting. Mark says, "Come on, Clare," and I do.

Henry: It's about 1:30 in the morning when we
walk in the door of Meadowlark House. All the way home Philip scolded Alicia
for her 'mistake' at the beginning of Silent Night, and she sat quietly,
looking out the window at the dark houses and trees. Now everyone goes upstairs
to their rooms after saying 'Merry Christmas' about fifty more times except
Alicia and Clare, who disappear into a room at the end of the first floor hall.
I wonder what to do with myself, and on an impulse I follow them.

"—a total prick," Alicia is saying as
I stick my head in the door. The room is dominated by an enormous pool table
which is bathed in the brilliant glare of the lamp suspended over it. Clare is
racking up the balls as Alicia paces back and forth in the shadows at the edge
of the pool of light.

"Well, if you deliberately try to piss him
off and he gets pissed off, I don't see why you're upset," Clare says.

"He's just so smug," Alicia says,
punching the air with her fists. I cough. They both jump and then Clare says,
"Oh, Henry, thank God, I thought you were Daddy."

"Wanna play?" Alicia asks me.

"No, I'll just watch." There is a
tall stool by the table, and I sit on it. Clare hands Alicia a cue. Alicia
chalks it and then breaks, sharply. Two stripes fall into corner pockets.
Alicia sinks two more before missing, just barely, a combo bank shot.
"Uh-oh," says Clare. "I'm in trouble." Clare drops an easy
solid, the 2
       
ball, which was poised
on the edge of a corner pocket. On her next shot she sends the cue ball into
the hole after the 3, and Alicia fishes out both balls and lines up her shot.
She runs the stripes without further ado. "Eight ball, side pocket,"
Alicia calls, and that is that. "Ouch," sighs Clare. "Sure you
don't want to play?" She offers me her cue.