Voice of our Shadow Read online

"I would love waffles, Karen. I haven't had them in years."

  "Good, you got 'em. If you'd like to take a shower, the bathroom's opposite the bedroom. Gee, I'm makin' it sound as if you've got all the time in the world. Can you stay for breakfast? I called the school and told them I was sick. Do you have to be somewhere? It's only eight o'clock."

  "No, no, I've got nothing planned. Waffles and coffee sound like the best thing I could do this morning."

  Her bathroom looked like World War III. Damp towels on the floor, hand wash hung limply on a clothesline strung across the bathtub; a twisted tube of toothpaste lay in the sink with no cap in sight. I worked my shower around her obstacle course and even cleaned up a little before I left.

  The living room was a shock of sunlight and morning warmth; the dining table was full of good things to eat. The orange juice was in thick crystal goblets, and the silverware caught the fierce morning light and bounced it off the walls.

  "Joseph, please come and eat before it gets cold. I'm a terrific cook. I made you seven hundred waffles, and you have to eat them all or you'll get a D."

  "Are you a teacher?"

  "Yes, indeed. Seventh-grade social studies." She made a wry face and flexed her muscles like a strongman in the circus.

  She sat down at the table and picked up a fork. We both sat there and watched her hand shake. She slowly put it in her lap. "I'm sorry. Please, though, you go on and start eatin'. I'm sorry, but I'm still scared to death. It's sunny out, and it's over, and no one's goin' to get me now, but I'm scared. It's like havin' a bad chill, you know?"

  "Karen, would you like it if I stayed with you today? I'd be glad to."

  "Joseph, I would like that very very very very much. Which part of heaven did you say you came from?"

  "Vienna."

  "Vienna? That's where I was born!"

  Vienna, Virginia. Her parents lived near there and raised greyhounds for dog racing. She said they were fine people who had both inherited so much money it confused them.

  Karen went to Agnes Scott College in Georgia because her mother had gone there, but she hated everything except her history courses. Richard Hofstadter came to the college and gave a lecture on Jacksonian democracy. She was so overwhelmed by it that she instantly decided to transfer wherever he taught permanently, which turned out to be Columbia University in New York. Totally against her parents' wishes, she applied and was accepted at Barnard. Later she went on to get a master's degree in history at Columbia before she got tired of going to school. She liked New York so much that when she was finished she took a teaching job at a private girls' school in the lower sixties.

  This all came out over the longest breakfast I'd ever eaten. I kept asking her questions so she wouldn't think about the night before. But you can eat only so many waffles. Staggering up from the table, I suggested through swollen cheeks that we go out for a walk. She agreed; it crossed my mind it would be nice to have a change of clothes, but I wasn't sure if I should leave her alone yet, so I went as I was.

  The day was snappy cold, but it was clear for the first time since I'd arrived. West Seventy-second Street is a world in itself, and whatever you're looking for is usually there: cowboy boots, organic pasta, Japanese box kites . . . We promenaded up and down and spent a long time looking in store windows, comparing notes.

  I fell in love with a pair of cowboy boots that she made me try on. I remembered Paul's story about the Austrians in the Vienna airport wearing them, but they were beautiful. I came close to buying them, until I found out they cost over a hundred and forty dollars.

  We had lunch at a delicatessen. She had a hard time eating her corned beef sandwich because her lip was so sore, but she laughed and started purposely talking out of the corner of her mouth like Little Caesar.

  "Awright now, Lennox. I told you enough about myself. What's the dope on you? You gonna open up or am I gonna have to pound it out of you? What's your story?"

  "What would you like to hear?"

  She looked at an imaginary wristwatch. "Your life story in one minute."

  I told her a little about everything – Vienna, my writing, where I came from. When she listened, her eyes grew wide and excited. Without thinking, she touched me often when some part of my story moved or dismayed her. She said things like "No!" or "You've got to be kiddin'!" and I often found myself nodding to assure her that it was true.

  An hour later we were having a glass of hot spiced wine at a glassed-in sidewalk cafй. We started talking about the theater; in a small voice I asked her if she had ever seen The Voice of Our Shadow.

  "Seen it? Hoo, Joseph, I had to read that play for a drama class at Agnes Scott. I made the mistake of bringin' it home over vacation, and my daddy got hold of it. Wow! He picked it up and flew 'round the house like an eagle, yellin' about how they were makin' us young girls read books about juvenile delinquents and feelin' girls up! Hell, Joseph! I know all about that play!"

  I changed the subject, but later, when I told her about my connection to the play, she smiled sadly and said it must be hard to be famous for something you didn't do.

  The wine turned into a Cuban dinner and more talk. It had been a long time since I'd so comfortably shot the breeze and laughed and not worried about things. With India you quickly realized she expected you to speak well and interestingly because she was listening so carefully. A moment before you said anything, you were still shaping and polishing it so it would arrive in first-class condition. When I was around India, both before and after Paul died, every moment shook with such importance that I was sometimes afraid to move for fear I'd break something – the mood, the tone, whatever.

  Here, on the other side of the world, Karen made you feel that with no effort at all you were the cleverest, wittiest devil in town and that laughter was meant to boom across a room and drain you of everything you had. Life wasn't easy, but it certainly could be fun. We made plans to see a movie together the next night.

  We went to a revival of the original Lost Horizon. When we left the theater she was wiping her eyes with my handkerchief.

  "I hate them, Joseph! All they have to do is throw me some violins and that old Ronald Colman and I'm a goner."

  I wanted to take her arm, but I didn't. I looked at the sidewalk and felt glad she was there.

  "I had this boyfriend a couple of months ago? He'd take me to movies like that and then get all mad when I started cryin'! Now, what did he expect me to do, take notes? New York intellectuals – ink for blood."

  "Do you go with anyone special?"

  "No, that fellow was my last big steady. Oh, you can go to parties. I even went to a singles' bar once, but I don't know, Joseph, who needs it? I get choosier the older I get. Is that a sign of senility? I go into one of those jittery places, and everybody's eyes are as big as TVs. It makes me all depressed."

  "What was the name of your last steady?"

  "Miles." She pronounced it "Molls." "He was a very big-time book editor. He gave me a rejection slip."

  "Oh, yeah? Didn't he like your style?"

  She looked at me and poked me in the ribs. Then she stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and put her hands on her hips. "Do you really want to know or are you just makin' chitchat?"

  People walked by with smirks and expressions that said they knew we were fighting. I told her I wanted to know. Sticking her hands back in her coat pockets, she started walking again.

  "Miles wore his watch when we made love. Do you believe it? Drove me completely crazy. Why would someone do that, Joseph?"

  "Do what, wear a watch? I never thought about it."

  "Never thought – Joseph! Don't start makin' me upset. I have great hopes for you. No man should wear a watch when he's makin' love. What is he – on a schedule? What would you do if a woman came into bed wearin' a big Timex on her arm? Huh?" She stopped again and gave me the big stare.

  "Karen, are you serious?"

  "You bet I'm serious! Miles wore this big hundred-pound dive-bomb thing. Every t
ime. It'd end up cuttin' me to pieces. Then I'd lose all the bliss because it was tickin' away at me."

  "Karen . . ."

  "Don't look at me like that. You're lookin' just the way he did when I told him about it. Listen – a woman wants to be taken and ravished and adored by a man. She wants to forget the world and leap right the hell off the edge! But not here – tick, tick, tick – it is seven-oh-eight and thirty seconds. You see what I mean?"

  " 'Taken and ravished and adored'?"

  "That's right. Don't start embarrassin' me – you asked."

  We went back to her apartment for a cup of coffee. It was raining again; I watched it smash against the balcony windows. The living room was a bright fortress against it. The blue couch, thick carpet, soft white drops of light in each corner. The great contrast was the pictures on the walls. I would have expected Bernard Buffet clowns or Picasso doves to go with the softness and exuberant colors, but it wasn't so. Behind the dining table was a sludgy brown Francis Bacon print in a dull silver frame. I couldn't make out much of what was happening in the picture except that the subject was melting. Otto Dix, Edward Hopper, and Edvard Munch rounded out the happy lineup.

  When she came in with the coffee, I was looking at a big print of Munch's The Shriek.

  "What's with all the gloomy pictures, Karen?"

  "Aren't they scaly? Music to have nightmares by." She perched on the couch and, with the most delicate movements possible, arranged two places on the coffee table, complete with miniature place mats. It reminded me of the care little girls take when they set up tea parties for their dolls and stuffed animals.

  "Miles said I was a secret psychotic. Me and my penny loafers and lemon-meringue blouses . . . Miss Fair Isle Sweaters. Do you want sugar? Oh, Miles. Miles should have been a screenwriter for French movies. He needed one of those severe knee-length leather coats and a Gauloise cigarette hangin' from his lip in the middle of the rain. Here, Joseph, I hope you like your coffee strong. This is Italian and it's good."

  I sat down next to her. "You still haven't explained why you like such melancholy pictures."

  She even sipped gently. "You're hurtin' my feelin's, Joseph."

  "What? How? What did I say?"

  "You're sayin', dear man, that I've got to like this kind of picture because I dress or talk this way. I'm not supposed to like anythin' black or sad or alone because . . . Well, sir, how would you like it if I put you in that kind of little box?"

  "I wouldn't. You're right."

  "I know you wouldn't. You don't know me all that well yet, but you're pretendin' you do by sayin' things like that. How would you like it if I said, 'Oh, you're a writer! You must like pipes and Shakespeare and Irish setters. At your feet!' "

  "Karen?"

  "What?"

  "You're right." I touched her elbow. She pulled it away.

  "Don't do that! Stop tellin' me I'm right. Put up your dukes and fight." She made a bird-sized fist and stuck it up under my nose. The fun behind the gesture wrenched something loose inside me, and looking at her, I opened my mouth to say, "God, I like you," but she interrupted me.

  "Joseph, I don't want you turnin' out to be a male chauvinist pig. I want you to be exactly what I think you are, which is very special. I'm not goin' to tell you about that yet, though, because it'll only give you a swelled head. First you saved me from that black dragon, and then you turned out to be nice and interestin'. I will be madder than hell if you end up disappointin' me. Understand?"

  Her school was old and red brick; you felt wealth radiating out from it like heat. I stood on the other side of the street at three-thirty and waited for her to come out. She had no idea I'd be there. Surprise!

  A bell clanged and girls' heads leapt up in every window. Voices and shouts and high laughter. Moments later they swelled out of the building in soft gray and white waves. Hefting books, looking at the sky, talking to each other; all of them wore gray blazers, matching gray skirts, and white blouses. I thought they looked wonderful.

  I saw a blond woman who looked like Karen toting a big briefcase. I started blindly across the street, but saw halfway there that it wasn't her.

  After half an hour she still hadn't shown, so I gave up and started home. I didn't understand it. At a corner phone booth I called; she answered on the first ring.

  "Joseph, where are you? I'm bakin' a pecan pie."

  I explained what had happened, and she giggled. "Today's the day I get out early. I went down to Soho to shop for our dinner. You are comin' to dinner, you know."

  "Karen, I bought you a present." I looked at it clenched in my hand.

  "It's about time you got me somethin'! No, I'm kiddin'. I'm very touched. Bring it along to dinner. I'll open it after."

  I wanted to tell her what it was. It was heavy; the big Edward Hopper book with color plates she liked so much. I put it down on the small metal shelf beneath the telephone box.

  "Joseph, tell me what it is. No, don't! I want to be surprised. Is it great?"

  "Why don't you wait and see?"

  "Stinker."

  I wanted to put my hand through the receiver and stroke that smooth, velvet voice. I could see her face – the delight and the sauciness. I wished I was there. "Karen, can I come over now?"

  "I wish you were here an hour ago."

  I almost ran down the hall when I got out of the elevator. I arrived at her door with the book under my arm and my heart in my throat. There was a note taped up: Don't get mad. We'll have the pie when I get back. Something came up. Its name is Miles and says it needs help bad. I don't want to go. Repeat – I do not want to go. I owe him for a lot though, so I'll go. But I'll be home as soon as I can. Don't be mad or I'll kill you. There's a good movie on the Late Movie. I'll knock three times. Don't be mad.

  I bought a pizza and brought it home so I could be there in case she got back early. She didn't. She didn't come back at all that night.

  2

  The next morning I got a letter from India. At first I looked at it as if it were a key or paper I'd lost long ago and, now that I'd found it, didn't know what to do with.

  Dear Joe,

  I know I've been rotten about writing, but please assume things have happened that kept me from it. There's been no real sign from Paul, although twice he's done little bad things to remind me he's still here. Since I know you'll worry if I don't tell you what I mean, the other morning I went to the kitchen and found a Little Boy glove on the table where he used to sit. As I said, small things, but I got scared enough and reacted like a maniac, so I guess he was satisfied.

  I've made an appointment to see a famous medium here in town, and although I've never had much faith in those table thumpers, an awful lot of what I used to believe has been washed right down the drain in the last few months. I'll tell you if it turns up anything.

  Now, don't take it the wrong way, but I'm enjoying living by myself. There are so many more things you're responsible for – the things your other half used to take care of without your even knowing it. But the compensation is, you're free as a bird and answerable to none. God knows, I liked living with Paul, and maybe someday I'll like living with you, but for now I like having the double bed to myself and all options open.

  How are you, slugger? Don't you dare misinterpret anything I've said here, or else.

  Little hugs, India

  I swallowed my pride and called Karen's apartment. It rang seven times before she answered. Each ring made my heard beat faster and faster.

  "Hello, Joseph?"

  "Karen?"

  "Joseph. Joseph, I'm so bad."

  "Can I come down?"

  "I spent the night with him."

  "I sort of guessed that when you didn't show up for the Late Movie."

  "Do you really want to see me?"

  "Yes, Karen, very much."

  She was in a pink flannel bathrobe and ugly pink bedroom slippers. She held the robe closed at the neck and wouldn't meet my eyes. We went into the room and sat down on the c
ouch. She sat as far away from me as she could get. The dead couldn't have been more silent than we were for those first five minutes.

  "Do you have someone over there in Vienna? Not any here's or there's. Someone special?"

  "Yes. Or maybe yes. I don't know."

  "Are you lookin' forward to goin' back to her?" Her voice took on the slightest edge.

  "Karen, will you please look at me? If you're worried about last night, it's all right. I mean it's not all right, but I understand. Oh, shit, I can't even say that. I don't have any right. Look, I hate the idea of your sleeping with someone else now. It's a compliment, okay? A compliment!"

  "Do you hate me?"

  "God, no! Everything is crazy in my head now. Last night I thought I was going to end up chewing the carpet, I was so jealous."

  "You were?"

  "Yes, I was."

  "Do you love me, Joseph?"

  "What a time to ask that! Yes, after what I felt last night, I guess I do."

  "No, maybe you were just jealous. It's easy to be jealous, especially with somethin' like that."

  "Karen, if I didn't care about you, I wouldn't give a damn about last night, would I? Listen, I got a letter from Vienna today, okay? I got a letter, and for the first time I had no desire to go back. None. I don't even want to write back. Doesn't that mean something?"

  She was silent. She still wouldn't look at me.

  "And what about you, anyway? Who do you love?"

  She pulled one of the couch pillows into her lap and began smoothing it with her hand again and again. "You more than Miles."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means last night taught me somethin', too."

  We finally looked at each other over the miles of couch that separated us. I think we both yearned to touch but were afraid to move. She went on smoothing the pillow.

  "Did you ever notice how differently people act on a Saturday afternoon?"

  We were walking arm in arm down Third Avenue. It was noisy and wet all around us, but the sun was out. We tramped along, paying no attention to where we were going.