A Jest of God - Margaret Laurence [83]
Nick is not married.
I wonder why he lied to me. Maybe he thought it was easier that way, the least complicated way of dealing with my unconcealed hankering, the embarrassment of my obvious angling. How he must have laughed at how easy it was, at how easy I was, both to pick up and to put down again. God damn him, now and forever.
Yet – did he lie, though? He showed me the photograph of a boy, and I said Yours? And he said Yes. When I think back on it, it seems to me that the picture had the pale grey of an old snapshot. It was, of course, I see now, Nick himself as a child. Yours? Yes, mine.
But he intended me to misunderstand. He must have hoped I would. The intention of the lie was there all right. Unless he was simply trying to change the subject. It might never have occurred to him that anyone could possibly mistake a picture taken thirty years ago for one taken recently. He may have brought out the photograph only as a diversion. He’d already done what he could, to warn me. I’m not God, darling – I can’t solve anything.
He had his own demons and webs. Mine brushed across him for an instant, and he saw them and had to draw away, knowing that what I wanted from him was too much. Was that it? Or was he merely becoming bored?
I don’t know whether he meant to lie to me or not. As for what was happening with him and to him this summer, I couldn’t say what it really was, nor whether it had anything to do with me or not.
TWELVE
“Now please don’t be silly, Rachel. It’s out of the question, dear, I’m afraid.”
“No. It’s what we’re going to do.”
“I realize you might like somewhere else for a change – don’t think I don’t realize that, dear, because I do. I know it’s been tiresome for you, sometimes, I mean, with my heart and that. I fully realize all these things, Rachel. I’ve lived a good deal longer than you, after all. I know it’s not always very entertaining for you, here. I know it’s a strain for you – no, you needn’t contradict me – I can see it – a strain and a bore, yes, a boring life for you, living here with someone who can’t help the fact that she’s not so lively as once, and can’t keep up in the same way any more, however much she tries.”
“Yes. That’s right. It is.”
“What?”
“A strain. It is sometimes a strain.”
“Oh, indeed? And I suppose you don’t think it was a strain for me, bringing you and Stacey up, with your father about as much use as a sick headache, and –”
“Hush. Hush, now. I know. It wasn’t easy for you. Why should you think mine must be any easier for me?”
“Your what, for mercy’s sake?”
“My life. You want me to say no of course it hasn’t been a strain, and of course I want to stay here, and I’m sorry I ever brought up the subject and we won’t discuss it any more. But I can’t. I can’t do that now.”
“Rachel, you’re not yourself. You’re not talking a bit sensibly, dear. I can hardly follow you. I just don’t see what you’re getting at. You’re talking so disjointedly.”
“I’m sor – I mean, try. Try to listen.”
“That’s terribly unfair of you, Rachel.”
“Unfair?”
“You know I always listen, dear, to everything you want to say. I have, ever since you were a small girl. I’ve always listened.”
“But have you heard?”
“What? Rachel, I don’t know what to think, I really don’t. I’m worried about you, dear, I’ll tell you that.”
“Don’t be. Oh, listen, I mean it. It’s going to be all right. Look, you may even like things, once we get there.”
“All my friends are here, Rachel. I can’t leave. I wouldn’t know a single solitary soul. No one. Think of it. I’ve lived here all my –”
“Yes. That part of it is too bad. I know. But there’s Stacey, don’t forget, at the coast.”
“A strange house, or some cramped apartment, more than likely. I couldn’t, Rachel. And in a strange place, a strange city.”
“Don’t you want to see your grandchildren?”
“Well, of course I do. Naturally. How can you suggest that I don’t want to see them?”
“I didn’t mean to suggest it. I only meant – wouldn’t it be nice to see them?”
“If they could come here, yes, on a visit, it would be lovely.”
“They won’t, though. We haven