American Music - Jane Mendelsohn [36]
In the morning he was still there, which amazed her. They drove to a pretty town where the houses were white clapboard with black shutters and some bright red and orange leaves were still left on some of the trees and the November sky turned uncharacteristically blue and people said hello. She could imagine living in a place like this. Her hand fit into his. Wind blew down the pretty streets as if they were continually being washed of any dirt or dust or anything unwanted. Air swept up into the high branches and made a soft strong blowing sound. She thought of horns. She told him and he squeezed her hand. They ate at a tiny restaurant for lunch and there were buoys on the walls and netting and they ate fish. The sea came inside here. She could feel the salt on her face. She thought it would be nice to be with Joe in the summertime at the sea. She saw his hair standing sideways and a dark blue ocean lifting up behind him. They had wine. He toasted the two of them. She saw his mouth through her wineglass while he spoke. She was used to seeing her life through a pane of glass but now when he put down his drink and she put down hers she saw things clearly with nothing between her and her life and smiled and he said, You know I’m not sure I’ve ever really seen you smile before and I can tell you that nothing has ever looked so beautiful. I’m going to make you do that again.
Back at the inn it was their last day together like this for who knew how long and every moment felt like a last moment and they enjoyed it but she said she would not give herself to him completely until he had told Pearl. It wasn’t right. And he looked in her green eyes and he knew that she meant it and so he did not try to change her mind.
There were sock cymbals and Low Boys and Hi-Hats for keeping time. There were larger cymbals for punctuation, riding, and choking. There were cymbals with names like Plop, Sizzle, Sting, Whang, and Swish. And there were the very thinnest cymbals of all. Cymbals with a sharp brilliant tone that could instantly be damped, cymbals with a silver resonance. It was the shimmering sound of cymbals that she would later think had made them fall in love. A silver sound that led the music and kept time and moved life forward. A sound of fantasy and romance that swept up the whole world. A sound that was made in America. It came by way of Istanbul but most people didn’t know that. It was a sound that people thought was the essence of America: light and swinging and free. But it was a sound that had explosions in it. “Our business is hazardous,” Avedis said. Even with his experience he was apt to have an explosion once a week. In the beginning, the factory had so many explosions that their insurance company canceled the policy and returned the premiums paid in advance. When he told Joe, Joe said, Too bad you can’t get insurance for everyday life. I could really use some of that.
At night, again, the beating of his heart under her head. She woke him up. What will she do without you? she said. He was half asleep, in love, not thinking, mostly dreaming. He said: She’ll probably be better off.
•
She couldn’t sleep. She pulled a chair up to the window and looked out at the sleeping town. Across the street, one of those perfect white clapboard houses. She looked at the shape of the house and the relationship of the windows to one another and the moonlight bathing the house in a calm but tragic yellow and blue light. She thought for the first time in a long time about painting that light. She went back to bed and instead of putting her head on his chest, she held his hand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Milo and Honor
Milo saw a white clapboard house on the ceiling. A raw damp smell of ocean air flew through the room. Suddenly lights arrived in the windows of the floating house and out came big-band music as if heard from a distant radio, Count Basie playing from Kansas City. When he opened his eyes Honor was holding his hand.
You were saying something to me, calling me.