Butterfly's Shadow - Lee Langley [32]
So Weissmuller had swum his way to Olympic golds, world records. He had done other things. But Ben thought back to how it felt, relived the shining moment, arching upward through the air, slicing into water like a blade, surfacing in a spray of glory. Until one day he had come out of the water and found himself beached, dry.
He studied his heaped plate of meat and potatoes, slick with gravy.
On a low lacquer table delicate fish and vegetables, shaped and razored and layered, one colour set against another, green and dark crimson; amber, pink and white; in porcelain bowls, gleaming like jewels . . .
He picked up his fork and stabbed a potato.
‘Why does everything have to be brown?’
Nancy looked up, startled. ‘What?’
‘Nothing important. Just – nothing important.’
He looked again at his plate: ‘This is fine.’
For Thanksgiving, they went to Louis and Mary as usual, and Ben watched his mother-in-law carry in the shiny bronze turkey. But she was an accomplished cook and he found himself enjoying the tender bird.
Afterwards there was chocolate meringue and pecan tart and apple pie.
‘Like Mom makes,’ Joey said, repeating words he had heard from other kids.
‘There’s too much food here for just five of us,’ Louis said comfortably. ‘Still, I guess one of these days we’ll be sitting down six for Thanksgiving, when Joey gets a little brother.’
‘Or sister,’ Mary put in mildly.
Ben felt the tightness in his chest, that sense of wanting to hit out at some unspecified target.
‘Don’t hold your breath.’ It came out louder than he intended.
Louis and Mary exchanged a quick glance, and Nancy kept her eyes on her plate, her spoon chasing a crumb of chocolate meringue.
‘Well of course, we’re all in God’s hands in these matters,’ Mary said. ‘Now: who’s for more pie?’
14
The kitchen was filled with a sense of electrical activity: the new coffee percolator bubbling, bread browning in the new toast-maker that scorched both sides at once, eggs frying on a ring, the new refrigerator giving off its high-pitched whine in the corner.
Nancy called up to Joey to tell him breakfast was ready, waiting for the familiar noise as he jumped down the stairs, satchel bumping behind him.
He looked around the appliance-filled room,
‘So I’m having an electric breakfast.’
‘Be grateful,’ Ben remarked. ‘Not everyone can afford the latest equipment.’
‘Does it make the food taste better?’
Nancy dropped a square of golden toast on his plate.
‘Probably not.’
‘Then why do we have it?’
‘To make life easier.’
‘And because,’ Ben said, not looking up from his newspaper, ‘it’s the future. Electricity is the future.’
‘Dad, you said the automobile was the future.’
‘Well. Maybe both.’
‘You should invent an electric automobile.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
She told herself they were lucky to have this bright, enquiring boy. Had she remained a teacher, she would have prized such a pupil. She touched his hair, lightly, as she passed his chair. She caught her husband’s eye and rewarded him with a smile, nose briefly wrinkling.
When Joey had left for school, running off to join their neighbour, the two boys hopping and skipping, Ben lingered over a second cup of coffee. Nancy reached for the newspaper.
‘I’m talking to Daniels at the bank this afternoon. About the loan.’
‘You’ve decided then? You didn’t say.’
‘I thought about it. Now I’m sure. I need bigger premises, a proper workshop.’
Nancy said, ‘Ben? Are we speculating?’
‘We’re investing. Why do you ask?’
She tapped the paper and read aloud: ‘“Hoover warns of the dangers of rampant speculation.” I just thought: does the President know something we don’t know?’
‘Well now, “rampant”. D’you call a garage expansion rampant? Me neither. The bank’s looked at the books; it’s a safe bet, pay for itself in five years. Honey, now is the right time to expand.’
Later, recalling that decision, he would bleakly remind Nancy of her father’s old joke: ‘How do you make God laugh? Tell Him your plans.’
At first, the