Edible Woman - Margaret Atwood [133]
“Well …”
“Sure you do, and I could always tell you would. I like people participating in my fantasy life and I’m usually willing to participate in theirs, up to a point. It was fine; just as good as usual.”
The implication sank in smoothly as a knife through butter. She wasn’t the first then. The starched nurse-like image of herself she had tried to preserve as a last resort crumpled like wet newsprint; the rest of her couldn’t even work up the energy to be angry. She had been so thoroughly taken in. She should have known. But after she had thought about it for a few minutes, gazing up at the blank sky, it didn’t make that much difference. There was the possibility also that this revelation was just as fraudulent as so much else had been.
She sat up, brushing the snow from her sleeves. It was time for action. “All right, that was your joke,” she said. She would let him wonder whether or not she believed him. “Now I’ve got to decide what I’m going to do.”
He grinned at her. “Don’t ask me, that’s your problem. It does look as though you ought to do something: self-laceration in a vacuum eventually gets rather boring. But it’s your own personal cul-de-sac, you invented it, you’ll have to think of your own way out.” He stood up.
Marian stood up too. She had been calm but now she could feel desperation returning in her, seeping through her flesh like the effects of a drug. “Duncan,” she said, “could you maybe come back with me and talk to Peter? I don’t think I can do it, I don’t know what to say, he’s not going to understand.…”
“Oh no,” he said, “you can’t do that. I’m not part of that. It would be disastrous, don’t you see? I mean for me.” He wrapped his arms around his torso and held on to his own elbows.
“Please,” she said. She knew he would refuse.
“No,” he said, “it wouldn’t be right.” He turned and looked down at the two imprints their bodies had made in the snow. Then he stepped on them, first on his own and then on hers, smearing the snow with his foot. “Come here,” he said, “I’ll show you how to get back.” He led her further along. They came to a road which rose and then dipped. Below was a giant expressway, sloping up, and in the distance another bridge, a familiar bridge with subway cars moving on it. Now she knew where she was.
“Aren’t you coming with me even that far?” she asked.
“No. I’m going to stay here for a while. But you have to go now.” The tone of his voice closed her out. He turned and started to walk away.
The cars rocketed past. She looked back once when she had trudged halfway up the hillside towards the bridge. She almost expected him to have evaporated into the white expanse of the ravine, but he was still there, a dark shape against the snow, crouched on the edge and gazing into the empty pit.
30
Marian had just got home and was struggling with her wrinkled dress, trying to get the zipper undone, when the phone rang. She knew who it would be.
“Hello?” she said.
Peter’s voice was icy with anger. “Marian, where the hell have you been? I’ve been phoning everywhere.” He sounded hungover.
“Oh,” she said with airy casualness, “I’ve been somewhere else. Sort of out.”
He lost control, “Why the hell did you leave the party? You really disrupted the evening for me. I was looking for you to get you in the group picture and you were gone, of course I couldn’t make a big production of it with all those people there but after they’d gone home I looked all over for you, your friend Lucy and I got in the car and drove up and down the streets and we called your place half a dozen times, we were both so worried. Damn nice of her to take the trouble, it’s nice to know there are some considerate women left around.…”
I’ll bet it is, Marian thought with a momentary twinge of jealousy, remembering Lucy’s silver eyelids; but out loud she said, “Peter, please don’t get upset. I just stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and something else came up, that’s all. There is absolutely nothing to get