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  “When he’d recovered enough to be moved in a wheelchair, his bandages were long gone by then, a nurse and I wheeled him down the corridor to where his wife was. He’d shaved that morning and put on some lotion. He was in his bathrobe and hospital gown, he was still recovering, you know, but he held himself erect in the wheelchair. Still, he was nervous as a cat, you could see that. As we came closer to her room, his color rose and he got this look of anticipation to his face, a look I can’t begin to describe. I pushed his chair, and the nurse walked along beside me. She knew something about the situation, she’d picked up things. Nurses, you know, they’ve seen everything, and not much gets to them after a while but this one was strung a little tight herself that morning. The door was open and I wheeled Henry right into the room. Mrs. Gates, Anna, she was still immobilized, but she could move her head and her left arm. She had her eyes closed, but they snapped open when we entered the room. She was still in bandages, but only from the pelvic area down. I pushed Henry up to the left side of her bed and said, ‘You have some company, Anna. Company, dear.’ But I couldn’t say any more than that. She gave a little smile and her face lit up. Out came her hand from under the sheet. It was bluish and bruised-looking. Henry took the hand in his hands. He held it and kissed it. Then he said, ‘Hello, Anna. How’s my babe? Remember me?’ Tears started down her cheeks. She nodded. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. She kept nodding. The nurse and I got the hell out of there. She began blubbering once we were outside the room, and she’s a tough lot, that nurse. It was an experience, I’m telling you. But after that, he was wheeled down there every morning and every afternoon. We arranged it so they could have lunch and dinner together in her room. In between times they’d just sit and hold hands and talk. They had no end of things to talk about.”

  “You didn’t tell me this before, Herb,” Terri said. “You just said a little about it when it first happened. You didn’t tell me any of this, damn you. Now you’re telling me this to make me cry. Herb, this story better not have an unhappy ending. It doesn’t, does it? You’re not setting us up, are you? If you are, I don’t want to hear another word. You don’t have to go any farther with it, you can stop right there. Herb?”

  “What happened to them, Herb?” Laura said. “Finish the story, for God’s sake. Is there more? But I’m like Terri, I don’t want anything to happen to them. That’s really something.”

  “Are they all right now?” I asked. I was involved in the story too, but I was getting drunk. It was hard to keep things in focus. The light seemed to be draining out of the room, going back through the window where it had come from in the first place. Yet nobody made a move to get up from the table or to turn on an electric light.

  “Sure, they’re all right,” Herb said. “They were discharged a while later. Just a few weeks ago, in fact. After a time, Henry was able to get around on crutches and then he went to a cane and then he was just all over the place. But his spirits were up now, his spirits were fine, he just improved every day once he got to see his missus again. When she was able to be moved, their son from El Paso and his wife drove up in a station wagon and took them back down there with them. She still had some convalescing to do, but she was coming along real fine. I just had a card from Henry a few days ago. I guess that’s one of the reasons they’re on my mind right now. That, and what we were saying about love earlier.

  “Listen,” Herb went on. “Let’s finish this gin. There’s about enough left here for one drink all around. Then let’s go eat. Let’s go to The Library. What do you say? I don’t know, the whole thing was really something to see. It just unfolded day after day. Some of those talks I had with him…I won’t forget those times. But talking about it now has got me depressed. Jesus, but I feel depressed all of a sudden.”

  “Don’t feel depressed, Herb,” Terri said. “Herb, why don’t you take a pill, honey?” She turned to Laura and me and said, “Herb takes these mood elevator pills sometimes. It’s no secret, is it, Herb?”

  Herb shook his head. “I’ve taken everything there is to take at one time or another. No secret.”

  “My first wife took them too,” I said.

  “Did they help her?” Laura said.

  “No, she still went around depressed. She cried a lot.”

  “Some people are born depressed, I think,” Terri said. “Some people are born unhappy. And unlucky too. I’ve known people who were just plain unlucky in everything. Other people—not you, honey, I’m not talking about you, of course—other people just set out to make themselves unhappy and they stay unhappy.” She was rubbing at something on the table with her finger. Then she stopped rubbing.

  “I think I want to call my kids before we go eat,” Herb said. “Is that all right with everybody? I won’t be long. I’ll take a quick shower to freshen up, then I’ll call my kids. Then let’s go eat.”

  “You might have to talk to Marjorie, Herb, if she answers the phone. That’s Herb’s ex-wife. You guys, you’ve heard us on the subject of Marjorie. You don’t want to talk to her this afternoon, Herb. It’ll make you feel even worse.”

  “No, I don’t want to talk to Marjorie,” Herb said. “But I want to talk to my kids. I miss them real bad, honey. I miss Steve. I was awake last night remembering things from when he was little. I want to talk to him. I want to talk to Kathy too. I miss them, so I’ll have to take the chance their mother will answer the phone. That bitch of a woman.”

  “There isn’t a day goes by that Herb doesn’t say he wishes she’d get married again, or else die. For one thing,” Terri said, “she’s bankrupting us. Another is that she has custody of both kids. We get to have the kids down here just for a month during the summer. Herb says it’s just to spite him that she won’t get married again. She has a boyfriend who lives with them, too, and Herb is supporting him as well.”

  “She’s allergic to bees,” Herb said. “If I’m not praying she’ll get married again, I’m praying she’ll go out in the country and get herself stung to death by a swarm of bees.”

  “Herb, that’s awful,” Laura said and laughed until her eyes welled.

  “Awful funny,” Terri said. We all laughed. We laughed and laughed.

  “Bzzzzzz,” Herb said, turning his fingers into bees and buzzing them at Terri’s throat and necklace. Then he let his hands drop and leaned back, suddenly serious again.

  “She’s a rotten bitch. It’s true,” Herb said. “She’s vicious. Sometimes when I get drunk, like I am now, I think I’d like to go up there dressed like a beekeeper—you know, that hat that’s like a helmet with the plate that comes down over your face, the big thick gloves, and the padded coat. I’d like to just knock on the door and release a hive of bees in the house. First I’d make sure the kids were out of the house, of course.” With some difficulty, he crossed one leg over the other. Then he put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin cupped in his hands. “Maybe I won’t call the kids right now after all. Maybe you’re right, Terri. Maybe it isn’t such a hot idea. Maybe I’ll just take a quick shower and change my shirt, and then we’ll go eat. How does that sound, everybody?”

  “Sounds fine to me,” I said. “Eat or not eat. Or keep drinking. I could head right on into the sunset.”

  “What does that mean, honey?” Laura said, turning a look on me.

  “It just means what I said, honey, nothing else. I mean I could just keep going and going. That’s all I meant. It’s that sunset maybe.” The window had a reddish tint to it now as the sun went down.

  “I could eat something myself,” Laura said. “I just realized I’m hungry. What is there to snack on?”

  “I’ll put out some cheese and crackers,” Terri said, but she just sat there.

  Herb finished his drink. Then he got slowly up from the table and said, “Excuse me. I’ll go shower.” He left the kitchen and walked slowly down the hall to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him.

  “I’m worried about Herb,” Terri said. She shook her head
. “Sometimes I worry more than other times, but lately I’m really worried.” She stared at her glass. She didn’t make any move for cheese and crackers. I decided to get up and look in the refrigerator. When Laura says she’s hungry, I know she needs to eat. “Help yourself to whatever you can find, Nick. Bring out anything that looks good. Cheese in there, and a salami stick, I think. Crackers in that cupboard over the stove. I forgot. We’ll have a snack. I’m not hungry myself, but you guys must be starving. I don’t have an appetite anymore. What was I saying?” She closed her eyes and opened them. “I don’t think we’ve told you this, maybe we have, I can’t remember, but Herb was very suicidal after his first marriage broke up and his wife moved to Denver with the kids. He went to a psychiatrist for a long while, for months. Sometimes he says he thinks he should still be going.” She picked up the empty bottle and turned it upside down over her glass. I was cutting some salami on the counter as carefully as I could. “Dead soldier,” Terri said. Then she said, “Lately he’s been talking about suicide again. Especially when he’s been drinking. Sometimes I think he’s too vulnerable. He doesn’t have any defenses. He doesn’t have defenses against anything. Well,” she said, “gin’s gone. Time to cut and run. Time to cut our losses, as my daddy used to say. Time to eat, I guess, though I don’t have any appetite. But you guys must be starving. I’m glad to see you eating something. That’ll keep you until we get to the restaurant. We can get drinks at the restaurant if we want them. Wait’ll you see this place, it’s something else. You can take books out of there along with your doggie bag. I guess I should get ready too. I’ll just wash my face and put on some lipstick. I’m going just like I am. If they don’t like it, tough. I just want to say this, and that’s all. But I don’t want it to sound negative. I hope and pray that you guys still love each other five, even three years from now the way you do today. Even four years from now, say. That’s the moment of truth, four years. That’s all I have to say on the subject.” She hugged her thin arms and began running her hands up and down them. She closed her eyes.

  I stood up from the table and went behind Laura’s chair. I leaned over her and crossed my arms under her breasts and held her. I brought my face down beside hers. Laura pressed my arms. She pressed harder and wouldn’t let go.

  Terri opened her eyes. She watched us. Then she picked up her glass. “Here’s to you guys,” she said. “Here’s to all of us.” She drained the glass, and the ice clicked against her teeth. “Carl too,” she said and put her glass back on the table. “Poor Carl. Herb thought he was a schmuck, but Herb was genuinely afraid of him. Carl wasn’t a schmuck. He loved me, and I loved him. That’s all. I still think of him sometimes. It’s the truth, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Sometimes I think of him, he’ll just pop into my head at any old moment. I’ll tell you something, and I hate how soap opera a life can get, so it’s not even yours anymore, but this is how it was. I was pregnant by him. It was that first time he tried to kill himself, when he took the rat poison. He didn’t know I was pregnant. It gets worse. I decided on an abortion. I didn’t tell him about it either, naturally. I’m not saying anything Herb doesn’t know. Herb knows all about it. Final installment. Herb gave me the abortion. Small world, isn’t it? But I thought Carl was crazy at the time. I didn’t want his baby. Then he goes and kills himself. But after that, after he’d been gone for a while and there was no Carl anymore to talk to and listen to his side of things and help him when he was afraid, I felt real bad about things. I was sorry about his baby, that I hadn’t had it. I love Carl, and there’s no question of that in my mind. I still love him. But God, I love Herb too. You can see that, can’t you? I don’t have to tell you that. Oh, isn’t it all too much, all of it?” She put her face in her hands and began to cry. Slowly she leaned forward and put her head on the table.

  Laura put her food down at once. She got up and said, “Terri. Terri, dear,” and began rubbing Terri’s neck and shoulders. “Terri,” she murmured.

  I was eating a piece of salami. The room had gotten very dark. I finished chewing what I had in my mouth, swallowed the stuff, and moved over to the window. I looked out into the backyard. I looked past the aspen tree and the two black dogs sleeping in amongst the lawn chairs. I looked past the swimming pool to the little corral with its gate open and the old empty horse barn and beyond. There was a field of wild grass, and then a fence and then another field, and then the interstate connecting Albuquerque with El Paso. Cars moved back and forth on the highway. The sun was going down behind the mountains, and the mountains had gotten dark, shadows everywhere. Yet there was light too and it seemed to be softening those things I looked at. The sky was gray near the tops of the mountains, as gray as a dark day in winter. But there was a band of blue sky just above the gray, the blue you see in tropical postcards, the blue of the Mediterranean. The water on the surface of the pool rippled and the same breeze caused the aspen leaves to tremble. One of the dogs raised its head as if on signal, listened a minute with its ears up, and then put its head back down between its paws.

  I had the feeling something was going to happen, it was in the slowness of the shadows and the light, and that whatever it was might take me with it. I didn’t want that to happen. I watched the wind move in waves across the grass. I could see the grass in the fields bend in the wind and then straighten again. The second field slanted up to the highway, and the wind moved uphill across it, wave after wave. I stood there and waited and watched the grass bend in the wind. I could feel my heart beating. Somewhere toward the back of the house the shower was running. Terri was still crying. Slowly and with an effort, I turned to look at her. She lay with her head on the table, her face turned toward the stove. Her eyes were open, but now and then she would blink away tears. Laura had pulled her chair over and sat with an arm around Terri’s shoulders. She murmured still, her lips against Terri’s hair.

  “Sure, sure,” Terri said. “Tell me about it.”

  “Terri, sweetheart,” Laura said to her tenderly. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. It’ll be okay.”

  Laura raised her eyes to mine then. Her look was penetrating, and my heart slowed. She gazed into my eyes for what seemed a long time, and then she nodded. That’s all she did, the only sign she gave, but it was enough. It was as if she were telling me, Don’t worry, we’ll get past this, everything is going to be all right with us, you’ll see. Easy does it. That’s the way I chose to interpret the look anyway, though I could be wrong.

  The shower stopped running. In a minute, I heard whistling as Herb opened the bathroom door. I kept looking at the women at the table. Terri was still crying and Laura was stroking her hair. I turned back to the window. The blue layer of sky had given way now and was turning dark like the rest. But stars had appeared. I recognized Venus and farther off and to the side, not as bright but unmistakably there on the horizon, Mars. The wind had picked up. I looked at what it was doing to the empty fields. I thought unreasonably that it was too bad the McGinnises no longer kept horses. I wanted to imagine horses rushing through those fields in the near dark, or even just standing quietly with their heads in opposite directions near the fence. I stood at the window and waited. I knew I had to keep still a while longer, keep my eyes out there, outside the house as long as there was something left to see.

  One More Thing

  L.D.’s WIFE, Maxine, told him to leave one night after she came home from work and found him drunk again and being abusive with Bea, their fifteen-year-old. L.D. and his daughter were at the kitchen table, arguing. Maxine didn’t have time to put her purse away or take off her coat.

  Bea said, “Tell him, Mom. Tell him what we talked about. It’s in his head, isn’t it? If he wants to stop drinking, all he has to do is tell himself to stop. It’s all in his head. Everything’s in the head.”

  “You think it’s that simple, do you?” L.D. said. He turned the glass in his hand but didn’t drink from it. Maxine had him in a fierce and disquieting gaze. “That’s crap,” he said. “Keep
your nose out of things you don’t know anything about. You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s hard to take anybody seriously who sits around all day reading astrology magazines.”

  “This has nothing to do with astrology, Dad,” Bea said. “You don’t have to insult me.” Bea hadn’t attended high school for the past six weeks. She said no one could make her go back. Maxine had said it was another tragedy in a long line of tragedies.

  “Why don’t you both stop?” Maxine said. “My God, I already have a headache. This is just too much. L.D.?”

  “Tell him, Mom,” Bea said. “Mom thinks so too. If you tell yourself to stop, you can stop. The brain can do anything. If you worry about going bald and losing your hair—I’m not talking about you, Dad—it’ll fall out. It’s all in your head. Anybody who knows anything about it will tell you.”

  “How about sugar diabetes?” he said. “What about epilepsy? Can the brain control that?” He raised the glass right under Maxine’s eyes and finished his drink.