A Big Storm Knocked It Over (19 page)

The world had shrunk to the size of a pea, made up of such tiny things: the smell of a baby's feet, the fuzziness of its hard, hot little head, the amazing variety of expressions on its little face, the beguiling sounds it made. How it looked asleep in its crib, the intensity of its focus when it held something up in its hands to check it out, the way it wriggled with joy. These things were primal, vital, intoxicating. Here was a reality without peer through which Jane Louise felt she trudged, half beside herself with joy, half dead with exhaustion.

This life opened before her as if it had been a door, and when Jane Louise stepped through this door, it led into a secret room stuffed with a collection of strange objects, all of which produced odd, intense, and unexpected feelings.

These days Jane Louise read the morning paper after dinner and found herself half asleep on the couch. One night she found Teddy passed out at the other end. Their long legs were intertwined. He sat up with a start.

“Is it morning?” asked Jane Louise.

“It's nine-thirty,” Teddy said.

“Hey,” Jane Louise said. “Let's go dancing.” She took off her socks and noticed that one was striped and one was polka-dotted. Had she worn two different socks all day? Of course, the only people she had seen all day were Miranda, who was too young to care, and Edie, who was too tired to notice.

Jane Louise's bony shoulders now ached constantly from hunching over a baby stroller or bending over to put a baby into a crib. There had been a time when she had gone bopping around town with only her money in her back pocket. Now she was a pack animal, battened down with diapers, blankets, changes of baby clothes, and bottles of water.

There were nights when she would happily have collapsed in a heap with her clothes on, but she was far too orderly to do that. Instead she laid her clothes on a chair, threw on her nightgown, and flung herself into bed.

Teddy said: “Mokie and I thought we would take the kids off your hands for a few hours on Saturday and give you and Edie a break.”

Jane Louise had not been looking forward to having this conversation.

She instantly said: “But the weekends are our only time to be together.”

Teddy said, “You say that every weekend, Janey. I have to prize my own child away from you. I can't even take her to the park without you having an anxiety attack.”

“For God's sake, she's still nursing,” Jane Louise said.

“Yes,” said Teddy. “And she's also eating baby food. She can come out for an hour or two with her old man. I can't stand having this push-me-pull-you every time I want a little time alone with my own child. She is not exclusively yours. Besides, you
need
a break. You're wiped.”

There was nothing Jane Louise could say. She had never had a baby-sitter, except at night after Miranda was already asleep. She did not have some nice woman to take Miranda to the park in the morning so she could get some work done: She got her work done while Miranda napped. She was so bound to her baby that she felt lost without her. What would she do with herself? She imagined Miranda out with Teddy and herself pacing around in the apartment like a caged cat, wondering where they were, what they were doing, picturing danger at every corner. She saw herself alone with the laundry folded, the dinner organized, waiting and waiting for them to come home, thinking that she would never see them again. She did not know how she could stand it. She began to cry.

Teddy propped himself on his elbow and regarded her. She hoped he would take her into his arms, but he didn't. He said: “Don't think I don't know how you feel. I do, but you have to know how I feel. You don't have exclusive rights. I'm her
father.
Do you think I would let anything bad happen to her? I arranged this all around you. You'll have Edie to calm you down, and I'll have Mokie to protect me from Tong warriors with guns, if they happen to come to the park. You really have to do this, Janey.”

“I hope it rains,” Jane Louise said. “Then you'll have to stay home.”

Saturday was clear and sunny: a perfect May day. After the babies' lunch, Edie and Jane Louise left for their outing.

They walked to the corner and hailed a taxi. They had no idea where they were going.

“Do yoga breathing,” Edie said. “Calm down.”

“Why aren't
you
a nervous wreck?” Jane Louise said.

“I'm more of a slob,” Edie said. “I worry about other things.
Miranda will be fine. It's you that misses her. She'll have a great time.”

The driver looked around at them. “Do you two want to go someplace?” he said.

“We don't know,” said Jane Louise. “Go south.” She leaned back in her seat. On the one hand, it was thrilling to be free. On the other, she wanted to go home.

“Now, Janey,” Edie said. “Take a deep breath and think lovely thoughts.”

“The Chef's Bazaar,” said Jane Louise. “The art supply store. The place that has the lamps with the paper shades. Or that place where what's her name got those beautiful red shoes. Isn't that lovely enough?”

“We could cruise some clothes,” Edie said. “And then we can go to that new patisserie and have some coffee.”

“Or we could go home!” said Jane Louise. “Besides, I don't have any money.”

“Now, now,” said Edie. “I'm supposed to keep you diverted and amused.”

“Do you suppose everything is all right?” said Jane Louise.

“It is perfect and serene. The babies are on the swings. Then they will crawl around on the rat-poison-free grass. Then they will pass out, and Mokie and Teddy will read the sports page. You have to disconnect a little. You can love her wildly and not be so anxious.”

“Uh-huh,” said Jane Louise, who felt that her heart was not beating properly. “In Nigeria, babies ride on their mommies' backs until they're two.”

“Don't waste a minute,” Edie said. “Book your ticket now. Hey, driver! Let us out on this corner.”

She took Jane Louise by the arm, and they went shopping. Edie bought an octagonal baking pan. Jane Louise bought some
colored pencils. They ended up in a fancy baby clothing store where each bought a pair of tiny striped socks. Then they decided to go for a stroll, have coffee, and do nothing.

It was one of those gentle days in spring when the slight breeze has blown away the air pollution and the flowers are out on the ornamental cherry, crab apple, and mimosa trees. People smile at each other on the street and turn their faces up to the sun. Urban lovers wander arm in arm, drifting in and out of bookshops. At the outdoor cafés, people feed ice cream to their toddlers or sit happily, reading the Saturday paper. The doors to the shops are open. It is too mild for heat and too cool for air conditioning, the perfect weather for perambulating around a city.

A Tibetan monk in full saffron robes was walking down the street flanked by two well-dressed men. A man in a duck costume stood on the corner juggling what looked like eggs. At his feet was an open cigar box full of donations. Around the corner three Peruvians played flute, drum, and guitar. In front of the ceramic shop a beautiful redheaded girl was selling misshapen, multicolored teapots.

They strolled on. In the window of the patisserie they saw tiny boats made of short pastry filled with raspberry. Inside, people in wonderful-looking clothes sat at tiny tables, drinking cappuccino and talking intensely.

“Isn't the city ravishing?” Jane Louise said.

“I thought you were counting the minutes till you got to the country,” Edie said.

“I am,” said Jane Louise. “But sometimes, on days like this, you realize that you're living in a kind of treasure-house. I mean when you're not contemplating urban strife and social injustice.”

“I'd like to contemplate these adorable hats,” Edie said. “Look at that little charm-pot with the candy-striped ribbon.”

“I think the one with the little cars hanging off it is very chic—
it's wearable sculpture,” Jane Louise said. “Let's go find someplace to have our coffee outside. It's too nice to go in.”

“This is really very nice,” Jane Louise said. “It must be nice to have a baby and not be anxious, but I guess that only happens if you're rich.”

“From my little bird perch as a caterer,” Edie said, “what it looks like is, you bear children, and someone else raises them.”

“Hmmm,” said Jane Louise. “Tell more.”

“They have huge living spaces, very neat,” Edie said. “No baby toys around. They can have a house full of toddlers and never worry about their antique porcelain.”

“How come?”

“Separate quarters for the children,” Edie said. “They're also very big on stenciling. Many newborns have ABCs stenciled under the moldings on their wall so they can learn to read when they aren't sleeping.”

“Timesaving,” said Jane Louise.

“But don't think they don't have worries,” Edie said. “They worry about lots of things. Out-of-season fruit and flowers are always a big worry.”

“A vexing problem,” Jane Louise said.

“Finding a source of unpasteurized cheese is another, and then, of course, there's always the agony of trying to find a conservatorial cleaner who really does well by antique linen. Money does not buy everything, Janey.”

“But
you
worry all the time,” Jane Louise said. “Tell the truth.”

“I have less imagination,” Edie said. “You do art. I do food. I really and truly do not believe that someone is going to throw a bathtub out of a high window and that I'm going to be walking underneath it, but you do.”

“Someone
might
throw a bathtub out a window. This is a big city. Anything could happen,” Jane Louise said. “You just don't read the paper.”

“I don't read the
lurid
parts of the paper. I don't worry about Tallie all the time. I think he'll be fine without me for a few hours.”

“A few hours . . .” said Jane Louise.

“I'm not to bring you home before three-thirty,” Edie said. “So let's get some more coffee. Oh, look! Speaking of things happening. Look down the street. Isn't that Sven?”

There, walking toward them, was Sven himself, his blond wife Edwina, and their little boy, Piers, who was five, a white-blond child with dark brown eyes. Piers was carrying a plastic sword with which he attempted to smack his mother, who wore impeccable clothes, a bright smile, and polished fingernails. Jane Louise was made to realize that she and Edie were wearing jeans, scuffed loafers, and that in certain lights the various baby stains on their blouses could easily be seen.

“Oh, Sven!” called Jane Louise. Sven spun around as if being seen with his family was some sort of naughty act.

“Ah, the young mothers,” he said smoothly. “Edwina, come here and say hello to Jane Louise and her friend Edie.” Edwina dragged her little boy over and said hello. Then Piers pulled her off down the street.

“How unusual to see you without your satellite,” Sven said. “Where'd you stash the babies?”

“With their dads,” Edie said.

“How nice for them,” Sven said. “While you two laze away the time.”

“We work hard,” Jane Louise said.

“Hmmm,” Sven said. He looked at Edie and Jane Louise in a
speculative way. The look on his face clearly said: I'll dump the wife and kid and we can go to a hotel. It was plain that he was seeing himself on a rumpled bed, surrounded by a pile of long limbs.

“Nice to see you together,” he said. “And you, Janey. I haven't seen you since last week. The office is very tense these days. We need you.”

“Your family is slipping away,” Jane Louise said.

Sven gave her a hard look. “They tend to do that,” he said. “Are you coming in next week? There's a huge amount of work. Oh, by the way, did you get a baronial-looking card from the former Mrs. Samuelovich?”

“We got a card and a little baby hat that's too small,” Jane Louise said.

“I hope she's happy with her rich French bore,” Sven said. “A nice change from a down-at-the-heels Russian bore!”

“I thought Nick was sort of funny,” Jane Louise said.

“Really?” Sven said. “She didn't. I think little Mrs. Samuelovich had many interesting plans when she was married to him. What a girl.” He looked at Jane Louise in a kind of sultry way. “You have baby marks on your shoulder,” he said. “Drool—very attractive on you. You really must come in next week, Janey. I miss you.”

This made Jane Louise's heart thump. How nice it would be if her life were seamless—if she were sealed, almost like a mummy, into what she ought to be: the wife and mother—a smooth, integrated being without strange feelings, loose ends, and no unwanted twinges of doubts of any kind.

“Your family has disappeared,” Edie remarked to him.

“Oh, them,” Sven said. He stared at Jane Louise and Edie. “Good-bye, girls,” he said. “What an enchanting encounter.”

“He's sort of a devil,” Edie said.

“Yes, but he's my devil.”

“It's amazing,” Edie said. “He has a really and truly dirty look.”

“But it isn't smutty,” Jane Louise said. “There's nothing furtive about it. It's straight up front. He's some kind of elemental force with nothing mitigating it. It's pure sex. Sometimes I wish he would disappear and I wouldn't have to be reminded that although I am a happily married woman, my extremely weak flesh can still be made to creep.”

“Huh,” Edie said. “You want everything to be pure. You think everything ought to be just one way, and that if it isn't, it's wrong.”

“Well, I do feel that,” Jane Louise said. “I tell you, Edie, just when you believe you're turning into a drudge or a mindless dispenser of liquids, Sven comes around and lets a person know that there's only one thing really interesting after all. I hate to admit this about myself, but it cheers me up.”