Random Winds (33 page)

“Then it’s because you wanted to be a famous doctor. That’s why you went away.”

“Who on earth could have put that idea in your head?”

“Nobody. I’m only trying to figure things out.”

“Well, that isn’t true, either. Besides, I’m not famous.”

“Aunt Milly says you are, almost She says you will be someday.”

“Your Aunt Milly talks about me?”

“Only sometimes when Mother’s not there. Once we went to a movie together and afterward to Hicks’ for a soda, and Aunt Milly said it was wrong to hide things from a child and never talk about you, as if I had no father and never had had one. She says it’s wrong to keep so much hatred.”

“It’s not a question of hatred. Not that simple.”

Her father turned around and stood facing the window, which was odd, because there was nothing to see outside except a courtyard and walls. Anyway, it had got dark by now. Then she realized that he was crying.

“Are you crying?” she asked, and when he turned to show that his eyes were wet, he smiled and said, “It’s all right for a man to cry sometimes, you know. It’s nothing to be scared of.”

And he came and laid his cheek on her head. She sat very still. He whispered. She felt the warm breath on her head.

“I hope you haven’t been too sad about all this.”

“Oh no. I mean, it’s not the very worst thing in the world that you went away! It’s happened to some of my friends, and they get along fine. Only sometimes, well, you know, sometimes I get in a thoughtful mood about life. With me it’s usually around five o’clock when I’m getting ready for dinner. Isn’t that odd? Then things go around in my head and I feel bad for a while. Mother says I think too much, anyway. Maybe I do.”

“Tell me, can you remember anything at all about when we lived together in England? Can you?”

“Not very much. Just odd things, here and there. I remember the Christmas you gave me Reginald. We were in a house, not our own, because it had stairs. You took me down on your shoulder and you gave me a doll with a lace
dress. You said it was from Santa Claus. I believed in him then. And still, I don’t know how it was, I knew that that present wasn’t from him. It was from you.”

“You named her Reginald.”

“Yes. And there was a man—I guess he had been invited to Christmas dinner—who laughed when I told him my doll’s name. He said Reginald was a boy’s name, and I couldn’t name her that. But you said I could if I wanted to.”

“I remember.”

“I wonder whose house it was. There were children there, bigger than I. One was a boy, I think. And it must have been a country house because there was a lot of snow outside.”

“Yes, it was snowing.”

“The dining room was down a long hall, and the Christmas tree was in the hall,” Claire said proudly.

“Yes. Yes, it was. I’m amazed that you can remember all that.”

“Whose house was it?”

Her father said slowly, “It belonged to your aunt, Mary Fern.”

“I thought it might have! She’s Mother’s sister, isn’t she? And why is she a secret, too? Why will Mother never answer a question about her own sister?”

“I can’t help you, Claire. I’m sorry.”

“I wish I had a sister. I hate being an only child. Hardly anybody I know is an only child.”

Her father said quietly, “You have a brother.”

Astonished, she cried, “I have?” And, following his glance to a photograph which stood on a bookshelf near the window, she saw a woman holding a little boy on her lap. The child wore a short suit, and he had a toy duck or chicken in his hand.

“That’s my brother? That little boy?”

“Yes. His name is Enoch, after my father. Your grandfather.”

It was too much. It was almost overwhelming … Then she thought of something.

“I know about your father. Home in Cyprus sometimes people told me he was their doctor a long time ago. The postmaster told me and our maid Bridget said so. Is that your wife in the picture?”

“Yes. Her name is Hazel.”

Claire considered that. “What shall I call her when I visit your house?”

“Let’s ask her what she’d like, shall we? But then, your mother may not allow you to visit, you know.”

“I’m going to, anyway. I really do obey almost all the time, but this is different. Besides, if you want me to come, I’ll obey you. You have a right to say what I may do, haven’t you?”

“Not really, Claire.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because—well, I haven’t ever done anything for you up till now, have I?”

“You can start, then.”

“Oh, I want to. Is there anything you need? Tell me.”

“I don’t need any
things
. Mother’s making a lot of money. Well, not a lot, but enough. Every time she fixes up somebody’s house, they tell their friends, and then the friends call her.”

“Remarkable. A remarkable woman.”

There was a silence before her father spoke again. “And are you interested in decorating, too?” But it was as if he really didn’t care to know and was only saying something polite to fill a silence.

“No, I don’t care about doodads like that.”

He laughed. “Doodads! Where did you get such an old-fashioned word? Your grandfather used to say that just the way you said it now.”

Proudly Claire affected carelessness. “Oh, I don’t know, I read it someplace. I read a lot I’ve just started
The Count of Monte Cristo.”

“Ah yes.”

“But what I like even better than reading is science. Leaves and bugs and all that. It’s my best subject. I’m going to be a doctor.”

“You are? And when did you decide that?”

“Oh,” she said, still feeling that proud carelessness, “about a year ago.”

“But you’ll marry and have children when you grow up.”

“Not if it interferes with being a doctor. Did you know we were all descended from monkeys?”

“Yes, in a way. It’s not exactly like that, though. It—”

But her thoughts came rushing, and she had to interrupt. “Tell me, do you believe in God? My grandfather did. He even got angry when I asked him once. But Mother isn’t sure, and I wondered what you thought about it.”

“Well, I think, the more we learn about the universe, the more we have to believe in some design. It can’t all be just an accident, can it? So in that way, I call the plan God, and I believe. But that’s not the same as the bearded old king with a crown and a throne.”

“The anthropomorphic God,” Claire said quickly. Her father blinked surprise.

“I read that in
The Times
, and I looked it up in the dictionary. You didn’t think I knew it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I have a lot to learn about you, I see.”

“Do you know what I’m thinking of now?”

“I can’t in the world imagine. You keep my head spinning.”

“I’m thinking of the clock with the gilded angels. I suppose talking about God reminded me of angels. It came from Switzerland. Don’t you remember?”

“I never saw it, Claire.”

She flushed. How stupid. How unthinking. Of course, it had been long afterward.

“I’m sorry! It was Grandpa who bought it for my birthday, just before his first heart attack. He was sad that year.”

“Was he?”

“Yes, I think he was sad because nobody liked anybody anymore.”

Her father was silent again for a little, and then he said strangely, “You’re only ten.”

“Ten and a half. You keep forgetting.”

“Yes, yes. Ten and a half. Enthralling Claire! You always were. Enthralling.” And he kept looking at her.

When the desk clock rang six chimes, he jumped up.

“You mother will be worried sick about you! We’ve been sitting here, not thinking of the time at all. Come, HI walk home with you.”

Claire drew her coat on. “Better not come near the house, though.”

“I’ll only walk to the corner and watch until you’re inside.”

When he had got his own coat, he came and put her head on his shoulder. Then he laid his cheek on top of her head again. She did not ordinarily like close contact, having had very little of it. Her mother seldom gave more than a good-night kiss, and Claire had long ago sensed that this reluctance of Jessie’s had something to do with thinking that people might not welcome her embrace. So this was the first time she had ever known the actual feel of someone else’s emotion; it was more intense than any words that could have been spoken. And she held very still with her head on her father’s shoulder until they heard the traffic start far off on the avenue. Then he let her go.

“God keep you, Claire,” he said.

Jessie stared into the darkness past the window. Claire waited. After the furious preliminary scolding, having come home past six o’clock and frightening her mother to a frenzy (“I was about to telephone the police!”), they had sat down in the little room with the blue tiles and Claire had told the whole story. Now, dry-mouthed and scared, she waited for anger and punishment Her mother scarcely ever punished, but then Claire had never done anything as monstrously daring and defiant as this.

Jessie laughed.

First her mouth opened with the sort of disbelief that comes after some particularly crazy practical joke. And then she laughed out loud. “Good God!” she said. “Good God!” And then, “Well, I guess I’ve no real right to be furious. It’s just the kind of thing I would have done.”

It couldn’t possibly be going to end as easily as this! Nevertheless, Claire’s heartbeat slowed.

“So, then, how is he, your father?”

How was he? That was another question you couldn’t answer, like some of the other questions grown-ups asked: “How are you doing in school?”

“What are you doing with yourself lately?” But some sort of answer was expected.

“He said I was ‘enthralling.’ ”

“Did he?” For an instant Jessie looked pleased. Then she pulled in her smile and looked somber again. “And so, what did you think of him?”

Another question you couldn’t answer! But Claire thought of something. “I thought he would be older.”

“He looks—he looks well then?”

“I guess so.”

“What did you talk about?”

“A lot of things. He has a little boy. I saw his picture.”

“I see.”

“His name is Enoch. That was my other grandfather’s name. Did you know?”

“Yes, certainly I knew. And now you’ll be going back to visit, I suppose.”

Something forlorn had come into her mother’s voice, something hollow and sad, like an echo. Claire looked up quickly, but Jessie was just sitting there as usual, with the pearls glimmering in her ears and the crocheted scarf about her shoulders that she wore every night because she said the house was chilly. Melancholy seeped like shadows in the room.

“Don’t you want me to?” she asked.

“You can imagine I’m not happy about it But you’ll do what you want, anyway.”

“I wish you wouldn’t mind too much, though.”

Jessie didn’t answer that Instead she asked, “You’ve been thinking about your father for a long time, haven’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t until now. But obviously I should have known.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Claire said. “We got talking and forgot to look at the clock.”

“Well, next time let me know where you are, that’s all.”

Her mother stood up. “It’s time for your bath, and you haven’t done any homework,” she said.

At the door, Claire turned around. “Mother?”

“Yes, Claire?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll still love you.”

“I won’t worry.”

“Things will be the same. This won’t make any difference.”

“Of course, dear. I know it won’t.”

But of course, she didn’t know it. And Claire, trudging up the long stairs to her room, didn’t know it either. For it could never be exactly the same again. It wasn’t just the two of them, anymore.

Martin moved his chair back from the table. “Well, this was a great dinner. Had enough?” he asked Claire.

The devastated Sunday roast stood in its cooling gravy on the sideboard with the peas, the sweet potatoes, the homemade rye rolls and the apple pudding. He ate too much, as his father had before him. He resolved to watch it.

“I’m stuffed,” Claire said. “You’re a better cook than our maid, Aunt Hazel. You can cook better than any maid we ever had.”

Hazel smiled. “If you still want to take Enoch to the park, Claire, you’d better start. It gets dark and cold early.”

“I want to go to the park,” Enoch said at once.

“I’m ready. I’ll just get my pea jacket.”

“All the buttons are off it,” Martin observed.

“Not all, only three. How come you noticed? Mother’s always noticing, but I didn’t think you would.”

“You think I’m blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other?”

“Give them to me. I’ll sew them on,” Hazel offered.

The three stood watching while she sewed the buttons. Her soft hair kept falling over her forehead. Whenever she pushed it back, she looked up at them and smiled.

“You’re really so nice,” Claire told her. “You know, my friend Alice’s parents got divorced, and her father’s new wife is nasty and Alice hates her, but I certainly don’t hate you.”

“That’s too bad,” Hazel said. “About Alice, I mean. I’m glad you don’t hate me, though.”

“I was supposed to wear my good coat today. It’s rose-colored, sort of, and has a gray fur collar. Mother made me buy it, but I don’t like it.”

“Your mother has beautiful taste,” Martin said. “You can learn something from her.”

“I know, but I’m not interested in things like that—clothes and keeping my room neat and stuff. I’m just not interested.”

“There. That’s done,” Hazel said. She bit the thread off between her teeth. “Now you look better. I’ll get Enoch’s snowsuit on. Be sure to hold his hand very tightly; he can slip loose before you know it.”

“You can trust me,” Claire assured her.

“She likes coming here,” Hazel observed when they had gone. “I guess it’s fun for her to be with Enoch. Her own house must be very quiet, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Martin answered.

“She really is an odd character, Martin. In a wonderful way, I mean. So—different.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you ever think you would like to see her mother?”

“Not particularly.”