The Book Borrower (18 page)

She had said, Sometimes I'm surprised at things she hasn't read. Oh, my. She had said that.

Gregory told them how they'd draw from the model, who would change poses every two minutes. They were to try to draw the
gesture:
a few swift lines. The students clumped into the cluttered corner as usual and dragged out easels. Ruben set up her easel. She took two pieces of charcoal from her smudgy plastic bag. She was always dropping and breaking charcoal. There was no place to set it down. She taped four or five big sheets of paper to the easel with masking tape, and all but the top one slipped out from behind and fell. She put the charcoal on the floor and retaped the paper with more tape. She had never learned to do it right.

Gregory, talking about gesture, waved to someone behind them. Opposite Ruben, Jeremiah coughed. The whole class had colds. They had never come to know one another, but they snuffled in unison, unable to blow their noses because their hands were so dirty with charcoal. They were all bundled in thick sweaters because the room was always cold.

Gregory plugged in a space heater near the platform on which, all term, he'd set jugs and broken statues and ladders and tables. On the platform was a chair. Then he nodded, and a rosy-skinned naked young woman, whose crinkly reddish hair was pulled into a big ponytail, walked from behind Ruben and stepped onto the platform. She crossed her legs and stretched her arms above her head, fingers just touching.

In a corner of her page, Ruben began to draw a small, tight naked woman whose legs were too short for the rest of her. Before she could finish, the woman thrust one leg out in front, as if she were running, brought her arms down, and bent them, as well, like a runner. Ruben tried again. She wanted to draw the woman's face. She wondered about the men in the class, whether this experience was erotic for them. It was erotic for Ruben; well, it was sort of erotic. It was new, it was brave. The woman was perfectly formed, with shapely, smooth thighs. Her breasts were rounded and firm, not very large. Ruben tried to draw the woman's breasts.

Gregory passed behind her. Just the gesture, he said.

The woman changed poses again. Now she knelt on the plat-form. Ruben tried to imitate the line of her body with the charcoal.

As usual Gregory spoke to the other students, hardly ever to her. That's fine, that's fine, she heard him say. It was simply one of the loveliest events on earth for this woman to take off her clothes and stand before them, just so Ruben could try to draw her with charcoal. She wished Gregory would talk or listen to her. She had no way of saying it made her happy to draw this woman.

The woman sat on the platform, one leg stretched in front of her. Maybe the other students' happiness would show in their drawings. Ruben thought Gregory might be a good teacher. When he had occasionally left the room, Ruben had told a few people her name. Once she'd complained to an older woman that Gregory didn't know their names, and the woman, who had not said her own name, said, Names don't matter.

The break was delayed. When they finally stopped, Ruben was elated and exhausted. She didn't want to talk to Jeremiah and drink Sanka. At last the model stepped behind a screen, then strode out ahead of them, dressed in a sweater and jeans. Thank you, Ruben said as the woman passed, not knowing whether you were supposed to pretend you didn't know it was the same person. Jeremiah ran toward Ruben and took her by the elbow. Come on, come on. She went. He said, Wasn't that something? Wasn't that just something? Here all term I've been—

But then he shook his head and didn't say anything more as they hurried to the coffee shop in the cold. When they got there, Jeremiah stopped. Do you want anything?

—Not really.

He steered her around. I don't want to break the mood.

In the empty classroom, they took off their coats and separated to look over their drawings. Gregory and the others came in.

Gregory asked each student to hang a drawing of the model. Ruben had one she rather liked. They all carried their sheets of paper to the usual wall and taped them with leftover bits of tape. When she looked around, Ruben was startled at how different everyone's drawings were. A young man had made the model ugly, with strange angles and shadows. Two drawings looked stormy and elegant, as if made by complicated people, though they were the work of two women who looked like drugstore cashiers and wore big plastic earrings in bright colors.

Gregory walked, talking. The model had enlivened him, too. You don't usually draw this way, he said to one woman, glancing from her drawing to her. Ruben was surprised that he knew whose it was. There's more sense of the edge of the paper here. Do you see?

The woman obviously did not see, but he went on to the others. He praised a line, a tucked-in head, the curve of a neck. Some students had omitted the model's hair. Ruben hadn't thought not to draw her hair, and all her drawings included that grand ponytail.

But you, Gregory said, looking at Jeremiah. But you. Ruben thought Jeremiah's drawings were the best he'd ever done. She imagined herself saying to Deborah, For once, what he drew didn't look like a trolley. Then she thought how Deborah was upset, how they must hurry to her.

Gregory said Jeremiah's drawing had a sumptuous curve. Ruben wouldn't have called it sumptuous. Now Gregory stopped and turned to face Jeremiah, his back to Jeremiah's drawing, as if he wanted to conceal it. By the way, he said, and Ruben saw her own feelings reflected in the body of one of the women with plastic earrings, who suddenly shifted as if some-thing frightening had entered the room.

—By the way, said Gregory, I know perfectly well what you've been up to all this time, and I think it's truly stupid. Just thought you ought to know.

He moved on to the next drawing, which was Ruben's. He was angry with Ruben, too, or else he was overcome with what he had just said. Nice line here, he mumbled.

—Do you mean the homework? said Jeremiah.

—Yes, that's what I mean.

—I have some thoughts on your methods.

—I'd rather not hear them, Gregory said.

Jeremiah moved away from the group and walked to the window, glanced out, and returned. Of course the window was dark. There was time for one more drawing. Gregory said they could put together their own still life groups, if they wanted, or they could leave, if they preferred to do that. It was the last meeting of the class. All the students packed up and left. The older woman thanked Gregory and said she'd asked her hus-band to buy her an easel for Christmas. Ruben and Jeremiah walked silently out of the room and the building, to Jeremiah's car. Easing out of the parking space, they were passed by a man on a bike.

—Was that Gregory? said Ruben. She wished—well, she had many wishes. She imagined Gregory telling his artist friends about two middle-aged idiots in his class. She started to laugh a little. She was going to say to Jeremiah, We are idiots (since she couldn't seem to separate herself from Jeremiah), and her statement was going to make a difference. But Jeremiah rounded the corner sharply and there was a thump, and the sound of metal breaking, and then Jeremiah was cursing, pulling over to the curb right at the corner and jumping out.

Afraid to look, she followed him. He had knocked over Gregory and his bike. She started to scream, pressing her hands on her mouth, and then took her hands away and screamed some more. All she could do now was be loud. She couldn't bear to look closely, but then she did. Gregory was standing up, leaning over the bicycle.

—Oh, man, said Jeremiah. You're going to think I did that on purpose. How can I ever—? Are you all right? Shall we call the cops, or an ambulance?

—I'm all right, said Gregory. I need for you to get the fuck out of my life, is what I need.

—Of course I'll pay for the bike! said Jeremiah.

Gregory was holding one arm with the other. My own stupid fault, he said quickly. I knew you couldn't see me when I turned.

—Gregory, said Ruben, finally a grown-up—exaggerating the mommy tone—I know you're angry. You should be angry. But you must let us help you. Is your arm hurt?

—I just scraped it on the ground. The back of the bicycle was hit, but I personally was not hit. He passed his hand over his face. Look, I just don't need anything more from you two, okay? I really just want you to get the hell out of here.

—Whatever you say, said Jeremiah. Send me a bill for your new bike.

—Go to hell, said Gregory. Jeremiah got back into his car. Ruben stood there a while longer. Finally she said, I learned a lot from the course. I really did. And drawing the model was fantastic.

Then she got into the car. Five blocks closer to home, Jeremiah pulled over to the side of the street, shifted into park, rested his arms on the wheel, and hid his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. Then he sat up, shifted, and drove toward Ruben's house.

—No, she said. I have to talk to Deborah.

—It's late.

—Even so.

—No.

—Yes.

Deborah said, What are you doing here? She wore her pink fuzzy bathrobe and slippers, and under it a light blue flannel nightgown. Ruben hugged her and rested her head on Deborah's chest and cried a little. Then she knew why Jeremiah hadn't wanted her to come. Maybe he wasn't going to tell Deborah what had happened. He was afraid Ruben would. Well, she wouldn't do that.

—If you're here to comfort me, I don't need it, said Deborah. I told Jeremiah not to tell you.

—But what did Janet say?

—Let's not stand here in the hall, at least, said Deborah. Ruben phoned Harry while Deborah made Almond Sunset tea. Ruben thought Jeremiah would go upstairs, but he stayed and drank tea.

—You'll be peeing all night, Deborah said.

—I do anyway, after that coffee.

—We didn't have coffee tonight, said Ruben.

—Oh, right.

—Why not? Deborah said.

—We were too overcome, said Ruben. The model.

—What was she like?

—She was naked.

—I'm sure you liked that, Deborah said to Jeremiah. He was warming his hands on his mug. He drank the tea quickly, even though it was scalding. Ruben considered that Jeremiah's tongue might be calloused from many hot drinks. She found herself, for a moment, wondering how such a tongue might feel inside one's mouth or stroking one's clitoris. She stared hard at Deborah to dispel the late-night thought. She had never been attracted to Jeremiah. Now, she found herself assuming he had run into Gregory's bike on purpose. Yet surely he hadn't. She argued with herself, looking at Deborah.

Deborah was talking, telling the history of the last two days as it pertained to Janet Grey. Janet had waved from a passing car, but did not stop. Janet had called and left a message with Rose for Deborah to call back. Deborah had called and Janet had said she couldn't talk right then but would call Deborah later.

—Then she called just when we sat down to eat.

—Jeremiah told me.

—At first I didn't know what she meant. She was talking in a low voice, and I could scarcely hear her. She said, I have to make some changes. I thought she meant changes in her life. I thought she wanted to confide in me. I was pleased! Deborah lowered her big, dignified blond head into her hands and her hair fell forward. What did I do? she said.

Jeremiah got up and left the room, and Deborah watched and waited to speak until he was on the stairs. Then she spoke quickly. Was I obvious? Does she think I'm after her, you know?

—I'm sure she's scared of intimacy . . .

—You never liked her, but she likes you. What did you say to her about me?

—Hardly anything. Why do you think it was me? said Ruben. Listen, why can't we each teach one course if she has only two for next term?

—Oh, no, she's just getting rid of me. You'll see—she'll hire someone else. She says because of your specific expertise, blah blah blah. Believe me, I asked her. I was quick to suggest taking away one of your classes!

—Well, of course, said Ruben, quickly wondering whether she could work more hours at the pottery store and whether she would like that. She said, What do I know that you don't?

—You have more experience, actually. Or more on paper.

—I doubt it.

—Oh, you know, said Deborah. Some of that stuff before you moved here sounds good.

Ruben was frantically tired. She had drunk her tea. She was getting cold, as always in Deborah's kitchen. She wanted to put her coat on, but if she did that Deborah would think she was in a hurry to leave. How did Janet
sound
? she said. I can't imagine this. I can't imagine it in the same universe with the red-and-yellow socks. And Rose going shopping with her. She hasn't even handed over that present yet!

—Oh, she started by saying we'll always be friends, she values my friendship . . . She sounded like my friend. She sounded as if she was telling me about getting rid of somebody else. As if I was supposed to sympathize because this was so hard for her.

—Should I talk to her? Ruben said.