Robert Tanenbaum: Absolute rage

She checked her watch, arose, and looked down the track, into the reddening west. Tiny twin balls of light hovered above the rails out at the limits of vision. It was rather nice having a little summer vacation from being married, she thought. Karp came only on the weekends, so it was almost like college dating again, except you knew the guy wouldn't be a complete asshole, assuming one's husband was not one and you still loved him. Hers was not, by and large, and she did, by and large, although she was not adverse to having an attractive stranger around on the weekdays. Not that she would ever do anything, knowing herself to be the kind of woman who, once unfaithful, would bring her whole life crashing down and end up penniless and drunk in a trailer park in Tempe, Arizona.

She sat down on the bench again. The dog hadn't moved, since she had down-stayed him and hadn't spoken the release. The dog would have stayed there had a butcher's cart overturned before him and strewn the platform with prime rib. Billy Ireland was a hell of a trainer. She smiled and cooed at the dog, who wagged his tail, but still didn't budge. The train pulled in and a woman and two men got off. One of these, very tall and broad-shouldered, carrying a canvas overnight bag, and dressed in a beautifully cut tropical-weight blue pinstripe, was her husband, Roger Karp, universally known as Butch. She watched him look up and down the platform. He saw her coming toward him with the huge dog at her heels, and she observed, first, how tired he seemed, his face gray and heavy with the City, and then how it lit up when he saw her. Oh, good! They embraced and kissed, not just a suburban-wife-at-station peck, but a real kiss with plenty of chewing, like teenagers. It was always something of a surprise to both of them that they were still interested although they had been married since the Carter administration.

They walked arm in arm to the truck. "So how was the week that was?" she asked.

"Don't ask." He settled himself in the passenger seat and waited as she let the dog into the back and got in behind the wheel.

"You look tired."

"You look great. You're tan. You've been lounging on the beach."

"Uh-huh. I met our neighbor there this afternoon. She's got a little girl the twins' age."

"Our neighbor? That old couple?"

"No, on the other side. In the big white house."

"I thought that was empty."

"Me, too, but she's opening it up. They're going to sell it. Her dad kicked off and there's some kind of inheritance tangle. I got her drunk and pried out her secrets. They're a fine old Long Island family fallen on hard times. A nice woman, though-Rose Wickham Heeney."

"Heeney?"

"Yeah, it doesn't go with the other names. Apparently she married a working stiff from Appalachia, which didn't fly too great with the folks."

"So you have a basis."

She gave him a sharp look. Karp's family was a sore point. "Yes, and not only that, there's something worrying her. She'll be talking away and then kind of freeze and look around for the kid, a little panic reaction."

"Well, you know how to pick 'em."

"I'm not getting involved. Meanwhile she's someone to talk to, and the little girl's a doll. GC is smitten."

"How are they?"

"Thriving. Zak has his rat gun and Billy to tag around after, Gianni is building sand castles of ever greater extent and complexity and he's farming up a storm. They stay out of each other's hair."

"And your felon?"

"My felon is fine, and I wish you wouldn't call him that. He did his jolt and he's a citizen now."

"Aren't there any girl dog trainers?"

"Women. Of course, but I haven't found anyone as good as Billy Ireland." She slowed the truck for the turn off Route 25. The sun had sunk at last into Queens and the world had turned pearly blue. She switched on the truck's lights. "You're just jealous. You think we're doing it on the kibble sacks."

"Are you?"

"Not on the kibble sacks. And again she asks, changing the subject, how was your week, darling?"

"Hot. It was over ninety all week and it's only June."

"I mean work."

A cloud came over his face. "Fine. The usual." Which meant, not fine. Unusually awful.

But he greeted the boys cheerfully enough when they ran out to mob him, and he seemed more relaxed, later, at the table, dressed in worn jeans and a T-shirt. The twins filled him in on the week's events, including a detailed description by Zak of the backhoe operation and of each of the four rats he had stalked and killed, and from Giancarlo, a long summary of the rules of a swords-and-sorcery fantasy game he had invented, and a crop report, corn and carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, lettuce. She noted, however, that Karp drank two beers, as much alcohol as she had seen him consume at one sitting, and that, try as he might, his attention was drifting.

"Zik has a girlfriend," announced Zak when they were clearing the table.

"I do not!"

"Yes, he does. She has red hair. He loves her." A snarling chase through the house, which Karp broke up by grabbing each boy under an arm and dragging them out to the porch, where he plopped the three of them down on the rusty glider.

"It's true," Zak insisted.

"Is it true, Giancarlo?"

"No. I have a friend and she's a girl, but she's not a girlfriend. I'm too young to have a girlfriend."

"I see. When had you planned to start?"

"When I'm sexually mature, Dad," said Giancarlo, which reduced his brother to choking giggles.

After this had subsided, Zak said, "Billy Ireland taught me how to drive the truck. I can put it in second."

"Really? Does your mom know about this?"

"Oh, you know-Mom knows everything."

Later, when the boys were in bed, Karp sat on this same glider with his wife, who was drinking Remy out of a juice glass. The night was humid and warm, but there was a comfortable salt breeze from the Sound. Crickets sawed away in the surrounding trees, invisible in the country dark, real darkness, which Karp always found disconcerting after the City's perpetual glow. They had turned off the lights in the house. Then a light appeared from the small window under the barn's eaves. It came from the small apartment occupied by the dog trainer.

Which reminded Karp. "What's this I hear about Ireland letting Zak drive the truck?"

"Oh, it's just on the property. He's thrilled about it. You know how he is."

"It's still dangerous."

Marlene shifted to look directly at him. "No, it's not, and you don't really think so, either. You're pissed off about something at work and you are about to start a wrangle to get your ya-ya's off at me."

"I'm not."

"Everything's perfect at the office?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Oh, bullshit!"

"Marlene, forget it. I'm just tired."

"What are you tired about? I thought you conquered crime up there. You're not a kid ADA running around Centre Street with fifty open cases. You have a nice office, a glamorous secretary, minions at your beck and call…"

"Marlene, be serious. I'm chief assistant district attorney of New York County. There are a lot of pressures…"

"Like what?"

"Nothing." Long pause. A release of breath. "Jack's calling me off the congressman."

Marlene raised her eyes to heaven and her palms upward. "Thank you!" And to him: "Why do I always have to worm it out of you?"

"Because it's my problem, okay? Why should I bring that shit home?"

"It's not your problem. It's our problem, because when you're pissed off at that fucking office, you snarl, and pick nits, and get on everyone's nerves. My nerves, to tell the truth. The boys are so glad to see you, you could whip them with coat hangers and they wouldn't mind. So give! What's with the congressman?"

Karp cleared his throat. His childhood memory did not recall a single scene in which his father had talked business with his mother, and despite the years he had lived with Marlene the process remained uncomfortable, unnatural.