Rona Jaffe - Mazes and Monsters

“Washington?” Andy said.

“That seemed to be the idea,” his father said. “He didn’t actually make a commitment, but he implied that I might be called to Washington. I don’t know what else ‘on our team’ means.”

“I thought you were happy at Harvard,” Daniel said. He couldn’t imagine his father in Washington.

“Frankly,” his father said, “I think I’ve done as much as I can here. Look … if it was party talk, I’ll survive. But I feel something is going to happen, and if it does, I’ll be glad to go.”

“That’s fantastic, Doctor Goldsmith,” Beth said. She raised her glass. They all drank a toast to his future.

“I had a small triumph myself,” his mother said. She was trying to act casual, but Daniel could see how excited she was. “You remember Kevin, the little black boy in my class who was almost autistic? The one with the alcoholic mother, the father who disappeared? Doctor Francke kept telling me: ‘Autism is chemical, Ellie; you’re not going to get through to that child.’ But I wouldn’t give up. I said: ‘Look at that traumatic home life! Some children are more fragile than others. Kevin is one of the fragile ones.’” She took a sip of wine and smiled. “Well, this morning, he was smearing away with his finger paints, and just as I handed him the cobalt blue, he spoke !”

“What did he say?” Daniel asked, fascinated.

“‘April is the cruellest month,’” his father said wryly.

“Don’t be silly, Harold. He said: ‘No.’”

“Well, that’s good,” Andy said.

“You’re darn right it’s good,” his mother said. “He could have pushed the blue paint away, or just used it passively, but he had a preference and he made a choice. And he verbalized it! I know he can talk — he has an entire vocabulary just waiting to explode out of him, but it takes time. And I’ll give him that time.”

“How do you feel about going to Washington, Mrs. Goldsmith?” Beth asked.

“Whatever Harold wants is all right with me,” she said.

“What about your work?”

“Beth, don’t start that stuff with my mother,” Andy said. “You’ll get her all upset.”

“I’m not upset,” his mother said. “I can pursue my career in Washington. Besides, if it happens, it won’t be for a long time, and I can make great progress with Kevin in the meantime.”

“Your mother will be valuable wherever she goes,” his father said.

Daniel felt the little currents moving through the room: ambition, fear, hope, control, compromise. All through the long years of their marriage his parents had ridden those dangerous currents; two people paddling in tandem in a light canoe, keeping their balance, moving ahead. No matter what her own triumphs, she always put them aside for his father’s. It was true that someone else could continue with her work, but someone else could go to Washington instead of his father, and what would it really matter to anyone but Harold Goldsmith? And, of course, his wife. Maybe she cared as much about having her husband move up in the world as he did.

Beth sat in front of the fire with her face edged in gold. Her skirt was spread out like a nest, and Andy kept cracking walnuts with his strong hands and dropping the nutmeats into it. “I heard the most awful story today,” Beth said. “A man had a Dacron tube grafted into one of those arteries leading to the heart; you know, that operation they’ve been doing for ages. He died a few years later of an apparent heart attack, and when they did an autopsy they found he’d grown a rare kind of cancerous tumor around the Dacron graft.”

“Poor guy,” Andy said.

“Do you know what that means?” Beth said. “It means that it’s possible that synthetics cause cancer.”

“Something else to worry about,” his mother said. “Half the country will have to go nudist.”

“Remember that thing they did on TV?” Daniel said. “On Fernwood Tonight when Martin Mull had those mice in little polyester leisure suits to show that leisure suits cause cancer?” He laughed, remembering. He had liked that show, it was funny.

“Nothing is safe anymore,” his mother said angrily. “They do a satire on television and a couple of years later it comes true. There isn’t anything too farfetched or horrible to imagine. We’re destroying the planet.”

“With leisure suits?” Andy said. He laughed and popped a handful of shelled walnuts into his mouth.

“Go laugh,” his mother said. “You’re going to have to live in that world. Somebody’s going to have to do something about it.”

“Daniel will do something about it,” his father said calmly. He smiled at Daniel. “The future of mankind is in computers. We’ll have energy conservation systems, new transportation systems, community participation systems … we’ll get rid of poverty, waste—”

“Wait a minute!” Daniel said. “I can’t do all that.”

“I didn’t say you’d be the only one. But you’ll help.”

Why wasn’t he happier about saving the world, when everybody else seemed to want to?

“What about people who just want to tend their own garden?” Daniel said.

“No room anymore.” his father said. His mother nodded. “No room for nonparticipation. Be thankful you’re bright and have something to contribute.”

“I wish it would snow for Christmas,” Daniel said, to change the subject. “Remember the great big snows we used to have every winter? Now it doesn’t seem to snow till February.”

“The weather is changing,” his father said. “We’re tampering with the environment. You want snow? Good, that’s something you care about. Figure out a more efficient …”

Oh, shit, Daniel thought, closing out the sound of his father’s voice. He wanted a simple snowball fight and his parents wanted him to win the Nobel Prize. Could you have both? He wanted to please them, but he had only one life, and he didn’t want to end up old and bitter.

“Dinner is ready,” his mother said.

They sat in their accustomed places, passing around the platters of food. Since Daniel’s visit from college made him a sort of guest, they had all his favorite things to eat: little squab chickens, a bowl of stuffing on the side, peas, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows on top. They were his favorite foods because he was used to them; they reminded him of every special dinner since he was a child. For dessert his mother had bought a huge, gooey cake.

Beth nodded at Andy. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of cold champagne and a tray of glasses.

“What’s that for?” his father said.

Andy grinned like the Cheshire Cat and popped the cork. “Beth and I have an announcement,” he said. He looked at her.

“We’re getting married,” they said in unison.

A shriek of joy and hugs and kisses from his mother, happy handshaking and a kiss for Beth from his father, a goofy smile from Daniel. Daniel felt so strange. He’d always thought of Andy and Beth as sort of married anyway, but now that they were making it official he was a little bit rocked. They would be on their own now, drawing away from the others, making a family of their own. They were lucky, he thought, to be able to make a commitment. So lucky … it was what he wanted to be able to do.

“When?” his mother asked.

“June,” Beth said. “We want a traditional wedding, I’m going to get a white dress, have bridesmaids, everything. We’re going to Mexico for our honeymoon.”

“Mexico is very interesting,” his father said.

“And affordable,” Andy said.

“I suppose now you’ll want to look for a nicer apartment,” his mother said.

The two of them looked at her in surprise. “What for?” Beth asked.