Mary Gaitskill: Bad Behavior

“We had a lovely time. We went for a long drive in the mountains.”

“Oh, yes,” said Anne. “We actually got out of the car and walked for a long time. I was enthralled. It was just gorgeous.”

“Anne must’ve put a pound of rocks in her pockets,” said Virginia. “Every time I turned around, she was picking up something else.”

“I love it up there,” said Magdalen. “It’s my salvation.” She moved lightly around the card table, folding napkins.

“You know, something I’ve noticed since I’ve gotten older is my sensitivity to nature,” said Anne. “When I was very young — a teenager — the sight of a sunset or a mountain scene was so deeply moving to me, I would get the chills.” She looked at Magdalen and shivered her shoulders. “And then, as I entered my twenties, I lost that sensitivity.”

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t lost. You just had to concentrate on other things,” said Virginia.

“I suppose,” said Anne. “But there came a point when I hardly responded to nature at all. I still liked it, but it didn’t move me. Now that I’m on the verge of becoming an old lady, I’m starting to respond to nature again, to be stirred by the great outdoors.” She looked at Jarold with vulnerable eyes, her glasses down on her nose.

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “It shows you’re still excited by life. And that’s the most important thing to keep through the years, more important than money or success. A lot of us lose it.”

“I believe that,” said Anne. “That’s why I enjoy working with old folks. It’s marvelous to watch some of them blossom again, especially the ones who’ve been in those horrible nursing homes. They can be like kids with the openness — it’s exciting to give them another chance to experience it.”

“You’re a very giving person,” said Jarold. He looked at Anne with tender, protective awe, a little shamed, as if he knew that giving was beyond his ability but he was glad that somebody was there to do it.

It was strange to Virginia. When they were young, Jarold thought Anne was silly and too serious and a frump besides. Now here he was, thirty years later, looking at her like that.

“The steaks are ready,” said Jarold.

Magdalen put the steaks on the plates. Anne and Virginia arranged servings of salad and pasta. They all sat in lawn chairs and ate from the warm plates in their laps. The steak was good and rare; its juices ran into the salad and pasta when Virginia moved her knees. A light wind blew loose hairs around their faces and tickled them. The trees rustled dimly. There were nice insect noises.

Jarold paused, a forkful of steak rising across his chest. “Like heaven,” he said. “It’s like heaven.”

They were quiet for several minutes.