Rafael Yglesias - The Work Is Innocent

“Yeah, I did ten pages.”

“You’re really rollin’.” Richard managed a half-hearted smile in response. John looked at him with pleasure and pride. “Did Aaron and Betty say anything about getting it published?”

“Well, Mom said that she thought it was publishable, but that you can’t predict it.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll publish it,” Naomi said.

Richard couldn’t believe that they would. He realized that, sitting in the kitchen, his head in his hands, staring at the wooden floors. It was an appalling plan: he must be mad to bank his life on it. “Even if they do publish it, that may not be enough. I mean, you know, I’ll get fifteen hundred dollars and it’s over.”

Naomi looked at him with pity. “Richard, people live their whole lives without enough money. Particularly writers.” She looked at him and was greeted by a blank stare. “Right? Isn’t that true?”

They both looked at him, their eyes and posture saying, don’t you see your dreams aren’t real? They were taking him for a fool. “I’m not settling for that, if you don’t mind.”

Naomi stiffened. “Settling!” It was incredible to Richard that she was so self-righteous about his life. “I’m not talking about settling!” She spoke the words with contempt. “That’s life. There’s nothing to settle for.”

“Oh boy,” John said.

“Oh yeah, we’re all losers just like you, Naomi. We should all admit defeat, so you’ll feel comfortable.” Her expression changed rapidly from assured anger to bewilderment. “Fuck that bullshit. I’m not just entertaining myself, just deluding myself and everybody else.” He reached the instant that every argument contained: it would be dangerous to go on. And though he made the conscious internal statement that he would smash her, his rage was really uncontrollable. “Yeah, go ahead and let Richard play with his typewriter so he’ll feel good. Poor boy, he can’t be in mystical contact with defeat like you.” He yelled it in a deep throaty voice. Naomi had risen from the table as if burned. She was trembling.

“Okay, okay, Richard,” she screamed to silence him. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Her voice was breaking as tears welled in her eyes. “You’re talking like I don’t care about your writing. And I do! That’s what I was trying—” She began to cry. “Oh, you’re crazy! Everybody’s crazy!” She walked out. Richard looked at John sheepishly as they listened to her bare feet bang on the floor. Her door squealed open and slammed shut in such a way that Richard couldn’t suppress a laugh. He felt ashamed that he had laughed when he looked at John. John apparently was more concerned about this fight than any of the others. He got up and listened. They heard Naomi complain loudly of humanity and then burst into tears. John went to their room.

Richard didn’t want to hear their conversation so he went outside. He felt drowned by the remorse and shame that flooded his heart. It bored him: he always got into fights like this one and felt so horrified afterwards that he withdrew all his points in order to be loved again. He looked up at the awesome sky, sprayed with the unreal light of the stars, and tried to be comforted by them. How proud he would have been if his feelings had been transported into an ecstasy by Nature.

But no, he just felt cold and angry that he had run out of the house. So he braced himself and returned, but they were both still inside their room, and he ended up eating six pieces of toast and butter while reading The New Yorker.

Richard woke up late and found the kitchen deserted. He had coffee and went to work. The dreary job of reworking and retyping his novel was more interesting than usual. He felt vigorous and important, more confident that it would be published. Also he felt no weakness about his argument with Naomi. He understood that it meant something to him not to be cowed by her dislike for egotism: it kept him going and how could he question his mechanisms for survival?

He was humming cheerfully when Naomi came into his room. She stood solemnly, her eyes puffed. He knew what her attitude would be—stern apology. “Hi, Naomi,” he said in a soft voice.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry we got into that fight.”

“Me too.”

“And I wanted to make sure, and I don’t want to get into a fight now, that you understand I wasn’t saying—”

“Anything against my writing.” She searched his face but it was cool and unchallenging. “I understand that.”

“Well,” she said with what was almost anger in her voice. She looked away and stopped herself. Then she sat down in a chair and turned back toward him with a sigh. “Tell me why you got angry then?”

This was the crucial moment, because he felt the need to argue with her, to establish the difference in their perception of the world. But that gnawing desire to have it out seemed to him proof he wasn’t strong enough to live by his principles without the approval of others. He had to be that strong. So let her feel there was nothing behind it but neurosis.

“Look, I was just upset. I’m under a lot of pressure.”

“But I’ve—”

“Let me finish. You’ve been very supportive, you know, I mean I’ve realized that. You know, what can I say? I just freaked out at the idea I wasn’t going to make more than fifteen hundred dollars.” Naomi relaxed into a laugh that was close to weeping. Richard was overcome now with love for her and he got up tentatively. She quickly left her chair and hugged him, saying, “Okay. We’re such a crazy family.” She let go and they went into the kitchen. They snacked and talked the day away, and Richard felt equal and carefree with her. He was amused all day by the thought that years of honesty with Naomi had yielded less love than one lie.

Richard was made uneasy by the casual air John and Naomi affected during the drive to the airport for her flight to New York. He knew the rest of the family had deduced from hints Naomi dropped to Betty that they were on the brink of separating. Naomi had told her mother that she needed the trip to be away from John for a while. She was outraged when Betty asked if there was something wrong between them. Naomi said it was sick of people to think there was something dark and unhealthy about her wanting a few months away from marriage. She complained to Richard about the assumptions their parents and their brother were making. He agreed with her and ignored the hushed questions (as if they were in danger of being overheard on their end!) Betty or Leo would ask him over the phone. “How are Naomi and John doin’, man?” Leo asked every time in a desperate whisper.

She had supported him totally about school and he returned the favor, hushing his tendency to gossip and speculate privately about his family’s life. So in the car he thought furtively, “I’m not buying this calm of theirs. They’re breaking up.” And was immediately ashamed of even so intimate an act of treachery.

He was also disturbed by John’s seriousness for the week he’d been there. All he did was work upstairs, and if the next two weeks were the same, Richard wouldn’t have any fun.

He was surprised, at the gate, by the sudden show of love between the couple. They hugged in big, white woolen sweaters and faded dungarees, Nana perched in their arms, Naomi blushing like a schoolgirl. Mother and daughter went off waving and yelling good-by, Richard and John standing breathlessly watching the plane taxi, take off, and then disappear.

Richard felt very solemn, aware that John would probably be unhappy and industrious, and he didn’t wish to seem insensitive and frivolous.

John wheeled about with a look of glee and said, “Well, Ricardo, let’s putter.”