Rafael Yglesias - The Work Is Innocent

Between these jokes and Richard’s awareness of what he could be thinking because of his sexual confession, Richard was suspicious of John’s friendship. He swore to himself every night that he would behave in an independent fashion—not get drunk and rave (as John called it) about his life. But he sat there, doing nothing while John pored over his designs, his stout muscular body perfectly still and awesome, until Richard would start talking, getting drunker and more hysterical as the night wore on. John would put away twice the quantity of liquor, unchanged but for slightly dull, reddened eyes.

His parents were coming soon and he and John were both on edge. John was uneasy about being in the house for the month it would take to finish because of the strained way the family had taken Naomi’s trip. Richard couldn’t stand living with them any more. John asked Richard a few days before they were due to arrive if he thought they would notice all the liquor bottles had been drained except for laughably small amounts.

Richard was surprised by that fear, but when he looked at the liquor cabinet and saw seven bottles almost emptied, he felt the constricting shame of a little boy’s guilt. “Boy, that is a drag,” he said.

John looked at him thoughtfully and sighed. “Well, fuck ’em.”

It startled Richard to hear John speak forcefully. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t you drink the liquor?”

“What is this—you? I wasn’t the guy who said he was going to drink five different kinds of booze in one night.”

“Us,” Richard said, laughing. “I mean us. Why shouldn’t we?”

John cleared his throat. “Well, seven bottles is gonna put them uptight.” John yawned and scratched his beard. “You know, ‘Oh, John’s been drinking instead of doing his work.’ ”

“Oh, come on. They wouldn’t say that.”

John was unimpressed by his assertion. “I’m doing a lot of work pretty cheaply.”

“They know that. They know it would cost them twice as much to have it done by a contractor.”

“A contractor wouldn’t do what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t even get that design. Listen, when I was with them I described what you were doing. They loved it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Are you kidding?” Richard nodded at him with solemn assurance. “The only thing that’ll bug ’em is that it isn’t finished when you promised.” John made a face. “But that’s because of the plumber. You told them about that.”

John looked at him seriously, exhaling cigarette smoke in a thin line. “But when I wrote Aaron about the heating problem and told him it would cost another thousand, he just sent the check in an empty envelope.”

“Well, it wasn’t your estimate. I mean he can only be angry at Hickle for that.” Richard knew that his father might very well blame John for anything if he was in a bad mood. John explained to him why it had taken him so long to get to work on the attic upstairs, and Richard’s sympathies were with him. Richard assured him that his father hadn’t meant anything by just enclosing a check. John seemed to feel better, but in a rush, Richard imagined how his father would look at the situation: they would be stuck in a chaotic house, the downstairs having heat put in, the upstairs being built. On top of that there would be no place to put the furniture they were moving until Hickle’s men were finished. His father would be unable to write in peace.

So, just before his parents’ arrival, they worked hard at cleaning things up. Richard was convinced that the beauty of John’s work would reconcile them to waiting for it. The heating would be done in a few days, and surely his mother would appreciate that the rooms were neat and clean.

He was stunned by their reaction. Silently, his mother giving him significant looks, they toured the grounds with a knack for finding flaws. John had driven his truck on the lawn just before winter and deep tracks were molded into the ground. It had never occurred to Richard that this might be serious, but his father’s color changed and, though John’s assurance that it would be gone by summer was sufficient for Richard, his father was unimpressed. The barn wasn’t in order, his father said. Richard was enraged. He said it was cleaner than when they left. Betty stopped a fight between them by saying sweetly to Richard, “You had it beautifully done during Christmas.” Richard explained loudly, while his father walked away, that cutting wood for heat tended to mess things up. John seemed unaware of Betty’s and Aaron’s hostility. They looked at the attic and muttered something about it being nice. Richard was appalled that they could begrudge John a compliment.

The next month was suffocating. Aaron went about with a severe frown. He worked all day, was silent during meals, and read each evening without responding to questions. Betty’s tone of voice had a familiar meekness to it—as if anything harder might trigger an explosion. John bluffed cheerfulness so well that Richard believed he was oblivious to his parents’ behavior.

After Aaron and Betty would retire to their bedroom, Richard would go upstairs and talk with John while he painted the plasterboards he had placed between each beam. Richard repeated the stories about his father, with John glancing down from the ladder wearing a self-conscious smile. They both knew Aaron could hear him. Richard called Aaron egotistical and said that his taunting of Naomi had destroyed her self- confidence. John disagreed very mildly but Richard would insist. “You don’t know some of the stuff that would go on. Like when we were in the Hamptons and she was hitchhiking across the country. You know Naomi, she hadn’t shaved her legs and underarms, so when she came down to dinner after a shower he said, ‘You see. A shower and a shave and you’re fine.’ ”

John nodded his head and went on painting. Richard enumerated the times Aaron had hit him, how Leo had screamed hysterically while he was doing so. Richard’s tirade shifted to his brother: how Leo had never confronted Aaron as he and Naomi had; that this had marked him for life as a compromising weakling, untrustworthy, and repellent. It was an uncontrollable vomiting that he recognized as foolish and wrong. Somewhere in the middle of his attacks on the family, he would realize that John was embarrassed and Richard would try to make it seem like a joke.

Finally John opened up. He laughed scornfully as Richard started in on his father. Richard stopped and said, “What are you laughing about?”

“Listen, it isn’t so bad between you and Aaron. You should be more cool about it. You know?” He added the question softly and saw the shock on Richard’s face. “Aaron’s a powerful man. I respect him. He doesn’t fuck around.”

“That’s true,” Richard said with exaggerated bitterness.

“He’s on my back. Not yours.”

“Oh,” Richard said knowingly. “So you do see that?”

“Are you serious? He’s livid.” John laughed, his voice rich and appealing. “He’s wacko about his own life. We all are. But he lets it out and doesn’t care what that means to the world. I like that. You just have to learn not to be overpowered by it.”

This made Richard feel lonely. He said nothing.

John bent down to dip his brush in the paint. “He can fuck himself about this work.”

Richard laughed. “He’s gone totally bananas.” He looked up at John working, puzzled by his words. “So you think I should just ignore him?”

“No, not ign—”

“No, I know you don’t mean that. You think I should be charming and mild with him.”

John smiled. “By Gawd, yessuh.”

“No matter how insulting he is?”

“No, you have to defend yourself. You got to be smooth, though.” John looked at him significantly. “You have to have some social graces. People are insane. You have to be calm with them.”