Rafael Yglesias - The Work Is Innocent

Richard kicked a piece of wood. It sounded bleak in the hushed night. “So—” he started loudly. John hushed him. “So how do I do that?”

John got down from the ladder and put his brush carefully on the rim of the paint can. He took out a cigarette. Richard saw him hesitate. “I’m serious,” Richard continued, handing him matches. “I’ve checked you out. You get along brilliantly with people. Is that conscious?”

“Oh, sure. I used to be just like you. I would rave and kid people until they were ready to kill me. But you can’t get along like that. You have to give people room. Every time some clown says something foolish you have to smile and say, ‘Really?’ ” John imitated himself perfectly. Richard was impressed. He had assumed that saying, “Really?” was an unconscious habit, and it was a stunning revelation to hear John mimic himself with an ironic smile. “You know,” he continued, “Jonas comes along and says some wacked-out thing to me and I say, ‘Really?’ and he says, ‘Yes’ and I say, ‘Big time. You’re really rollin’!’ ”

Richard forced his laughter. He shook his head from side to side in wonder. “All that stuff. You’ve got it checked out.”

“Look, people are always showing you something they’re doing and asking for your opinion. All you do is say, ‘Big time. You’re really rolling.’ ” John was looking at him with amused triumph.

“You mean when somebody asks you about your work and you sit there very still and quietly say stuff like, ‘Well it was hard work but good to do, you know? I mean the reason the chimney is so powerful is because of Michel’s work on it. It was really big time working with him.’ ”

John listened gleefully to Richard’s imitation. “You got it. Gotta be humble. You have to look peaceful and humble.”

Richard cackled. “You’re really rolling.”

“I got my wheely-deally goin’. It’s my numberino.”

Richard looked at John open mouthed, thrilled by knowing his inner life. He realized how maddeningly unreachable John had been. “But that’s so different from Naomi’s crap about honesty.” John looked puzzled and Richard went on. “I mean she doesn’t make the slightest attempt to relate to people.”

John laughed. “She just blanks out. Naomi’s in a totally different world.” He became serious and stroked his beard. “She’s very strong. Your whole family is strong. I mean she really amazes me. She’ll get upset and challenge you on everything. With massive alertness. I mean she’ll just start jumping on you with no warning.”

“I know,” Richard said, eager to discuss her. “She’s crazy. I mean I admire her, but she goes too far.”

“Well, it’s hard to take but you have to remember she means no ill. You know?” He looked at Richard with careful softness.

“Yeah, I realize that. But I have to live. I can’t let her run all over me.”

John laughed at that and turned to move the ladder. “You shouldn’t worry about that. It’s my hassle.”

Richard’s voice was drowned out by the noise of the ladder being moved. John said, “What?” as he climbed up it. Richard repeated, “Are you bummed out by her?”

There was a long silence while John thoughtfully brushed the paint on. “Well, I really needed a break from her. You know? I mean I’ve wanted for a long time to be alone on the mountain. You know?”

“You mean just to—”

“Just to get up and make some coffee, watch the land, and work on the house. Without being hassled.”

Richard knew what he meant. They’d discussed the magical power of working alone. Richard envied John’s ability to achieve such grace.

“I wanted to do that just before she got pregnant.”

“Oh. So that’s why she left.” He remembered her sudden visit to New York years ago. Betty had told him that Naomi might marry someone.

“Well, she wanted to go too.”

Slowly Richard got the implication. “So what happened?”

John cleared his throat. He spoke casually. “She came hack in like three months. You know. She had that blank look and when we were lying upstairs in the sleeping loft—it was dawn and there was a beautiful breeze—she told me. Boy, I hit the ceiling.”

“You were angry?”

“Well—I freaked out. I didn’t know how I felt.” He stopped and Richard waited tensely. “We talked about an abortion. I knew a way of getting it done near Washington. She said she’d do it and that’s when I met you.”

“So that’s what you were doing.” Richard was uncomfortable about this story. Naomi appeared to have manipulated John which he felt was both reasonable and ridiculous. “How come she didn’t have it?”

John put his brush down and looked at him. Richard thought he detected nervousness behind his quiet eyes. “Well, she never really stuck to it. All the way there we would discuss it, and finally when she was examined, they said it was too far along for them to do it. In a way that was a relief.”

“Wow,” Richard said, shaking his head at him. He walked aimlessly toward a darkened section of the attic. He remembered his amazement when one night he got into an argument with Naomi about eating meat and she ended up in tears over the slaughtering of cows. “She wouldn’t have had an abortion.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true. I mean we both knew we were taking too long to get there.”

Another silence. “You must have felt really trapped,” Richard said finally, his tone unnatural.

John made a sarcastic noise. “Jesus. I was incredibly upset. I walked around with this bomb ready to explode. I mean it’s big time having a child. You can’t fuck around, you know? There’s no room for being irresponsible.” He gently brushed the paint on. “So I’m pleased I have a chance to be alone on the mountain.”

Richard sat down and relished this moment of great drama. He felt he had the key to John’s and Naomi’s lives. They are weak people, he thought, stumbling into a permanent bond—Nana. It was such a classic from literature. As time went on, John would feel trapped and decide Naomi had fooled him into having the baby; she would feel that she had wasted her life after the child had grown up; he would think that he could have lived a gutsy bachelor life. Probably John will drink more and more as he gets older, Richard said to himself. But then why am I drinking so much? The reason had to be sinister.

He sensed the onrush of revulsion before it hit. John and he were objectified in one terrible moment. Frightened little boys. Treating love and sexuality as if they were high school power games. Making fun of males drinking while Richard drained the Courvoisier. It was chic to be vulgar if you knew it was grossness.

Self-consciousness. He reached for the word and could see his brother handing it to him. Leo would sneer and say, “Wood hippies! Living their self-conscious lives.”

“It’s too much to deal with,” Richard said aloud.

John looked at him in surprise and laughed. Richard said good night and left. It was the first time that he had ended the evening.

By the time John finished his work and left, Richard was resigned to the loss. He was tired of the tension between John and his parents. And the complication it created in his own relations with them couldn’t be resolved.

Richard’s work moved at a very fast rate and he was finished by June. His parents were impressed by the novel, but he took that for granted. They sent it to an agent, and his father wrote a cover letter that avoided absurdity. And then nothing. There was just waiting.

He didn’t live well. His parents urged him to go on walks—enjoy the freshness of the country. But he made the country house into an apartment: he stayed up until five or six each morning and slept through most of the day.