Rafael Yglesias - The Work Is Innocent

“Yep.”

Naomi looked incredulously at them. “What’s going on? How come this is so casual? ‘I’m going to run away. Oh, really?’ ” Her imitation was good humored.

“We’ve talked about it,” John said.

“And you weren’t going to mention it to me?” Naomi asked Richard.

“I was afraid you were going to tell me to get a job.”

They laughed. Naomi said, “You can’t run away to us, you know.”

Richard was hurt. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi said quickly. She patted him on the shoulder. “I mean I’d be happy to have you stay with us. I just mean we can’t because of Aaron and Betty.”

“Don’t you think I’d realize that? What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“Okay, listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” She began to cry, and Richard was suddenly full of feeling for her. “Let’s make up,” she said. He mumbled, sure, and kissed her on a red cheek.

“Your nose is so cold,” he said, and they laughed to be rid of their embarrassment.

“Really a sick relationship,” John said.

“You just don’t understand,” Naomi said.

“I’m kidding.”

“So, Richard,” Naomi asked tentatively, “where would you go?”

“Well, remember when Mac called me? He’s at college in Boston and he invited me to stay with him.”

“For free?”

“No,” Richard said, his tone sarcastic. “I have to get a job.”

“Oh boy,” John said, laughing.

“Okay.” Naomi was still afraid of the conversation. “I don’t mean about getting a job or anything. I just mean about breaking with Mom and Dad. Are you really able to do that?”

He wished she hadn’t forced him to think about it. “I don’t know. Probably not. But I’m not ready to submit either.” He looked at her significantly. “Get it?”

Richard got off his plane, prepared to greet his parents, and was unpleasantly surprised to see his brother, Leo, waving to him from the top of the escalator that came out onto the main lobby of La Guardia Airport. His brother looked down at him casually and, once noticed, turned aside to drag on the butt of his cigarette in the Bogart manner. Richard’s surprise was overcome in watching his brother’s movements, and when he reached the end of the escalator, it had changed to amazed scorn for the naïveté of his parents. Could they really still be unaware of his contempt for Leo?

The baggage was late in coming and concern over it—his novel!—delayed conversation. Richard nearly gave away its existence because of anxiety, and if he was that careless, he wondered if he could conceal his desire to run away. Once in the cab, Leo asked, “So how was the flight?”

“Shabby. Very shabby. The jets go up like helicopters. Straight up. I really thought I was going to vomit.”

“Do you usually get sick on planes?”

“No. For some reason this was incredibly bad. It’s one of those small jets and it kicked around like a motherfucker.”

Leo grunted and looked out his window. Richard followed suit but for him it had real interest. From the grace and bounty of the countryside to the decay of New York. They were nearing home, and seeing the bloodthirsty streets of his neighborhood so frightened him that it seemed impossible he had ever walked them without terror.

“How do you feel about coming back?” Leo asked.

“How do you think I feel?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

Richard laughed. “I feel it is disastrous. I cannot imagine anything more loathsome.”

“You really feel that way?”

“Uh, yeah. You havin’ trouble believing me?”

“No. You said it—I thought you were kidding.” Leo had cut his hair short, and his friendly, startled eyes were even more so. “You know Brandeis isn’t so bad.”

“What’s Brandeis?”

“The high school you’re going to go to.”

“I didn’t know I was going to one.”

“Are you kidding, man?” Richard had convinced himself of his power, so this coup was a shock. He wasn’t able to conceal his disappointment, and Leo looked at him sadly. “It’s good there. There are dyno blacks, and you can do some really good organizing.”

Richard retreated into contempt. “If I wanted to get into organizing, I’d prefer to do it outside of school.”

“Yeah, sure, but it’s better to be going to that kind of a school than to some kind of white bullshit like Cabot. Or to something so unreal like the school in Vermont.”

Richard wanted to jeer at Leo for his pitiful adulation of blacks, for the absurd conclusions it led him into—but they had arrived. His mother had made a good lunch, and the talk was lively. His situation wasn’t mentioned, but he enjoyed himself so much that his resolve to run away was weakened.

His mother showed him to his room, proud of how neat she had made it. Richard, though pleased, was uneasy that his things had been gone through.

“It’s lovely,” he told her. “But you didn’t have to. I would have enjoyed doing it.”

“Oh, it was a lot of fun. Richard, I can’t tell you how it broke my mother’s heart, going through your drawers.”

Richard flashed silence with his eyes so expressively that Betty almost jumped. Her smile disappeared and her tone changed. “You know. All the broken ashtrays.”

He quieted and said that he had no other way of disposing of them, since he shouldn’t have been smoking.

“You could have sneaked them into the garbage.”

“Yeah I guess so. Listen, I want to change.”

She turned to leave but asked instead, “How are Naomi and John?”

“Like I said. Fine.”

Betty narrowed her eyes at him. Richard smiled. He felt uncomfortable. “Is there some reason, something you think is wrong between them?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I was just looking at my son.” Richard laughed and she smiled. “How’s my little girl Nana?”

“As cute as ever.”

“Is she walking all over the place?”

“All over the place.”

“Good. Oh, I want to see her!”

“You will pretty soon.”

“Do you need any help unpacking?”

“No, that’s all right.”

“Did Leo tell you about Brandeis?”

“That I’ll be going there? Yes, he did.”

“We have to go on Thursday to sign you up.”

“When does school start?”

“A week from today. So you have a little vacation.”

“Great,” he said, drawling the word sarcastically. He watched her exit, and when the door closed behind her, the flush of embarrassment he had repressed overwhelmed him. He went over to the drawers and looked through them. His collection of Playboys and photogenic women had been uncovered and carefully rearranged. It had been his garbage heap: typing paper covering broken ashtrays, covering pornography, covering grass. He had left none of the last in the drawer, his only consolation. He felt he had risen above the meanness of this past suddenly and laughed at its revelation, only to relapse again into a little boy’s shame. Work, he said to himself, work and you’ll forget it.

During the next few days, his parents must have wondered at the serenity of his schedule. He rose early, had breakfast, retired to his room, and began typing. Aaron joked that he must be working on a novel. When Richard admitted it matter-of- factly, Aaron opened his eyes wide and looked serious. “Writing is less profitable than acting, if such a thing is possible. Have you given that up?”

“I didn’t know that I had it to give up,” Richard said.

Aaron looked playfully at his wife. “I think our son’s becoming a wit. Are we going to get a chance to read it?”

“I was going to ask Mom.”