Rafael Yglesias - Only Children

Byron grabbed it and had a good idea. One of his funny ideas. He ran. She called him. He ran onto the colder floor right up to the toilet, its pelican mouth open and filled with yellow. He threw the shirt at the bowl with all his might, but the turtleneck only floated on its way in — a graceful white kite fluttering down into the foamy sea.

DADDY HELD him, held him in those big warm arms. His blanket pressed against his cheek, soft and smooth. He twisted the shiny edge, pulled it away from the fuzzy part. The blanket was bright skin. Luke unwound it to see the always skin of his finger.

Then Luke placed his finger on top of Daddy’s; there were all the same things, only smaller. Same lines on his knuckle, same nail tips. But Daddy had little hairs. Luke brushed them. They were limp, curled to sleep on Daddy’s skin. Luke brushed them up and watched them cascade down.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Daddy looked away from the TV. “What’s what?”

Luke brushed the hairs again.

“Hair,” Daddy said.

“What’s hair?”

“That’s hair.”

“Hair on a finger?”

“I have hair in lots of strange places. I’m kind of an ape.”

“Noooo!” Luke arched forward with pleasure. Daddy was big like an animal, but he was a daddy.

“I have hair on my chest, hair on my legs, hair on my back, hair on my airs—”

“Hair on finger!” Luke shouted, laughing but a little scared too.

“Even hair in my nose.”

But that was really silly. He fell into Daddy’s lap with pleasure at such idiocy. Daddy squeezed him and turned him, the TV rolling in the air, the lamplight going up, the coffee table twisting on the rug. Daddy kissed him, hot and wet, on his forehead. Luke looked up at Daddy, at the big round face, open and cheerful, and saw into his father’s nostrils.

He couldn’t believe what he saw. There was hair in Daddy’s nose!

PETER WENT into the lobby and searched for the company name in the directory. The security guard watched him. “Barrow & Company 8th Floor Lawrence Barrow, President”—then other names. It seemed quite unreal. Apparently, just as Gary had said, Larry the child molester was a respectable businessman. Possibly a role model for eager yuppies.

How old was he now? Sixty? Sixty-five?

Probably doesn’t do it anymore.

Gary had said Larry’s headquarters was in Washington, but even so Larry might visit the New York office, might walk through any moment. Peter turned to go.

“Can I help you, sir?” the guard asked.

Peter, as if he were fifteen and cutting school, almost jumped to hurry his escape. “No, no,” he mumbled guiltily, and spun through the revolving door into sharp, clear New York, the stone and brick of Madison Avenue bleached into adobe towers by the fall sun.

An image of the time Larry, of the one time (remember, Peter, it was just once) that Larry, well, that Larry took Peter’s peter into his mouth — he laughed. Peter’s peter. A bully at school used to call that out in gym. Peter’s peter, peter eater. The bully stopped after the first football scrimmage; Peter knocked him down on an end reverse.

I liked football, Peter remembered, surprised at himself. Gary had urged him to play. Maybe I had been afraid I was a fag; maybe that’s why I did it.

I have to get off Madison Avenue, Peter thought, sure that if he were on Park, or Lex, or Fifth, all these crazy memories would stop. He would be late for the staff meeting if he didn’t hurry.

But he stopped at a phone booth and called Rachel.

“Hello, honey.” She answered his greeting sleepily. “I miss you,” she said plainly, without the elaboration of passion or the disguise of irony.

“I think I’d better see a shrink,” he said.

“I’ll ask mine for some names. What’s the matter? Are you all right? Why don’t you come over?”

“I’m lost, love,” he shouted into the cool receiver. Peter hid himself behind the Plexiglas panel that shielded his upper body from the wind. But it curled up the legs of his unguarded pants until it reached his briefs. He felt X-rayed by the wind. It wasn’t cold, it was cool, like a doctor’s examination. “I’m just a lost person,” he shouted against the wind into the plastic.

“Oh, baby,” Rachel said from the warmth of her bed. “Come over. I’ll take care of you.”

NINA WAS embarrassed to ask Pearl. She knew Pearl needed a new job. The little girl Pearl had cared for since birth was now seven and in school full-time, and her parents had finally decided not to have a second child. Nina had spent many a morning in Washington Square Park with Pearl, her charge, and Luke. Although Pearl was black, middle-aged, not well educated, and clearly of a different social class, Nina had spent more time chatting with Pearl than with the few other mothers who, like Nina, weren’t working.

Besides, Pearl was one of the few people Luke seemed to trust. He loved to talk to her. Several times Luke had allowed Pearl to push him on the swings. Once Luke had agreed to let Nina go for a cup of coffee (only a block away) and stay with Pearl. Pearl had even made Luke’s first friend for him, a little boy only six weeks older, named Byron. Byron’s nanny, Francine, was a good friend of Pearl’s; if Pearl took care of Luke, they could be a regular foursome. The harmony, both adult and child, seemed like such a rare opportunity.

And yet, now that Nina had decided on a career and Eric had agreed to hire someone to take care of Luke, now that Eric was making such good money they could afford any price, now that she had had the luxury of nearly two years observing Pearl and other housekeepers, Nina felt it was rude to ask. She and Pearl were almost friends. Might an offer of employment be taken as an insult?

“Pearl, did I tell you that I’m going back to school?” Nina tried as an introduction. She had to force herself to jump, eyes closed, into the shock of worldly talk.

“No!” Pearl said. She bent forward a bit and then straightened abruptly, as if the news were a spring she had sat on. “Who’s going to be taking care of Luke? ”

“Well, I have to get someone.”

Pearl looked to Luke, solemn, hardworking Luke. Disappointed that Byron wasn’t in the park, he concentrated on building his sand castle, but glanced up every minute or so to make sure Nina was there, even though she had been there, always there, for every minute of his life. “He’s not gonna like that,” Pearl said.

“No, he isn’t!” Nina said, laughing at the dreadful prospect.

Pearl smiled. “No, I don’t think so.” She chuckled with thoughtful pleasure. “No, he won’t want his mama to be anywheres but with him.”

“Is there any chance you might be free to—” She had exhausted all her will in going this far. Nina couldn’t complete the sentence.

“—be his sitter?” Pearl asked in a tone of wonder, as if it were too good to be true.

“Yes!” Nina said. “I can’t think of anyone who would be better.”

“Don’t think I’d be better than his mommy,” Pearl demurred. “But he does know me. And he’s such a sweet boy. Really, he is, and so smart! I can’t believe what he knows already.”

“I just think it would be so great for Luke and me if you could do it.”

“Well, I’d like to. But I’d best discuss it with my woman first and then come and meet your husband.”

“Sure.”

“Would you be needing me full-time?”

“Yes,” Nina said softly, hoping this wasn’t a problem.

“Good, because I don’t like to have time on my hands. My mama says I’m crazy. I just can’t stand to be doing nothing.”

Nina heard a wail from the sandbox. Luke was in tears. He was still seated cross-legged in front of his sand castle, but his shovel was gone, in the hands of a self-possessed dark-haired girl of four, who walked away quickly with her ill-gotten tool. Luke’s head bobbed as he cried, chest pulsing, mouth broken open at the corners, his hands rising to cover his eyes.