Rafael Yglesias - Hide Fox, and All After

Raul abstracted himself from their chatter, concentrating on the deepening sensuality the grass produced. He was submerged in sensation when Alec arrived. They said little to each other as Alec smoked. Stephie came, and Barry left. Stephie and Richard began speaking intensely to each other. Raul was sprawled on Richard’s bed, obsessed with his own world and unconscious of their presence. Alec, in a haze, wandered out of the room.

Stephie was pouting: she scolded Richard like a frivolous child bride. It was trivia she was complaining about; clearly, she was guiding the argument to her advantage. Richard’s squirming excuses awoke Raul to their discussion. They were making up when he had geared himself to their situation. Richard was demanding something of her, some sort of verbal assurance, and she was toying with refusing it. Her baby’s voice was ludicrous. But when she scolded him, it was harsh and cold as any other.

“I wove you,” she said finally.

“Say it without the baby voice,” Raul heard himself say.

She looked at him for the first time, astonished.

Richard, who had caught on to Raul’s meaning, said, “Yeah, say it normally.”

Raul glanced at him condescendingly. “Come on,” Raul said to Stephie, “you’re very good, but beat this test.” Raul smiled broadly, holding his sides as if he were shaking in silent mirth.

“Wichie, don’t lissen to him, he’s stowned.”

Raul giggled. “That’s pretty weak. Come on, say it!”

Richard looked at Raul, entranced by his words. He grabbed Stephie by the shoulders and said, “Say it. Say, ‘I love you,’ in a real voice.”

Raul leaned forward, looking at her. She glanced at him, womanly hate glaring from her cowed eyes.

“I wove you,” she said.

Raul’s laughter echoed piercingly. “Try again,” he said.

A cute pet, she tilted her head, looking up into Richard’s eyes, cooing, “I wove you, I wove you, I wove you.”

Raul’s glee, mixed with horror and admiration, became soundless as his body jerked violently. “She can’t do it,” he whispered.

Richard shook his head. “You have to say it,” he pleaded.

She drew herself up, a proud mother cat, and said in a clear angry voice, “I love you.” Each letter enunciated, without feeling. “I love you.”

Raul jumped up. She glared at him briefly before leaning forward to kiss Richard. Raul saw in his face that he had accepted it. Raul ran out of the room, yelling for Alec. He ran into the dark living room, lit only by the light of the kitchen. Alec was sitting against a wall, staring ahead. Raul knelt down before him, seeing in his eyes the guilt he was suffering.

“I have something to tell you,” Alec said in a strange voice.

“It can wait,” Raul said. He laughed. “My God, it’s incredible what I just discovered about Stephie! It’s frightening. She’s so good at it. I didn’t see it before. I really believed that baby voice.”

“You mean it’s fake? That she uses it to keep Richard?”

“Yeah. God, it’s incredible. There is a consummate actress.”

“I knew that. I found it out after a year, though.”

“It was the grass that made me realize it so quickly. It seems so real!”

Alec looked at Raul, about to say something. Raul shook his head. “Do you have a cigarette?” he asked.

Alec searched his pockets, coming up with a pack.

“I really kind of admire her,” Raul said. “It scares the shit out of me, but ya gotta give her credit, boy. Whew!”

Alec laughed weakly, patting Raul on the shoulder. He got up and began walking around the room.

“One role all the time, though,” Raul said. “Must be awfully boring.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Alec said.

They moved toward the door. “She trapped herself,” Raul said.

The energy Raul’s and Alec’s relationship once had was gone now: there was a gap, unrecognized and barely felt, that reduced the passion of their friendship. Raul knew that Alec had carried out his sexual egotism, that he was fucking Barbara. And Alec knew that he was not fooling Raul. But Raul would not allow the subject to be discussed, and they carried on as before, but it was hollow.

There was little chance for their seeing each other, though. The weekends were all that was left, and they too were lost. On the second night of Iolanthe, Raul went to Alec’s apartment. Alec had left him the keys, with the instructions that he was not to answer the phone unless it was his signal. Alec would not call until 2 A.M. or so, for he would go to the cast party.

Raul was watching television. The phone had been ringing on and off for over a half an hour. No one but Alec could be so persistent; Raul decided he had gotten the signals wrong.

He looked at the clock before picking up the phone. It was well after two. He said hello, trying to disguise his voice. The confused voice that mentioned Alec’s name and then blurted out his was Anita’s.

Raul nervously hung up. He decided she would think it was a wrong number. In a few minutes Raul heard the door opening. It was the neighbor assigned to keep watch over Alec. She got Raul on the phone to haltingly lie to Anita. He then handed the keys to the neighbor and went home.

Within a half hour Alec called, obviously upset. He went over to Raul’s house, Raul sneaking him in, his parents asleep.

They huddled over the kitchen table. “Why did you answer the phone?”

“It had been ringing for a long time. Now who the hell would call at two in the morning but you? I figured I had the signals wrong.”

Alec’s harassed anger subsided. “Oh, why did you do it, Raul?” The question was rhetorical.

“Did she lower the boom?”

“Many booms, my friend.”

Raul smiled, but Alec had spoken humorlessly. “What?”

“You can’t come over any more.”

“What!”

“Not only that, but I get no allowance. I have to work for my spending money.” Raul began to exclaim. “And I have to go every weekend to the country, or stay with my grandfather in the city.”

“You’re kidding.”

Alec shook his head.

“I mean, who the hell does she think you are! You’re going to college in a couple of months. What’s she doing? Grounding you, like a typical American punishment. What is she doing? Reverting to Andy Hardy or something.”

Anita called, waking Raul’s mother. Raul quickly got his mother off, putting Alec on. It was three o’clock. She scolded him again, ordering him to go home immediately.

“Did she say anything about me?” Raul asked.

“Yeah. She said you’re a terrible liar.”

“No, really.”

“When she said I couldn’t see you, I said, ‘You just can’t do that. Raul’s too important.’ Then what she said was just utter bullshit.”

“Well,” Raul said, “what did she say?”

“She said if that was so, then there was something unnatural about our relationship.”

“God, that old line. I thought adults grew out of that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, that’s nonsense, real nonsense. I told her that. I made it very clear I wasn’t going to take that bullshit.”

“Then did she, you know, apologize?”

Alec looked at Raul condescendingly. “My dear child, my mother never apologizes. She made it less insulting. She said you were a very brilliant young man and that I’m very impressionable, so you’re a very powerful influence.”

“And a bad one.”

“Right. The more brilliant you are, the more dangerous.”

“But what it all comes down to is that I can’t see you.”

“Right again.”

A mother’s cliché arrogance had yanked from beneath Raul a whole section of his life that had become as necessary and as vital as food. What doubled Raul’s frustration was Alec’s unquestioning submission to his mother’s will. He was a pampered Jewish son; his mother’s dominance approached soap-opera proportions.