John Casey: Compass Rose

Mary laughed.

“I see I’ve taken you by surprise,” Jack said. “But I’ve been mulling over a gesture of goodwill for some time. The effect that it will have on Sally is a fortunate addition. The sign of a good plan is that it has coincidental benefits.”

What was taking her by surprise was how quickly he reinflated himself. He was at it again, certain that what suited him would suit everyone.

“So we should think about the menu,” he said. “Of course, you’re one of the honored guests, so whatever we plan should be something you can prepare the day before. Maybe a bouillabaisse? Doesn’t that just simmer all day?”

“Speaking as the cook,” she said, “that’s easier said than done. You have to add different fish at different times. I’ll think of something.”

“I’m sure you will. Shall we plan it for the Fourth of July or V-J Day?”

“The Fourth,” she said. “If you pick V-J Day someone might think you’re celebrating dropping the atomic bomb.”

He squinted at her but opened his eyes wide at the knock on the door. He boomed, “Come in!” And then, “Ah, splendid!” as the waitress set the salver before him and lifted the lid.

Dick told May no. But then Phoebe called May and said, “Oh, let’s go! Among other things, it’s to honor Rose.”

Dick heard May out, looked away, and said, “Up to you.”

Sally called Elsie. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” Sally said. “I think he’s trying. We had a terrible fight. I honestly thought it was the end. But then I let him come back and talk, and it’s more complicated than I thought, and he seemed truly miserable. I think he really cares about you, and he cares about you and me. And I said everything’s flying apart, and he said all he was asking was that I just please, please, let him try. So I don’t know, but I couldn’t stand it if you’re mad at me.”

Elsie waited a second too long, and Sally cried. Elsie said, “No, I’m not mad at you.” And then, “Yes, I’ll come.”

Mary said to JB, “You don’t have to come. You could say you have a business appointment.”

“On the Fourth of July?”

“Some sort of writing deadline, then.”

“You don’t want me to come?”

Mary sighed. “I have to be there. You don’t. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I think you’re still worried I’ll put my foot in my mouth. You forget I’ve been up there clearing rocks with half the people coming to the party.” He shot his white eyebrows up and cocked his head.

She knew him well enough by now to see he was filling up with a compliment to himself. She said, “I’m sure they were all amazed at how you made the day pass so brightly.”

“You’re very close. What they actually said — what they actually said at the end of the day as they hoisted me on their shoulders — was ‘Lucky Mary Scanlon — no wonder she’s never looked happier.’ And then we all sang ‘Bringing in the Sheaves.’ ”

“Never mind, then. There’s no pricking your balloon.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I just said that because you said … Look. I live here now. I’m living here with you. I’m getting along with your friends. We had a fine time up there in May’s field. It was two days, by the way. Now that there’s this stranger occasion, you’re worried. You’ve been worried before — you worried that I’d talk too much and May wouldn’t like it. It turns out May and I get along just fine. You can’t keep on poking me at every turn — watch out for this, watch out for that. You’ve told me the stories. I can take it from here.”

“All right, all right. I’m glad you’re finding your way. That’s not what I was talking about at all. I was only offering you a way out of an evening of Jack’s telling us he means nothing but the good of all his subjects.”

“It’s a party,” JB said. “You like everyone else who’ll be there. The food will be splendid, the fireworks spectacular. Listening to a bit of his hypocrisy is a small price—”

“He’s not a hypocrite. A hypocrite knows he’s pulling the wool over our eyes. Jack is devious enough, but he truly believes that everything he does is for an almighty good — if fools like us could only see. There’s days I feel sorry for him, him living in the middle of a little ball of his own notions. There’s not a glimmer of anything else. Oh, he knows there are other creatures who have to be dealt with one way or another. And he’s good at that — I mean, skillful at keeping on in his own direction. It only occurred to me the other day — he never really apologizes. He says, ‘I’m sorry, but sometimes a good storm clears the air.’ Or he says, ‘I’m sorry you were offended.’ He’s like one of those little Coast Guard boats — all sealed up and self-righting.”

“So why is he throwing this party? I mean, if he’s that oblivious …”

“Ah, well. That’s me going on about him as a loonie. He’s not altogether oblivious. There’s him wanting his way no matter what, but then there’s him feeling an ache he doesn’t know much about except it’s an ache. Of course he’s upset that his wife’s upset, and he means to show her that he’s taken with one hand but given with the other. He knows how to keep a wife, at least a wife who’s got no other way to live. It’s people like Elsie and Dick who puzzle him. He looks down on their messy lives, and at the same time he has a suspicion that they have something, some wild nerve, that makes them ready for anything. Each time some tail end of their doings floats in, he wonders if they’re getting more out of the world they live in than he gets out of his.” Mary sighed. “If he knew them better, he’d see the long stretches of their ordinary days, he wouldn’t envy their giving off the odd spark. It’s as though he thinks Elsie had Rose or Dick had a shipwreck to make him feel dull. But he keeps that ache of envy buried. He thinks to himself he’s bringing pieces of land into a proper order. He doesn’t see he’s got another motive. He’s trying to make everyone in his life subordinate to him — to owe him money, to be on his payroll, to be bound to him. That’s one thing this dinner is about — here you all are at my table, there’s Eddie working on the gazebo and May in her garden, and I’ve put in a word for Dick with the insurance company, and Mary’s cooking, and there’s Elsie with a job at our school, and Johnny Bienvenue is looking forward to our fund-raiser, and let’s not forget Rose’s success in our show, and she certainly deserves every penny of the Aldrich scholarship. Of course, he won’t say that out loud, but he’ll have a moment of seeing himself as the great heart that’s pumping the blood through the system, and it’s only decent to hope that that moment will do for him and that he won’t look around the table and see something else. And it’s not resentment that would do him in — that would mean he’s still part of the mix — it’s that he might see that whatever he’s taken and given is taken and given. Now we’ve all had ourselves a shake and we’re back to living our lives with each other and he’s just something that happened.”

Mary sat down. When she caught her breath, she looked at JB. “What?” she said. “And all you wanted to know is if you should wear a coat and tie. You poor man, you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

“I didn’t know I was taking up with a Greek chorus.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have uncanny sympathy for everyone.”

“That’s just the inside out of ‘Everyone loves Mary Scanlon.’ I’m not sure that that says much for my brain.”

“Then you missed what I just said about your brain. I love your brain. Forget what I just said about your poking me. I’m glad you’re telling me things. I’m glad I’m here with you. I’ve never been gladder about anything.”