Chang-Rae Lee - A Gesture Life

“He’s only a pharmacist,” I said. “He could have gotten in big trouble.”

“He’s a good man, Doc. Anyhow, after a couple weeks I stopped taking them. You know what I did? I said hell with a perfect knee and I didn’t bother anymore. The thing clicks a little but it’s okay. I can run around. And the meds were giving me another problem, of a performance nature, and there’s really nothing more depressing than that for a still youngish man. So I go back to eating animals and smoking and drinking, back to the way it was and always should be. Back in my own skin, you’ll know. But you can see this.”

“Yes I do,” I told him, appreciative of his friendly disclosures. And I began to glance about the kitchen and family room, and in my mind’s eye back to the hall and parlor, and I put myself in Renny’s place, or Liv’s assistant Julie’s, to consider if on initial impression there were obvious indications that I was conducting myself differently since coming home. It was true that I had not been swimming or walking or doing much of anything outdoors, not even the early raking and planting or the minor restorations about the house and garden. But someone who knew me would probably wonder about the unswept walk or the dishes in the sink or the pile of held mail in a bin by the door that hasn’t been gone through yet, despite sitting there for a week. If they went upstairs, they would see several hampers of laundry to be done, my bathroom basin and tub and toilet in dire need of a scrub, and all kinds of robes and towels hung over the doors. Perhaps most other seventy-odd-year-old men of decent means would have the usual help, especially in a house as large as mine. But I’ve never required it even when I was running the store full-time, as I’ve always been active and vigilant and perched right atop the ever-threatening domestic entropy and chaos. Though now, or in the recent now, I’ve begun to understand how easily one can stand by and watch a pile of dross steadily grow, allow the fetter of one’s quotidian life to become an unwieldy accumulation, which seems somehow much more daunting to clear away once it has settled, gained a repose.

“You probably don’t see, Doc,” Renny said, pouring out the rest of the small bottle into his glass, “how critical and difficult it is for me to remain my own wretchedly constituted self. Particularly now that I’m back with Lightning Liv. Yes, it’s true. We’re at it again. Just a few weeks now. You could say I hold you solely responsible.”

“It can be said I lighted the fire,” I murmured, going to the pantry in the hope of finding another bottle for him, which I did, a crusty-looking Italian-style wine in a basket. He gave me a thumbs-up, and a sly Renny grin for my modest joke. I said to him, “I hope you know I’m very pleased for you both.”

“I know you’re happy about the development, Doc, but what about us? We’re sort of thrilled about it all, sure, but also definitely miserable again, like we’re sharing the same low-grade fever. At least I am. To tell the truth, I’m not sleeping so well at night, and I’m not talking about when we’re together. I’m a nervous wreck, thinking about all the things Liv is talking about me doing.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, it’s a mess, you’ll know.” He had pulled off his tie and was winding it around his hand, then letting it unravel. “For starters, she has me looking around for a better, bigger job. But really I don’t want a bigger job. She thinks I’ve settled, gotten too comfortable at the hospital. I say what the hell is wrong with too comfortable? I’ve got a pretty much worry-free system for myself. Next thing she brings up is how I should sell my condo and buy a real house. And what a ‘real house’ really means scares me. Liv herself is one big stressor, with a host of others ready in her pockets. She’s MIRVing, Doc, targeting me all over.”

“She has much warm feeling to offer, I think.”

“I know, I know. You’re absolutely right. You know what she said last night at my place? You won’t believe this. She’s talking about the big one. ‘Renny,’ she says, ‘I’m going to be forty-two in a few weeks. I’m past my time.’ I didn’t answer her, because you’ll know, Doc, I was sort of scared to awful death, and then she gets up from bed and goes to the bathroom and starts to cry. She comes back with a washed face and she turns out the light and just clings to me, real tight. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

“She would like to get married?”

“Oh, God, no. I can’t believe that. But maybe everything just short of it. This morning she’s got that farness in her eyes, staring at me over her coffee mug, the I’m-closing-this-one-if-it-kills-me look. Doc, I feel my life passing before me.”

“If I may say something, Renny, it seems that perhaps you might want some of the same things as Liv….”

Renny didn’t answer right away, helping me instead with the screwpull, as the cork was old and crumbling. When he finally got it open he poured it out and I could see from his expression that the wine was no good anymore, if it ever had been. It was brownish and a bit cloudy. But I had nothing else in the house and Renny poured a full glass anyway, and I found him some pretzels to mask the taste.

“I’ve never been against having children or getting married, never. But in my imagination I assumed it would be with a woman not at all like Liv Crawford. Not at all. Maybe I’m more traditional than I know, but I thought it would be someone more like your late friend, Mary Burns. I didn’t really know her, of course, but this is what I thought. A woman with a quiet grace and stature. But not in the least unproud. Someone who couldn’t help but be a good mother. Now Liv is quite a woman, a real bolt of light, but I’m not so sure she’s motherhood material. Not just from my point of view, but hers as well. She’s right about running out of time, but I’m afraid she’s just doing this because it’s a final opportunity, like coming across a good house whose owner is in danger of foreclosure, just automatically plowing ahead because there’s no other reasonable option. I may be too hard. But should I be the one to plow ahead with her, Doc? I think yes, certainly, I will, I will, and then, definitely, absolutely, not. You’ll know how this is making me quite upset.”

I could see that, but Renny Banerjee is a fellow who never appears too perturbed. He drank most of the bad bottle of wine and ate the entire bag of pretzel twists, and I would have improvised something more substantial for him to eat, but he had dinner plans with Liv.

On the way out he noticed the full bin of mail and picked it up for me and asked where I would like it. Usually I opened mail at the desk off the kitchen, and so he walked back in and put it down, and suddenly he had his jacket off and sleeves rolled up and he pulled up another chair. “Let’s get this done,” he said, taking a fat handful. He did the work quickly, first sorting out the fliers and bulk mail and solicitation letters, then separating the bills and credit card statements and other semi-important notices from the other first-class letters and cards, of which there were quite a number. He held one up and I nodded and so he opened it, calling out the name, and then he went through the rest like that, cards from the florists, and from the deli woman, and from practically every other merchant on Church and Main streets who had been there at least a few years, long enough to know who I was. There was a card from the Hickeys, or Mrs. Hickey, with a little “Patrick” scratch. There was one from Liv, and then a few sent by her competitors at Century 21 and Better Homes and Prudential, who also called me periodically and were likely keeping abreast of my general state of health. There was a card from Mr. Stark at Murasan’s Smoke and Pipe, enclosed with a small packet of my favorite tobacco, which I gave to Renny, who has taken up pipe smoking to go along with his cigars and cigarettes. And finally there was a get-well card from no one, subdued in style with only slightly curled script lettering, without even a signature or “Dear…” handwritten around the poetry/sentiment, just a blurred red postmark on the envelope and no return address.