Rick Moody - The Ice Storm

They rarely used the living room, except for company. But Elena and Benjamin were camped there now, guests in their own home. Each nursed a lukewarm cup of Sanka. And they had changed their clothes — they were clothed in many layers. They were prepared. Their voices were soft and low, like lover’s voices. The leak in the wall, while it hadn’t subsided entirely, had slowed, and since Benjamin had shut off the water at the valve down in the basement, there would be less trouble when the pipes refroze that evening. The fire in the fireplace sputtered: it was on its way out.

— Well, someone’s going to have to go into town for the plumber, Benjamin said quietly. And to get some supplies, some food. I’ll be happy to go. You could come along if you like. Maybe we all need to get out and have a little activity. Maybe that would be just the ticket. If we can get the Firebird started. The station wagon wouldn’t…. I can understand that you’re upset, honey. I’m upset too. But it would be better if we could just get this all out in the open. That’s all I’m asking. I’m sincere about this, about my part.

Elena whispered, as though whispering to herself. Some inaudible murmur of equivocation.

— No one can know when he died, Hood said. He might have died instantly, or he might have just fallen unconscious and frozen to death. That’s not for anybody to know really. They’ll make up some scientific horseshit. You never know. So you were just doing whatever you were doing. Everyone’s going to feel bad. That’s just what something like this is like. But this sort of second guessing…. Well, that’s just baloney.

They sipped.

And Elena said, suddenly.

— Oh, and your conscience is clear. Then:

— Well, where were you anyway? Were you up to anything better? Where did you spend the night if your conscience is so clear?

— I didn’t say anything, Ben said. I made no judgment—

— So high and mighty—

— I was on the bathroom floor. Rob and Dot’s bathroom. If it makes you happy… to know that. I was goddam passed out on the floor of a goddam bathroom. And I’m not saying, if that’s what you think I’m saying, that spending some time on their water bed — your spending some time there — is the worst thing, even if it makes me feel—

Elena grew quieter still:

— It doesn’t make me happy. It’s predictable is what it is. It’s just predictable, and that doesn’t make me happy. I’ve seen more drunkenness in this marriage. I’ve seen a lot of awful stuff. There are more vomit stains around this house—

— I know, I know, I know, Ben said. I’ve said I’m sorry. I know. I’ve apologized until I’m blue…. I’m going to—

— Sorry is a nothing word, Ben. It just takes up air. You’re going to have to—

— Well, what can I offer you then? We took these vows, remember? I want to talk about that now. We said these words, you said them, too, and I’m trying to stick by them—

— In somebody else’s arms. That’s how you—

— Trying to restore them is what I mean. You haven’t improved the situation either by…. Listen, I’m upset about poor Mike. I don’t want to… I’m not going to… even if Jim’s kids are out all hours of the night, I can see that he’s doing the best he can with them. I know it’s hard to raise kids—

— Like ours are not? Elena said. Look at our own children—

— Just let me speak for a moment, honey. Just let me finish what I’m trying to say. A terrible thing like this… and let’s remember that I was the one who found Mike’s body. I found it—

Benjamin’s face twisted into grimace.

— I was giving him… what do you call it? Mouth-to-mouth. Blowing air into his lungs. And it didn’t matter that I always thought he was a little shit. It didn’t matter. And what I mean is that this ought to make it plain, you know, how a family ought to be. That’s what I want to tell you: we have trouble with the house, we have trouble with the kids, I have trouble at work, but we can still work it out.

— What? What trouble at work?

— Well, it’s…. You know. It’s just not going all that well. You know that.

— No, I didn’t know that. Because you don’t tell me these things.

— I just… I just haven’t felt good about myself at work. I need—

Elena didn’t say anything.

— Stop looking at me that way, Ben said. I don’t want to raise my voice. I don’t want to have to put Wendy through all this again. This conversation should take place in private, that’s what I’m asking. I’d like to suggest, Elena, that the trouble at work — which is more difficult than I’ve wanted to admit even to myself — well, I’m in a situation where I can try to make a new start here.

— Come on, Ben. What makes you think that’s the way I’m thinking about it?

— Goddammit, that’s it, Benjamin said. You think you’re not part of the problem here, but you are. Let’s face up to that for a second. Let’s talk about the sorts of problems you bring to this room. That you are a remote person. You’re a remote, difficult person, and for someone who’s always made a lot of noise about community, about the community of the Unitarian goddam faith and all that balderdash, about psychiatrists and psychologists and all that, all that community of overpriced mental-health quackery, you don’t seem to have a lot of concern for this community right here, in this house, and the decision you made seventeen years ago and the people who are part of that decision with you.

Elena said, almost whispering, not looking him in the eyes at all, looking instead at the fire:

— It wasn’t just this free and easy choice, you know. You don’t know how it works. Later, I don’t know how I make these decisions, how I made them. I don’t have any skills, and I never did. I’m no worker. I woke up breast-feeding one morning. And I don’t feel like there’s much dignity in it, that’s what I mean. So what am I supposed to do?

Hood got up to poke at the fire.

— So what are you saying? You’re saying this was just some arrangement?

— I’m not saying that… I’m saying you’re not looking at the other angles…. There are points of view here.

— You were just coerced into this marriage by the social climate and all that: Carl Rogers or Carl Jung or somebody says women of the fifties were coerced into marriage. And they need Virginia Slims or something. And meanwhile I’ve neglected the family. I’m the neglecter. The villain.

He crouched down low and inserted a balled-up piece of newspaper under the last unconsumed transverse of Duraflame log.

— So you think it’s best if you leave, he said.

— That’s right, Elena said. Then:

— Well, this is the era for it, Benjamin said. Elena said nothing. Benjamin watched the fire. Their remorse was peaceful.

— Should we tell the kids now? Is that what you want to do?

He set down the bellows.

— And that reminds me, he said. Where the hell is Paul, anyway?

— What?

— Paul, our son, Paul. Did you call the city to see if he stayed over with his friends?

— I thought you did.

— You mean you…. Oh, great, this is great. This is great.

— Is it my sole responsibility to look after the children? Elena said. It’s a holiday weekend — you’re here.

— Well, I’m glad I won’t have to listen to this shit for the rest of my life, because I couldn’t take it. Did you happen to talk with Wendy about Paul’s plans, whether she knew anything about it?

The answer arrived right then. The drawing room doors — a pair of antique sliding doors whose period feel had once made Benjamin Hood feel good — parted. Wendy entered, like the buried woman breaking the surface of the earth, coming up for air. She looked nothing like the Wendy that Elena remembered, the exasperating and charming little girl who had to be the center of attention. The little girl whom everybody loved, waiters, doormen, conductors, passersby, all of whom had to talk to her. That girl had vanished entirely, and though Elena recognized this apparition, she recognized it from some more distant register of memory. The generations seemed to have collapsed into Wendy, because Wendy looked exactly like Elena’s own mother, coming downstairs, her mother frightened by the implications of another long afternoon. Wendy, with her arm stretched out in front of her. Her jeans partly hiked up, partly unzipped, over a black lace garter belt, straps clearly visible, zipped into the zipper.