Joyce Oates - Sourland

In soiled wool socks Anton continued to prowl about. Hadley had not invited him to explore her house — had she? His manner was more childlike than aggressive. Hadley supposed that Anton’s own living quarters in university-owned housing were minimal, cramped. A row of subsidized faculty housing along the river…“Ah! This is — ‘solar-room’?” They were in a glass-walled room at the rear of the stone house, that had been added to the house by Hadley and her husband; the “solarium,” intended to be sun-warmed, was furnished with white wicker furniture, chintz pillows and a white wrought-iron table and chairs as in an outdoor setting. But now the room was darkened and shadowed and the bright festive chintz colors were undistinguishable. Only through the vertical glass panels shone a faint crescent moon, entangled in the tops of tall pines. Anton was admiring yet faintly sneering, taunting:

“Such a beautiful house — it is old, is it? — so big, for one person. You are so very lucky, Hedley. You know this, yes?”

Lucky! Hadley smiled, confused. She tried to see this.

“Yes, I think so. I mean — yes.”

“So many houses in this ‘village’ as it is called — they are so big. For so few people. On each acre of land, it may be one person — the demographics would show. Yes?”

Hadley wasn’t sure what Anton Kruppe was saying. A brash sort of merriment shone in his eyes, widened behind the smudged lenses of his wire-rimmed schoolboy glasses.

He asked Hadley how long she’d lived in the house and when she told him since 1988, when she and her husband had moved here, he’d continued smiling, a pained fixed smile, but did not ask about her husband. He must know, then. Someone at the co-op has told him.

Bluntly Anton said, “Yes, it is ‘luck’ — America is the land of ‘opportunity’ — all that is deserved, is not always granted.”

“But it wasn’t ‘luck’ — my husband worked. What we have, he’d earned.”

“And you, Hedley? You have ‘earned’ — also?”

“I–I — I don’t take anything for granted. Not any longer.”

What sort of reply this was, a stammered resentful rush of words, Hadley had no clear idea. She was uneasy, Anton peered at her closely. It was as if the molecular biologist was trying to determine the meaning of her words by staring at her. A kind of perverse echolocation — was that the word? — the radar-way of bats tossing high-pitched beeps of sound at one another. Except Anton was staring, his desire for the rich American woman came to him through the eyes…Hadley saw that the pumpkin seed — unless it was a second seed, or a bit of pumpkin-gristle — glistened in his wiry hair, that looked as if it needed shampooing and would be coarse to the touch. Except she could not risk the intimacy, she felt a reckless impulse to pluck it out.

He would misunderstand. He is such a fool, he would misinterpret.

But if I wanted a lover. A lover for whom I felt no love.

As if Anton had heard these words, his mood changed suddenly. His smile became startled, pained — he was a man for whom pained smiles would have to do. Asking Hadley if there were more repairs for “Mister Fix-It” in her house and Hadley said quickly, “No. No more.”

“Your basement — furnace — that, I could check. I am trained — you smile, Hedley, but it is so. To support myself in school — ”

Hadley was sure she wasn’t smiling. More firmly she thanked Anton and told him she had to leave soon — “I’m meeting friends for dinner in town.”

Clearly this was a lie. Hadley could lie only flatly, brazenly. Her voice quavered, she felt his eyes fixed upon her.

Anton took a step closer. “I would come back another day, if needed. I would be happy to do this, Hedley. You know this — I am your friend Anton — yes?”

“No. I mean — yes. Some other time, maybe.”

Hadley meant to lead her awkward guest back out into the living room, into the lighted gallery and foyer near the front door. He followed in her wake muttering to himself — unless he was talking to Hadley, and meant her to hear — to laugh — for it seemed that Anton was laughing, under his breath. His mood was mercurial — as if he’d been hurt, in the midst of having been roused to indignation. He’d drained his second glass of wine and his movements had become jerky, uncoordinated like those of a partially come-to-life scarecrow.

It was then that Anton began to confide in Hadley, in a lowered and agitated voice: the head of his laboratory at the Institute had cheated him — he’d taken discoveries of Anton Kruppe to claim for his own — he’d published a paper in which Anton was cited merely in a list of graduate assistants — and now, when Anton protested, he was exiling Anton from the lab — he refused to speak to Anton at the Institute and had banished him and so Anton had gone to the university president — demanding to be allowed to speak to the president but of course he’d been turned away — came back next morning hoping to speak with the president and when he was told no, demanding then to speak with the provost — and the university attorney — their offices were near-together in the administration building — all of them were in conspiracy together, with the head of the Institute and the head of Anton’s laboratory — he knew this! — of course, he was not such a fool, to not know this — he’d become excited and someone called security — campus police arrived and led Anton away protesting — they had threatened to turn him over to township police — to be arrested for “trespassing” — “threatening bodily harm” — Anton had been terrified he’d be deported by Homeland Security — he had not yet an American citizenship —

“You are smiling, Hedley? What is the joke?”

Smiling? During this long breathless disjointed speech Hadley had been staring at Anton Kruppe in astonishment.

“It is amusing to you — yes? That all my work, my effort — I am most hardworking in the lab, our supervisor exploits my good nature — he was always saying ‘Anton is the stoic among us’ — what this means, this flattery of Americans, is how you can be used. To be used — that is our purpose, to the Institute. But you must not indicate, that you are in the know. ” Anton spoke like one whose grievances are so much in excess of his ability to express them, he might have been the bearer of an ancient, racial burden. “And now — after three years — when my findings are cheated from me and I am of no more use — it is time to toss away into the ‘Dumpster’ — that is good word, good joke, eh? — ‘Dumpster’ — very good American joke — the Institute is saying my contract will not be renewed, for the federal grant is ended. And my supervisor had not ever gotten around to aiding me with my citizenship application, years it has been, of course I have been dialtory myself — I have been working so hard in the lab — yesterday morning it was, the decision came to me by e-mail…You — you must not smile, Hedley! That is very — selfish. That is very selfish and very cruel.”

The indignant man loomed over Hadley. His angular face wasn’t so soft now but hardened with strain. His jaws were clenched like muscles. The trowel-shaped triangle of hair at his hairline was more pronounced and a sweaty-garbagey smell wafted from his heated body. Behind the smudged schoolboy lenses his eyes were deep-socketed, wary. Hadley said nervously, “Maybe you should leave, Anton. I’m expecting friends. I mean…they’re stopping by, to take me with them. To dinner in town…”

Hadley didn’t want her agitated visitor to sense how frightened she was of him. Her mistake was in turning away to lead him to the door. Insulting him. His arm looped around her neck, in an instant they were struggling off balance, he caught at her, and kissed her — kissed and bit at her lips, like a suddenly ravenous rodent — both their wineglasses went flying, clattering to the floor — “You like this, Hedley! This, you want. For this, you asked me.”