Джон Макдональд - A Flash of Green

“That’s what my father keeps telling me.”

She came over and sat near him. He asked questions and made the few notes which would cue his memory. He made it clear to her that Dermond had suggested her as the person he should interview. She was quick, intelligent and more poised than he had expected. When he asked about the caliber of the children she was teaching, she said, “They are all recommended by the art teachers in the public schools. I probably shouldn’t say this, but the ones who’ve had the least instruction are the most rewarding ones. What they get in the public schools seems to sort of tighten them up. They’re afraid of their materials. Peter and I seem to spend most of our time getting them to open up, to be bold with their colors and forms.”

“Are you planning to become an art teacher, Natalie?”

She frowned. “I don’t know, really. I’ve had just one year of fine arts. I’ll be a sophomore when I go back. I like this better than I thought I would. I want to be a painter. I know I have a knack, but maybe I haven’t much talent, really. I guess you better put down ‘undecided.’ ”

As he had talked to her he had become aware of a curious duality about her. Though her expression was placid, he thought he could detect the marks of tension in her young face. And her poise was a little too nearly perfect. She began to seem more guarded than poised. He guessed there could be a great amount of neurotic tension beneath the surface, the understandable product of sensitivity and a broken home. After he had told her he would make arrangements for photographs, and had gotten from her the name of a child who would be a good one to talk to, he put his notes away and said, “Aside from the climate, Natalie, are you having a good summer?”

“A very nice summer, thank you.”

“Kat Hubble seems very fond of you.”

“She’s sweet.”

“Her husband was one of my best friends.”

“My father told me what happened to him. It seems so terrible and so pointless.”

“Your people have been wonderful to Kat.”

“They like her a lot. And her children are wonderful kids.”

“Do you think you’ll be coming down every summer while you’re in school?”

“I don’t really know. I needed... a complete change of scene this summer. I asked if I could come down.”

“I guess it was up to Claire.”

“What has this got to do with the interview, Mr. Wing?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he said, smiling at her.

“Claire is one of the warmest, most generous people I’ve ever met.”

“Well, I hope you’ll come back every summer, Natalie. You improve the local summer scenery.”

“Thank you,” she said, startled and blushing slightly.

“Have our local young men gathered around with understandable enthusiasm?”

“I haven’t been dating,” she said, and stood up. “I better get back to work before they finish all of it.”

After she was back at work he talked to Morton Dermond again. The young people had almost finished hanging the show.

“Get what you need?” Dermond asked.

“Yes indeed. It should make a good story, Mortie.”

“Nat is articulate and she’s a darling and I love the way her mind works. She’s superb with the wretched little children. I can’t endure them myself.”

“I got the idea there’s more to her than meets the eye.”

“Oh, you are so right! She arrived down here shattered, just getting over an absolutely sickening affair with some pig of a graduate student up there in Michigan, and her mother was no help to her at all. Recriminations and so on. That’s why she came down. She told me about it in confidence. Broke down completely when I was criticizing her drawings, and it all came out. She seems to be coming out of it now, bless her. But she’s terribly vulnerable. That pig destroyed her confidence. I think she yearns for someone to appreciate her. Too bad you’re a little too old for her, Jimmy. Right now, to kill time, and maybe to help get herself back together, she seems to be running a little lovelorn anonymous club, being sweet and motherly to some dreary high-school boy, who seems to worship her. I saw him once in her car. I have no idea who he is. He’s rather a beautiful boy, but he has a sort of bovine look. You know the type. Natalie is a very complex little person, and very troubled, but I can’t tell you much about her because she spoke to me in confidence. You know how it is.”

“I know. Like a sacred trust.”

“Exactly, Jimmy. Did she tell you what child to talk to? Good. Do give us a nice big spread on this if you can, old man.”

“Will try. Are you saving the bays again, Mortie?”

“What? Oh, that dreary meeting yesterday, of course. It was all sort of spiritless. You know? Actually, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. People down here seem to despise natural beauty. It seems to make them terribly uneasy. They don’t really feel secure until they can see asphalt in every direction, and they don’t trust a tree unless they’ve grown it themselves. Oh, we’ll fight the brave battle, mother, but I haven’t as much zing for it this time, and I don’t think the others do either. Except Tom Jennings. He’s incredibly warlike, you know. And little Kat Hubble is very dedicated. Will you be helping us this time?”

“It won’t be as easy, not with the owner in favor of the fill.”

“All done?” he called to the young people. “Splendid! It’s an absolutely glorious show, isn’t it? And beautifully hung. Thank you all so much! And I want you all at the reception tomorrow, please. Four o’clock. You come too, Jimmy, please.”

“If I can make it, Mortie.”

“Do try. When will the photographer come?”

“Next week some time, Mortie, during her class.” He started away and turned and said, “How were her drawings, anyway?”

“Eh? Oh, they were competent. But very constricted. Tight little exercises, as if her darling little knuckles were bone white when she did them, and she bit her lip until it bled. Absolutely virginal, actually.” Mortie giggled. “But, gracious, that certainly isn’t accurate!”

Until Jimmy Wing had driven a few blocks, the steering wheel of his car was so hot he had to keep shifting the position of his hands. It was too late for a chess game with Haas. He drove out to Cable Key, showered and changed and had time for a beer before driving to the Halleys to see Kat.

Except for the foundation pilings and the post and beam frame, trued and bolted, Ross and Jackie Halley had built their house themselves. It was an oblong eighty feet long and thirty feet wide, set on slender pilings which raised it four or five feet above raked shell. It was on a small bay-front lot, and was nested so closely against a fringe of water oak and mangrove that the highest tides came up under the structure. It had a big roofed redwood deck on the water side, looking out toward Grassy Bay, and an unroofed deck on the other side, facing the parking area. The central part of the structure was one big living area, with a kitchen island in the middle completely encircled by a bar. The bedroom and bath were to the left, and Ross’s studio was to the right.

From the parking area the whole side of the building was alternating rectangles of fixed glass, glass jalousies, and panels painted chalk blue, yellow-white and coral.

As soon as Kat had stopped the car, Roy and Alicia piled out, yelping and running toward Jackie’s fond loud greeting. She was good with children, and Kat knew how desperately disappointed they were to be unable to have any.

“Go climb into the stuff Ross laid out on my bed, Kat, then yell for the mahster. I’m putting your brats to work. We’re going oystering. The one that gets the biggest one gets to wear the straw sombrero.”