Rachel Cantor - Good on Paper

I don’t have a point.

Oh, I said.

I’m just trying to understand.

Oh.

Benny took a moment to sip his drink. You know, he said, if my father had taken just one step in my direction, I’d have jumped over the abyss to meet him.

Well, I said tightly, you’re a better man than I.

That’s not what I meant, Shira.

What did you mean?

What I meant was, all I ever wanted was one stupid gesture, one lousy pat on the back — it could have been anything, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’m such a cliché!

He pulled his legs off the table, leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

He was your father, I said. You loved him.

I leaned over, touched Benny’s shoulder. It was trembling.

Shit, he said, and got up. I need a drink.

•

Sorry, he said when he got back. How’s the work going?

He’d brought the bottle and sat next to me on the couch so he could pour for both of us.

Slowly, I said. You sure you can talk about this?

Are you being sarcastic? Benny asked. His eyes were red.

No! I swear!

Of course I can talk about it.

Okay, I said, and told him how I kept finding what seemed like references to my stories in Romei’s pages: images, the odd phrase.

Benny crinkled his nose.

Odd, he said. Why do you suppose he’s doing that?

I liked that Benny didn’t second-guess me. Did he trust me or did he know what Romei was capable of?

I was hoping you’d tell me, I said.

Me?

Yes, you. Why not you?

What do you think?

I haven’t the foggiest.

I’d like to think he read your work and was unconsciously affected by it.

Not likely. He’s way too self-conscious a writer. He put those images there on purpose.

That sounds reasonable, Benny said. How does it make you feel?

You sound like Sigmund! I said, laughing.

Sounds like he’s trying to manipulate you, elicit a reaction of some kind.

Interesting, I said. I hadn’t thought of that.

What’s your reaction?

Well, I said, it confuses me, it makes me angry, like he’s stealing. And mocking me, because who am I? I’m just the translator!

Does it affect how you read the story?

How I read the story? You mean how I feel about his characters?

I guess. Whatever.

They pissed me off from the start …, and I told him how I believed Romei was writing a self-serving piece to justify his adultery, how Esther seemed less a muse than a sloppy projection of his fantasies. Then I thought about the last section, their defeat by the husband, how that twist had defeated my expectations as well as theirs. Maybe I didn’t hate them after all.

I don’t know, I finally said.

So Dante embeds poems from an earlier time into his narrative, and Romei embeds bits of your work. It’s as if yours were the original work, the proof-text!

The what?

The proof-text. The original authoritative bit of Bible that “proves” a rabbinic argument.

You’re drunk. That makes no sense whatsoever.

Benny shrugged.

Right on both counts, he said, and pulled a handkerchief from his gym shorts, looked at it puzzled for a moment, then blew his nose. In what context does he quote you?

You name it, I said, then thought about the images: Romei blocking the sun as Esther sits on her bench, Romei watching Esther from a tree in the park, Romei throwing stones at her window, Romei kissing her for the first time on the neck. Scenes of seduction, I said.

Interesting. Does this speak to you in any way?

You think he’s using my words to seduce me? I whispered.

I don’t know, Benny murmured, frowning. He loves his wife.

I stared at my shoes.

Maybe it is a manipulation, I said. He mind fucks his translators to keep their interest. There are probably dozens of mind fucks in there, bubbles of real life injected into the veins of his “autobiography.”

Inject a bubble into someone’s vein and they die, Benny said pensively. I learned that on Columbo .

The more I thought about my theory, the more I thought it had to be. The false friends, the “borrowed” images — all addressed to the translator.

I don’t know if I can go through with this, I said, shaking my head. It’s too weird.

You have to! Benny said. It’s important!

Wow! This may be more important to you than it is to me.

Benny shrugged. We were both a little drunk.

You want to know what happens next, right? he asked.

I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I lacked the energy to investigate.

I have to do the dishes, I said, struggling to get out of his deep plush cushions.

Stay with me, he said, grabbing my arm so I couldn’t stand.

I beg your pardon? I said, plopping back onto the couch.

Stay with me, he said, but he was looking in front of him, not at me.

You want … Oh! No! No, I’m sorry. Benny?

He let go of my arm.

I’m sorry, he said, still not looking at me, putting his hand back in his beard. My bad.

Shall I see myself out? I asked, trying to remember where I’d left my raincoat.

No, he said, but he didn’t get up. I stood, wandered through the living room, the hallway, found it in a hall closet.

Forgive me? Benny said, almost inaudibly, when I was almost out the door.

Everything, I said, not looking back. And I did.

•

He called as I was walking out the building’s front door.

Don’t say anything to Romei, he said.

I thought he was talking about his botched seduction, but no, he was probably talking about Esther, the reading, what we’d said about the Great Man.

No problem.

He’s my patron saint, you know.

I didn’t know, I said, confused. Gilgul ?

Maybe. He said something else, but the 116 bus passed.

Benny? I asked, but he was gone.

I woke up feeling lousy, my brain an airless closet.

Ahmad was slumped at the dining room table, his coffee long gone cold.

I wouldn’t forgive him without an apology, but I’d give him every opportunity.

Morning, I said, aware that I was shuffling. Andi get off okay?

Ahmad grunted.

I feel like shit, I added, thinking this might cheer him up.

Coffee’s mud by now, he said, reflectively.

We lapsed back into silence. Maybe he was thinking about Mirabella, her crazy plan to export their sons to America. Maybe he was thinking about dew on a suburban lawn, the simple pleasures of Metro North.

Andi thinks you have a thing for Benny, he said almost grimly. Do you? I remember, vaguely, you thought he was cute?

No! I said too quickly. Can you see me with a rabbi?

What’s wrong with rabbis? Ahmad asked with a half smile.

Everything’s God-this and God-that! I said, and poured myself a double.

I’m at People of the Book a lot and I’ve never heard Benny talk about God.

If you’re a rabbi, you believe in things, you have certainties.

Like Dante, with bagels.

Exactly. Then there’s the ritual, keeping up with the Yiddishisms …

You keep up with the Joneses, why not the Yiddishisms?

We couldn’t have a life together. It’s obvious.

Ahmad shrugged.

Besides, he’s seeing someone.

Ah. There are donuts in the kitchen, but Andi and I ate the good ones.

I was ravenous, I realized. I brought the box to the table, though it contained only what Andi called bald donuts, barely worth the calories.

I looked for the Philosopher’s Tea the other day, I said, but couldn’t find it.