Lorrie Moore - 100 Years of the Best American Short Stories

Only the habit of fear; only the uncontrollably quickened pulse for no reason, the fear that came out of nothing because fear was a poison in the blood and passed in and out of the heart again and again and again before it was finally worked out, if it ever was. Perhaps, she thought, it never was. If you were infected virulently enough with that poison perhaps it never left you, but recurred forever like some tropical fevers, forever part of you and in your blood though you were a thousand miles away from the source. He was nearly a thousand miles away, too, and there would be no reason, no need, ever to see him again; but perhaps the fear would stay with her though there was nothing left to fear.

As the summer wandered by, the young man from across the river came over more and more often to see Mrs. Mason. He had a boat with an outboard motor; she would hear it buzzing across the water, and the sound of the motor cut as he drew near to the dock; there would be silence while he tied up, and then he would come walking up the lawn, very tall with his fair hair cut short all over, catching the light from the sunset in the quiet dusk.

“Hello, Fräulein,” he would say as he came up the steps. “Hello, Mr. Loeb.”

Mr. Loeb always got to his feet and bowed smartly. Fräulein said, “Good evening, Mr. Worthington.” Then the screen door would slam and the sound of German being spoken quietly would begin again and he would walk into the living-room and grin at Mrs. Mason.

He used to sit in the chintz-covered chair with his long legs stuck out in front of him, smoking cigarettes. Sometimes he took her out on the smooth, dark river in his boat. Once they struck a log in the darkness on the water and she started violently and cried out. “What are you afraid of?” he asked her. “You’re so lovely, I don’t see why you should ever be afraid of anything.”

It was impossible to explain to him that she was not afraid of the log, nor of the water, nor of anything; that it was only a reflex which she was helpless to control, without reason; just fear. “You know I’d take care of you, if anything ever happened, don’t you?” he said. “If you’d just let me.” And she knew he would, but that did not make any difference. Nobody could help because nobody could possibly understand the irrationality, the uncontrollability, of fear when it was like this, in the blood. Any help had to come from within, the self-learning through days, perhaps years, of peace: that nothing of all that which was over would ever happen again. Talking to it was no good; no young man’s protectiveness penetrated to it; it had to learn slowly by itself.

The young man was falling in love with Mrs. Mason through that long summer. But it was inconceivable that she should fall in love with him. No matter how kind and strong he was, no matter how much more often she saw him each day — how good he was, how there was none of that spirit in him — it was inconceivable that her muscles could ever grow slack enough for her to look at him quietly, a man, and fall in love with him. She had been naked once, and vulnerable to everything that had happened to her; now, and perhaps forever, something in her clutched the coverings of tension, of reserve, of aloneness, having learned what happened when they were dropped. Her mind could say that it would not happen with this young man, who was all gentleness and generosity; but the inner thing did not believe that; it believed nothing except what it had learned.

When they sat on the lawn, smoking in the twilight, or inside in the big cool living-room, the German talk went on quietly on the front steps. Mr. Loeb was a quiet man, and Fräulein did most of the talking. When she had said her say about the Nazis, Fräulein told him about the children — how Hugh was as good as an angel and Dicky was just so different, a sweet child but always up to something. The big June-bugs and the moths banged against the screen door, and the light from the house came soft and yellow through the door and lay upon the stone slabs of the steps.

After a while, when she knew him pretty well, Fräulein told him about that Mr. Mason, what a bad man he was and how glad she was that they did not live with him any more.

“That poor lady,” she said. “She took plenty of unhappiness from him, I can tell you. My, what a place! I can’t tell you what a man he was. You wouldn’t believe it. She never said anything, but I knew what went on. I don’t mean maybe beating her, I know husbands get mad sometimes and beat their wives, that’s all right, but that man! I tried to keep my babies from seeing the things that used to happen, and she helped me to do it. Not that I ever discussed it with her. She’s that kind of lady, very proud, and I never saw her cry, only heard her sometimes, nights when he was very bad. She had such a look in her eyes in those days; she doesn’t have it any more. I can tell you I’m glad she got rid of him. In this country it’s very easy to divorce, you know.”

“Yes,” Mr. Loeb said quietly, in the darkness.

“Well, she’s got rid of him now and I’m glad. It would have killed her, a life like that, and my poor babies, what would have happened to them? She’s got rid of him, thank God, and now she can just forget about him and be happy.”

Mr. Loeb said nothing. He didn’t smoke because he was saving money out of what he earned as a gardener. He just sat there in the darkness, and he smelled a little of sweat. Fräulein made allowances for his smell, knowing that he was a laborer.

In the middle of the summer Hugh had a birthday and there was a big cake with seven candles, and one to grow on. Mr. Worthington came across the river for the little party, and both children were allowed to sit up till ten. After supper Mr. Loeb came walking down the road as usual, and Mrs. Mason called him in.

“Won’t you have a piece of cake,” she said, holding out a plate to him. “Here’s a piece with a candle.”

Mr. Loeb made his bow and took the plate. Mrs. Mason smiled at him and he smiled at her and they did not say anything.

“We’re going to play games in the living-room,” Mrs. Mason said. “Do you know any games, Mr. Loeb?”

The children were wild with excitement and ran round and round the room. Mr. Worthington showed Hugh a game with a piece of paper and a pencil, where he could guess any number of a total if he knew the right-hand numbers of the other lines. It was very mysterious. Dicky didn’t understand it at all, and stamped and yelled to make them stop and do something else.

“I show you,” Mr. Loeb said and hesitated. He asked Fräulein how to say something in English.

“He shows you a card-trick,” Fräulein said. Mr. Loeb’s face was round and red and smiling. He took the pack of cards Mrs. Mason held out to him and drew out two aces.

“You see,” he said to Hugh. “This is the farmer’s cow.” He pointed to the ace of hearts. “And this is Mrs. Sisson’s cow.” Mrs. Sisson owned the big place where Mr. Loeb was gardener. The card was the ace of clubs.

“Now I put them back again,” Mr. Loeb said, shuffling the pack. “Now. Which cow you want to see? The farmer’s cow? Mrs. Sisson’s cow?”

Hugh deliberated, standing on one leg.

“Mrs. Sisson’s cow,” he decided.

“Then go to the barn and look for it!” cried Mr. Loeb.

The children were enchanted. They screamed and rolled on the floor; Dicky kept crying, “Go to the barn and look for it!” Everybody was laughing.

“That was a very nice trick,” Mrs. Mason said when the laughter stopped.

The children, after a while, fell to playing with the cards on the floor. Their two little round butts stuck up in the air, and their two little boys’ heads were close together.

Mr. Loeb finished his cake and took out a folded handkerchief and wiped his mouth. He put the plate down carefully on the desk near him.