Part 21 (1/2)

Originally, cows and sheep and pigs were herded through Chicago into railroad cars and taken to other cities to be butchered, but the animals lost weight on the trip.

”'Bro'?” Harris said, appealing to his wife. ”From a kid this sick?” Harris said, appealing to his wife. ”From a kid this sick?”

A disaster was mounting in Ricky. He turned to Charlotte and bawled, ”Tell them!”

Then in the 1870s people started butchering the animals in slaughterhouses by the tracks, cutting them up and packing their parts in the railroad cars in pond ice ... ...

”Say it, Char!”

”He's not sick,” she said, knowing it was a mistake. ”He's well.” And felt her brother relax beside her. There was silence in the room. ”It's-it's just a thing we say,” she said, nervous.

For a long moment, Harris just stared at her. ”Wipe that look off your face,” he said at last, ”or you're excused.”

”What look?” Charlotte asked.

”Harris, stop it,” Ellen said.

Ah, there. At last, he'd done it-delivered his wife back into their midst-in perfect time for her to take Charlotte's side against him. Little piles of kudzu lay beside each plate; they had picked it from their salads without comment.

”That look,” Harris told Charlotte, feeling an irrepressible twitch of rage. ”The look you're wearing right now. Wipe that off or I'll ...” look,” Harris told Charlotte, feeling an irrepressible twitch of rage. ”The look you're wearing right now. Wipe that off or I'll ...”

”Stop it!” Ellen said.

He was standing up. Why was he standing up?

”That's not a look,” Charlotte said, sounding tired. ”It's my face.”

The words lingered as she stood, carried her dishes to the sink and left the kitchen. They listened (Harris still standing) as she climbed the back stairs to her room. Almost immediately, Ricky bolted from the table and scrambled into her wake.

Standing by the half-empty dinner table, Harris experienced a wave of defeat.

”You're so brutal with her,” Ellen said, not looking at him.

”She's arrogant.”

”She's calm. It's her personality. And Ricky thrives on that.”

Harris loaded the dishwasher, then returned to the table with a bottle of Chardonnay. Ellen hadn't moved. He poured the wine and watched her take a sip. ”Ellen,” he said. ”I'm worried.”

”About what?” She sounded afraid.

”You.”

Now there were tears on her face-so many, as if they'd been waiting behind her eyes. ”I'm fine,” she sobbed.

”Tell me what to do,” Harris said, leaning close, shaken by the intensity of her grief. ”Tell me and I'll do it.”

She shook her head. She was ready to tell him-she was! Her despair had an authority of its own, it demanded to be recognized. ”Oh, Ellen,” Gordon had finally said this afternoon, hardly meeting her eyes, ”I'd love to, but.” Like someone declining a dinner invitation. Smiling at her in edgy apology. He looked older, Ellen noticed then, tired around his mouth and eyes. And abruptly the time had presented itself-more than three years since they had last been together. Ellen had forgotten the length of time because for her, they hadn't been years of life so much as a dreadful hiatus from life. I'd love to, but. I'd love to, but. Embarra.s.sed for her because it was long over, their affair, and her query was so foolish. So inconvenient. Embarra.s.sed for her because it was long over, their affair, and her query was so foolish. So inconvenient.

”Three years is a long time,” Ellen told Harris. It relieved her to say it, to lean against the truth in her husband's presence.

”It's a very long time,” he rejoined eagerly. ”The strain has been unbelievable. And it's not over, really, not until June.”

”Not ever.”

”That's not true,” he said. ”After a year his chances are excellent.”

Upstairs, Charlotte waited for Ricky to come in her room. When he didn't, she opened his door and discovered him facedown on his bed, the floor beside him littered with crushed ten-dollar bills. ”What's that?” she asked.

He looked up at her, his face grooved from the spread. ”Money.”

Charlotte came nearer the bed. When Ricky didn't move to let her sit, she squatted and picked up the bills, flattening them in a pile.

”What's that?” Ricky asked, and she frowned. ”On your chest. What you keep touching.”

Without realizing, she'd been fingering the amber bead through her sweater. ”Nothing,” she said. ”A necklace.” She left it there, out of sight. It hung between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as she now thought of them.

They eyed each other, Ricky waiting for Charlotte to take out the necklace and show it to him. She didn't. And then he didn't care. Severed from his Tony Hawk, he was slowly dying.

”Where were you?” Charlotte asked.

”Nowhere.”

”Ricky,” she said. ”You won't tell?”

He turned upon her his blankest face, the face she'd taught him herself. ”Tell you what,” he said.

”Maybe the stars are out,” Harris said. ”Let's take a look.”

Ellen pushed back her chair, her face wet. She was ready to do whatever Harris told her; some tiny flame of volition, of independence, had finally been snuffed. In three years, Ferdinand Magellan's crew had circ.u.mnavigated the globe for the first time in history, withstanding mutinies and supply shortages, teasing three s.h.i.+ps through a tortuous South American strait and then seeing Magellan killed in an internecine dispute in the Philippines. Three years was that long.

”I'll get our coats,” Harris said.

Ellen waited in the empty kitchen. I'd love to, but. I'd love to, but. Even as Gordon spoke, the words had landed in her ears with a kind of echo. ”I completely understand,” she had answered-breezily, she thought. Hoped. And then she'd stood to go, surprising him. Maintaining her dignity, which was something. Even as Gordon spoke, the words had landed in her ears with a kind of echo. ”I completely understand,” she had answered-breezily, she thought. Hoped. And then she'd stood to go, surprising him. Maintaining her dignity, which was something.

Harris pulled the coat around Ellen's shoulders, took her hand and led her outdoors. She was afraid he would show her the constellations. He'd loved to do this when they first met, her soph.o.m.ore year at the University of Michigan, Harris twelve years older, in business school. And at nineteen, Ellen had relished touring the stars with her boyfriend, as if they were rooms in a mansion that one day she would own.

Tonight the sky was cloudy. Thank G.o.d.

Harris put his arm around his wife and pulled her close. There was so much he wanted to say. Courage! Look around you! The makings of happiness are before us! When Demographics in America first began to thrive, when he launched his focus groups of disenfranchised machine tool workers and reconstructed farmers, when the politicians started showing up, Ellen had been electrified. If all these people were coming to him here, she'd said-here in the middle of nowhere-imagine what would happen when they moved somewhere central! By then, Harris had glimpsed the truth that his wife still could not accept: this this was the center. This. The center of the world. The place everyone turned to learn what American voters and moviegoers and wors.h.i.+pers, investors and sports fans, dieters, parents, cooks, drivers, smokers, hospital patients, music lovers, home-builders, drinkers, gardeners really cared about. What they would buy, yearn for, dream of. Harris had those answers. Or knew how to find them. The Lord had given him this gift. was the center. This. The center of the world. The place everyone turned to learn what American voters and moviegoers and wors.h.i.+pers, investors and sports fans, dieters, parents, cooks, drivers, smokers, hospital patients, music lovers, home-builders, drinkers, gardeners really cared about. What they would buy, yearn for, dream of. Harris had those answers. Or knew how to find them. The Lord had given him this gift.

But to Ellen, they were merely back where she had started.

”This summer, let's go somewhere,” Harris said. ”Let's take a trip.” He needed her. Needed her to look at him as she was doing now, for the first time tonight. When he woke in the middle of the night, his wife was always turned the other way. Harris would reach for her, seal her in his arms, but the next time he opened his eyes, she had always escaped.

”Africa,” he said. ”Asia.”

She glanced at the sky. ”It was supposed to snow.”