Part 12 (1/2)

Martha scowled. ”On the bus?” she asked with evident horror.

”Yes.”

”Your regular school bus?”

”Yes.”

”And what did she say?”

He shrugged again. ”I'll tell you later,” he said, already knowing that he never would. ”I'm missing the Mouseketeers.”

HE KEPT THE SET ON AFTER The Mickey Mouse Club. The Mickey Mouse Club. He watched He watched Kukla, Fran & Ollie, Kukla, Fran & Ollie, and after that and after that Sergeant Preston of the Yukon. Sergeant Preston of the Yukon. The Yukon, as usual, was covered in snow; the trees in the background were black and gray; Preston's Mounties uniform was gray and white; Yukon King was gray and black. As Henry watched, his mind wandered. He thought about Betty, wondering if he looked like her, wondering if Australia looked like the Yukon, wondering what either place would look like in color. More darkly, he thought about Martha. He wondered what other secrets she'd kept, what other lies she had told him. He a.s.sumed that there had been many of both. Trust was not a muscle he knew how to use. The Yukon, as usual, was covered in snow; the trees in the background were black and gray; Preston's Mounties uniform was gray and white; Yukon King was gray and black. As Henry watched, his mind wandered. He thought about Betty, wondering if he looked like her, wondering if Australia looked like the Yukon, wondering what either place would look like in color. More darkly, he thought about Martha. He wondered what other secrets she'd kept, what other lies she had told him. He a.s.sumed that there had been many of both. Trust was not a muscle he knew how to use.

IT WAS AFTER DINNER that Betty showed up. Martha had known she would come again, but she had expected her earlier in the evening, and, was.h.i.+ng the dishes and drying them, she had allowed herself to relax for the first time in two days. The ringing of the doorbell was a mild a.s.sault.

”Go wash up now,” she told Henry.

He felt fairly certain that it would be Betty at the door, and also that it would be better not to talk to her with Martha there.

But he sat listening at the top of the landing, his hands around the spindles of the bal.u.s.trade.

”What do you want?” Martha asked Betty.

Even given the circ.u.mstances, it surprised Henry to hear Martha's lack of civility.

”You know what I want,” Betty said.

There were a few moments of whispering, and Henry clutched the spindles more tightly.

”You know,” he heard Martha say. ”You don't know anything about raising a child Henry's age.”

”Neither do you,” Betty said swiftly.

”I know this child,” Martha said. ”I know every single thing there is to know about this child. And I know he wants to be with me.”

Henry could hear the hiss and strike of a match against a match-book, and he could even hear Betty exhale. ”Why would he want someone who lied?” she asked.

”Why,” Martha replied, ”would he want someone who left?”

THOSE WERE THE QUESTIONS. At the top of the stairs, Henry tried to answer them for himself. He tried to want someone. He couldn't. He tried to imagine something. He couldn't. If he wanted anything, it was to scream at Martha for lying, scream at Betty for leaving. He went to his room, sat at his desk, and stared at the shadows on the wall until he found shapes and patterns.

”ARE YOU TAKING ME WITH YOU?” Henry asked Betty when she met him at the bus stop the next afternoon. She seemed smaller than she had the night before. Her breath smelled sour and sharp, and he tried to keep away from it.

”No,” Betty said. ”Not yet.”

”Then why did you come?”

Betty's eyes got wet, and she looked down to snap open her pocketbook. Henry thought she was reaching for a tissue, but instead she took out a photograph. She handed it to him proudly, wanting him to look at it.

”Why did you come,” he asked her, not looking at the picture, ”if you're not going to take me with you?”

”I'm going to tell you the truth,” Betty said, with an emphasis on the first word. ”I want to take you with me. My father won't give me the money, and I don't have enough of my own.”

”We could get a job,” Henry said.

”I will will get a job,” Betty said. ”And I get a job,” Betty said. ”And I will will come back for you,” she said. come back for you,” she said.

”What if I'm not here?” Henry asked.

”I'll find you.”

A slow tear, like a drop of syrup, ran all the way down her nose. Henry thought maybe he didn't want to go with her after all.

”I want you to keep this picture of me,” Betty said.

Henry looked down at it. It was black-and-white and had a generous crease in it, but Henry could tell that it was a picture of Betty, only when she was so much younger and prettier that it didn't matter to him at all. He looked back at Betty, and in what may have been his first completely intentional act of cruelty, he said: ”You don't look anything like this anymore.”

9.

Eastern Standard Time

Only five days later, Betty Gardner boarded a train heading east, to New York City, where her father had decided that her unfortunate past might be less objectionable, or at least less noticed.

With the help of a former Wilton professor, Dr. Gardner had arranged to have Betty try out as a researcher at Time Time magazine. It would be a new start, he told her, insisting that she be grateful for the opportunity. magazine. It would be a new start, he told her, insisting that she be grateful for the opportunity.

Until the moment Betty left, Martha felt as if she was virtually incapable of any emotion but fear. And even after Betty's departure, Martha couldn't help feeling that the visit had left a pall, a layer of emotional ash that had changed forever the way that Henry was going to look at things. Martha blamed this largely on Betty and even, to some extent, on Betty's father. It did not occur to her that there was any other blame to be a.s.signed.

IN 1955, Pa.s.sENGERS ARRIVING at New York's Penn Station walked off their trains, up to the glorious concourse, and into a reality that rarely fell short of whatever superlatives they had heard in advance. The celestial ceiling, with its vaulted arches and its web of wrought-iron window frames, was churchlike and dizzying, fearsome and immense. Hanging in the smoky air between the ceiling and floor-like a man-made sun-was the famous clock, with its heavy Roman numerals, precisely squared-off minute marks, and, in capital letters, its nonnegotiable message: EASTERN STANDARD TIME. From tall white poles around the vast room, modern loudspeakers hung in cl.u.s.ters like giant, incongruous lilies of the valley. Thousands upon thousands of people strode through the concourse without hesitation or apparent fear.

Her two suitcases on either side of her, Betty stood for at least ten minutes, taking the whole panorama in. It occurred to her that she had not felt this much like a child since she had first arrived in Australia and gone looking for Fred's address at the Melbourne post office. Thank G.o.d she was not a child now, she thought: A few moments later, she had gathered her bags and taken a seat in an all-but-empty bar called Brown's.

An exhausted-looking waitress came over to take her order.

”Gin and tonic,” Betty said.

”Any particular kind of gin?”

Despite her fear, her fatigue, and even her sadness, there was something to be said, Betty thought, for a city in which even a tired-looking waitress asked you what kind of gin you wanted.

SHE HAD LEARNED to drink gin in Australia. She had learned to drink everything there, discovering the sweet and sharp contradictions of booze: the cus.h.i.+ony insulation and the flat, hard taste. She had needed both the softness and the hardness for dealing with Fred, who drank even more than she did and with far less apparent consolation. Neither of them had had a clue about how to build a marriage, let alone a life. It became clear after a while that they would each protect their own secrets and garner more. What little they'd had in common before the war had long since been outgrown. Betty had become a mother and Fred a soldier, and both had been deserters. Yet neither of them could acknowledge just how useless with shame their hearts had grown.

”First time here?” the waitress asked as she brought Betty's drink.

Betty nodded and stirred the gin and tonic with a heavy plastic brown swizzle stick.

”Where're you from?” the waitress asked, apparently grateful to have some company.