Several times in the next few days Fay visited him, with and without the children, and Jack, and friends.
The next time that the Anteils came back only Nat came. He explained that Gwen had to go to the dentist in San Francisco, and that she had let him off here at the U.C. Hospital.
“Where is this hospital?” Charley said. “What part of San Francisco is this?”
Nat said, “Out around Parnassus and Fourth. Getting toward the beach. We’re up high, overlooking the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park. It’s a stiff walk around here.”
“I see,” Charley said. “I could see houses, but I couldn’t figure out what pant of the city it was. I don’t know San Francisco very well. The green I saw must be the park.”
“The beginning of the park,” Nat said.
After a time Charley said, “Listen, has she got started getting you to do things?”
With deliberation, Nat said, “I’m not sure what you mean. Both Gwen and I are glad to do anything we can, not for her as such but for you, both of you. For the family.”
“Don’t let her get you to do things,” he said.
Nat said, “It’s natural to do things, anyhow it’s natural to do certain kinds of things. Of course, there’s a limit. We both recognize, Gwen and I, that she’s impulsive. She’s frank; she speaks right out.”
“She’s got the mind of a child,” he said. “She wants something so she goes after it. She won’t take no.”
Nat said nothing to that.
“Does it bother you?” Charley said. “My saying that? Good god, I don’t want you trotting around doing errands for her. I don’t want to see her nob you of your self-respect. No man should do a woman’s errands for her.”
“Okay,” Nat said in a low voice.
“Sorry if this upsets you,” Charley said.
“No, it’s okay.”
“I just want to warn you. She’s an exciting person and people are drawn to her. I’m not saying anything against her. I love her. If I had to I’d marry her again.” No, he thought. If I could I’d kill her. If I could get out of this bed I’d kill her. He said aloud, “God damn her.”
“It’s okay,” Nat said, to make him stop.
“No,” he said, “it’s not okay. That bitch. That devouring bitch. She ate me up. When I get back there I’m going to take her apart piece by piece. God, you know your original reaction to her. I heard. You told Betty Heinz that Fay was a bossy, demanding woman and you didn’t like her.”
“I told Mary Woulden that I had difficulty dealing with her because she was so intense,” Nat said. “And I said she was bossy. We patched it up.”
“Yes,” Charley said. “She was sore. She can’t stand that.”
“We haven’t had any difficulty carrying on a relationship with your wife. We’ve had a very equitable relationship with her. We’re not terribly close to her, but we enjoy her company; we enjoy the children and the house — we like to be over there.”
Charley said nothing.
“To some extent I know what you mean,” Nat said presently.
“Anyhow it doesn’t matter,” Charley said. “Because when I get out of here I’m going to kill her. I don’t care who knows it. I don’t care if Sheriff Chisholm knows it. She can swear out a warrant. Did she tell you I hit her one time?”
Nat nodded.
“She can swear out a warrant for felony wife-beating,” he said. “It’s all the same to me. She can get that twenty-dollars-an-hour psychoanalyst to swear in court that it’s all in my mind, that I’m eaten up with hostility, that I resent her because she has taste and refinement. I don’t care. I don’t give a good god damn about anything. I don’t even care about my kids. I don’t care if I ever see either of them again. I don’t expect to see that house again; I can tell you that. I’ll probably see them, the kids; she’ll bring them here.”
“Yes,” Nat said. “She’s been bringing them down regularly.”
“I’ll never get out of this hospital,” Charley said. “I know that.”
“Sure you will,” Nat said.
“Tell her I know it,” he said, “and I don’t care. Tell her it’s all the same; I don’t give a good god damn. She can have the house. She can remarry anybody she likes. She can do anything she wants with it.”
“You’ll feel better later,” Nat said, patting him on the arm.
“No,” he said. “I won’t feel better.”
(nine)
In the evening, Nathan Anteil sat at the kitchen table of their one-bedroom home, studying. He had shut the door to the living room to diminish the sound of the tv set; Gwen was watching Playhouse 90. The oven, propped open, let heat out to warm the kitchen. Beside him he had put a cup of coffee where he could get at it, but he had become too involved in his studying and the coffee had cooled.
Dimly, he noticed that Gwen had opened the door and come into the kitchen. “What is it?” he said finally, laying down his ball-point pen.
Gwen said, “It’s Fay Hume on the phone.”
He had not even been aware that the phone had rung. “What’s she want?” he said. When they had seen her last he had taken pains to tell her that he would be tied up all week studying; he had an exam, to be taken down at the San Rafael public library.
“She’s got her bank statement and she can’t get it reconciled with her stubs,” Gwen said.
“So she wants one of us to come over and help her.”
“Yes,” Gwen said.
“Tell her we can’t.”
“I’ll go,” Gwen said. “I told her you were studying.”
“She knows that.” Picking up his pen he resumed taking notes.
“Yes,” Gwen said, “she said you’d mentioned it. She thought maybe I could come over. She really can’t do that kind of thing — you know she hasn’t got any head for finances.”
“Can’t her brother do it?”
“That goof,” Gwen said.
“You go do it,” he said. But he knew that his wife could not because she was no better at reconciling a checkbook than Fay Hume was, possibly even a little worse. “Go on,” he said, with annoyance. “You know I can’t.”
Dithering, Gwen said, “She says she’ll drive over and pick you up. I really think you ought to go… it’ll only take you half an hour — you know that. And she’ll fix you a steak sandwich; she promised. Please. I think you should.”
“Why?”
Gwen said, “Well, she’s all alone there in the evenings, and she gets nervous; you know how nervous she gets with him in the hospital. Probably it’s just an excuse to get somebody over to talk to; she really needs company. She’s going down to that analyst three times a week, now; did you know that?”
“I know,” he said. He continued to write. But Gwen did not go out of the room. “Is she still on the phone?” he demanded. “Is she waiting?”
“Yes,” Gwen said.
“Okay,” he said. “If she’ll pick me up and drive me back.”
“Of course she will,” Gwen said. “She’ll be so pleased. And it’ll only take you fifteen minutes; you’re so good with math.” She left the room, and he heard her, in the living room, telling Fay Hume that he would be glad to help her.
He thought, If it’s just a pretext so she can have company, then why can’t Gwen go? Because, he realized, even though she does want company –and in a sense, then, it is a pretext– she also does want somebody to balance her checkbook. She wants both. Very efficient. Both things done at once.
Putting away his pen he went to get his coat from the closet.
“You do object, don’t you?” Gwen said, as he stood by the front door, waiting to see the headlights of Fay’s Buick flash at the corner.
“I’m busy,” he said.
“But often times even when you’re busy you don’t mind stopping and doing things.”
“No,” he repeated. “I’m just involved and I don’t like to be disturbed.” But she was right. There was more to it.
The Buick’s horn brought him from the house and onto the porch. As he started down the front steps, Fay leaned out and called,
“You’re very sweet — I know you’re studying. But this won’t take a minute.” She held the door open for him as he got into the seat beside her. Starting up the car, she continued, “Actually I guess I could have done it myself; there’s one check in particular — evidently I forgot to mark a stub. It’s a check for one hundred dollars that I cashed at the Purity in Petaluma.”
“I see,” he said. He did not particularly feel like talking; looking out the window he watched the dark trees and bushes go by. She did drive very well; the car sailed around the curves.