Man, woman, and child(20)

70



He was about to remind her that she had volunteered, but stopped himself. After all, he was the culprit.

''Then maybe we should send him home?" He looked at her hopelessly.

She examined the ends of her long hair. An activity to keep her mind off castigating him. To keep her deep resentment from erupting into words,

''Look, I said I would and I will," she replied, still looking down, "but..."

"But what?"

"Fm going to need a little relief. It's impossible to just pretend that this is some everyday occurrence. It's not, and Fm going to have to get away now and then."

"Of course." What could she mean? Her words unsettled him.

"Tomorrow. I want to go to Boston for the day."

"Oh, good. A good idea," said Bob, relieved that she had not demanded even more time.

She put her hairbrush down on the night table, turned out the light and climbed under the covers, her back to him. She was still wearing her bathrobe.

He reached over and put his hand on her right shoulder. Just a friendly touch, he told himself. In fact, it was an interrogatory gesture.

"I took a pill. Bob," she said very softly, without turning.

I only want to ... he was going to say. But that was not the truth and she would know it. It would make things even worse.

In a minute she was sleeping. She had deserted him. He turned to his own night table and rummaged for a magazine. He found a year-old issue of Boston, and immersed himself in it.

But reading only made him more awake. Perhaps it was the survey of good coffeehouses in the city.



Vicarious caffeine. In any case, he felt too restless to remain in bed. He got out quietly, glancing over at his wife who was in deep if troubled sleep, put on his slippers and left the room.

It was cold in the house, and at the top of the stairway he took his jogging jacket from the hook, zipped it up and started down the stairs.

In the living room he saw the boy.

He was seated in pajamas on the sofa, staring out the window at the ocean.

"Jean-Claude?" Bob said softly.

The boy turned quickly, somewhat startled. *'Oui -yes?"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. I couldn't sleep."

"That makes two of us," Bob answered. "Aren't you cold?"

"A little."

Bob removed his jacket, wrapping it around the boy's shoulders.

"Thank you," said Jean-Claude.

"Would you like a glass of milk?"

"Yes, please."

^^Comeon."

He sat at the kitchen table as Bob poured some milk into a pan and started heating it. While it warmed, he opened up a beer. Then he gave Jean-Claude the milk, and sat down v^th him. It was very quiet in the house. They could hear the ocean.

"Did you enjoy today, Jean-Claude?"

The little boy looked lost and sad. "I am sorry that I don't know baseball."

"It's not important," Bob replied, and added, "As you could see, I don't know too much baseball, either."

Silence. Jean-Claude sipped his milk.



**What were you looking at when I came down? The sea?"

Jean-Claude hesitated, and then answered, "Yes, I was wondering how far it was .. /'

"... to France?"

"Yes.""

"Too far to swim." Bob smiled, and then, "Are you homesick?"

"Well, a little. When I look out at the water I imagine that I see my village."

Bob felt sorry for him.

"Come on. Let's go back and look out at France."

The boy padded after Bob back to the living room. He sat on the sofa once again. Bob in the easy chair right near him.

"It's a lovely village, Sete."

^*Do you know it?" asked Jean-Claude.

Bob sensed this would be the first of many innocently probing questions. But he felt a need to talk, if only indirectly.

"I was there once," he replied, "many years ago."

The next question, though inevitable, still made Bob's heart beat faster.

"Did you know my mother there, or just in Boston?"

Bob hesitated. Something in the verb "to know" stirred deep emotions in him. Well, what should the story be—platonic friendship in the States or casual acquaintance on a trip to France?

"Uh—just in Boston. When she was a resident at Mass General. We met at someone's house."

The little boy's eyes brightened.

"Did you like her?"

How should he answer?

"She was very nice," Bob offered.

"She was a very good doctor," the little boy



added. "We could have lived in Paris, but she preferred the south."

"I know," said Bob. And wondered suddenly if these two syllables had not been too revealing. But the boy said nothing for a moment. Then finally:

"We would go camping sometimes, just Maman and I. We went to Switzerland at Easter and she promised next year I could have skiing lessons...." His voice trailed off.