This All Happened(2)
I woke up in my own bed, alone. The cab dropped Lydia off and I went home alone and walked down the pathway to my little house on the cusp of downtown. I made new footprints in the snow, the first prints of the new year. Iris and Helmut were in the kitchen dancing to the radio. I didnt even brush my teeth. Stripped, that felt good, and being alone was good, too. I love a cold bedroom. And in the morning I turned on the space heater and boiled the kettle and ate buttered toast and tea. All New Year’s Day I sat in my room and stared at the frozen harbour. I thought about marrying Lydia Murphy. I have two New Year’s resolutions: to decide on Lydia and to finish a novel.
I love this room. I love the huge windows that meet at the corner of the house. I watched the snow patiently accumulate over surfaces. I called Lydia, but we took the day off from each other, exhausted.
I called Max. He’d gone to emerge with frostbite on his ears.
I wrote off the first of the new year. I heard Iris say to Helmut, I will meet you in Brazil. That phrase could have melted a snowman.
3 I call Lydia. She’d gone to Maisie and Oliver’s last night (I declined, so hung over). Wilf was there. Wilf played a game with them at supper. Of putting a word on the forehead of someone else. Lydia stuck CHARM on Wilf’s head. And he put TRUTH on hers.
Not jealous of her time with Wilf. Because of her tone of voice. The loving.
Maybe we should get married, I say.
Maybe.
Can I define Lydia’s hesitation? Perhaps it’s that I blurted out the marriage offer. Her tone was warm, trepidatious, scared of the prospect rather than of me. A good sign. Of course, I’ve been hinting at marriage for eighteen months. Am I that pathetic, that I wanted to marry her after our first date?
4 I walk down Long’s Hill to Lydia’s. Lydia’s house is of better material than mine, but she has no view and the house is attached. There is a wooden banister and hardwood floors and exposed beams and a funky bathroom sink and tub. My house is the windows, the eyes that study the downtown and the harbour, that witness the marine traffic and the weather accumulating over the Grand Banks.
Lydia says she has met this woman, Daphne Yarn, and thinks she’s perfect for Max. Daphne’s a nurse, she has land in Brigus where she grows herbs and goats. I say, What makes you think of her and Max? Lydia: Max is a man who can appreciate nature. And Daphne has a serene beauty.
I find the term serene beauty insulting. Words like grace, serenity, harmony, peace. They all connote some kind of composure. How some people adopt a tone. The cultured poise that unnerves me. A measured evenness.
Lydia: Sure, youre like that when you leave a message on the phone to anyone.
And she mimics me. She may be right.
I dont know, though, if I’d wish Max on any woman. He’s a hard case. I love him, but I’m not a woman.
How did she note this in Max―this need for a solid fixture at home? It’s true, and perhaps wildness desires a measure of calm. I know that I desire to spend some time outside of town. On my own. I tell Lydia I may ask Maisie and Oliver about their house in Heart’s Desire. To spend a week or two there. Lydia says, It might be good for your writing.
5 I sleep at Lydia’s and we cook poached eggs (I watch her add a drop of vinegar to the water) and we lie around the fire with Tinker Bumbo and then we walk over to Maisie and Oliver’s. Before we leave Lydia’s, she looks at the electric meter. It’s winging around too fast, so she steps back inside to flick something off.
We buy beer at Theatre Pharmacy. You can buy bandages, a lady’s purse, a car battery, and beer at this place. I get light beer to please Lydia. There’s a dogberry that still has fruit, snow capping the berries like patriotic Canadian desserts. Little Una in the porch hands us slippers and I say, That’s a very European thing to do, Una. Is she nine?