The Last Time They Met Part 16

-Is there a doctor we could call?

-No, I shouldn't think so, the woman said. the woman said. You'll want to get her home, though. Not tonight, but first thing in the morning. We have a provisions lorry that goes into the village at six forty-five You'll want to get her home, though. Not tonight, but first thing in the morning. We have a provisions lorry that goes into the village at six forty-five A A.M. Get you there in time for the seven-thirty to Nairobi.

But she's not going to Nairobi, Thomas thought.

-In any event, the woman continued, still holding the spoon in her hand, the woman continued, still holding the spoon in her hand, you're in luck. you're in luck. (No, I'm not, Thomas thought.) (No, I'm not, Thomas thought.) A man and a woman who came separately have decided to share a room. A man and a woman who came separately have decided to share a room.

-Optimistic, Thomas said. Thomas said.

-Yes. Quite. But it leaves a room free.

-Thank you. Is it ready now?

-Take the key, the woman said over her shoulder as she walked to the rest room. the woman said over her shoulder as she walked to the rest room. It's in the box there. Number twenty-seven. I'll bring her in. It's in the box there. Number twenty-seven. I'll bring her in.

Implicit in the instructions: She wouldn't want you to see her now.

The room was surprisingly simple and appealing. Done almost entirely in white. White walls, white bedding, white curtains, a khaki-colored sisal rug. A dressing table with an ivory skirt. The lack of color drew the eye through the windows to the ocean, to the turquoise and navy of the water. A good room to be sick in, he reflected. Easy on the eye. Though it was impossible not to think of how it might have been: a night in that room with Linda feeling well. Feeling happy.

He walked to the window and examined the view. Could they ever be happy? he wondered. All their meetings - - a.s.suming that there would be any meetings at all a.s.suming that there would be any meetings at all - - would have to be furtive, a framework in which neither of them could be truly happy. And if they allowed the catastrophic to happen, could either of them live with the consequences? What chance for happiness then? would have to be furtive, a framework in which neither of them could be truly happy. And if they allowed the catastrophic to happen, could either of them live with the consequences? What chance for happiness then?

At a table not far from his window, the elderly man in the seersucker suit gazed with rheumy eyes at the woman across from him. No one would doubt that he loved her. Thomas might have drawn the drapes, but he was reluctant to shut out the tableau of the older couple, who might be secret lovers themselves. They seemed rea.s.suring, a good omen.

It would be easy to say how unfair it had all been. Yet it was he who hadn't driven to Middlebury; she who hadn't written to him that summer. Why hadn't he broken down doors to get to her?

-I'm so sorry, Linda said behind him. Linda said behind him.

-Don't, Thomas said, going to her. Thomas said, going to her.

She averted her face, unwilling to be kissed, even on the cheek. She sat on the bed. The British woman, who had helped her in, set open bottles of mineral water and Coca-Cola on the dressing table.

-Give her sips of the Coca-Cola, the woman said. the woman said. It will help to settle her stomach. Though I'd be very surprised if she didn't sleep now. It will help to settle her stomach. Though I'd be very surprised if she didn't sleep now.

When she left, Thomas removed Linda's sandals. Her feet were hard and dirty, lined at the heels. Her legs, the color of toast, contrasted sharply with the milk-white of her face; the legs and the face seemed to belong to two different people. Already, he could see, her lips had gone dry and were cracked and split at the center.

-You need water, he said. He brought her a gla.s.s of water and held her head, but she was almost too tired to swallow. Some trickled onto her neck, and he wiped it away with the sheet. He didn't try to remove her dress, but laid her under the sheet. She drifted in and out of consciousness, seemed lucid when she came to, saying his name and he said. He brought her a gla.s.s of water and held her head, but she was almost too tired to swallow. Some trickled onto her neck, and he wiped it away with the sheet. He didn't try to remove her dress, but laid her under the sheet. She drifted in and out of consciousness, seemed lucid when she came to, saying his name and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, which he let her do. He propped pillows against the headboard and sat with his hand on her head which he let her do. He propped pillows against the headboard and sat with his hand on her head - - sometimes stroking her hair, sometimes just touching her. Whatever storm had blown through her earlier appeared to have pa.s.sed, though Thomas knew it would come again, and it might be days before she could eat. He hoped it wasn't sh.e.l.lfish poisoning. (And she must have had a cholera shot, he thought.) Despite the crisis, he felt content just to sit there with her, nearly as content as he'd felt at the museum house. And thinking of the house, he remembered Mr. Salim, who might worry when Thomas did not return for the night. He thought of calling, but then realized he knew neither the phone number nor the name of the owner of the house. Checking his watch, he saw that it was too late for any museum to be open. sometimes stroking her hair, sometimes just touching her. Whatever storm had blown through her earlier appeared to have pa.s.sed, though Thomas knew it would come again, and it might be days before she could eat. He hoped it wasn't sh.e.l.lfish poisoning. (And she must have had a cholera shot, he thought.) Despite the crisis, he felt content just to sit there with her, nearly as content as he'd felt at the museum house. And thinking of the house, he remembered Mr. Salim, who might worry when Thomas did not return for the night. He thought of calling, but then realized he knew neither the phone number nor the name of the owner of the house. Checking his watch, he saw that it was too late for any museum to be open.

The sickness woke her. She bolted up, as if startled, and then catapulted herself into the bathroom. Thomas didn't follow, knowing she wouldn't want him to, that she might mind the loss of her privacy the most. He hoped one day they would talk about this: (Remember that day on Lamu? When I got sick? It's one of the five or six most important days of my life. The others being? Today, for one). Possibly they would even laugh about it. Though that implied a future. Each moment in time presupposing a future, just as it contained the past.

The proprietress brought him a meal (practiced innkeeper: she brought food that had no smell) which he left under a tea towel until Linda had fallen asleep again. He had a headache of his own, nothing more than a hangover. She woke sometime after midnight, while he himself was dozing. When he came alert, he could hear the water in the bathtub running. He would not go in, though he dearly wanted to see her. He'd never seen her in the bath, he reflected, and then he thought of all the other things they'd never done together as well - - cooked a meal, gone to the theater, read the Sunday paper. Why this overwhelming desire to share the dull agenda of daily life? cooked a meal, gone to the theater, read the Sunday paper. Why this overwhelming desire to share the dull agenda of daily life?

She came out in a robe the hotel had given her and lay down beside him. Her face was gaunt and etched. He was embarra.s.sed for his body, which was not clean. I need a bath, I need a bath, he said. he said.

-Not now, she said. she said. Just hold me. Just hold me.

He slid down, curling himself behind her.

-It was stupid, she said. she said. The lobster. The lobster.

-You think it was that?

-I know it was that.

The room lit only by the light from the bathroom.

-You'll take a plane in the morning, he said. he said.

-Peter's meeting the bus.

-You can't take the bus. It's out of the question.

She didn't argue.

-I'll have the hotel call him.

He could feel a slight tension leave her body. She was drifting off.

-Do you know where Peter is staying? he asked quickly. he asked quickly.

-The Ocean House, she said, closing her eyes. she said, closing her eyes.

He lay with her until daybreak, occasionally dozing off himself. Extricating himself as gently as he could, he picked up the key and left the room and walked out to the lobby, which was empty and still. He searched for a phone book, but couldn't find one. Not surprising. He picked up the phone - - a black, old-fas.h.i.+oned phone a black, old-fas.h.i.+oned phone - - and asked for Malindi information. When he had the number, he rang it and asked a sleepy desk clerk if he would put him through to Peter Shackland's room. He waited, tapping a pen nervously on the wooden desk. and asked for Malindi information. When he had the number, he rang it and asked a sleepy desk clerk if he would put him through to Peter Shackland's room. He waited, tapping a pen nervously on the wooden desk.

-h.e.l.lo? A British accent apparent, even in the h.e.l.lo. She hadn't told him that. A British accent apparent, even in the h.e.l.lo. She hadn't told him that.

-Is this Peter Shackland?

-Yes. It is. British and boyishly handsome. An unbeatable combination. British and boyishly handsome. An unbeatable combination.

-I'm calling from the Peponi Hotel on Lamu.

-Really? Peponi's?

-Linda's had a bout of food poisoning, Thomas said. Thomas said. From lobster she ate, she thinks. She's asked us to call to say she'll be flying back to Malindi early in the morning. The plane leaves at seven forty-five. I'm sorry I don't know when it gets in. From lobster she ate, she thinks. She's asked us to call to say she'll be flying back to Malindi early in the morning. The plane leaves at seven forty-five. I'm sorry I don't know when it gets in.

-Not much after eight-thirty, I shouldn't think. There was a pause. There was a pause. Oh Lord. Poor thing. Of course I'll be there. Has she had the doctor? Oh Lord. Poor thing. Of course I'll be there. Has she had the doctor?

-You might have better luck in Malindi.

-Yes, I see. Well. Is she asleep?

-I believe so.

-Right, then. Well, thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?

Thomas was ambushed by the question. John Wilson, John Wilson, he said quickly, borrowing the name of the airport. he said quickly, borrowing the name of the airport.

-American.

-Yes.

-You work for Marguerite?

Thomas hadn't even asked the woman her name. Yes. Yes.

-Lovely woman. You don't by any chance know how Linda got there, do you? She was meant to be staying at Petley's. The hotel must have been full?

-I think so.

-No matter. I'll ask her tomorrow. Thanks for looking after her, the man named Peter said. the man named Peter said.

-Not at all, Thomas said. Thomas said.

Thomas put the telephone back in its cradle. He walked through the lobby onto the verandah. The air was mild, the sea nearly flat. Peter, who was British, knew Marguerite. Peter, who knew Peponi's, had quite possibly taken Linda there on a vacation.

He took his shoes off. At the horizon, the sky was pink. He began to walk in the sand, cool and damp on the soles of his feet. He would not ask Linda why she hadn't told him Peter was British; nor would he ask if she and he had made love in one of the rooms in the hotel behind him. A fis.h.i.+ng dhow skirted the sh.o.r.e, and a man aboard it leaned gracefully over the side, letting go of a net.

He would not walk out very far or for very long. In an hour and a half - - less now less now - - he would put the woman he had lost and then found again on a plane. he would put the woman he had lost and then found again on a plane.

February 15Dear Thomas,I want to say thank you thank you and and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, knowing perfectly well you don't want either my grat.i.tude or an apology. knowing perfectly well you don't want either my grat.i.tude or an apology.I feel as though I have left all of me in Lamu, that nothing remains. I am hollowed out, empty without you.The several days after I flew to Malindi are barely worth mentioning. I stayed in a hotel until I had recovered enough to make the trip to Nairobi and then to Njia. In Malindi, Peter had a doctor come - - a drunken quack who kept wanting to talk about the good old days a drunken quack who kept wanting to talk about the good old days - - and apart from a packet of pills we never quite caught the name of, but which worked extremely well, he seemed to be pretty useless, unable even to identify what was wrong with me. Though I'm sure it was the lobster. (I think I can promise you I will never eat another lobster again as long as I live.) and apart from a packet of pills we never quite caught the name of, but which worked extremely well, he seemed to be pretty useless, unable even to identify what was wrong with me. Though I'm sure it was the lobster. (I think I can promise you I will never eat another lobster again as long as I live.)Oh, Thomas, I am dying for you. You asked me questions that made perfect sense in the context of the world only you and I inhabit, and I answered you curtly, because I didn't want to think how all this will end. Our situation seems all the more unfair to me, since we have had so little time together. Or do I delude myself in thinking we are ent.i.tled to even a minute outside of our marriages? I wish sometimes I didn't hate G.o.d so much; if I were obedient, life would be so much simpler.I hardly remember the night we spent together, but I remember very well our brief time in that lovely house you managed to get hold of. (I realize now I never asked you how.) What an extraordinary room! Open to the sky, as if we had nothing to hide. Jasmine petals on the pillow, which I cannot help but think of as a token someone might have left on a wedding night. How I would like to go back there, to spend days without end in that house, which surely must be the most unique residence in all of Lamu. Or are they all so beautiful and sensuous?I wake in the mornings. I go to my job. I think of you. I come home in the evenings, and I drink too much. I try to drown sensation. I try to numb agitation. Peter comes and goes and waits for me to recover, though I haven't the heart to tell him I will not recover. We haven't slept together since Lamu, which he attributes to my illness. There, I have given you this. You needn't tell me about you and Regina. I don't want to know. If you haven't slept together, I will feel guilty and sorry for her. If you have, I'm not sure I could bear the images.We are really not so different, you and I.But our problems seem petty in the face of what we see daily, don't they? Just yesterday, I met a woman named Dymphina, who is twenty-four and has three children that until a week ago she hadn't seen in over a year. She lives in a one-room shack attached to a long wooden building in Nairobi. She leaves her children with her mother in Njia so that she can find money with which to pay her children's school fees, or as she puts it, to seek her fortune. That fortune amounts to $40 a month she makes as a servant in a European household. She labors from six in the morning until seven at night, six days a week, to make that $1.50 a day. Of the $40, she sends $20 back to her children, and pays $10 for the single room that has neither electricity nor running water. She often worries at night because drunken men from nearby bars try to force her locked but flimsy door. I met the woman when her mother brought her to my schoolroom; the mother wanted me to help her daughter because she was ill. "My t.i.tties hurt," Dymphina said.To mind that I cannot see you should be nothing in the face of this. Why, then, am I able to think of little else?I am sending with this letter a box I bought in Malindi. It is not alabaster, though I am pretending it is.Love, L.February 20Dear Linda,I have waited and waited for some news of you, sick with worry that you were still ill, that you were not recovering. Convinced that I would never hear from you again. That you would take the debacle on Lamu for what it seemed, but was not: punishment for loving each other.I must see you again. Will you let me come to Njia? Is there a time that you know Peter will not be there?I am hardly a sane man. I smoke too much and drink too much as well. It seems the only antidote. Regina notices my distraction, but takes it for ordinary dissatisfaction with life, which she has seen before and a.s.sumes is more or less the norm. I can hardly speak to her or to anyone else. I'm too impatient; all I want to think about is you.I work. I write about you. Oddly, not about you here in Africa, but in Hull. I do not understand Africa. I see this thing or that thing (a lobelia in bloom; a tourist berating an Asian shopkeeper; a hyena lurking at the edge of the forest), and it is as though I watch an exotic, imagistic movie. It does not include me. I am not a princ.i.p.al player. I am in the audience. I suppose that allows me to critique the movie, but I don't feel capable of even that.Thank you for the Kisii stone box. I will treasure it always. I a.s.sume this is a reference to the box in which Magdalene was thought to have carried precious ointments? (I see you've done your own research.) I know you too well to think you glorify men, or one man, with this gesture, so I will accept it as a token of love, which I know it is. G.o.d is in all of us anyway. Isn't that what you said?The plans for Ndegwa are "hotting up," as they say here. Will you be in Nairobi on the 5th? I will arrange an invitation all the same. There will be a cast of characters in attendance I would like you to meet, princ.i.p.ally Mary Ndegwa, who has just published her first book of poems - trenchant and harsh and deeply rhythmic, which I like. It would not be fair to say she has benefited from all the publicity, but there it is. She seems a calm s.h.i.+p in a tempest, weathering the controversy magnificently. There is always the danger, when one makes a fuss over something the government has done, of poking at a nest of vipers with a stick. At this point, she risks her own freedom. I risk possible expulsion from the country (which before I met you, I wouldn't have minded so much; now it would be a torture, and I would have to insist that you go home, too; but of course you couldn't, could you? - not until your tour of duty is up; how strict are they about that?). Regina hates my involvement. She calls it insincere, which, though I have great admiration for Ndegwa and loathe what has happened to him, of course is true. I have no idea what I'm doing in this arena. I feel I've taken on this cause as one would the latest fas.h.i.+on, the fact that progress can only be made with gala parties enhancing this queasy realization. More to the point, Regina is afraid my involvement will get her kicked out of the country as well, or that someone in authority will take away her grant. (In a country without many precedents and subject to a certain lawlessness, one has to believe anything is possible.) Ndegwa, who languishes in an underground prison for having written Marxist poems in the Kikuyu vernacular (political prisoners are not treated well; and even being treated "well" in a Kenyan prison would be an experience from which you and I would not emerge intact), risks his life. I hope we know what we are doing.My Marine at the emba.s.sy, of course, risks nothing.Kennedy is due to arrive on the 5th. My Marine is all atwitter. There will be a special reception that afternoon, and that night the gala, after which Kennedy will go on safari (the point of his journey, I suspect). The next morning, he'll have an audience with Mary Ndegwa (or is it the other way around?). I will be standing in the wings, trying to remain alert and useful, but all the while thinking only of you.Amnesty International has written me. They have, as I suspected, already lodged a formal protest.I would like someday to write of Ndegwa's courage. Did I tell you that we were born on the same day in the same year, eight thousand miles apart from each other? Astonis.h.i.+ng to think that while I was delivered to the sterile hands of my mother's physician, Ndegwa was born on a sisal mat in a mud hut, delivered to the hands of his father's first wife. I remember that when I met Ndegwa, I used to think of us as two parallel lines that had arrived by design in Nairobi. He grew up during Mau Mau and didn't start school until he was ten because of the chaos of that era. When he was a child, he witnessed the execution of his father over a self-dug grave. By the time we'd met, he'd caught up to me in terms of schooling: indeed, he'd far surpa.s.sed me. At the university, I learned a great deal from him of a purely cla.s.sical nature, which I hadn't expected to do. I'd like to create a portrait of him, highlighting the contrasts between his past as a sheepherder and his current status at the university; his legal battles to avoid paying a dowry of sheep and goats to his father-in-law for his wife; his practice, though secretive, of polygamous marriages; his revelation to me that wife-swapping is a time-honored Kikuyu custom; and his pervasive malaise regarding the risks and losses entailed in traveling too fast through history.Yet I know I am not the one to write this portrait. Always, there was a barrier between us, a kind of inability to cross the border between our cultures, a demarcation that seemed studded with the barbed wire of misread symbols, separated by a wide gulf of differing experiences. Again and again we would lose our way. We would seem to make it to the very point of entry, when suddenly the ground would lurch beneath us, leaving us on separate sides of a fault, slipping past each other.Write immediately. Tell me you will come, or that I may go to you.I love you.

T.P.S. Today's headline: FOOD AND FUEL RUNNING OUT FOOD AND FUEL RUNNING OUT.February 24Dear Thomas,I received your letter and the invitation to the emba.s.sy party in the same mail. And have thought of little else since. I know that I should not go anywhere near Nairobi on that weekend, that I should flee to Turkana or Tsavo instead, that I should try to be as far away as possible. But, as luck or fate would have it, Peter wants me in town then because an old friend from school is coming to the country, and he would like me to meet him. If I decided to go to the party, I would have to bring Peter with me; I couldn't really go without him. Perhaps even his friend as well, depending on the circ.u.mstances. I a.s.sume that would not be a problem? I really would like to meet Mary Ndegwa and lend my support to the cause, though it will be you I come to see.I can't promise anything.I write to you from Lake Baringo. Peter has long wanted to visit this G.o.dforsaken place, and I agreed to go with him for the weekend. We have been at each other's throats lately - entirely my fault, and due to my distraction - and I hoped that this might ease tensions. (It does not: nothing seems to help, except the one thing I cannot do, which is to sleep with him. I would, I think, do it purely out of kindness at this point, though I'm afraid it would make me too sad. Why must love reduce one to sordid confessions?)There is more to be frightened of at Lake Baringo than anywhere I have ever been. The land is unloving and unwelcoming. The dirt is hard and gray-brown with only thorn trees for vegetation. What little green exists is dust-colored as are the very black bodies of the tiny children, which makes them look ancient. The lake, with its island in the center, is brown and ripe with crocodiles. Last night, Peter swam while the sun sank, and this morning, I heard the sound of something large splas.h.i.+ng in the water. A hippo, I suspect. Yet everywhere, even on this landscape where nothing young should flourish, there is life - noisy, cacophonous, teeming and quick. Just now, I am watching a lizard slither across the screen, eating mosquitoes. Cormorants, like old jesters, tread c.u.mbersomely along the branches of the thorn trees outside our "cottage," which more closely resembles a wooden tent with a screened-in porch than a true building, the mesh of the screens just large enough to let in all manner of flying insects. My table is piled with beer bottles and mosquito coils, my writing paper and my pens. Across the road, four women in faded red cloth are brus.h.i.+ng knots from their hair. It is almost unbearably hot. Only the faintest swish of air moves dryly over the hairs on my skin. There seems enough air to breathe, but barely more than that. The heat enervates, the light stuns, the mosquitoes carry malaria. There is little relief.A few minutes ago, a meat truck rumbled down the road and sent from its wheels an enormous cloud of dust. In this cloud, there seemed to be a small creature hopping, like a large bird in preflight. When the dust cleared, however, I saw that it was just a boy chasing the truck with his basket. The truck stopped, and the boy held out his basket and waited for it to be filled with sc.r.a.ps not good enough for the market, the quality of which doesn't bear thinking about. I could have gone out onto the road to watch this scene more closely, but couldn't summon the energy to do so. I'd rather catch a scene midflight, imagining other realities. Is this what it means to be a writer? And on what level of life is this a valid enterprise? What can such an exercise offer to anyone, except easy distortions? To give a reader something of substance, I would have to chronicle the scene with precise detail as a historian would do, or reconstruct it so that it presented some truth about the nature of women and small boys and meat vendors. Which I cannot do.I thought it was you who loved me more. But it is not true. It's me who loves you more.I cry all the time now. I'm just as glad you're far away and can't see this. Peter is baffled, as well he might be. I have let him think it's an overlong bout of hormones. He doesn't deserve any of this.I will leave a message for you on the message board. You will be called Roger, myself Gabrielle. I have always wanted a more exotic name.L.

He was dozing fully clothed in the bed when the ibises woke him. Dozing because he had willed himself to sleep, unable to tolerate all the hours of the afternoon, which seemed to stretch interminably, leading up to the time when he and Regina could get into the Escort and drive to the Intercontinental Hotel for the party. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to write, his thoughts preoccupied, his nerves frayed. This after returning to Karen from town, where he had searched for and found a note to Roger from Gabrielle on the message board at the Thorn Tree. My darling, My darling, she had written, and he had felt the thrill of the endearment even as he had known it was a pose she would be trying on, in keeping with the Gabrielle, having a bit of fun, if fun could be had in such a desperate situation. Thin fun. Meager fun. Were there people, he wondered, who had genuine, more-or-less continuous fun when they fell in love? It didn't seem possible, the enterprise too fraught to sustain the lightheartedness fun required. she had written, and he had felt the thrill of the endearment even as he had known it was a pose she would be trying on, in keeping with the Gabrielle, having a bit of fun, if fun could be had in such a desperate situation. Thin fun. Meager fun. Were there people, he wondered, who had genuine, more-or-less continuous fun when they fell in love? It didn't seem possible, the enterprise too fraught to sustain the lightheartedness fun required. My darling, My darling, she had written, she had written, I am counting the hours until I see you tonight. Folly even to contemplate. But I shall be there. Your Gabrielle. I am counting the hours until I see you tonight. Folly even to contemplate. But I shall be there. Your Gabrielle.

And he had written back: My darling Gabrielle, No man ever loved a woman more. Roger. My darling Gabrielle, No man ever loved a woman more. Roger.

The dogs from next door, Gypsy and Torca, were asleep in the kitchen as they often were. Regina cooked bones for them and let them in and had made beds for them in the corner, maternal instinct gone awry; though Thomas liked the dogs and had to admit that their owners seemed largely indifferent to their pets, who enjoyed the pampering, just as people do. Through the window, Thomas could see Michael sitting on a rock, unemployed, eating cooked meat he had just unwrapped from a paper packet. The gra.s.s was brown, the trees had dropped their leaves, there was nothing for a gardener to do. The entire country was waiting for rain.

Thomas turned on the tap in the kitchen (thinking of a cup of tea) and a dozen ants slid out, drowning themselves in the waterfall. In the dry season, there were always too many ants. They irritated the dogs when they tried to sleep under the trees, and sometimes when he entered the bathroom, he would see a trail of ants that Regina had squished with her thumb. Where was Regina, anyway? It was unlike her to be so late. She who had been known to spend an hour and a half getting ready for a dinner party.

But Regina was generally baffling these days. Not normally a baffling or complicated person, she seemed lighter, as if she'd lost weight or had learned how to levitate. Her voice a near lilt, even as she had said, during an argument regarding the wisdom of so publicly supporting Ndegwa's cause, Do what you want. You always have. Do what you want. You always have. Causing Thomas to wonder, genuinely, had he? The question suddenly interesting, as if he'd discovered that someone had taken a film of his life and had invited him to watch it. For it seemed to Thomas that he'd been mostly thwarted from doing as he pleased, even though he couldn't have said with any accuracy exactly what it was that would have pleased him. Causing Thomas to wonder, genuinely, had he? The question suddenly interesting, as if he'd discovered that someone had taken a film of his life and had invited him to watch it. For it seemed to Thomas that he'd been mostly thwarted from doing as he pleased, even though he couldn't have said with any accuracy exactly what it was that would have pleased him.

He laid his clothes out on the bed. He would dress with care tonight. He'd bought a suit for the occasion - - a gray suit with a new white s.h.i.+rt a gray suit with a new white s.h.i.+rt - - having realized that his laundered and line-dried blazer wouldn't do for a gala c.o.c.ktail party. He had no idea what he would say to Kennedy, that defrocked priest. A man all the more engaging, Thomas thought, for his trials and tribulations, far more interesting than he'd have been without them, even with that prodigious legacy. Kennedy wouldn't remember him; Thomas had been only eighteen or nineteen when he'd met the man. It was after Jack had died having realized that his laundered and line-dried blazer wouldn't do for a gala c.o.c.ktail party. He had no idea what he would say to Kennedy, that defrocked priest. A man all the more engaging, Thomas thought, for his trials and tribulations, far more interesting than he'd have been without them, even with that prodigious legacy. Kennedy wouldn't remember him; Thomas had been only eighteen or nineteen when he'd met the man. It was after Jack had died - - Robert, too, for that matter Robert, too, for that matter - - power distilled and concentrated in the one remaining brother. Thomas's father power distilled and concentrated in the one remaining brother. Thomas's father - - closet Catholic within the household tyranny of his mother's aggressive Calvinism closet Catholic within the household tyranny of his mother's aggressive Calvinism - - did penance by way of politics, raising large sums of money from unlikely Democrats, wealthy bankers and entrepreneurs from the South Sh.o.r.e of Boston. Sums large enough to warrant grat.i.tude and a royal visit. Thomas, summoned by his father, had come home from school did penance by way of politics, raising large sums of money from unlikely Democrats, wealthy bankers and entrepreneurs from the South Sh.o.r.e of Boston. Sums large enough to warrant grat.i.tude and a royal visit. Thomas, summoned by his father, had come home from school - - Cambridge no great distance from Hull Cambridge no great distance from Hull - - and had watched the senator at dinner and been rendered nearly mute by the obvious lack of any political fiber of his own. and had watched the senator at dinner and been rendered nearly mute by the obvious lack of any political fiber of his own.

On his writing desk, anchoring a corner of the bedroom, the Kisii stone box sat brazenly, as if naked. He'd picked it up on safari, he'd told Regina. When Rich bought that figure of a woman, remember? Yes, Regina thought she might remember. The box had arrived with a tiny chip in it, which made it all the more dear to Thomas - - why, he couldn't have said; the imperfection, he supposed, causing it to seem like something Linda had used. He'd thought, briefly, of hiding the box and putting her letters in it, a foolish idea he'd abandoned in the next instant, knowing a hidden box would almost certainly invite inspection. He'd put the letters in the one place Regina would never look for them why, he couldn't have said; the imperfection, he supposed, causing it to seem like something Linda had used. He'd thought, briefly, of hiding the box and putting her letters in it, a foolish idea he'd abandoned in the next instant, knowing a hidden box would almost certainly invite inspection. He'd put the letters in the one place Regina would never look for them - - amongst the hundreds of pages of the drafts to his poems, his poetry being just about the last thing Regina would want to poke through. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Thomas's gifts; she did, in her way. It was just that poetry bored her, the repet.i.tious drafts of the poems tedious beyond endurance. amongst the hundreds of pages of the drafts to his poems, his poetry being just about the last thing Regina would want to poke through. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Thomas's gifts; she did, in her way. It was just that poetry bored her, the repet.i.tious drafts of the poems tedious beyond endurance.

They were waiting for the rains. The country so dry now it seemed to crackle. They said that cattle were dying and that soon the reservoirs would be empty. Already, there were headlines: WATER CRISIS SHUTS HOTELS WATER CRISIS SHUTS HOTELS . He'd begun, like everyone else, to dream of rain, to lift his face to it in his sleep. Unifying the country in a way nothing else quite could do (or couldn't do at all); the mzungus and the Asians and the warring tribes all searching for a stray cloud, ready to celebrate with c.o.c.ktails or dancing in the bush the minute the skies opened up. It was atavistic the way the longing got under the skin and into the bones, so that nothing seemed quite so luxurious as water falling from the heavens. The dust was everywhere . He'd begun, like everyone else, to dream of rain, to lift his face to it in his sleep. Unifying the country in a way nothing else quite could do (or couldn't do at all); the mzungus and the Asians and the warring tribes all searching for a stray cloud, ready to celebrate with c.o.c.ktails or dancing in the bush the minute the skies opened up. It was atavistic the way the longing got under the skin and into the bones, so that nothing seemed quite so luxurious as water falling from the heavens. The dust was everywhere - - on his shoes, on the dogs (red with murram sometimes), in his nostrils, in his hair. Water was rationed to one bathtub a day. Thomas had taken to sponge baths to give Regina a half-tub of it at least. Though sometimes he'd ask her not to drain the tub so that he could get a good wash (was.h.i.+ng in the leavings of someone else's water just about the height of intimacy, he thought). He'd planned in fact to do that today, in preparation for the party, but Regina was so late on his shoes, on the dogs (red with murram sometimes), in his nostrils, in his hair. Water was rationed to one bathtub a day. Thomas had taken to sponge baths to give Regina a half-tub of it at least. Though sometimes he'd ask her not to drain the tub so that he could get a good wash (was.h.i.+ng in the leavings of someone else's water just about the height of intimacy, he thought). He'd planned in fact to do that today, in preparation for the party, but Regina was so late - - it was already half past five it was already half past five - - he wondered if he oughtn't to just draw a bath for himself, give Regina the leavings, which seemed, on second thought, in that dry season, unchivalrous in the extreme. he wondered if he oughtn't to just draw a bath for himself, give Regina the leavings, which seemed, on second thought, in that dry season, unchivalrous in the extreme.

Would they be giving baths at the Norfolk? He thought of Linda in a hotel room with boyishly handsome Peter, getting ready for the party. He couldn't see her as calm, though he wanted to; instead, he saw her on the verge of tears. Her letters had an odd, desperate quality that worried him; she seemed to be unraveling faster than he was, if such a thing were possible. Their situation was intolerable - - more than intolerable, it seemed dishonorable, as though by staying with Regina, and she with Peter, they lacked honor or courage. But that soon would have to change. Though he dreaded the chaos, confessions were inevitable: one day he would tell Regina (he couldn't even imagine the horror of that), and Linda would tell Peter, who seemed like someone who might take the news with dignity, might even shrug it off in his boyishly handsome way (self-serving fantasy). What was Thomas waiting for? For a moment when Regina seemed st.u.r.dy enough to survive without disintegrating, without spiraling off into shrieking hysteria? A moment that might not ever come, even with her new levitating lilt. Though people, he knew, did not actually disintegrate, did not actually come apart into bits. They survived. They told themselves they were better off, didn't they? more than intolerable, it seemed dishonorable, as though by staying with Regina, and she with Peter, they lacked honor or courage. But that soon would have to change. Though he dreaded the chaos, confessions were inevitable: one day he would tell Regina (he couldn't even imagine the horror of that), and Linda would tell Peter, who seemed like someone who might take the news with dignity, might even shrug it off in his boyishly handsome way (self-serving fantasy). What was Thomas waiting for? For a moment when Regina seemed st.u.r.dy enough to survive without disintegrating, without spiraling off into shrieking hysteria? A moment that might not ever come, even with her new levitating lilt. Though people, he knew, did not actually disintegrate, did not actually come apart into bits. They survived. They told themselves they were better off, didn't they?

He was b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt when he heard Regina's car on the brick-like dirt beside the cottage. So unlike Regina to be so late, she who would have wanted an hour anyway to put herself together. He braced himself for panic, or at least for a whine about being stuck in a terrible traffic jam. The roads had simply crumbled, she would say; there'd been a dust storm on the AI.

But that was not her news.

-I'm pregnant, his wife said from the doorway. Flushed and radiant, as if, even in the car, she'd been running toward him with her blessed announcement. She looked beautiful, the burst secret giving her a color and a gaiety he hadn't seen in, literally, years. his wife said from the doorway. Flushed and radiant, as if, even in the car, she'd been running toward him with her blessed announcement. She looked beautiful, the burst secret giving her a color and a gaiety he hadn't seen in, literally, years. We won't have absolute results until Friday, but Dr. Wagmari thinks I'm three months along. We won't have absolute results until Friday, but Dr. Wagmari thinks I'm three months along.

Thomas stood, unmoving.

The tide, responding to a crack in the universe, drained from the pool that he had, until that moment, thought of as his life, his essence, his soul, though he hadn't been absolutely certain of the existence of the latter until this moment. The loss, the physical sensation of loss, was devastating and utterly complete. And oddly comforting, like a truly sad thought. He couldn't move or speak, even knowing that not speaking was unforgivable, would never be forgiven. And in the silence, he felt the cry beginning, a silent wail tearing through him, obliterating in an instant the odd comforting sensation, replacing it with a soundless scream. His life was over. It was that simple. Even as a new life was beginning.

-What's wrong with you? Regina asked, perhaps hearing a faint and distant echo of the silent scream. Regina asked, perhaps hearing a faint and distant echo of the silent scream. You're just standing there. You're just standing there.

-I'm ... Words deserted him. His system, trying to save itself, was shutting down bit by bit. Words deserted him. His system, trying to save itself, was shutting down bit by bit.

-You're stunned, she said. she said.

Still he couldn't move. To move was to go on with the other life, the one he would have after this one. How hideous that it should be such joyous news that hurt so much. Yes, Yes, he managed. he managed.

It was, apparently, enough. Regina moved to embrace him, petrified statue, and his arms, involuntary appendages, responded with something like an embrace on his part.

-Oh, I'm stunned, too! she cried. she cried. I never thought. Oh, G.o.d, isn't it fabulous? I never thought. Oh, G.o.d, isn't it fabulous?

His hand, without signal from his brain, gently patted her back.

-It's what we've always wanted, she said, burying her face into his shoulder and beginning to sob. she said, burying her face into his shoulder and beginning to sob.

Tears popped to the lower lids of his own eyes as well, horrifying him, and he tried to blink them back. They seemed treacherous, beside the point now. Though they, too, would be misread, might be taken for joy.

She pulled away from him, remembering the hour, ordinary things, already having crossed over into the new life.

-I'm so late, she crowed happily. she crowed happily.

He sat on the bed in his underwear and socks, his s.h.i.+rt half b.u.t.toned, left unfinished by the natural disaster, as women holding cooking pots had been found at Pompeii. Thinking half-sentences from time to time, not often, the rest a misty white blank. I need to warn I need to warn and and If only I hadn't. If only I hadn't. Thinking, in particularly lucid moments, and as all men will inevitably try to calculate, Thinking, in particularly lucid moments, and as all men will inevitably try to calculate, The night of Roland's party. The night of Roland's party. Having obeyed the biological clock, he and Regina were being rewarded with a child. But then the mist furled, and the fog swamped him, and he wanted never to have to move again. Bitter irony. Had he not just said he would do the honorable and courageous thing? Unthinkable now. Not possible. Honor and courage flipped head over heels. Having obeyed the biological clock, he and Regina were being rewarded with a child. But then the mist furled, and the fog swamped him, and he wanted never to have to move again. Bitter irony. Had he not just said he would do the honorable and courageous thing? Unthinkable now. Not possible. Honor and courage flipped head over heels.

Regina emerged from the bathroom, more awed than annoyed by his immobility, the half-b.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt. My G.o.d, My G.o.d, she said. she said. You really are stunned. You really are stunned.

She was radiant. In a simple black dress with thin straps. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pushed somehow out and up so that their smooth white crests were exposed. Voluptuous Regina, who would become more voluptuous now. With his child.

-How do I look? she asked, spinning happily. she asked, spinning happily.

They were late. He might have said embarra.s.singly late, embarra.s.singly late, though embarra.s.sment belonged to his other life. They ascended stairs and emerged into a crowd, voices already risen past a decent decibel. The party seemed to be held in a series of rooms, like chambers in a museum though embarra.s.sment belonged to his other life. They ascended stairs and emerged into a crowd, voices already risen past a decent decibel. The party seemed to be held in a series of rooms, like chambers in a museum - - the drinks in here, the food in there. White-coated waiters, diplomatically not African, moved from room to room with silver trays. Regina, beside him, turned heads, as she did not normally do, her glow like plutonium, the radiation high. His own radar tuned elsewhere, a personal early warning system deploying. Needing to find Linda before Regina crowed. He searched for blond hair and a cross, found blond hair more often than it occurred in nature, but not a cross. As disastrous as the circ.u.mstances were, he wanted nothing more than to see Linda the drinks in here, the food in there. White-coated waiters, diplomatically not African, moved from room to room with silver trays. Regina, beside him, turned heads, as she did not normally do, her glow like plutonium, the radiation high. His own radar tuned elsewhere, a personal early warning system deploying. Needing to find Linda before Regina crowed. He searched for blond hair and a cross, found blond hair more often than it occurred in nature, but not a cross. As disastrous as the circ.u.mstances were, he wanted nothing more than to see Linda - - if only a glimpse if only a glimpse - - though that would simply fuel desire. And he was surprised by how much it hurt, this returning to life. Numbed limbs remembering pain. though that would simply fuel desire. And he was surprised by how much it hurt, this returning to life. Numbed limbs remembering pain.

Thomas, not discovering Linda, found his Marine instead. The man looking uncharacteristically deflated, a defeated Marine a sorry sight. Introductions were offered and received, Regina towering over the Marine's wife, a diminutive dun-colored woman in a royal-blue suit.

-Your boy's not here, the emba.s.sy official said. the emba.s.sy official said.

Thomas, at first not understanding the reference to "your boy," thought the man had the wrong person. And then, suddenly, he comprehended. Kennedy? Kennedy? he asked. he asked.

-Not coming. The Marine took a large swallow of what looked to be straight scotch. No ice. His face was white and hollow-cheeked. The Marine took a large swallow of what looked to be straight scotch. No ice. His face was white and hollow-cheeked.

-What happened?

-Scheduling conflict. So they say. The Marine spoke through tight lips. Bearing up. Though the wife looked as though she had been crushed long ago. The Marine spoke through tight lips. Bearing up. Though the wife looked as though she had been crushed long ago.

-He's in the country? Thomas asked. Thomas asked.

-No, the man said, aggrieved. the man said, aggrieved. That's the point. That's the point.