Blue Collar, White Collar, No Collar Part 31

"You can't even walk out on the street there. You can't even buy a pair of shoes, they're all over you, touching and pawing."

It happened outside Dean and Deluca's when Christopher insisted on carrying the bag and just past the door had dropped it.

"Oh, look at that," Truus said in irritation. "I told you not to drop it."

"I didn't drop it. It slipped."

"Don't touch it," she warned. "There's broken gla.s.s."

Christopher stared at the ground. He had a st.u.r.dy body, bobbed hair, and a cleft in his chin like his banished father's. People were walking past them. Truus was annoyed. It was hot, the store was crowded, she would have to go back inside.

"Looks like you had a little accident," a voice said. "Here, what'd you break? That's all right, they'll exchange it. I know the cashier."

When he came out again a few moments later he said to Christopher, "Think you can hold it this time?"

Christopher was silent.

"What's your name?"

"Well, tell him," Truus said. Then after a moment, "His name is Christopher."

"Too bad you weren't with me this morning, Christopher. I went to a place where they had a lot of tame mice. Ever seen any?"

"Where?" Christopher said.

"They sit right in your hand."

"Where is it?"

"You can't have a mouse," Truus said.

"Yes, I can." He continued to repeat it as they walked along. "I can have anything I want," he said.

"Be quiet." They were talking above his head. Near the corner they stopped for a while. Christopher was silent as they went on talking. He felt his hair being tugged but did not look up.

"Say good-bye, Christopher."

He said nothing. He refused to lift his head.

In midafternoon the sun was like a furnace. Everything was dark against it, the horizon lost in haze. Far down the beach in front of one of the prominent houses a large flag was waving. With Christopher following her, Truus trudged through the sand. Finally she saw what she had been looking for. Up in the dunes a figure was sitting.

"Where are we going?" Christopher asked.

"Just up here."

Christopher soon saw where they were headed.

"I have mices" was the first thing he said.

"Is that right?"

"Do you want to know their names?" In fact they were two desperate gerbils in a tank of wood shavings. "Catman and Batty," he said.

"Catman?"

"He's the big one." Truus was spreading a towel, he noticed. "Do we have to stay here?"

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked. He wanted to go down near the water. Finally Truus agreed.

"But only if you stay where I can see you," she said.

The shovel fell out of his bucket as he ran off. She had to call him to make him come back. He went off again and she pretended to watch him.

"I'm really glad you came. You know, I don't know your name. I know his, but I don't know yours."

"Truus."

"I've never heard that name before. What is it, French?"

"It's Dutch."

"Oh, yeah?"

His name was Robbie Werner, "not half as nice," he said. He had an easy smile and pale blue eyes. There was something spoiled about him, like a student who has been expelled and is undisturbed by it. The sun was roaring down and striking Truus' shoulders beneath her shirt. She was wearing a blue, one-piece bathing suit underneath. She was aware of being too heavy, of the heat, and of the thick, masculine legs stretched out near her.

"Do you live here?" she said.

"I'm just here on vacation."

"From where?"

"Try and guess."

"I don't know," she said. She wasn't good at that kind of thing.

"Saudi Arabia," he said. "It's about three times this hot."

He worked there, he explained. He had an apartment of his own and a free telephone. At first she did not believe him. She glanced at him as he talked and realized he was telling the truth. He got two months of vacation a year, he said, usually in Europe. She imagined it as sleeping in hotels and getting up late and going out to lunch. She did not want him to stop talking. She could not think of anything to say.

"How about you?" he said. "What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm just taking care of Christopher."

"Where's his mother?"

"She lives here. She's divorced," Truus said.

"It's terrible the way people get divorced," he said.

"I agree with you."

"I mean, why get married?" he said. "Are your parents still married?"

"Yes," she said, although they did not seem to be a good example. They had been married for nearly twenty-five years. They were worn out from marriage, her mother especially.

Suddenly Robbie raised himself slightly. "Uh-oh," he said.

"What is it?"

"Your kid. I don't see him."

Truus jumped up quickly, looked around, and began to run toward the water. There was a kind of shelf the tide had made which hid the ocean's edge. As she ran she finally saw, beyond it, the little blond head. She was calling his name.

"I told you to stay up where I could see you," she cried, out of breath, when she reached him. "I had to run all the way. Do you know how much you frightened me?"

Christopher slapped aimlessly at the sand with his shovel. He looked up and saw Robbie. "Do you want to build a castle?" he asked innocently.

"Sure," Robbie said after a moment. "Come on, let's go down a little further, closer to the water. Then we can have a moat. "Do you want to help us build a castle?" he said to Truus.

"No," Christopher said, "she can't."

"Sure, she can. She's going to do a very important part of it for us."

"What?"

"You'll see." They were walking down the velvety slope dampened by the tide.

"What's your name?" Christopher asked.

"Robbie. Here's a good place." He kneeled and began scooping out large handfuls of sand.

"Do you have a p.e.n.i.s?"

"Sure."

"I do, too," Christopher said.

She was preparing his dinner while he played outside on the terrace, banging on the slate with his shovel. It was hot. Her clothes were sticking to her and there was moisture on her upper lip, but afterward she would go up and shower. She had a room on the second floor-not the one Mrs. Pence had-a small guest room painted white with a crude patch on the door where the original lock had been removed. Just outside the window were trees and the thick hedge of the neighboring house. The room faced south and caught the breeze. Often in the morning Christopher would crawl into her bed, his legs cool and hair a little sour-smelling. The room was filled with molten light. She could feel sand in the sheets, the merest trace of it. She turned her head sleepily to look at her watch on the night table. Not yet six. The first birds were singing. Beside her, eyes closed, mouth parted to reveal a row of small teeth, lay this perfect boy.

He had begun digging in the border of flowers. He was piling dirt on the edge of the terrace.

"Don't, you'll hurt them," Truus said. "If you don't stop, I'm going to put you up in the tree, the one by the shed."

The telephone was ringing. Gloria picked it up in the other part of the house. After a moment. "It's for you," she called.

"h.e.l.lo?" Truus said.

"Hi." It was Robbie.

"h.e.l.lo," she said. She couldn't tell if Gloria had hung up. Then she heard a click.

"Are you going to be able to meet me tonight?"

"Yes, I can meet you," she said. Her heart felt extraordinarily light.

Christopher had begun to sc.r.a.pe his shovel across the screen. "Excuse me," she said, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. "Stop that," she commanded.

She turned to him after she hung up. He was watching from the door. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No."

"Come, let's wash your hands."

"Why are you going out?"

"Just for fun. Come on."

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, stop, will you?"

That night the air was still. The heat spread over one immediately, like a flush. In the thunderous cool of the Laundry, past the darkened station, they sat near the bar which was lined with men. It was noisy and crowded. Every so often someone pa.s.sing by would say h.e.l.lo.

"Some zoo, huh?" Robbie said.

Gloria came there often, she knew.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Beer," she said.

There were at least twenty men at the bar. She was aware of occasional glances.

"You know, you don't look bad in a bathing suit," Robbie said.

The opposite, she felt, was true.

"Have you ever thought of taking off a few pounds?" he said. He had a calm, unhurried way of speaking. "It could really help you."

"Yes, I know," she said.

"Have you ever thought of modeling?"

She would not look at him.

"I'm serious," he said. "You have a nice face."