Wolff - In the garden of the North American martyrs : a collection of short stories

I wake up afraid. My wife is sitting on the edge of my bed, shaking me. Theyre at it again, she says.

I go to the window. All their lights are on, upstairs and down, as if they have money to burn. He yells, she screams something back, the dog barks. There is a short silence, then the baby cries, poor thing.

Better not stand there, says my wife. They might see you.

I say, Im going to call the police, knowing she wont let me.

Dont, she says.

Shes afraid that they will poison our cat if we complain.

Next door the man is still yelling, but I cant make out what hes saying over the dog and the baby. The woman laughs, not really meaning it, Ha! Ha! Ha !, and suddenly gives a sharp little cry. Everything goes quiet.

He struck her, my wife says. I felt it just the same as if he struck me.

Next door the baby gives a long wail and the dog starts up again. The man walks out into his driveway and slams the door.

Be careful, my wife says. She gets back into her bed and pulls the covers up to her neck.

The man mumbles to himself and jerks at his fly. Finally he gets it open and walks over to our fence. Its a white picket fence, ornamental more than anything else. It couldnt keep anyone out. I put it in myself, and planted honeysuckle and bougainvillea all along it.

My wife says, Whats he doing?

Shh, I say.

He leans against the fence with one hand and with the other he goes to the bathroom on the flowers. He walks the length of the fence like that, not missing any of them. When hes through he gives Florida a shake, then zips up and heads back across the driveway. He almost slips on the gravel but he catches himself and curses and goes into the house, slamming the door again.

When I turn around my wife is leaning forward, watching me. She raises her eyebrows. Not again, she says.

I nod.

Number one or number two?

Number one.

Thank God for small favors, she says, settling back. Between him and the dog its a wonder you can get anything to grow out there.

I read somewhere that human pee has a higher acid content than animal pee, but I dont mention that. I would rather talk about something else. It depresses me, thinking about the flowers. They are past their prime, but still. Next door the woman is shouting. Listen to that, I say.

I used to feel sorry for her, my wife says. Not any more. Not after last month.

Ditto, I say, trying to remember what happened last month to make my wife not feel sorry for the woman next door. I dont feel sorry for her either, but then I never have. She yells at the baby, and excuse me, but Im not about to get all excited over someone who treats a child like that. She screams things like I thought I told you to stay in your bedroom ! and here the baby cant even speak English yet.

As far as her looks, I guess you would have to say shes pretty. But it wont last. She doesnt have good bone structure. She has a soft look to her, like she has never eaten anything but donuts and milk shakes. Her skin is white. The baby takes after her, not that you would expect it to take after him , dark and hairy. Even with his shirt on you can tell that he has hair all over his back and on his shoulders, thick and springy like an Airedales.

Now theyre all going at once over there, plus theyve got the hi-fi turned on full blast. One of those bands. Its the baby I feel sorry for, I say.

My wife puts her hands over her ears. I cant stand another minute of it, she says. She takes her hands away. Maybe theres something on TV. She sits up. See whos on Johnny.

I turn on the television. It used to be down in the den but I brought it up here a few years ago when my wife came down with an illness. I took care of her myselfmade the meals and everything. I got to where I could change the sheets with her still in the bed. I always meant to take the television back down when my wife recovered from her illness, but I never got around to it. It sits between our beds on a little table I made. Johnny is saying something to Sammy Davis, Jr. Ed McMahon is bent over laughing. He is always so cheerful. If you were going to take a really long voyage you could do worse than bring Ed McMahon along.

Sammy, says my wife. Who else is on besides Sammy?

I look at the TV guide. A bunch of people I never heard of. I read off their names. My wife hasnt heard of them either. She wants to know what else is on. El Dorado , I read. Brisk adventure yarn about a group of citizens in search of the legendary city of gold. Its got two-and-a-half stars beside it.

Citizens of what? my wife asks.

It doesnt say.

Finally we watch the movie. A blind man comes into a small town. He says that he has been to El Dorado, and that he will lead an expedition there for a share of the proceeds. He cant see, but he will call out the landmarks one by one as they ride. At first people make fun of him, but eventually all the leading citizens get together and decide to give it a try. Right away they get attacked by Apaches and some of them want to turn back, but every time they get ready the blind man gives them another landmark, so they keep riding.

Next door the woman is going crazy. She is saying things to him that no person should ever say to another person. It makes my wife restless. She looks at me. Can I come over? she says. Just for a visit?

I pull down the blankets and she gets in. The bed is just fine for one, but with two of us its a tight fit. We are lying on our sides with me in back. I dont mean for it to happen but before long old Florida begins to stiffen up on me. I put my arms around my wife. I move my hands up onto the Rockies, then on down across the Plains, heading South.

Hey, she says. No Geography. Not tonight.

Im sorry, I say.

Cant I just visit?

Forget it. I said I was sorry.

The citizens are crossing a desert. They have just about run out of water, and their lips are cracked. Though the blind man has delivered a warning, someone drinks from a poisoned well and dies horribly. That night, around the campfire, the others begin to quarrel. Most of them want to go home. This is no country for a white man, one says, and if you ask me nobody has ever been here before. But the blind man describes a piece of gold so big and pure that it will burn your eyes out if you look directly at it. I ought to know, he says. When he is finished the citizens are silent: one by one they move away and lie down on their bedrolls. They put their hands behind their heads and look up at the stars. A coyote howls.

Hearing the coyote, I remember why my wife doesnt feel sorry for the woman next door. It was a Monday evening, about a month ago, right after I got home from work. The man next door started to beat the dog, and I dont mean just smacking him once or twice. He was beating him, and he kept beating him until the dog couldnt even cry any more; you could hear the poor creatures voice breaking. It made us very upset, especially my wife, who is an animal lover from way back. Finally it stopped. Then, a few minutes later, I heard my wife say, Oh! and I went into the kitchen to find out what was wrong. She was standing by the window, which looks into the kitchen next door. The man had his wife backed up against the fridge. He had his knee between her legs and she had her knee between his legs and they were kissing, really hard, not just with their lips but rolling their faces back and forth one against the other. My wife could hardly speak for a couple of hours afterwards. Later she said that she would never waste her sympathy on that woman again.

Its quiet over there. My wife has gone to sleep and so has my arm, which is under her head. I slide it out and open and close my fingers, considering whether to wake her up. I like sleeping in my own bed, and there isnt enough room for the both of us. Finally I decide that it wont hurt anything to change places for one night.