Song, Unheard

8. A Pastime, Disfavored

Not far from home, they passed an unkempt yard where the remains of several junked vehicles subsided into the earth and weeds sprouted from within and about them.  In the center of the yard stood a soiled fellow who fed junk into the flames of a small bonfire.  She watched the swaying dance of the flame, found something hypnotic in its action, but as the scent of acrid smoke reached her nostrils, she became suddenly and powerfully nauseous.  Her heart raced. Her palms became slick with perspiration.  Her stomach contracted in a disconcerting spasm. She was about to tell him to perform his second emergency stop of the day when the feeling subsided as quickly as it had arrived, the plume of rising smoke fading and disappearing behind them.

It was early afternoon and they smiled to one another  as they stepped into the relative warmth of the cabin. Her pang of nausea forgotten, she prepared soup and watched the child play while he sat alone in the family room.  She carried his lunch to him on a tray and then returned to the kitchen where she served food for herself and the child in two small bowls.  When she had eaten and washed the dishes, she returned to him, drying her hands on a patterned kitchen towel.

"I thought we could head out on the lake together when you've eaten," she said.

His spoon paused in the air momentarily, before regaining motion and continuing to his mouth.  He swallowed and said nothing.

"Hello?" she said.  "Thoughts?"

"Rowing on the lake?" he asked.  His eyes were on the bowl before him.

"Well I'm not planning to swim at this time of year, but you're welcome to."  She smiled.

His eyes remained on the food.  He was silent for a moment.  

"What's wrong?  You don't want to?" she asked. "You always loved to."

His breathing had gained depth. "I'm tired.  Can you make it girls only?"

She became animated.  "Don't send us alone.  Please?  It'll just be for an hour and then you can rest.  We'll get out of your hair."

His jaw had begun to work in minute contractions. He inhaled deeply and sent air whistling through his nose.  "An hour," he said.  "Then I need some quiet."

"You make us sound like such hard work," she said.  You're the surly one around here."  She delicately tossed the balled up kitchen towel at him and left him to finish his food.

When he carried his dishes to the kitchen, the soup hadn't moved from when she last saw it, but his mood was improved and so she passed no remark.  He washed his bowl and spoon and whistled a discordant tune as he crunched on what sounded like a lozenge.

"Can I have one?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, he said. "It was my last. Found it in a pocket."

When she said it was time to go, he grabbed his coat from the hook without complaint and they were on their way.

***

It was late afternoon and the color had begun to drain from the day.  The lake beneath them was the deep shade of a bruise and the air was crisp.  He rowed, the twin oars rising and falling in smooth arcs.  Here and there a fish leapt and she made a game with the child of being first to spot them.  At first he participated, but as the minutes passed and the skies and water grew darker, his involvement waned.  Soon he rowed in silence, his eyes first on the water and then on the sky.  The sanguine shade that the cool air and exertion brought to his cheeks was contrasted by the downturned corners of his mouth and the drooping of his eyelids.  

"Not playing?" she asked.

He shook his head, continued to row.

"Don't be a killjoy," she said, delicately stabbing a finger between his ribs.

He pulled away from her touch but said nothing.

"You're not going to let us win, are you?"

"Anything to make you happy," he said in a flat tone.

"What's wrong?" she asked.  You've seemed tense ever since we went to town."

"I'm fine," he said.

"You feel like you need a drink?" she asked.

He tutted and ceased rowing.  "Do you assume my problems always boil down to a weakness for whiskey?"

"I didn't say that."

"Did you ever think that maybe I drink to cope?"

"Cope with what?"

He opened his mouth and looked her in the eyes, then said nothing.

"You didn't tell me there were problems," she said.

He was silent.

"Talk to me.  You can talk to me you know?  Unburden yourself.  I know you keep things bottled up.  You always have.  I've just come to accept it.  It doesn't mean that I don't want to hear.  That I don't want to help."

"I don't have any problems you can help with."

"It's not us, is it?"

He sighed.  "This again?"

She stared at him.  "There's nothing you want to say?"

His eyes were on her but focused somewhere far beyond.  He turned and looked at the lake, then back to her.  "I told you I didn't feel like coming out on the damned lake, okay?"

"Sorry.  I thought it would be fun for us all.   I guess we've had you chauffeuring all day. We both really appreciate it, don't we sweet - "

"What time is it?" he interrupted, looking away.

She frowned and looked at her watch.  "It's just past two" she replied.

"Time to go." he said.

He rowed them back to shore, silent.  His eyes remained on the water.  His arms and legs appeared to work autonomously, somehow disconnected from the body with the still-featured face.  When they reached the jetty he told them to go ahead to the house while he tied the boat and covered it with an old tarpaulin.  She watched from the window in the family room and saw him move with slow purposefulness.  When the boat was tied and covered, he placed a pair of small buoys between it and the jetty and paused to regard the lake.  

His arms hung limply at his sides and his shoulders slumped.  She wondered if there was something he was keeping from her. After a few moments he began to walk from shore.  As he approached, she could see the strained look on his face.  He raised his head and spotted her through the window and lifted a hand in acknowledgment.  She waited until he returned to the house and then she gave him the space he had requested, leaving the upper floor free while she moved downstairs to nap with the child.