Pin Page 8

  “I think a lot of her.”

  “Well,” he said, holding out the candy, “I brought some assorted chocolates. Hope you people go for them.”

  “Pin loves them,” I said. “You can hang your coat up right here.” I opened the hall closet and checked out Ms right leg as he slipped out of his coat. It was difficult, if not impossible, to tell it was partly wooden. He limped some as we started down the corridor, though.

  “This is quite a house, deceptive from outside,” he said, turning to me just as we reached the doorway of the living room. I noticed he had a slight lisp. For a guy who was supposed to be somewhat introverted, he seemed pretty relaxed. That introverted stuff was probably phony, I thought.

  “Yes. It’s an old house, but a comfortable one. My father, the doctor, did a lot to modernize it while he was alive. I’m afraid Ursula and I don’t do much for it now, except see that it’s kept reasonably clean.”

  “It’s nice. Ursula’s hard at work, I suppose.”

  “She’s going to show off her domestic talents.”

  “She told me you were quite a cook too.”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice. Pin, too, is a great cook,” I added. “He knows quite a few recipes. He’s quite the gourmet.”

  “Can’t wait to meet him,” he said, and I noticed the first signs of nervousness in his face.

  “He’s right in there,” I said, indicating the living room. My heart began beating fast, just as it always did right before someone new met Pin. I moved a little faster than Stan did because I wanted to be standing beside Pin when they met. I wanted to see the expression on Stan’s face. “Right over in the corner in that chair.”

  “Right,” he said, moving across the room. The limp became more pronounced. As we approached, I flicked on the little lamp just to the right of Pin. His face came alive.

  “Pin,” I said, “this is Ursula’s friend Stan. Stan, this is our lifelong friend and companion, Pin,” I added, and turned quickly to see Stan’s face. He smiled and shot a glance at me. I must’ve looked very serious because his face snapped into a serious expression. There was a moment of silence during which Stan’s face seemed to tighten and then relax. He straightened up as if he were being presented to one of his old officers and then shot his hand out so fast it took me by surprise. I stepped back.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said. Pin was surprised too. He didn’t even lift his hand to shake. But Stan thrust his out so fast and so hard that he was only inches away. Then he had the nerve, the audacity, to push his hand into Pin’s. Naturally, Pin, being the gentleman he is, shook and disregarded Stan’s aggressiveness. “I have heard a great deal about you, a great deal.” When he let go, Pin’s hand dropped to his lap. I stood looking at Stanley and feeling a great sense of disappointment and anger settle over me. His reaction to Pin was a letdown. He was at ease with him, almost as much at ease as Ursula and I were. He was as nonchalant as could be. I watched him back up a few steps and look around the room. “Very nice, big room. You don’t see many houses with these tall ceilings anymore.”

  “Pin,” I said, keeping my eyes on Stanley as I talked, “Stan has brought some assorted chocolates. After dinner, we can come in and have a few.”

  Stanley turned and smiled. Then he limped to one of the big chairs and settled himself in it. I was fascinated with his poise. Pin eyed the chocolates greedily. It made me laugh.

  “He’d like to skip dinner and have them now, wouldn’t you, Pin?”

  “I can wait, Leon. I have a great deal of self-control.”

  “We can’t permit that,” Stanley said. Then he leaned over toward us. “We can’t do anything to spoil Ursula’s dinner, now, can we? For a woman, a dinner is like a performance,” he said, sitting back again. He was right at home.

  “She oughta perform more often then,” I said. It was a bit cruel and I regretted saying it immediately. “But I’m sure she’ll do well.”

  “Ursula tells me that you’re working on an epic poem.”

  “She did?” I wasn’t sure whether I felt indignant or proud.

  “I’d like to read some of it sometime.”

  “Maybe Leon’ll read some of it after dinner,” Pin said.

  “Yes. Perhaps, if we’re all in the mood, I will read a little of it after dinner.”

  “I’ve always wanted to sit down and write something, but I’ve just lacked the patience. I admire you for having the discipline.”

  “Yes, it takes discipline. It’s far from finished and it has a lot of rough spots.”

  “Don’t be so modest, Leon,” Pin said. “You know you’ve worked some of those lines over twenty or thirty times.”

  “I bet Pin’s a good listener,” Stanley said. His tone of voice was confusing. Was he mocking me or did he mean it?

  “He’s a good critic, very honest.”

  “I just say what I like and what I don’t.”

  “Hi,” Ursula said stepping into the room. Stanley got up. Standing from a sitting position was an awkward movement for him, but he didn’t seem at all self-conscious about it. “I see you’ve gotten to meet everyone all right.”

  “From the way you described them, I feel as if I’ve known them almost as long as I’ve known you.” They both laughed. I didn’t like the way they looked at each other—how they tolerated the small silences between them and stared. I looked at Pin and smirked, but he seemed quite taken with Stanley. I was very surprised and somewhat annoyed.

  “Care for a cocktail before dinner?” Ursula asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll make them,” I said. “What’ll you have?”

  “Bourbon and soda?”

  “Sure thing. Pin, the usual?”

  “Yes, Leon, the usual.”

  “What’s his usual?”

  “Ask him,” I said quickly. Ursula’s smile faded slowly, but Stanley’s froze.

  “Of course,” he said, “how rude of me.” He turned to Pin, shot a quick glance at Ursula, and then asked.

  “I like a little rye, ginger ale and a slice of orange.”

  “Do you have the orange for his drink?” Ursula asked.

  “Yes, I was prepared, sister dear,” I said.

  “You’ve got quite a house here,” Stan said, and they got right into a conversation about the place. I made the drinks and distributed them. I never saw Pin so quiet. He just sat back and listened to Stan and Ursula talk. They were so involved in each other that I felt Pin and I should start our own conversation.

  “You must tell us about the war,” I said suddenly, interrupting them. Stan turned with a quizzical expression on his face, almost as if he were going to say, “What war?”

  “I don’t like talking about it too much. It was a horrible war.”

  “What war isn’t?” Pin said.

  “Hear, hear,” I added and toasted the air and then drank.

  “For us, it was militarily, politically and morally a big mistake,” Stan added.

  “You must be very bitter, then,” I said, “having made a physical sacrifice for a big mistake.”

  “Well,” he said, smiling that wide, warm smile, “I used to feel self-pity. That turned to anger. But now I’ve kind of settled into a warm indifference. A lot of suffering can have that effect on you.”

  “Very true,” Pin said, “very true.” I shot a glance at him. Did he have to be so impressed?

  “I’m hungry,” I said. I was getting impatient. Pin was a doting idiot, a great disappointment. Usually, he tore a newcomer apart, mocked him, ripped every remark down to its barest inanity. I rationalized and figured his new behavior was due to the fact that it had been so long since we had any guests.

  “Everything’s ready. Should we go into the dining room?”

  “Good,” I said. Stan stood up, still smiling. I was waiting for this moment too. Slowly I walked over to the corner and pulled the folded wheelchair out from behind the bookcase, figuring the sight of it would bring some unhappy memories ba
ck to Stan. I snapped it open and pushed it over to Pin, eyeing Stanley the whole time. He watched with great interest.

  “Need any help?” he said. I was surprised by the offer.

  “No,” I said quickly and quite definitively. His smile left his face, but he stared with continued interest as I lifted Pin out of his seat and into the wheelchair. I set his feet comfortably in the footrests and stood up, Ursula had gone into the kitchen. Stanley waited.

  “I almost ended up in one of those,” he said. “I can appreciate the difficulties.” His calmness amazed me. Nothing bothered him.

  “No difficulties. We’re quite used to things by now.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Pin said. I pushed him forward and the three of us entered the dining room.

  Chapter 8

  DINNER LEFT ME IN A GREAT DEPRESSION. THE FOOD WAS good, but I hardly ate. What’s more, Ursula didn’t seem to care. She saw all the food left over, but she didn’t mention it. Pin didn’t touch very much of his food either. Stan was as charming and as relaxed as a person could be and Pin just sat there like a dumb one and soaked him up. I kicked him in the leg under the table a few times, but he didn’t seem to feel it. He was too absorbed in Stan’s conversation. I guess I’d have to admit that Stan was a witty guy at the table. He seemed to really enjoy our company. He knew just how to deliver a compliment, and he made Ursula feel like a million bucks. A rosiness came into her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with happiness. They laughed, ate off of each other’s forks and generally acted like two lovesick kids. I was polite and friendly, but not overly exuberant.

  No matter what I said to try to throw him off rhythm and make him feel uncomfortable, Stan took it calmly. It was almost as if he expected it of me. Nothing Pin did surprised him either. Any other person would have felt self-conscious about Pin’s staring, but he didn’t. I caught him looking at Pin a few times, but he wasn’t disturbed. He acted as though he had eaten a hundred meals with us. I began to wonder if Ursula had not prepared him in a way. It was a thought that angered me, because in effect that would mean that she conspired against us, Pin and myself.

  “I understand your mother is dying,” I said. They were giggling like kids on a merry-go-round. Ursula stopped and looked at me with a smile still on her face. He turned serious and straightened up in the seat. There was a moment’s pause. I shot a quick glance at Pin, but he didn’t seem to be sharing my satisfaction.

  “Yes, she is in a bad way,” he said, very matter-of-factly, I thought. “She’s been struggling for health for some time now. It seems hopeless.” Ursula stopped smiling. The heavy note I had set brought the result I was after.

  “The country air hasn’t helped then?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “That’s too bad,” Pin said. He said it rather low.

  “Unfortunate,” I added. “Do you think you might leave the area then?”

  “No. We’re going to stay. For better or for worse, we’re going to stay.” Ursula looked relieved. I played with my fork for a moment and then looked at Pin.

  “I think,” I said, “Pin and I will go back to the living room now. You’re about finished, aren’t you, Pin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stan promised to help me with the dishes, didn’t you, Stan?” Ursula teased.

  “If I didn’t, I guess I had better,” he said. They giggled again. I couldn’t stand it much longer, so I got up abruptly and pushed Pin away from the table. We went back into the living room and I made a fire. From the way Pin just sat there watching me, I knew that he sensed my uneasiness.

  “You’re pretty damn quiet tonight,” I told him. “What do you really think of this guy? Is he all Ursula thinks he is?”

  “I can’t help liking him. You have to admit he’s got a lot of personality.”

  “I didn’t say he didn’t have personality, and I didn’t exactly say I didn’t like him, did I?”

  “You’re trying not to like him, though, aren’t you, Leon? Admit it to me and yourself.”

  “I just don’t trust people until I get to know them better, that’s all. I have the gut feeling that there’s something more here than meets the eye. It’s hard to put my finger on it.”

  “You’ve got your father’s cynicism, that’s all.”

  “Maybe so,” I said. We sat quietly for a while. I passed him some of the chocolates and ate some myself. Then I made us after-dinner drinks and we sat listening to Ursula and Stan giggling in the kitchen. Occasionally their voices would die down and everything would become completely still. I imagined that they were kissing then.

  “This is really the first man Ursula’s been with since she had the abortion, isn’t it?” Pin said.

  “Yes. I suppose it’s a good thing.”

  “Reluctantly, you do,” Pin said. I had to laugh.

  “Maybe I’m just acting like a big, dumb, overprotective brother.”

  “Maybe you’re just acting like a jealous lover,” Pin said. I was about to reply when they came into the living room.

  “Care for an after-dinner drink?” I said. I made one for both of them. Then Ursula said that Stan would like to hear some of my poem.

  “I really would,” he said. We were all sitting around the fire drinking. I was in the mood, so I went upstairs and got the most recent two stanzas.

  “This was just completed last night,” I began. Pin looked pleased that I had chosen to read those.

  “Oh, good,” Ursula said, moving closer to Stan on the couch. “I didn’t hear them yet.”

  “I suppose I should preface this by telling you that my hero, Testes, a sort of modern day Beowulf, is out to gain immortality by creating as much progeny as he can. He’ll make love to anything female in the hopes of impregnating her. At this point, he’s fathered one-hundred-and-seventy-three children.”

  “Quite a potent guy,” Stan said, looking from me to Ursula.

  “Yes, he damn well is,” I said. “In these lines, he’s contemplating rape for the first time.”

  “Oh, Leon,” Ursula said, “why?”

  “He’s grown impatient with the courting process. It’s too time consuming.” I paused for a moment to be sure she wasn’t going to interrupt me anymore and then began.

  Gentle cloth night wrapped her bosom in luminous clinging moon. Testes watched from the alley darkness. She moved through shadows, unaware that his loins were singing. The seed within him grew impatient to be planted in the fertile soil of her womb.

  “That’s one stanza,” I said. Stan’s eyes were big. He looked genuinely involved. Ursula was looking sad.

  “Please go on,” Stan said.

  The shadows touched her face so that he could not read the lines drawn there. She was nameless but that her name was woman. Her thighs would seize him in the grips of passion. And he would top her in the hope that she would house his name and pass his bloodline into another generation.

  I put the paper down and took my seat again. Stan was silent, but he sat leaning forward. Ursula had her hand on his back and she was staring at me. Pin looked very satisfied. I lifted my glass to my lips, but I didn’t drink anything.

  “Wow,” Stan finally said. “That’s powerful stuff. I like it. I really do.” He looked back at Ursula.

  “It’s gruesome,” she said. “Tonight, it’s gruesome. I feel violated myself.” All of us laughed, even Pin.

  “You never felt violated before,” I said.

  “That’s because he was always winning women, one way or another.”

  “It’s just another means, another way.”

  “I like it,” Stan repeated and reached for his drink. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more some time.”

  “Well,” I said. “My first fan. I might have some more of this section done tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us here any night.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I won’t have you corrupting his mind,” Ursula said, half kiddingly, of course.

  We were all quiet for a while. The heat of the fi
re threw a warm glow over everything. I put on some music and we all had another drink and then another. For the first time that night, I was enjoying myself, feeling relaxed and good. When Stan talked now, he talked to me as well as Ursula. I think it bothered her a little because whenever it looked as though the two of us were going to develop a topic, she would try to change the subject. I suddenly found myself thinking, I like him.

  I don’t remember how many drinks I finally did have. I got so involved in some conversations that I lost count. Whatever the amount, it eventually put me asleep. I awoke suddenly on the couch. Pin was staring at me in silence. I wiped my eyes and sat up. Ursula and Stan were gone. The record on the stereo must have been scratched because the needle was caught in a groove and the same line was playing over and over. It was half past three in the morning.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I think you passed out, more or less.”

  “Jesus,” I said, stretching. “What a way to end the evening. That guy must have felt stupid. I just conked out on him, huh?”

  “Well, in a way. You began to doze while he and Ursula were dancing. He did pretty well for a guy with a wooden foot, I might add. Don’t you remember that?”

  “Yes. Vaguely.”

  “And then you drifted off.”

  “Yeah. You want to go to your room?”

  “No,” he said. Sometimes he liked sleeping in that easy chair in the living room. I don’t see how it could have been comfortable for that length of time, but he liked it.

  “Well, then I guess I’ll go up and sleep in a bed.”

  “Good night.”

  I walked up the stairs quietly, not wanting to wake Ursula. I didn’t even put the light on in my room, because I remembered the adjoining door had been opened earlier and I figured it was probably still open. But when I got into the room and sat on the bed to take off my shoes, I saw that the door had been closed. I figured she had closed it expecting that I would put the light on when I came up. I didn’t really need it, though, because the moonlight was so bright, it threw a silvery glow over everything. I got undressed quickly and pulled back the covers. Just before I slipped under them, I heard the sound. It puzzled me for a moment, but then I recognized it to be Ursula’s bedsprings. My imagination did flip-flops as I quickly envisioned the possible scene. I debated whether or not I should just ignore it and try to sleep, or whether I should go to that door and open it just enough to look into her room.