Nora Jane (51 page)

“Well, he sure isn’t celibate anymore. I’ll tell you that.”

“You can have the wedding here if they won’t do it in the church.

We had Nieman and Stella’s wedding. Stella’s pregnant, did you know that?”

“I know. I think it’s great. Donny and I want a lot of kids. As many as we can afford.” Mitzi looked scared somehow and Nora
Jane reached across the table and took her hand.

“It’s all good, honey, and it’s going to be all right. I think we’re in for some good luck this year. I feel it in my bones.
Your mother will love Donovan. He’s a charming man.”

“We’ll see. We’ll see what happens.”

“I want you to bring them over here next week as soon as you can. We’ll just overwhelm and dazzle them.”

“All right. That’s good. I will.”

Freddy came in the back door. He was thin and he definitely looked like he’d been sick, but there was an air about him of
power also, like a runner nearing the end of a desperate race — an air of being, by God, unbeatable. He came into the room
and kissed his wife and turned to Mitzi as though she were the only person in the world. “How’s it going, Jezebel? You holding
up in your love affair?”

“My momma’s on her way.” Mitzi laughed. “It’s weird the way they keep after you, no matter how old you get or where you go.
She’s a devout Catholic. She probably thinks I’ve burned my bridges with God and Jesus.”

“So much is happening.” Freddy laughed and leaned nearer to Mitzi. “But things keep working out. Don’t worry, Mitzi. Let her
come. You can’t keep mothers away if they think you’re in danger.”

“They’re stuck in the desert with a broken car,” Mitzi added, “and they went to see some Hopi ruins and Mother thinks she’s
on a holy quest.”

“We’ll holy quest her then,” Freddy said. “Look, is there anything to eat around here? I’m starving.”

“We had meat loaf and wild rice and it’s in the oven,” Nora Jane said. “Sit down and I’ll fix you some.”

“What’s her name?” Freddy asked. “Your sainted mother.”

“Carla,” Mitzi said. “Wait until you meet her. She’ll fit right into California. My worst fear is that she’ll like it here.”

“We’re going to get to meet her,” Nora Jane said. She put a place mat and napkin on the table and then a plate of beautiful,
fragrant meat loaf with wild rice and asparagus. “Mitzi’s going to bring them over one evening.”

“I can’t wait,” Freddy said and dug into the meat loaf with his fork. “I mean it. I am looking forward to watching Mitzi wrangle
with her mother. I may write a book about mothers. Nieman’s going to help me. It’s going to be a primer for people who never
got to be in psychotherapy.”

T
HE FOLLOWING SATURDAY MORNING
Nieman and Freddy were sitting on chairs on the patio watching the workmen put the finishing touches on the hot tub. It was
a cold clear day, one of those days in early spring in Berkeley that drive visitors to dream of buying houses in the hills
and never leaving the lovely place. “The Dominicans are a strange bunch,” Nieman was saying. “Just like them to take this
in their stride.”

“They offered Donny a post at the library of their college or to administrate the antipoverty programs,” said Freddy. ‘And
he’ll be able to keep on working with the outreach programs—Alcoholics Anonymous and the Crisis Center. What the hell, he
fell in love and wanted to get laid. Those guys had better start knowing how to deal with that or they are through.”

“Not in our lifetimes, old buddy. The contemplative life is too seductive. The whole thing’s seductive. Praying, living on
the high moral ground, the whole mystical range — all we don’t, can’t, know. We’re blaming Stella’s pregnancy on the nun’s
prayers, by the way”

“It wasn’t just your nun.” Freddy laughed. “Donovan had the Maryknoll nuns praying for me too. The way we found out was they
sent us a card. Wait a minute. You need to see this.” Freddy got up and went into his study and Nieman watched him walk away.
He was as thin as he had been when he was a boy but his hair was full and strong and his color was good. He was clear-eyed,
a phenomenon Nieman had noticed before in cancer survivors. Maybe it was all that rest. My best friend, Nieman thought, and
we talk about anything except what’s happening. It’s the razor’s edge, waiting to see if old Larry’s DNA can make it. But
Freddy doesn’t want to think he’s waiting. He and Nora Jane are acting like it’s over.

“We are going to work on the house in Willits next week,” the Mexican supervisor said. “Freddy said you helped build it. Is
very good work. You must have been strong man back then.”

“Thanks, Fernando. I was strong. I may come up and help you guys this spring. Get my muscles back in shape.”

“We will be living up there for two months. Freddy said there is a mountain lion there we must see. You have seen it also?”

“Many times. I don’t like the lion as much as he does. I think wild animals are dangerous.”

Freddy returned from his bedroom carrying a small, pale blue envelope containing a square of colored paper printed with the
seal and order of the Sisters of Maryknoll and informing him that in his name fifty masses had been said around the world.
Nieman held it and then passed it to Fernando. “Have you seen one of these?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “They make money from this. My wife say they don’t remember the names even, just put with so many
other people. They cost much money. Was it a gift from friend?”

“Yes.” Freddy laughed and took the card back and put it in his pocket. “I can’t afford to be cynical about anything these
days, Fernando.”

“Nieman is going to come help on house when we get started there. You should come too. Help build you back up from time in
bed.” Fernando moved near to Freddy and put his hand on his arm. “You need to eat more. Build up your body.” Freddy put his
arms around the man and gave him a mighty hug. Then he stood back and flexed his muscles.

“Nieman’s wife is going to have another baby,” he told Fernando. “She may not let him go to Willits and help pour concrete.
He may be here babysitting until we’re sixty years old.”

“You must not let the women tell you what to do.” Fernando looked serious. “They will take cajones away. They are always looking
for way to do that to you. Do not allow it in your house. It is not good.”

The three men walked over to the edge of the patio and looked out across the waters of San Francisco Bay. They looked toward
the ocean, where men could live without women if they wanted to. “My sister’s boyfriend cut his face in two on surfboard yesterday,”
Fernando offered. “See, if you let them have your, how you call it, balls, they will drive you to ride on waves to get away
from them and then you cut your face open in the sport. It is very sad. She will leave him now. She only like him because
he was pretty. It is going to be very sad. I blame it on men losing cajones and not running their homes.”

“They used to go into monasteries and be monks,” Freddy said. “Maybe surfing is the modern equivalent of that.”

“This conversation has wandered too far afield,” Nieman said. “I came over here to take you for a health walk. Are we going
or not?”

“Okay,” Freddy said. They said good-bye to Fernando and walked down the long winding hill to Levittson Street, where they
could cut over to the running track behind Arthur Goldwyn Magnet School, which specialized in getting twelve- to fifteen-year-old
students into the movie industry.

“The Dominicans were in charge of the Inquisition,” Nieman said. They had started up a long hill and he wanted to keep Freddy’s
mind off the pain. “Remind Donovan of that if he needs it.”

“He doesn’t seem to be needing anything. Mitzi Ozburt’s mother is in town, staying at the Richelieu Guest House in Berkeley
and buying them a house. She told Nora Jane she thought it was a great investment.”

“Buying them a house. That’s manipulative.”

“I’m sure it is. I have to have dinner with all of them tonight. I know, we should welcome life in all its forms and embrace
people’s craziness.”

“Where did you get that idea? Not from me, old friend.”

“Someone told me that recently. I thought it was you. I have a lot of confused memories from the hospital. I wish I knew what
they were giving me.”

“Sister Anne Aurora knows,” Nieman said. “She was praying to the molecular systems of the drugs, talking to them in the abstract
and universal. She’s coming out to visit in May. Hey, maybe we can take her up to Willits to see the foundation being poured.”

“When is this baby due?”

“August. Maybe for our birthdays.”

“That would be cute.”

“Shut up or I’m going to stop babying you on this hill.” Nieman increased his pace and Freddy struggled along behind him.
As they turned the corner to go across the street to the Berkeley campus, Freddy saw his mother’s Lexus coming down the street
from the other direction. Bigjudy was driving, dressed in his gray uniform and wide cap. Mrs. Harwood was riding shotgun.
Big Judy stopped the car and Mrs. Harwood rolled down the window.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. “I don’t think they want you out exercising this soon.”

“Sure they do, Momma.” Freddy leaned in the window and gave her a peck on the cheek, not enough to ruin her makeup, just enough
to make her worry that he had ruined it.

“Did you know Stella and Nieman are going to have another baby?” Freddy asked, to keep the spotlight off himself. “Tell Nieman
you’re happy. We were on our way to pick out flowers for Stella at Kelli’s.”

“How long have you been out here walking?” she asked.

“Not long,” Freddy answered. In his life he had managed almost never to give his mother any data he could protect. “Where
are you taking her, Judy?”

“My canasta game,” Mrs. Harwood said. “It’s at Marilyn Phillips’s house this week. Well, don’t stay out long without a hat.”

“I won’t. We have to go now, Momma.” Freddy moved back onto the sidewalk and waited while his mother congratulated Nieman
and he bent to receive a kiss on the cheek and a message to tell to Stella.

“Well, it’s now all over Northern California,” Freddy said as Big Judy drove off and Nieman rejoined him. “AMBER ALERT, STELLA’S
PREGNANT. POOR STELLA, MARRIED TO NIEMAN GLUUK.”

“We really ought to send Stella some flowers,” Nieman said. “That’s a fine idea. Let’s send some to Nora Jane and maybe some
to Mitzi Ozburt’s mother and anyone else we can think of to send some to.”

They continued to walk toward the campus, then cut off on a side street and found a little flower shop that was owned by one
of Nieman’s old confederates at the
Chronicle
, a Marxist who’d been fired for writing book reviews that panned everything that didn’t suit her politics. She had sued the
paper, then taken the settlement, married her girlfriend in a wedding ceremony that included part of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
performed by actors from Spoken Word Theater, and opened a flower shop. She made sixty or seventy thousand dollars a year
for doing six hours’ work Monday through Friday and was a happy woman, content to watch the United States spend itself into
trillion-dollar debt, believing her ideas would triumph if she waited.

* * *

Freddy and Nieman wandered around the shop, examining the flowers, then walked over to the cash register and spoke to Kelli,
who was reading a book by the Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci. “Listen to this,” she said. ” ‘The crisis consists precisely
in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appears.

“Wow,” Freddy said. “Listen, can we get some of those yellow roses delivered today to several different places?”

“Twenty dollars a dozen, just for you. They’re not that fresh, but I won’t have any more for a few days.”

“They’re okay.” Freddy started writing down the names and addresses of the recipients of the roses. Nieman stood beside him
holding a potted gardenia he had picked up from a table in the back of the shop. “So when is Mitzi coming over with her mother?”
he asked.

“Tonight. God forbid. They’re all Catholics. Not a freethinker among them, unless the mother’s boyfriend turns out to be one.”

“Send the mother some roses too,” Nieman said. “Soften her up. I’ll pay for them. I’m in an expansive mood, Freddy.”

“I’ll split the bill with you. Maybe I’ll send Francis some too. She’s run the store the whole time without me and didn’t
even call me and complain.”

“Send this gardenia plant to someone. I really like these things and they last a long time.” He looked at the price tag. “Let’s
send this to your mother.” Freddy turned around and examined the gardenia plant, then took it from Nieman and put it on the
desk by the cash register.

“Are you guys feeling guilty about something?” Kelli asked. She was tall and skinny and rakishly dressed for a Marxist. She
had been a dancer until she was converted in the sixties and she did not forget her dancing roots. “Why are you sending all
these flowers all of a sudden?”

“A friend of ours got a priest to quit the church,” Nieman said. “Don’t you think that rates a few flowers?”

“I think it rates a discount. How about twenty percent for the lot?”

“Thanks, Kelli. But you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to do it. So write down the addresses and stop pretending to examine the flowers. You don’t know a damn thing about
flowers, Nieman.”

“I might. Don’t be too sure of that. My wife’s pregnant with our second child, Kelli. Would you have thought that of me?”

“Of course. You have a bourgeois soul, Nieman. I always knew you’d revert to type.”

She reached behind herself and picked a pale pink daisy and reached over and stuck it into Nieman’s buttonhole. “No offense
intended,” she said and smiled at him.

Freddy and Nieman left the store and decided to walk back to Freddy’s house the way that they had come. “I can’t do five miles
yet,” Freddy said. “I’m feeling normal half the time, but the energy hasn’t come back.”

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to forget it? I’d be glad to talk about it if you want to.”