Passion and Affect
Read Passion and Affect Online
Authors: Laurie Colwin
Passion and Affect
Stories
Laurie Colwin
TO MY PARENTS AND TO JOHN SERBER
Contents
the girl with the harlequin glasses
the man who jumped into the water
children, dogs, and desperate men
passion
a state of desire or emotion that represents the influence of what is external and opposes thought and reason as the true activity of the human mind
â
Webster's Third New International Dictionary
affect
(L.
affectus
, from
afficere
, to apply oneself to.) psy: the emotional reactions associated with an experience
â
Cyclopedic Medical Dictionary
animal behavior
Nothing is more easy than to tame an animal and few things are more difficult than to get it to breed freely in confinement, even in the many cases when the male and female unite.
âCharles Darwin,
The Origin of Species
O
N THE ROOF
of the East Wing of the American Naturalist Museum was a greenhouse, blocked from public view by turrets and façades. The skylights could be opened with a brass pole. Every third pane was a window. In midmorning, and sometimes in the afternoon, Roddy Phelps went up the spiral staircase to the finch room of the greenhouse and took a nap.
It was the middle of March, and Roddy was feeling slightly but constantly chilled. The weather made no sense to his body, although he knew it was supposed to be cold before the beginning of spring. Even on the coldest, rainiest days, the greenhouse was warm and faintly tropic. Birdcages were arranged on rows of pine tables, and on an empty table in the farthest row, by the window, Roddy took his naps. He had stashed a car pillow under a shelf in a paper bag.
The greenhouse was filled with potted ferns, palms, and heather. Ivy hung from crossbeams in mossy wire baskets. Each species of bird had its own room. Drifting off to sleep, Roddy was soothed by the diminutive, random noises the birds madeâtwitters, clacks, and cheeps, which he thought of as auditory litter. Once in a while, he brought a transistor radio with him and listened to the birds counterpointing Mozart.
The year before, Roddy's wife, Garlin, had left him, taking their child, Sara Justina, and retired to the country. At Thanksgiving, New Year's, and Easter, Roddy drove to Templeton, New Hampshire, and collected Sara Justina, who spent these holidays and a part of the summer with Roddy and his parents in Westchester. The rest of the time, silence was generally maintained between New York and Templeton, except for legal occasions when separation, alimony, divorce, and child-support papers passed between Roddy and Garlin. These entailed long conversations with the lawyers for both sides, and expensive, jagged long-distance calls from New York to New Hampshire.
The last week in March there was a brief hot spell, and Roddy's chill became more acute. Dampness settled in his bones. He began to think that he was suffering from eyestrain and spent dizzy, unfocused, and dislocated days feeling as if he were hung over. The naps in the finch room sometimes helped, but often they made his unfocused condition worse and he staggered off the table while the room went black, yellow, and dazzling gray in front of his eyes.
After Garlin's departure, Roddy had gone into a work spurt that produced two papers on the social behavior of caged finchesâone for
Scientific American
and one for
American Birds
. The uncorrected galleys of both had been lying on his desk for several months. Then he started on the breeding and nesting patterns of the African finch in captivity. He had been studying this aspect of the finch since December but had run into trouble, as his finches seemed unwilling to breed in their large Victorian cages and appeared uninterested in building nests out of the pampas grass, string, and clover he provided for them.
Roddy had a corner office on the sixth floor of the museum, which housed the Department of Animal Behavior. He kept two pairs of finches thereâAggie and Bert, Gem and Russellâpets, not experimental birds, who had been left by a colleague departing for the Galápagos. When Roddy arrived in the morning, he let them out of their cage, and in the evening he spent an hour getting them back in.
The finch room was his exclusively. There was a greenhouse caretaker, José Jacinto Flores, whose job it was to clean the cages and feed the birds, but, by friendly edict, in the finch room Roddy took care of this himself. José Jacinto had appropriated a back room where he kept a tank of tropical fish and a pair of lovebirds who warbled tenderly to each other. He was a wiry, squat man, the color of cherry wood, and Roddy often saw him smoking a cheroot with the windows open, speaking softly in Spanish to his birds.
The table Roddy napped on was the last in a series of four. He was blocked by cages of birds and pots of palm and heather that shut him off from view, he thought, since he could never see anything through them.
On the last Thursday in March, Roddy left his office and went up to the greenhouse. He had not slept well the night before, tossing and brooding about his experiments, settling finally into a brief, unrefreshing sleep. A few minutes before in his office, the telephone rang and it was Garlin to tell him that Sara Justina had bronchitis.
“Did you call just to tell me that?” Roddy asked. Garlin almost never called him when Sara Justina was sick.
“Bronchitis isn't a cold,” said Garlin.
“What am I supposed to do? Do you want me to come up to Templeton?”
“I thought you should know she's sick, and, by the way, did your lawyer call mine about the final papers?”
“I have to check,” said Roddy.
“It's your life,” Garlin said.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you should have checked a month ago. You have no idea what's serious and what isn't. Your marriage is being disbanded and you haven't even bothered to call your lawyer.”
“I've been working very hard, Garlin, and I think this whole thing is unpleasant enough without remarks like that.”
“That's why your marriage is being disbanded,” said Garlin, and she hung up.
The finches peered from the curtain rod. Aggie, his favorite, flew down and sat on his dictionary. Roddy watched her, feeling tired and worn down, like a statue battered by the weather. In the dove room he noticed it was raining. The sky was silvery, and drops hit the glass on a slant. At the entrance to the finch room, chilled and desperate for his nap, he discovered a girl standing in front of one of the cages. She had some millet seed on the tips of her fingers and was waiting patiently for one of the birds to take it from her.
“What are you doing here?” Roddy said.
The girl didn't move her hand but turned to look at him. She was a small girl in a gray lab coat, whose thick, ashy hair was loosely knotted at her neck. She had an oval, symmetrical face and eyes that were an intense, almost colorless gray. Under the lab coat she was wearing a gray skirt, sweater, and brown stockings.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “Are these your birds?”
“Yes, and I'd like to know what you're doing here.”
“I'm awfully sorry. I'm down on the fifth floor with Dr. Reddicker, working on song patterns. Until yesterday I didn't even know there was a greenhouse here, so I just came up to see what it was like. Sorry.”
“Are you new here?” Roddy said.
“I started a couple of months ago. I'm Dr. Reddicker's assistant, in the doctoral program.”
“After you've been here a while, you get hysterical about security.”
The first three floors of the museum were open to the public and contained, in addition to cases of stuffed birds in replicas of their natural habitats, a bookstore, a small but rare gem collection, the letters and papers of John James Audubon, and several galleries filled with paintings, drawings, sculpture, and tapestries of birds. It was the largest and best collection of its kind in the world. The rest of the museum was devoted to research and teaching facilities, and rigid security was maintained. All members of the staff, from the ornithologists and researchers to the girls in the bookstore, wore plastic tags bearing their names and color photographs. Roddy stepped closer to the girl. Her tag read “Mary Leibnitz,” and the photograph looked as if it had taken her by surprise. Roddy's tag was pinned to his jacket in his office.
“I'm Raiford Phelps,” he said.
“This tag embarrasses me,” Mary Leibnitz said. “Everyone knows my name before I'm introduced.”
“Do you want to be shown around?” Roddy asked. She nodded, and he steered her through the parrot room, the sicklebills, woodpeckers, and hummingbirds. He led her back through the finches, canaries, and doves.
She stopped before a cage of pigeons. “I love the sound they make,” she said. “It's kind of a gurgle. I've tried to imitate it, but I can't. Thanks very much for showing me through.”
He watched her as she walked toward the stairs. She had a serious kind of grace, as if she alone were responsible for holding herself together. Roddy got his pillow from the shelf, took off his shoes, and lay down on the pine table. He leaned down to turn on his radio, but the thought of music suddenly upset him. The finches chirped him into sleep.
It became colder and less springlike. There were days when Roddy could barely keep his eyes open. He began to take two napsâone in the morning and one in the afternoon. He paced in his office, skimmed his galleys, went to bed early, twisting, brooding, unable to sleep. He made several trips to the fifth floor to look for Mary Leibnitz. He met her once briefly in the hallway and told her that if she came to his office he would show her what he was working on. Walking past her office one day, he saw her sitting diminutively next to Ethel Reddicker, a large redheaded woman, going over a series of charts. A week went by and Mary Leibnitz did not appear at his office.
Every Sunday night, Roddy called Templeton to speak to Sara Justina, with whom he had long baby conversations, followed by terse, practical conversations with Garlin. Mondays he awoke feeling drained. It seemed that on Monday it always rained or was overcast. He began to oversleep in the finch room, and he brought an alarm clock with him.
One Monday he forgot to set it and woke to find Mary Leibnitz standing by a cage looking at him; he blinked to get the blackness out of the room and blinked again because he was horrified. Nothing that fought its way to his voice was appropriate. He merely stared at her.
She looked at him calmlyâhe might have been one of the birds she waited to feed. Her lab coat hung away from her. She turned and walked out.
“Wait,” Roddy said.
Mary Leibnitz stopped next to a cage of green siskins.
He got off the table, stepped into his shoes, and confronted her. “I don't like this,” he said. “Being spied on.”
“I'm not spying on you,” Mary said. “I went to your office, but you weren't there, so I thought I might find you up here.”
“I
told
you to come to my office.”
“I did, but you weren't there. I'm really awfully sorry, but I don't know why you're making such a fuss.”
“I'm not making a fuss,” Roddy said. “I just don't like being spied on.”
“What you mean is that you take secret naps up here and you don't like being caught out. There's nothing wrong with it. I'd sleep up here too. It smells good.”