The Burden of Proof (40 page)

"Actually," she said, "there's something I've been meaning to show you.

Come in for a minute." Fiona set ioff for the front door, keys in hand, without allowing him the chance to refuse. Stern moved reluctanfiy in her wake Up the pea-gravel walk. What new treachery of Nate's did she wish to disclose? Fiona set her package down on a candle :table near the doorway and snapped on some lights.

Stern said he had an appointment shortly, a remark which Fiona, predictably, reigned not to hear.

'This is really the most curious thing," she said.

"Come upstairs. I want you to see this." Fiona stopped to release the collie from the kitchen. Stern declined her offer of a drink, but Fiona paused to pour a bourbon over ice, and quaffed half of it aonce, easy as water. *'It's so hot," she said. The dog, in the meantime, jumped all over them both, then, rebuked, followed placidly as they walked toward the staircase.

Upstairs, Fiona opened the door to the bedroom and passed down a hall into the bath. Stern hung back, hesitant to follow. There was a certain stimulating intimacy in being with a woman in her bedroom. It was not the bed so much as the privacy of the scene. The room was clearly Fiona's, finished to her taste in crepe de Chine and ambiguous pinkish shades. The strong scents of powders and colognes, too sweet American smells, rose here. A long umber negligee lay as a sort of inviting preconscious thought, discarded beside the bed on an upholstered chair arm, suggesting a languorous form.

"Here," said Fiona, "this is it. Come here." She was in the bathroom, the door partly closed. When Stern pushed it open, Fiona was studying a tiny paper bag. Her drink had been set down on the counter. "I saw this last week. I couldn't understand why Nate would keep something with Clara's name on it in his medicine cabinet."

In his surprise, he virtually snatched it from her--the small patterned bag from a local chain pharmacy. Two computer-generated prescription receipts, little tags that conveniently assembled all the information required by Medicare or insurers, were stapled to the lip of the bag, overlapping one another. On the top one, Clara's name, address, and phone number were printed. Stern could feel a large vial inside the sack. It was pointless to ask what Fiona was doing roaming in her husband's medicine chest.

Undoubtedly there had been many such expeditions: the pockets of his suits, his daily diary, his wastebasket.

Fiona would have no trouble with the kind of low tactics divorce-coui-t hostilities required.

"Indomethacin," Stern read the tag. "This is for Clara's arthritis, I believe. Nate told me he had brought some to her."

Fiona passed him an odd look.

"If he brought it to her, how come it's still in the bag?"

. Stern made a sound. She was right about that. But the answer was obvious. Nate had had two prescriptions filled: that was why there were two tags. When Stern flipped to the lower one, he saw the word "Acyclovir" and his heart skipped. Quickly, he withdrew the clear brown container 'from the bag. What in the world would Nate Cawley need with this stuff?.

"What is it?" asked Fiona.

Stern was intent on the label on the bottle. In the blank ollowing the word "Patient,"

"Dr. Nathan Cawley, M. D.," was listed, and Nate's office address and phone were also printed there. 85 ACYCLOVlR 200 MG CAPSULES.

,%VO (2) CAPSULES FIVE TIMES DAILY FOR FIVE DAYS, REMAINDER ONE (1)

CAPSULE FIVE TIMES DAILY, IF NEEDED.

/hen the thought came to him, stem's face shot around o Fiona.

"Does Nate ake these pills?"

She shrugged. "I'd imagine. This is his medicine cabinet.

'What are they?"

"Acyclovir," answered Stern, pronouncing it just as Peter had when he explained that the drug was often successful in reducing the active period of the infection. The herpes iinfection. Dr. Nate had prescribed for himself.

She reached for the bottle, and Stern, without thinking, pulled it farther away. The prescription was dated two days before Clara's death He shook the container. Almost empty.

Wrenching off the cap, he spilled the contents onto a piece of tissue and counted six capsules remaining. Sev-enty-nine consumed. Stern contemplated'the numbers: Nate was taking these pills more than a week and a half after Clara's death. He stared down at the little yellow capsules 'with an unremitting intensity. The brand name of the drug was pnnted right on them.

Fiona spoke to him again, "Sandy, what is this for?" Oh yes, thought Stern. He had known this, had he not? It was all right here before him. Nate's lying, all his dodging and running--they were classic signs. There was clearly something Nate wanted neither discovered nor discussed. And it was here. Right here. Not simply what had ailed Clara." But the fact that Nate, who went on serenely consuming these capsules after she was laid to rest, had spread the disease. It had taken a real act of will, a high-minded deliberate obdurateness, not to recognize Nate's role.

After all, there had been obvious opportunities for initiation of this dalliance. 'Please remove your clothes and put on the smock. Doctor will be with you in a moment." A man aS. wrathfully henpecked as Nate would probably find Clara's quiet, inscrutable bearing irresistible.

Yes, and it still seemed, still--if he could claim he knew anything about this woman's nature--that anything of this character with Clara would have required time, exposure, trust, a gradual erosion. It was inevitably someone she knew well.

Oh, yes. Nate had visited Clara in the mornings, Fiona had said long ago.

"Sandy," said Fiona, "for Godsake. What are the pills' for?"

He continued to hold the bottle in his hand and he looked again at the label. The woman, he supposed, was entitled to know'.

"Herpes," he said.

"Her-pes," said Fiona. Her jaw flew open and she stepped six inches back. "Why, that son of a bitch." With a sudden snuffling sound, Fiona, as unpredictably as last time, began to cry.

"Let us sit down a moment." Stern swept up the pills. and replaced the bottle on a shelf within Nate's cabinet. Then Stern steered Fiona around the corner into the bedroom, and sat with her on the edge of the Cawleys' perfectly made bed. The milored spread was of a heavy mauve material, welted on the edges. Fiona was attempting to recover. She dabbed the backs of both hands at the heavy purple shadow over her eyes.

Stern extended an arm in comfort, and she laid her narrow body against him for a moment, bringing close the rosy odor of her various perfumes.

As soon as his hand was clapped across the thin cap of her shoulder, he had the first inkling. He had no notion from where the idea came. Some vicious instinct, he supposed, although it seemed that the plan had been present, unformed, for some time.

Fiona got up to find a tissue, but sat down again beside him on the bed.

"Herpes," she muttered to herself. Stern, from the corner of his eye, could see the barest trace of a smile as the clear thought crossed Fiona's mind: Served him right. Served the bastard right. Then she looked at Stern directly.

"Am I going to catch this?;' "I am afraid that it depends."

"On what?"

"Your contact."

"Contact?" Fiona did not get it and looked at him with irfitation.

Stern awaited the fight words. Oh dear, this was difficult.

Divorce lawyers must ask all the time. Probably, they were crude and direct. 'When was the last time you let him plug you, honey?"

"I do not mean to be indelicate--"

"Are you talking about our sex life, Sandy?"

"Just so."

"Not much."

"I see."

"It's not as if I don't like it, Sandy, I do," she added quickly, fearing, as always, the poor judgment of others.

"But you know how that can get. I haven't let him come near me since I saw that thing." She gestured toward the floor, the family room, the television set. "Not that he seemed to care."

"And when was that, Fiona?"

"March?" She dipped a shoulder. "I don't take notes, Sandy."

"No, of course not."

"Frankly, I think he'd given up trying by then. He gets like that." She smiled again, grimly.

Stern imagined that Nate had given up long before. He had his own predicament. Not that it was much excuse.

Nonetheless, here in Fiona's precise bedroom, Stern was overcome by the mystery` of anyone's marriage. It was like culture or prehistory--a billion unwritten understandings, Nate and Fiona. What an unlikely couple, he mild and casual, and she so severe. She was always pretty, however.

Her good looks must have mattered to Nate, been his pride.

His treasure was at home while he went tomcatting all over: the neighborhood, catching infections and fucking every.body's wife--Stern's wife, too. The recognition brought him to a kind of momentary delirium.

Always reluctant to consciously anger, he felt drilled by the urge for revenge, high and mighty, powerful as a prizefighter. The thought f fever. Was he really capable of this? Oh, yes. He felt excited, inspired, and nasty.

"So am I?" asked Fiona. "Going to catch this?"

"I see little chance of that, Fiona, given what you describe."

She pondered. "I suppose I should be grateful he left me alone."

Still seated beside her, Stern slowly said, "I should say he did a great injustice, Fiona.""

Her head listed to a dubious angle, as if he had gone loony. Stern smiled bravely.

"A great injustice," he repeated and gradually lifted his hand. He grasped the top button of Fiona's knit dress and leaned over to kiss the brown area at the top of her chest.

She drew back at once. But she was smiling. "San-dy,'? she said..

His own look was intent; he meant serious business. He opened the button he had grasped and pulled the garment back slightly to caress her again.

"Oh, my," said Fiona, and laughed out loud. "I don't believe this."

Fiona, it seemed, found it hard to contain herself; this was screamingly funny. The choices here, he; knew, were entirely his own. She would not stop him. Fiona was a weak person. Her only resilience was in her brittleness of character, but she had no convictions. Taken by surprise, she would laugh her way along, not knowing what else to do.

And he? How did he feel now? Odd, very odd, my American friends. Oh, this was wild and improbable and absurd. But sexual dating was more exciting than flying. He quietly touched her breast and felt blessedly, remarkably, fantastically, that he was no longer himself.

He opened another button and pulled her brassiere down. Her breast, small and white, seemed as startling as a fish darting by in water, and he bent to kiss her on the small button of her nipple-Someone was looking at him!

On the bedside, Stern jolted. He actually found himself standing halfway, his arms raised defensively. The collie, cowed, had also jumped back, dragging its front paws, but did not utter a sound.

When he looked back, Fiona had risen and stood directly before him; her brassiere remained pushed down, so that her white breast looked like a package partly unwrapped. When he met her glance, something happened--perhaps his fear, even momentary, had dissuaded her, or, more simply, time had brought her back to herself. But he saw a point of contraction sharpening in her eyes, and then her hann moved. He knew what was coming but it seemed undignified to defend himself. There was a flash of pain as she struck him open-handed on the side of the face, and he felt instantly that one of his front teeth, which had knocked together, might have chipped.

"You're not any better than he is," said Fiona. "You son of a bitch."

Her back to him, she fiddled with her clothing. He felt obliged to respond, but for the time being was not capable.

He sat on the bedside again, suddenly melting in shame.

"Forgive me," he said. "Jesus," said Fiona.

He was going to tell her she was an attractive woman, but that sounded the wrong note.

"i was overcome," said Stern instead, one of his usual ambiguous formulations. "YOu were taking advantage." This thought, when ut-'tered, caused her, with as little warning as usual, to cry once more. She sat down in a white wicker chair by the window and crushed the ball of tissue to the center of her face. She'd found her drink, and she drained it for comfort, then stood, probably wanting another.

She gave Stern a fiery look---one more unspoken curse--but, without further words, departed. The collie loped along behind her as she disappeared down the hall. Listening to her clump down the stairs, he looked up at the Cawleys' bedroom ceiling. Cobwebs hung from the stylish fixture. Oh God, he was full of loathing and self-reproach.

He had that underwater feeling of being very drunk, so that he knew it would be even worse whenever the adrenaline passed and a feeling of normality returned:. What in the world could he have been thinking? Oh, he was going to despise himself. He did already.

He walked over to the chair Fiona had sat in. Through the mullioned window, he could see his own house. In the twenty years he had lived here, he had never viewed it from this angle, and he looked down for some time on the variegated slate roof of thebedroom wing, taken by the sight. When he recogfflzed the gable of his own room, he actually tried to imagine Nate and Clara enwrapped about each other there, but the image, mercifully, refused to flourish.