Seasons of the Heart Page 12

  Turning away, Phillip found Simon hovering behind him, his face drawn and tired. “Son, it’s good to have you home. Your mother …”

  “I know, Dad,” Phillip whispered weakly.

  Poor Simon! He looked twenty years older. Eva’s illness has been the hardest on him, Phillip thought. He had adored his beautiful wife. To see her like this must be hell….

  He could stand no more. Murmuring that he had a headache, he went down the hall to his old room and lay down on his bed. He knew that in a little while he had to go out and face Ann, but right now he didn’t feel up to any sort of decision.

  He looked about his old room. It had changed since he had last seen it. Everywhere there was evidence of a feminine occupant. Well, of course! This was Ann’s room now.

  Suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in on him. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Then he went to the living room and found Ann and Simon.

  Ann had invited Kenny and Ruthie to join them for dinner, but had been on the point of calling them to cancel. She hesitated for a moment, then asked Phillip whether or not it was all right with him.

  He nodded, deciding the Newmans would make things easier. He was right. As they enjoyed their meal, no one seemed to notice his silence. But then the guests left. Simon went to see Eva, and Ann and Phillip were alone.

  “Darling,” Ann broke the silence. “I think it’s time we went to bed.”

  She shut the door of their bedroom behind them, thinking, My God, how I still love him. It will be all right.

  But Phillip was not as sure. I don’t even really know this lovely woman who has been living in my room, who has become a daughter to my parents.

  He undressed in the bathroom, put on pajamas, and slid between the cool, clean sheets to wait for Ann. When she joined him, her touch was infinitely gentle, undemanding. But Phillip was suddenly filled with dread. His body was ugly … filthy … scarred. He couldn’t touch her. He drew away and turned toward the wall.

  He felt her surprise, her hurt.

  With an effort, he forced himself to take her in his arms. But it was no use. He couldn’t make love to her.

  He got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where he sat on the edge of the tub, his head in his hands. Perspiration poured off him as he faced the truth. He was impotent.

  Ann lay alone for several minutes, waiting for Phillip to return. They were bound to be a little awkward at first. That was only to be expected; after all, they had been separated for over four years. But as time passed, she began to realize that something was really wrong. She had seen how upset he was by Eva’s failed health and by Simon’s fragility. Now she realized that his silence at dinner bore testament to a much deeper pain.

  Ann took a deep breath. Then, throwing back the covers, she went to the bathroom and rapped softly. When there was no response, she opened the door and sat down beside her husband on the rim of the tub.

  “Phillip, darling—it doesn’t matter at all. Come back to bed. Please.”

  He remained silent.

  “Please, darling. I love you. Tonight isn’t important. We’ll have years together. Come to bed now.”

  Phillip finally stood up and followed her back to their room.

  For a long time they lay side by side without speaking.

  Then Phillip spoke. “I’m sorry, Ann. I guess I wasn’t quite ready to come home yet.”

  “I understand, sweetheart,” Ann whispered softly. “I’m just so happy that you’re finally here with me. It will get better. I know it will.”

  Phillip lay awake until morning, thankful that the darkness hid his face. The war had taken away his youth and his health. Now, it seemed, it had also driven a wedge between him and his wife. He sighed and Ann turned over and wrapped her arms around him, convinced that this was the real beginning of their life together.

  Chapter Twenty

  BUT MONTHS PASSED, AND Ann slowly realized that there were to be no new beginnings. She had naively thought that after a few months Phillip would readjust to civilian life. Even though he had not been rehired by his old firm, he would soon find a good job. After all, he had a brilliant mind and had gone to one of the best law schools in the country. One night she asked him as casually as she could, “Darling, you must be beginning to get anxious to get back to work. It must be a bore for you to be around the house all day.”

  “Yes … in time,” he said.

  Ann watched him uneasily. What was wrong? Why wouldn’t he talk to her? If she tried to question him directly, he either looked blank or simply walked out of the room. She tried to understand the difficult time he was going through, but how long did it take someone to readjust?

  She didn’t understand that Phillip was trying to spare her: he didn’t want her to know how badly he’d been traumatized. Ann began to wonder if he still loved her. The words he had written in Honolulu came back to haunt her: She need not feel tied to him, she was free to leave…. She had ignored that part of the letter, but a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. Maybe what he had meant was that he didn’t want to be tied to her any longer. The thought was so painful that Ann pushed it to the back of her mind. She was still Phillip’s wife, and it was up to her to help him.

  She knew that if Phillip were to recover, he would have to get out of the house and start coping with the world again. There were no magic answers. One day Ann had decided that if he wouldn’t go out, she would simply have to bring the world to him.

  With that in mind, she had planned some dinners with friends. But Phillip objected so violently that she had to cancel them, telling everyone that her husband still tired easily. She had tried to talk him into excursions to Ocean Beach or Golden Gate Park, but Phillip wouldn’t even agree to walk around the block. No matter what she suggested, he refused. In her naiveté, she had thought that her loving care would be enough to heal him. But it gradually became apparent to Ann that he had been much more deeply wounded than she had thought at first. The physical injuries were the least part of it.

  Looking back, she remembered a night several weeks after his return. He had awakened screaming, thinking he was once again in the monkey cage. That night, and that night only, he tried to tell her about the pain, the degradation, the fear of going totally mad….

  After that, there had been a few nights when she had wakened to find him bathed in a cold sweat. But he had never spoken of the war again, and she assumed that the nightmare had begun to fade from his memory.

  Gradually, Phillip seemed more at ease with himself. He still would not leave the house, and at times would sink into moody silence. Still, he gained a little weight, and his limp seemed to lessen slightly. But he never mentioned going back to work, and Ann found herself becoming increasingly impatient with his willingness to let her support him indefinitely. His small disability pay didn’t come near feeding and housing four people. They were already behind in paying Eva’s doctor bills. What would they use for money when Phillip’s disability ran out? Ann sometimes couldn’t sleep at night for worry.

  She had been laid off from her factory job and gone back to work part time at Magnin’s. Maybe she should increase her hours, but then who would cook and clean?

  Finally, she couldn’t contain her fears any longer.

  She broached the topic timidly, one evening after dinner. “Phillip, darling, I don’t want to push you, but I’ve been wondering—do you have any plans about looking for a job?”

  Phillip’s hand tightened so hard on his wineglass that he snapped the stem, spilling the red liquid on the tablecloth. He shoved back his chair and almost ran from the room.

  In the bedroom he sat shaking uncontrollably. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to hide his fears—the panic he felt in enclosed spaces, especially elevators, the terror that surged through him at sudden sharp noises. No one knew better than he their precarious financial position; no one had to tell him that he should be providing for his wife and elderly parents. Each day he felt l
ess of a man, yet he was literally almost unable to go outside.

  When Ann followed him into the bedroom, he couldn’t look up.

  “Phillip, darling—darling, I’m so sorry to have brought it up,” she murmured, sitting next to him and taking his hand.

  “Ann, I’ll do it,” Phillip replied brokenly. “Just give me a little more time. Please. I love you….”

  He wanted to promise that he would look for a job soon, that somehow he would force himself to get out of the house. But his lips couldn’t form the words.

  They hadn’t really settled anything, Ann thought later that night as she tossed and turned restlessly next to him. The next day was one she didn’t go to work, and when Simon had persuaded Phillip to go to the grocery store, she came to a decision. Picking up the Yellow Pages, she looked up Newman, Ross, Simons and Newman, Attorneys-at-Law. Nervously, she dialed. She had never called Kenny at work before.

  The secretary sounded intimidatingly efficient.

  “Mr. Kenneth Newman, please,” Ann said, trying to sound businesslike. “Mrs. Phillip Coulter calling.”

  “Ann! How are you? What can I do for you?”

  Kenny’s voice was reassuringly familiar. Ann took a deep breath. “Kenny, I need to talk to you. Would it be an imposition if I came by the office?”

  “Of course not,” Kenny said. “But I have a better idea. How about if I take you to lunch?”

  “I don’t want to take up your time.”

  “Don’t be silly, Ann, honey. I always have time for you.”

  Ann silently thanked him for not acting surprised or asking her a million questions. An hour later she fixed her makeup and said goodbye to Phillip. “Darling, if you don’t mind, I’m going downtown for an hour or so.”

  “Why in the world should I mind? You must do as you please, Ann,” he replied tonelessly.

  Guilt made her overly sensitive, and she fled before her face could betray her. But it was for his own good, wasn’t it?

  Kenny had suggested Ernie’s, an old-fashioned, luxurious restaurant known for its great cuisine. Ann had never been there before, and she felt keenly aware of the shabbiness of her faded blue suit as the maître d’ led her to a table.

  Kenny was already seated.

  “How nice to have such a beautiful companion at lunch! Usually it’s just dull businessmen.”

  Inwardly, Kenny was apprehensive, for he had a pretty good idea what Ann wanted. He too had wondered when Phillip would bounce back and start acting like the head of a household. Looking at Ann across the table, he realized she was very ill at ease. She was such a pretty, sweet kid, with those big violet eyes and fair skin. Phillip was a lucky man, he thought with a flash of irritation. Why couldn’t he pull himself together? Other men had suffered in the war.

  “Let’s have a drink, Ann,” he said before she could speak.

  While Ann waited for her sherry, she took her first real look at the room. The velvet wall coverings, the chandeliers, the tables covered with immaculate white linen. It must be very expensive. But apparently Kenny can afford all this. That thought strengthened her resolve. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kenny forestalled her. “Shall we order?”

  How marvelous to be able to have anything she liked. Her menu didn’t even have prices. “Veal Doré?” she suggested timidly. Then, worried that it was too expensive, she quickly glanced at Kenny. “Is that all right?”

  Purposely misunderstanding her, Kenny said, “It’s one of their best dishes. And I’m having the scampi.”

  They had a good California wine with their meal, and by dessert, Ann began to feel pleasantly lightheaded. Glancing about the room, she wondered if there really were people with nothing more on their minds than whether to have the Steak Diane or the Lobster Thermidor. How wonderful….

  Kenny kept up a light, easy flow of conversation until Ann began to fear the meal would end before she could pose her question. After they chose dessert, Ann decided it was time to speak.

  “Kenny, what I wanted to talk to you about was Phillip.”

  “Oh?” Kenny asked warily.

  “He’s fine,” she began. Then, with an honesty born of desperation, she amended, “No, that’s not true. He’s not fine at all, Kenny. I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t have a job and his disability payments will be ending soon. We’re just running out of money and I just don’t know who else to turn to except you.”

  Kenny put his hand on Ann’s. “Relax, honey. You know you can count on me.” This undoubtedly was the prelude to a request for a loan—and Kenny would be happy to oblige. Ann had been so good to Ruthie and Jeremy, and it was the least he could do. “Tell me—what can I do for you?”

  “Well, Phillip doesn’t seem to go out and apply for a position. It’s not that he’s having any real problems,” Ann lied, “but he’s been away for so long he’s afraid of being turned down.”

  Ann couldn’t meet Kenny’s gaze and dropped her eyes to the table. Both of them knew that she was shading the truth about Phillip’s mental health.

  Then she blurted out, “Kenny, do you think you could find a place for Phillip in your firm?”

  Startled, he fumbled for words. “Ann, I—”

  “All he needs is a chance, Kenny! He’s a good lawyer, you know he is!”

  Kenny was speechless. This was the last thing he had expected or wanted. The Coulter family wasn’t his responsibility, for God’s sake! And his law firm wasn’t in business for charity. A few bucks were one thing, but taking on an albatross was quite another.

  He sat back, no longer seeing Ann’s white, pleading face, but Phillip’s, the last time Kenny had seen him. Thinking back, Kenny wondered if Phillip’s weakness hadn’t been there all along. He remembered his inability to adjust after the Coulters had lost their money in the Crash.

  If he took Phillip into the firm with him, God only knew what might happen. Theirs was a trial firm, with a reputation for aggressiveness, and Phillip was certainly in no shape to go into a courtroom or even to meet clients, for that matter.

  Suddenly Kenny’s conscience smote him. He knew he was being unjust. Phillip had been a POW. He had been starved and tortured. And, unlike Kenny, he had not returned to a comfortable niche in a family business. For God’s sake, Kenny decided, Phil is my best friend. Don’t I owe him a chance when he’s down and out?

  There should be things he could do competently even now. He was intelligent. He could research briefs and draft motions, and if he studied up he really couldn’t do the firm any harm. It would be nothing more than a lowly clerkship. If he had any pride he would probably tell Kenny no, but in Phil’s present condition, he could hardly expect anything better.

  Kenny patted Ann’s hand and said, “If you think he might want to come in with us, I’ll certainly speak to him.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Ann cried, relief flooding through her. Then she bit her lip. “Kenny, please don’t mention to Phillip that I suggested it to you.” She paused, then continued awkwardly, “I suppose you think I’m disloyal, going behind Phillip’s back like this….”

  “I think you’re a good wife, Ann. Phil is luckier than he knows to have you. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Kenny. I just can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Ann. Let’s see what Phil thinks about this.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  SITTING ACROSS FROM KENNY at Schroeder’s, Phillip felt uncomfortably out of place. His friend looked so prosperous and self-assured; Phillip was miserably conscious of his ill-fitting suit, cheap tie, and scarred cheek.

  Kenny broke the silence. “How’s that drink holding up?”

  Phillip, startled, asked, “What?”

  “Another martini?”

  “Sure, don’t mind if I do.”

  When the drinks came, Kenny said, “What do you feel like eating?”

  Past echoes rang eerily through Phillip’s head. I don’t know—what do you want? I don’t know much about Chinese
food. His and Ann’s first date …

  “Phil? You still there?”

  Phillip looked at him blankly. “Oh … Whatever you’re having, Kenny.”

  “What else? Sauerbraten and Schnitzel and Wein—ja?”

  “Jawohl!” Phillip tried to join in the joke.

  If the rest of the world had changed, Schroeder’s had not. The dark, wood-paneled dining room with the huge brass-railed bar was exactly the same as the last time Phillip had seen it some six years earlier. He actually found himself relaxing and enjoying the delicious meal.

  It was only as the waiter brought their coffee that Kenny made his offer.

  Phillip set his cup down abruptly and stared at his friend. On the one hand, the job was a godsend. No need to pound the streets, no need to endure nerve-racking interviews. On the other hand, it was galling—a lifeline thrown to a miserable slob who couldn’t make it on his own.

  Phillip felt a spurt of anger that fate had placed Kenny in a position to act as benefactor and himself in the role of supplicant. Kenny’s father had been in practice in San Francisco for almost fifty years and had built a thriving practice. All Kenny had had to do was show up the day after graduation and be escorted to a plush office with his name newly lettered on the door. Nathan Newman hadn’t squandered Kenny’s future the way Simon had ruined Phillip’s chances. It wasn’t just.

  Then Phillip reminded himself that he was being unreasonable. Kenny was doing him a favor. The real question he had to face was whether he could handle the stress of any job, let alone a legal practice. The thought of trying and failing terrified him, especially under Kenny’s eyes. But how could he say no?

  “You really need my help?”

  Kenny chose his words carefully. “We always need a good researcher, and right now we especially need someone good in pretrial procedure. I remember you were the best in the class at that back at Boalt.”

  “That was a long time ago, Kenny.”

  “It’ll come back to you, Phil. Come on, how about it?”

  Phillip lit a cigarette. “Okay. We’ll give it a whirl.”