Yet I lie down alone
Singing her song
“SAPPHICS,” JOY DAVIDMAN
Weeks passed, and I wondered how we’d all done without each other: how the children had not rolled around together like puppies, or Renee and I hadn’t always sat up late playing Chinese checkers and drinking rum, talking of life and love.
It didn’t take long for my cousin to take over many of the household chores, and she did it smoothly, as if this was what she’d been sent for. Her natural impulses were always toward neatness and elegance, and I welcomed this as a gift. We laughed, sipped, and helped each other with the children, who often ran wild through the house and gardens. The radio I’d kept off, Renee turned on, and it murmured with news of the outside world. Britain announced it too had atomic weapons. Albert Schweitzer won the Nobel Peace Prize. Herman Wouk was awarded the Pulitzer for Caine Mutiny. Each time I heard about a literary prize, my old dreams awakened inside, stretching and breathing life into my work.
With another set of hands in the house, I wrote later and slept in more often—one of the things I loved the best after long nights at my desk. The children ate a hot breakfast instead of cold cereal, the laundry was finished and neatly folded, and food lined the refrigerator shelves.
Joy:
How does one keep obligations when the will has grown weak? It’s a virtue, I understand, and maybe it’s only through a higher power. A giving up? Or a giving in? Somehow the secret is hidden in this idea.
Jack:
Let me tell you about Janie and Maureen Moore. Have I mentioned them as of yet? They lived with Warnie and me for twenty-four years as I fulfilled an obligation and commitment—that is indeed a virtue, Joy, and it’s just as you’re doing with your cousin, your niece, and your nephew. You see, Mrs. Janie Moore and her daughter, Maureen, came to live with us because I promised my wartime comrade Paddy Moore that I would watch over his family if he were killed, which horribly he was. Maureen moved out a while ago, but Mrs. Moore—Janie—lived with us right up until last year. Right now she is in a rest home—she left us raging and furious—and has not long in this world. The last many years it wasn’t easy, in fact for a long while it’s been quite miserable. Her exit set both Warnie and me free from a grievous burden.
Joy:
I had no idea you had two women living with the both of you for so long! Jack, you are an admirable and kind man. But I love having Renee here—it is my commitment to Bill that is tearing away at the fabric of my virtues.
I banged at the typewriter one afternoon when Renee ambled into my office with a pointed question. “If you’re miserable, have you not thought of divorce? I can see that your heart is closed to Bill.”
“I’m trying to make it work; I do love him.” I pointed at my work. “I’m trying to keep these commandments here, cookie.” I attempted levity and winked.
“I’m getting divorced,” she said, her eyes as dry as her heart for Claude. “Is that wrong and ‘unbiblical’? I have no use for a religion like that, if one at all.”
“No,” I said with warmth. “Claude beat you. And the children. That is not my situation. My heart is troubled toward a man who says he loves me even as he berates me: a man I love and now fear. And, Renee, I’ve come to see that there is a difference between religion and God. A very big difference.”
Renee came closer with a softer tone. “Bill told me what the doctor said . . .”
My eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“That you need to heal, that you might need to go somewhere to do so. We all need you, the kids especially, and if you’re sick and exhausted you’re no use to anyone. Not even yourself. And especially not your work.”
“I know, but leaving feels impossible. How could I leave my children? I’m not sure I could survive that either.”
“It may not be easy,” she said, “but it’s not impossible. I’ve done loads of things lately that I once thought impossible.”
“I have thought of England,” I said. “Of going there and getting some rest from these illnesses, of writing and talking to the one friend who might be able to help me. I’ve longed to see the English countryside, immerse myself in its history and literature. I have an idea for a book set there, but all I can do is keep trying to make things right here. Keep writing. Keep taking care of my family.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you dream of going to England, and your doctor suggests the same, then you should, Joy. We will be fine here.”
I stared at my cousin with wonder. Maybe it was possible: all the dreams and the wishes and the imaginings of England’s cool countryside.
“I don’t know.” I stared outside as if England rested on our Staatsburg acreage. “Chad went and it changed his life. When he came back he wrote his best work yet, and hasn’t quit.”
“It could change all of ours too, Joy. Maybe this is your one chance. Why not take it? I’m here to help.”
She smiled at me with the kindness one might bestow on a small child and then stood to walk away.
When the room was empty, my thoughts returned to something I’d said to Chad not so very long ago in Vermont, What would become of me if I should ever grow brave? Well, I believe I was about to find out.
Jack:
How is the visit with your cousin? With our house claimed again as our own, Warnie and I entertained a guest from Ireland—my childhood chum, Arthur Greeves—and we are now resting for the weekend. Even being turned down for a new professorship at Magdalen cannot dim my cheerful mood. And last week I gave a speech about children’s literature at the Library Association—I believe I shall take the speech and turn it into an essay; it contains much of what you and I wrote about in our letter—the good and bad ways to write for children. As has become the way: your words help to clarify my own.
Joy:
It’s been nice to have a female friend in the house. It does bring old memories of childhood, though. Renee has taken a job in Poughkeepsie, therefore we have money flowing back in now; she is deeply worried about carrying her weight. I am writing like a madwoman—the King Charles II book has opened a crack in my creativity and the words are flowing once again.
Exciting news: I am making plans to come to England. There are some logistics to unravel, but I believe it can be done.
One humid spring morning I went to both Bill and Renee and asked them to hear me as I told them of my plans to save us all.
We sat in the living room, Bill and I on the sagging corduroy couch and Renee in the stiff Naugahyde chair across the low wood veneer coffee table. The room was as clean as it’d been in months—between Renee’s ministrations and the return of our housekeeper, Grace, the dust and clutter had been temporarily excised.
“In April,” I began, “I’ll receive a check for my articles. I’d like to use that money to take a journey overseas.” I paused. “To England.”
Renee smiled at me, her eyeliner crinkling. Bill shifted, his back pressing against the armrest of the couch as if he was trying to get as far away from me as possible. “England,” he said in a sentence all its own.
“Bill,” Renee said in her sweet voice, “you know Dr. Cohen said she needed something like this.”
Bill glanced at Renee and then to me. “Are you feeling sick again?”
“You know how I feel. My body hurts. Everything in me hurts. But that’s not the only reason. I love you both and I love the boys, I know I do, but I feel numb to it, and lost.”
“And how will you live?” His voice sank lower, the Southern accent nowhere to be found.
“I have the articles, and a royalty check coming from Macmillan any day now, and I’ll finish or work on at least two books while I’m there.” I shifted on the couch, took in a breath, set forth the words I’d practiced. “When I close my eyes, I see the deep green of it all. It’s a place where we have friends I can stay with—Phyl is in London now.” I looked at Renee. “She stayed with us last winter during a crisis in her life, and she’s made it clear that I have a place to stay. And we also have a friend who might have some answers to help us all.”
“Mr. Lewis,” Bill said.
“Yes.” I hesitated. This was where I could lose my balance. “I’ve started the novel on King Charles II, and I think it could be a real moneymaker. But I need to go to Edinburgh to the library there for research. I could also complete the Ten Commandments articles, which might make an appealing book, all compiled. And to boot, England’s medical care is practically free. They don’t stop tourists from using it when on holiday. I could finally get all my teeth fixed and some checkups I’ve been putting off because—”
“We don’t have the money here,” Bill interrupted, but then softened, moving closer to me and taking my hands. “Joy, we want you to get better, and I know we can’t afford the medical care here. Do what you need to do. If you feel going abroad might help you, then you should do it.”
“Whatever you need to be healthy,” Renee agreed.
“I’m doing this for all of us,” I said. “I can barely stand to think of leaving my boys, but I know they will have both of you. Everything will be better when I return. It’s no different from one of your business trips,” I said to Bill. “Whenever you come back, it’s like you never left.”
Bill kissed the inside of my palm. “We will be fine.” He stood and sauntered off as if we’d just decided to have sloppy joes for dinner.
Renee also stood. She picked up a plastic dog-chew toy shaped like a bone from the floor and threw it into a basket under the coffee table. “We’ll be dandy, cookie. Just fine. You’ve saved us, and I will do the same for you.” She reached for my hand. “You get well so you can return ready for anything.”
“Yes, ready for anything.”
Jack:
Warnie and I look forward to finally meeting our pen-friend. Please keep us apprised of your travel plans. Looking forward.
Joy:
I sail from New York the second week of August and will arrive in Southampton on the 13th. I shall be staying with an old friend in London and will let you know when I arrive and have settled.
During those weeks before I left, my insides felt torn open in places that had felt numb for years, as if the decision itself had awakened the soul inside of me. I told my sons where I was going and what a grand adventure it would be. We made up stories of what England might look like. Davy drew pictures, and Douglas wondered if the forests were denser or greener. No one could count how many times I told them how much I would miss them, how the idea of being gone made me ache for them even as they sat by my side.
“Boys,” I said when I tucked them in a week before my leaving, “I love you so much. As big as the universe.”
“The universe can’t be measured,” Davy said with his new celestial wisdom.
“Exactly,” I said.
“When you come back, will you bring us presents?” Douglas asked.
“Loads of them.”
“Do you think Mr. Lewis will be as nice as the professor in his book?”
“Even nicer,” I said. “I will write to you and tell you everything about him.”
They fell asleep as easily as exhausted children can, and I stood over them, tears running down my face and into the corners of my lips.
When we arrived at the pier of the Hudson River docks that August morning, Bill stood tall and stiff as the dock’s pilings. “Safe travels, Joy.” He offered a weak hug.
I took his hands. “This is a trip for all of us. It will be a return to health, more stable finances, and vitality for our family. You see that, don’t you, Poogle?”
He turned away, and Renee came to me. She held me longer, her hug tighter. She stepped back in her red sundress and wide-brimmed straw hat and smiled. “I will miss you, cookie. Come home safely and quickly.” She kissed my cheek, and I knew there would be a bright-red mark from her lipstick.
A humid breeze carrying the pungent stench of smoke and gasoline washed over us as I held out my arms to my sons. Behind me the grand ocean liner waited, a mountain of a ship I would soon board. “Davy, Douglas. Come to me.”
One son under each arm, I drew them in a tight circle and kissed their faces, every little inch. “I will be home soon. I love you so much.” My voice snagged on the tears clogged in my throat.
“Don’t cry, Mommy.” Douglas patted my cheek. “You can bring us presents from England.”
Davy buried his head in my shoulder and began to cry softly, his glasses falling to the ground. I lifted his face and held his chin in my hand to see his deep brown eyes fixed on mine. “Look at the moon and know that I’ll be looking at it too. We will be under the same stars and the same sky. And it will carry me home. I promise you.”
We clung to each other until Bill announced, “Let’s not make this worse than it is. You must go now.”
With two more kisses on my sons’ cheeks, I watched as Bill took their hands and the foursome walked away toward Bobby and Rosemary, who stood waiting at the end of the sidewalk. It was only Douglas who looked back and waved. I didn’t move one step until they were gone from sight, and then slowly I lifted my eyes to the ocean liner. She held firm to the docks with ropes as thick as trees, and she didn’t move in the choppy waters, although all around her the water swayed, danced, and slapped against her hull. Tall white letters along her smooth ribs declared: SS United States.
Onboard, the wind was warm, and I could almost taste the sweet-salt middle of the ocean, where the heat would dissipate. I stood on the aft deck, my dress flapping like a bird that couldn’t get off the ground, and I stayed there until the Statue of Liberty was as small as a toy in a gift shop, until the last of land faded from view and the vast sea was all that remained.