ON DECEMBER THE TWENTY-SIXTH, Sylvia delivered a baby girl, weighing just under seven pounds. After much persuading, she had agreed to a cesarean, so the baby’s time of arrival was known well in advance. She was spared the long ordeal of labor, but she also missed the excitement of hearing her daughter’s first cry. Sylvia was back in her room before she regained consciousness, and she didn’t see Martin until the next day. He seemed delighted to have a girl and handed out cigars to all the doctors. When Sylvia suggested naming the child after his favorite grandmother, Amanda Roth, he seemed as pleased as he had when she’d named Julian after his father.
Martin was pleased and as the babies grew he knew he had little cause to complain about the pattern his life had taken. The brokerage prospered, the family was healthy, and Sylvia seemed to have accepted the role of suburban mother. If sometimes Martin felt life proceeded on too even a keel, he kept such thoughts to himself. Only occasionally did he allow himself to question his life, and that was when he felt the children were growing away from him.
Between the nurse, Sylvia, and the maids, Martin felt as if he were losing the special closeness he’d enjoyed with Julian. He began working longer hours the year Amy was born and sometimes days passed when he wouldn’t see his daughter. He begged Sylvia to keep the children up later, but she didn’t like to upset their routine.
Goddamnit, they’re my children, Martin sometimes felt like saying, but he didn’t although sometimes sitting at the table with Bess and Sylvia he felt a surge of restlessness. Was it less than two years since Julian’s first birthday, when Martin had felt he was the luckiest man in the world? Now sometimes he envied Sylvia’s apparent contentment, envied and resented it at the same time.
One night after the children were in bed, Martin and Sylvia settled into their favorite chairs in the library. Martin had taken out the stock market report and barely heard Sylvia’s rundown of the day’s activities until she said, “If you could have seen how excited Julian was.”
Martin poised his index finger on the quotation on U.S. Steel and looked up with sudden interest. “Sorry, I’m afraid I missed that. Who did you say was excited?”
“Julian.”
“Oh? About what?”
“Going to nursery school. The one your cousin Jane is sending Mark and Deborah to. Of course they are in kindergarten but Julian will be in the same group as Joel and Nicole and—”
As though he had been struck, Martin almost shouted, “You are sending Julian to school? For God’s sakes, he is only three.”
Sylvia was shocked by his outburst. Suppressing her own anger, she said quietly, “Jane sent the twins when they were only two.”
“I don’t give a damn what my cousin Jane did, she can do anything she damn well pleases, but I don’t believe in regimenting children that young. Let them grow up, for God’s sake.”
“But you don’t understand, Martin. I feel Julian needs to play with other children. In fact, the other day when Jane stopped in after school, Julian asked Mark if he wouldn’t take him.”
“Why in the hell didn’t you discuss this with me before?”
“Well, darling, that’s what I’m doing now.”
Well, she was, but Martin sensed the decision had been made. Knowing he was being unfair, he said crossly, “All right, Sylvia, but the answer is no. Julian is entirely too young to be sent away to school.”
Sylvia bit her lower lip, trying not to smile. She knew Martin was having a hard time realizing that Julian was no longer a baby. She expected this was partly because he had never become as close to Amy. Trying to keep her patience, Sylvia said, “He is not exactly being sent away, Martin. He will be in school from nine to eleven-thirty. It will be good for him. He’ll grow up being a very lonely little boy if he is only surrounded by adults.”
Martin felt as if he’d been pushed into a corner. In her sweet, compassionate way, Sylvia sounded as if the sacrifice were entirely for Julian’s sake. Martin didn’t believe it. He felt that Sylvia followed whatever his cousin Jane suggested. As the mother of four, Jane’s advice was sacrosanct and for all he knew maybe she was right. But the thought of Julian going off to school filled Martin with a nameless sadness. For the first time he wished they lived in San Francisco so he could walk Julian to school in the morning before going to the office. Well, there was no use arguing. He would look like a heel if he tried to stop her, and he was damn well sure his mother’s allegiance would be with Sylvia. His mother always sided with her.
“Well, where in the hell is this school?” he asked sullenly and Sylvia knew that was his way of giving his consent.
Martin insisted on driving Julian on the first day, but afterwards he was sorry he had gone. Something very precious died in Martin when Julian let go of his hand and ran off to play with the other kids. He didn’t even look up when Martin pecked him on the cheek and said goodbye. If Martin had ever been asked to pick a time when the first blush of happiness left his marriage, he would have said the moment he left Julian at school. But he knew that was unfair. It wasn’t Sylvia’s fault the boy was growing up.
Over the next year Martin frequently went to work late, dropping Julian off first, and he often called home at twelve to make sure the boy had returned safely. He saved all of Julian’s crayoned pictures and had them matted and framed as if they were Picassos. He even hung some in his office and would point them out to visitors saying, “By God, the boy is really good, for a three-year-old.”
No one was surprised that Martin’s favorite was a scribbled figure captioned “Daddy.”
One night Julian sat on Martin’s knee, describing a new picture, showing off all the brilliance Martin insisted the boy possessed. “Look, Daddy, the sky is blue and the tree is green, the moon is yellow and the house is white. And look, there’s a daddy walking up the path with his big boy,” and he pointed to two figures who were almost the same size.
“Do you like it, Daddy?”
“I love it, Julian, but don’t you keep wishing to grow up. Stay a little boy just a while longer—for my sake. Okay Julian?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Although Julian said he was willing, time was not. Somehow, before Martin knew it, Julian turned six and one morning he and Sylvia went to enroll the boy in the Menlo School, which was a day school through ninth grade. Instead of remembering his own happy days there, Martin felt bereft.
Later that afternoon he sat in his office and couldn’t concentrate on anything. He stared out the window at the bridge, but even that elegant span of metal failed to raise his spirits. His life felt so empty. The children seemed to have less time for him. Both were busy with their own playmates, and even Sylvia suddenly seemed involved with a bunch of silly charities. He felt as if he were living on the edge of everyone else’s lives, even his mother’s. Hell, no one was paying him much attention. He didn’t want to feel sorry for himself, but he did.
Yet Martin didn’t complain, which in many ways was unfair to Sylvia. As far as she could see their marriage was as happy as ever. They never fought. They rarely argued. But Sylvia was aware that Martin was less than content. Of course she did not have much time to dwell on the problem. She had been raised to believe that children were the most important thing in marriage and, after all, Martin said he was happy.
Sylvia pushed the vague concern aside and continued to fill her days taking the children to the orthodontist, to dancing lessons, tennis lessons, horseback lessons, swimming lessons. She was elected to the school board to help supervise the curriculum and worked hard getting a local Congressman who favored safe streets and better schools elected. All this would help her children’s future.
She didn’t neglect Martin, for no matter what she did during the day, she was always home by five to shower and dress for his homecoming.
Their friends considered them the ideal couple. They went to the opera, the theater, and charity balls. They supported several San Francisco galleries and were active members of the country club. If Martin was bored by the conversation at the golf course or by the inevitable game of gin after dinner at the club, he showed his feelings only by an occasional prolonged silence.
He would sometimes watch Sylvia’s placid acceptance of her own routine with envy. She didn’t seem to mind the constant driving. She said that she’d resented being consigned to the family chauffeur when she was a girl and was determined her children would not be similarly neglected. She was convinced that that was one of the reasons she did not feel close to her own mother. No, she told Martin when he questioned the hours she spent in the car, she was happy to drive. It gave her a chance to talk with the kids.
“Don’t you get bored?” Martin once asked her.
“No.” She enjoyed her days. She was content being the loving mother, devoted wife, obedient daughter-in-law. She planned their life carefully. That’s why it was so perfect. They were the lucky couple, weren’t they? Ask anyone.
Anyone, that is, except Martin Roth. He was jealous of Sylvia’s tranquility, and decent enough to be angry with himself for begrudging her her enjoyment of the small things which filled her life.
Reading the paper one Sunday in April when Julian was about nine, Martin looked out through the French doors to the garden and was filled with an indefinable yearning. It was spring. The flowers were bursting into bloom, filling the air with a heady fragrance. The seasons were changing, life was racing by, and Martin felt as if he were being left at the side of the road, a passive onlooker. Stepping outside, his feeling of frustration grew. Why had he allowed himself to be stifled? Why did he let his wife and mother control his life? The fact that the accusation was unfair just made him angrier. He knew in the beginning he’d encouraged Sylvia to run his home just as his mother had run his father’s. He had believed that this was all he wanted. He had been certain that any other longings would be satisfied by the children. Well, they weren’t, and he found himself furious at Sylvia whether it was her fault or not.
Tossing down the paper, he walked upstairs, past Julian and Amy’s rooms to the bedroom he shared with Sylvia. He stood for a long moment observing her. “Hi, darling,” she said when she realized he was there. “What have you been—”
“I want you to get the children ready to go to the house in Tahoe,” he said impulsively. Maybe a change of routine would put him in a better mood.
Sylvia, shocked by the anger underlying his request, wasn’t sure how to respond. “Martin, darling,” she said finally, “it’s too early for Tahoe and the children are—”
“I don’t give a damn, Sylvia—it won’t hurt them if they miss a few days of school.”
“Darling, I really don’t understand any of this.”
“That’s just the trouble,” Martin said. “Why do you need to understand? Why can’t we just once do something because I feel like it? And I feel like going to the Lake.”
“Martin, I think you are being unreasonable. I can’t get the house ready that quickly, and besides I want to find out why you are so angry.”
Martin clenched his fists before answering. Good fathers and husbands controlled their tempers, but suddenly he wasn’t sure if he still wanted those two roles. Still he would try. Taking a deep breath, he tried to explain, praying that Sylvia would understand the need for excitement and adventure that he couldn’t express, that he was trying to assuage with this small, unplanned family trip.
“Sylvia, I am not angry. At least I’m trying not to be. I just thought it would be a good idea if we could get away. What would be so dreadful if you and I went up without the children and let Bess bring them up in a few days?”
“Really, Martin, as much as I would love that, I think we should be here when the children get out of school. If you think about it, darling, you’ll see that’s the right thing to do.”
Martin didn’t care about doing the right thing, but the idea of a spontaneous little vacation had been ruined anyway, so he decided to give in. “You’re right,” he said. “We’ll go when we planned.”
“I knew you would agree Martin, darling.”
Martin spent the next two hours hitting tennis balls as hard as he could from the ejector.
On the fifteenth of April, precisely as planned, Martin checked twelve pieces of luggage into the car to drive to the airport. They always flew to Tahoe because Amy got carsick on long trips. They reached the airport in plenty of time only to discover the plane had been delayed by fog, which did little to improve Martin’s spirits. He snapped at Sylvia when she suggested coffee and yelled at Julian when he refused to play cards with his sister. At Sylvia’s urging, he agreed to take Amy to explore the airport shops, but when they came back with enough bubble gum, Hershey bars, and comic books to last a lifetime, Julian began asking, “When are we going to leave, Dad?” until Martin blew up, shouting at his son to shut up until they were on the plane.
“Martin, I don’t think it at all necessary to speak to Julian that way,” said Bess, for once breaking her own rule about interfering.
Sylvia tried to stay out of the argument, but as Martin’s voice rose she tried to calm him, whispering that Julian was still a little boy and they would be going soon anyway. Martin realized that he was acting childishly, but his bad mood didn’t lift until they finally landed in Reno.
Almost from the moment they arrived, Martin felt as if he had been let out of jail. As soon as the children had gone to bed he drove Sylvia down to the Cal-Neva lodge, where she played roulette and Martin shot craps. Then they danced until one in the morning and caught the last show of the Hawaiian revue. By this time Martin was a little drunk. Sylvia was still acting wary, uncertain of his temper, when he announced she had never looked better and he couldn’t wait to get her home to bed.
The next morning he was up at eight, rested as if he’d had a full night’s sleep. He left Sylvia in bed and went down to breakfast, where he was thrilled to find he had the children to himself.
Boy, they are gorgeous kids, he thought as he looked at them over the rim of his coffee cup. “Dad, can we go on the higher slopes today?” Julian asked, seeing Martin’s good spirits.
He looked at them for a moment. They were damn good skiers, better than most kids their age, but he knew Sylvia didn’t think they were ready for the advanced trails. “I don’t think so, Julian, not this year,” he said.
“Why not, Dad?”
Amy chimed in, “Yes, why not, Dad?”
“Because I really don’t think you’re quite ready for it.”
Upon which Julian protested, “I’m not a child any longer and I’ve been skiing since I was four.”
“Me, too, Daddy,” Amy said.
What they said was true and like most indulgent fathers he found it hard to say no. “We’ll just go up and tell your mother,” he said, giving in.
Sylvia was yawning as they came into the room. “How did you sleep, dear?” Martin asked.
“Just great,” she said. Then, noticing the kids, she added, “Have you all made plans for the day?”
“Well, the children are anxious to get in some skiing.”
“Darling, would you forgive me if I didn’t join you? I’d like to be lazy today and I think Mother wanted to go into the village a little later.”
“I wish you would,” Martin said. But before he could say more to persuade her, Julian and Amy pulled him from the room. Julian figured the less time they spent around their mother the less likely she was to find out they were planning to try the upper slopes.
It was only a short drive to the ski area, where they took a gondola to the top of the mountain. The kids were beside themselves with excitement and Martin had to restrain them so that he could check their bindings.
Finally they were ready for the descent. Amy quickly maneuvered her way in front, shifting from side to side with neat parallel turns. She felt very grown up and hoped she could stay in front of her father and brother for the whole run. She concentrated on turning just at the top of each mogul, trying to maintain her speed. Then she looked back to see how far behind her brother was. The moment of curiosity proved disastrous. The edge of her ski caught on some ice and she lost her balance, still going over thirty miles an hour. She toppled over and over until she hit a snow bank.
Martin saw her fall and his heart nearly stopped. He skied up to her and when he saw she was unconscious he yelled for Julian to get the ski patrol. Lifting her head gently, he implored her to wake up, speak to him.
Slowly she opened her eyes, but there was no recognition in them. He wanted to die. Martin had no idea how long they were there, but it seemed like an eternity before the ski patrol arrived with the sled.
“She is going to be okay, Dad,” Julian said as the medics lifted her. Martin put his arms around his son, grateful for the boy’s attempt to comfort him. They waited until Amy was bundled into the sled, then followed the patrol down the mountain.
At the Squaw Valley emergency room Martin called Sylvia. When she heard Martin’s voice on the phone, she knew something was wrong.
“Sylvia,” Martin began, “don’t get upset. Amy had a little accident.”
Swallowing hard, she asked what had happened. “Well, she hit her head. But I’m sure she’ll be all right.”
“Where are you?” Sylvia asked.
He told her and she said she’d be there immediately.
Martin and Julian were waiting in the hall when she and Bess arrived.
“Where is she?” Sylvia asked, trying to hold back her tears.
“She’s been taken upstairs.”
“How badly is she hurt?”
“The doctor told me she has a slight concussion.”
“Concussion?” Bess and Sylvia said at the same time.
“Yes,” Martin almost whispered.
“How did it happen?” Sylvia asked.
“We were coming down from Gun Barrell,” Julian began.
“Gun Barrell?” Sylvia gasped. “I can’t believe you took the children up there.”
Bess, who rarely criticized her son, couldn’t resist saying, “Martin, that was totally irresponsible.”
“Get off my back, Mother!” Martin snapped. “I’m worried sick as it is. I don’t need your recriminations.” With that he walked away, leaving Sylvia to find out where Amy’s room was. She started upstairs, still furious. Skiing with the other families wasn’t enough for Martin. He needed to show his children what a free spirit he was. Never mind if they were not ready for the upper trails. When she reached Amy’s door she braced herself for the sight of an unconscious child, but when she went inside she found Amy propped up in bed with a big bandage around her head. “Hi, Mom,” she said.
Sylvia almost fainted with relief.
“How are you, darling?”
“Great, Mom. I just got a bump on my head.”
“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”
“No, Mom, really.”
The doctor confirmed that the Roths had a great deal for which to be grateful.
After a few days of observation, Amy was sent home as good as new, but the accident left Sylvia and Martin with scars that didn’t heal so quickly. Though they didn’t discuss it again, Sylvia felt he had foolishly risked the children’s lives. For his part, Martin resented her silent accusation. Even Julian sensed the tension. One night at dinner he rose to his father’s defense, answered the unspoken question by saying, “You know, it wasn’t Daddy’s idea to come down Gun Barrell and it wasn’t his fault Amy had an accident. She was doing great, in fact she was in the lead.”
Sylvia felt ashamed of her attitude, and when they flew back to San Francisco she tried to leave the incident behind her, but she knew it had made one more crack in the now battered façade of their marriage.