kneeling at the end of the dock, gripping the planks and peering down into the water. Constance joined her and she saw what Daddy had done. The skiff was on the bottom of the river. Through the shifting sunlight on the moving water they saw it there, lying on its side in the weeds, rocking slightly in the current. He hadn’t told them, he’d let them discover it for themselves. It was an
evil
act, said Constance, so aggrieved you’d have thought it happened yesterday.
—Hardly evil, I said mildly. You’d been told not to take it out.
—For that you scuttle a boat? He took out the bung plug and just let it
sink!
—He was concerned for your safety.
This made her more angry still.
—No, Sidney, he wasn’t, all he wanted was to deprive us of a pleasure. Whose side are you on?
I told her I was always on her side. Then why was I supporting Daddy? I said it’s not
supporting—
—Oh yes it is!
She then told me what it meant. When Daddy scuttled the skiff he was really drowning
her
. Why? Because that’s what he’d wanted to do with her ever since she was born, just drown her like an unwanted kitten. Like a needy dependent, she said, some kind of a stray creature who required the shelter of his house but was entitled to none of its warmth, and for damn sure none of its
love.
—Oh for god’s sake, I said.
I found it hard to take her seriously. The story of the scuttled skiff told me more about Constance than it did about him. It was obvious that she didn’t understand him. She didn’t realize he was only concerned for her welfare. Any father would do the same.
—Sweetheart, I said, he didn’t want to drown you.
She sat up and stared at me.
—Oh yes he fucking did, she said.
When she started to swear at me there was no point continuing the conversation. It was very discouraging. And an earlier conversation hadn’t helped, when she’d told me I was too old for her. I couldn’t seem just to shrug it off. I found it all too easy to imagine her meeting a younger man and, yes, being tempted to stray. This was probably foolish thinking on my part but entirely predictable. It’s an ancient simian anxiety, no man is exempt. I’d become not
suspicious,
exactly, but alert. In those days I liked to bring my graduate students home and the apartmentwould often be full of vigorous young men conducting boisterous arguments about Byron or Goethe or the divine afflatus of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Here life was noisily lived, and although Constance was usually too tired to take part in my informal seminars, when she did join us I’d take notice of which of my students she responded to more warmly than was strictly necessary.
This would provoke another argument. Once again I was accused of various crimes of the heart and had to defend myself. There were tears and screams and even the breaking of glassware and crockery. It was exhausting but it ended, as before, in bed, where all was forgiven and a tentative peace accord established. I soon abandoned the informal seminars. So yes, she kept me vigilant. She also kept me at a pitch of anxious exhilaration that I hadn’t known since the early days with Barb. Ed Kaplan saw the difference in me. He told me I looked ten years younger.
—I was right about you, he said.
—What do you mean by that?
—You need a wife.
We were crossing an uptown campus, I remember, on our way to lunch. I asked him to explain himself.
—Sidney, where else besides marriage can you find yourself in a moral predicament on a daily basis? You’re one of those men who’s got to be forever choosing to do the right thing so as to silence the voices in your head.
—What voices?
—Guilty voices.
—What am I supposed to be so guilty about?
—Your controlling personality. Your inability to tolerate criticism—
—Okay, Ed, that’s enough.
He’d missed the point. As for voices in the head, that wasn’t my problem. We walked on in silence. We crossed Broadway. We were too slow with
evil
act, said Constance, so aggrieved you’d have thought it happened yesterday.
—Hardly evil, I said mildly. You’d been told not to take it out.
—For that you scuttle a boat? He took out the bung plug and just let it
sink!
—He was concerned for your safety.
This made her more angry still.
—No, Sidney, he wasn’t, all he wanted was to deprive us of a pleasure. Whose side are you on?
I told her I was always on her side. Then why was I supporting Daddy? I said it’s not
supporting—
—Oh yes it is!
She then told me what it meant. When Daddy scuttled the skiff he was really drowning
her
. Why? Because that’s what he’d wanted to do with her ever since she was born, just drown her like an unwanted kitten. Like a needy dependent, she said, some kind of a stray creature who required the shelter of his house but was entitled to none of its warmth, and for damn sure none of its
love.
—Oh for god’s sake, I said.
I found it hard to take her seriously. The story of the scuttled skiff told me more about Constance than it did about him. It was obvious that she didn’t understand him. She didn’t realize he was only concerned for her welfare. Any father would do the same.
—Sweetheart, I said, he didn’t want to drown you.
She sat up and stared at me.
—Oh yes he fucking did, she said.
When she started to swear at me there was no point continuing the conversation. It was very discouraging. And an earlier conversation hadn’t helped, when she’d told me I was too old for her. I couldn’t seem just to shrug it off. I found it all too easy to imagine her meeting a younger man and, yes, being tempted to stray. This was probably foolish thinking on my part but entirely predictable. It’s an ancient simian anxiety, no man is exempt. I’d become not
suspicious,
exactly, but alert. In those days I liked to bring my graduate students home and the apartmentwould often be full of vigorous young men conducting boisterous arguments about Byron or Goethe or the divine afflatus of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Here life was noisily lived, and although Constance was usually too tired to take part in my informal seminars, when she did join us I’d take notice of which of my students she responded to more warmly than was strictly necessary.
This would provoke another argument. Once again I was accused of various crimes of the heart and had to defend myself. There were tears and screams and even the breaking of glassware and crockery. It was exhausting but it ended, as before, in bed, where all was forgiven and a tentative peace accord established. I soon abandoned the informal seminars. So yes, she kept me vigilant. She also kept me at a pitch of anxious exhilaration that I hadn’t known since the early days with Barb. Ed Kaplan saw the difference in me. He told me I looked ten years younger.
—I was right about you, he said.
—What do you mean by that?
—You need a wife.
We were crossing an uptown campus, I remember, on our way to lunch. I asked him to explain himself.
—Sidney, where else besides marriage can you find yourself in a moral predicament on a daily basis? You’re one of those men who’s got to be forever choosing to do the right thing so as to silence the voices in your head.
—What voices?
—Guilty voices.
—What am I supposed to be so guilty about?
—Your controlling personality. Your inability to tolerate criticism—
—Okay, Ed, that’s enough.
He’d missed the point. As for voices in the head, that wasn’t my problem. We walked on in silence. We crossed Broadway. We were too slow with
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