32
26
August 1992
Daniel
is coming tomorrow. He called me from Israel a few days ago to tell me his
plans for his very brief Montréal sojourn. He told me that on Friday (that is,
the day after tomorrow) he has an appointment with a lawyer, not Greg obviously,
something to do with Mikis exhumation. It was a topic he had not mentioned in
a long time and I thought that he had dropped it. Something has been going on,
then, and he has not confided in me.
Is it fair of
me to expect him to confide in me? Of course not. All in all he has been far
more frank with me than I could ever dream of being with my parents. But I had
Tante Clotilde. Does he perhaps have a parent substitute somewhere, unknown to
me, that he confides in? Ignoro, ignorabo, I am afraid. It will remain unknown
to me.
But he has
confided in me, to some extent, about his private life. About Vicky, who he
said he was in love with. Oddly, he didnt mention her when he called the other
day. Somehow I have my doubts about that great love. Even if it is true, it
probably isnt meant to last. It is probably écrit dans le sable, ce rêve insensé d'un amour, que le
ciel n'avait fait durable que pour un instant, pour un jour. (Des Grieux
dans Manon de Massenet.) Oui, cher Daniel, maman et ses citations dopéra.
Am I being
cynical? Perhaps. Perhaps because it is over with Bob Cloutier.
It was fun
while it lasted, my two years with Bob. Much more than my three years, off and
on, with George Kenner. But its over.
I wish I could
say good riddance, but it would not be true. I was never in love with Bob, but
I was fond of him. I still am. But things started to go wrong on our vacation
in France.
We had a good
time in Paris. Things began to change when we got to Marseille. One of the
problems was that Bob (whom I had not known to be a sports fan), together with
his cousins, became glued to the television when the Barcelona Olympics began.
But a much more serious problem was that in speaking to his family he had,
unbeknownst to me, qualified me as his fiancée. Of course we use that term to
mean someone with whom one has a serious relationship, but Bobs relatives
(who made no attempt to hide their attitude toward me) took it as meaning
someone that he intends to marry, and while they thought that I am pretty enough,
I had two strikes against me: (1) I am too old and (2) I am not Jewish. The
age issue, that I could understand, but the Jewish issue baffled me, until I
found out that Bobs father had converted to Judaism, something he never told
me because he did not think that it was important.
And things did
not get any better when we got to Corsica. We spent the first night, exactly
two years after our first date, at the romantic beach hotel. But while the
place was really lovely, either the pressure of Bobs family got to him, or his
romantic past caught up with him, or perhaps the Olympics (especially the image
of our beautiful compatriot Sylvie Fréchette, heroically competing in the solo
synchro swimming soon after the suicide of her yes! fiancé) distracted him,
because he could not perform with me. (He had told me some time ago, in jest,
that he has a crush on SF.)
Things seem to
be getting better when we got back to Paris, but then came the scandal of
Sylvie Fréchette being deprived of the gold medal because a judge had
mistakenly entered an 8 instead of a 9. Bob, whom I had always thought of as
mild-mannered, was beside himself, hurling the choicest Québécois oaths at the
Olympic officials who did not allow the reversal. He was in a foul mood for the
rest of our time together, and there was nothing I could do to change it. Back
in Montréal we agreed to stay apart for a week, but when I called him he was
still not the Bob that I knew. I told him that I would wait for him to call me,
but when ten days passed I decided to call it quits. I called him and told him
so. He apologized, he cried, he said it was a big mistake to take me to meet
his family without telling them more about me, he promised it would never
happen again. But the more he went on, the more I felt that he was not the man
for me. It has been 3 days now and I still feel the same.
So long, Bob,
its been good to know you.
Good night, my
journal.
Permission
While the flight took seven hours, the arrival time on the
clocks was only an hour after the time of departure. He was home before three;
neither Mireille nor Betty was there. He called his mothers office and asked
Sylvia, the receptionist, to tell her that he was home. He called Will
Prospers office to confirm the next days appointment; the secretary told him
that Mr. Prosper may be in court at the time, but that Daniel should come in
anyway, since there were documents waiting for him. He did not need to wait for
the scheduled time of his appointment but could come any time after nine.
He called
Megan and left her a message telling her that he would like to see her
during his very short stay in Montreal, only four nights until his flight
back to New York on
last day of August. Finally he called Fela, and for a change got to actually
speak to the person he was calling. Her condition was better, and she would
love to see him on Saturday.
Mireille
and Betty came home together, chattering in French but switching to English as
soon as they greeted the prodigal son and brother. Betty wanted to know about
Vicky. Daniel admitted that he was no longer in love, and perhaps never had
been. Mother and daughter exchanged knowing glances. He felt embarrassed. He
changed not only the subject but the language and launched into an account of
his experiences in Israel, omitting those with Sabine. It was actually easier
in French, since that was the language he had used there.
They
went out for dinner with the Bermans. Betty and Paul seemed as lovey-dovey as
ever; Betty seemed to have resolved the money issue. Harvey was seated between
Daniel and a new girlfriend named Sarah, who made a habit of interrupting the
old friends conversation with ostentatious displays of affection. This aint
gonna last, Daniel said to himself after the fourth such interruption.
By dessert
time jet lag caught up with him, and he could not stifle his yawns. Sarah
suggested after-dinner coffee, but he declined, thinking that it would disrupt
his sleep even more.
When
they got back there was a message for him from Megan; she was free to see him
the next afternoon.
He
slept with many dreams and many wakings. His dreams were filled with women who
were composites of ones that had known there was a Vivian/Cici, a Gen/Sabine,
an Angie/Audrey, a Karen Witte/Karen Litov. He could not remember a Vicky. Only
Megan was her undiluted self, as May Green.
He
woke up for good at eight-thirty, feeling like a Marcello Mastroianni character
in a Fellini movie. (Lately he had been told a few times, most recently by
Marisol Vidal, that he looked like a young Mastroianni.) He felt fully rested,
and it was only then that he remembered his upcoming visit to Will Prospers
office.
Prospers receptionist was just as English as he, though
the French that Daniel heard her speak on the phone as he entered the office
was fluent. Good morning, Mister Wilner, she said when she hung up. Did you
have a nice trip?
Very,
Daniel said, not feeling like chitchat. By now he felt that he didnt really
know what he was there for, and wanted the transaction to be over with.
Yes,
the woman said, apparently catching his mood. Well, as I said, Mister Prosper
is in court, but he left this for you. She handed him a large manila envelope
that had been on her desk. He told me to tell you that you should read the
material thoroughly, as soon as possible.
Thank
you, Daniel said, and give Mister Prosper my thanks and my regards.
Youre
welcome.
He
took the metro back to his mothers house he no longer thought of it as home
and opened the envelope. Betty was in her room, with music it sounded like
Madonna that could be heard through the closed door. He guessed that she had
bought herself an expensive new sound system with her money.
He
sat down at the kitchen table and opened the envelope. There were a great many
pages computer printouts of imaging results, charts and the like and a
two-page summary result. He scanned idly through the technical language till he
came to the last paragraph.
On
the basis of the preceding, it is our conclusion that the presumed Michael
Wilner is, with a probability of 91% ± 3%, the father of Elisabeth Zoé Wilner,
but, with a probability of 87% ± 4%, not the father of Daniel Martin Wilner.
It
took a good minute, perhaps more, before the import of the conclusions last
clause entered Daniels consciousness.
What
it said was that, barring some mistake, the man whose remains were analyzed was
Bettys father and therefore Miki Wilner, but Miki Wilner was not Daniels
father.
Miki
Wilner is not my father, Daniel said to himself, over and over.
Then
who was?
He
needed the answer immediately. He called Mireilles office and told Sylvia that
he was coming in to see his mother and that it was urgent. He hung up before
Sylvia had a chance to answer. If Sylvia thought that a medical emergency was involved,
so be it. He bolted out of the house, slammed the door behind him, and ran
without stopping, except for red lights, for a quarter of an hour. It was a
warm morning, and he was sweating when he got to the clinic.
Is
everything all right? Sylvia asked Daniel when he stepped into the waiting
room, which was empty The air-conditioning gave him a chill that added to his
discomfort..
No,
it isnt, he answered. But I need to talk to her.
Sylvia
rang the intercom. Doctor Bouchard? Your son is here. After listening for a
moment she switched off the intercom and turned to Daniel. Five minutes, she
said.
While
waiting, Daniel tried to reread the introduction, but got lost in the details
once again. Before long the door of Mireilles office opened and she beckoned
him in.
Even
before sitting down, he handed the report to her and watched her as she began
to read it. She, too, skimmed over the technical details and jumped to the
conclusion. After her initial smile faded from her face a slight trembling started
in her hands and spread to her arms and shoulders as it intensified. Quest
ce que tas fait, petit con, she muttered without looking up from the
paper. Had she said it in English using, for example, something like you
jerk Daniel might have thought that the anger was directed at herself, but
the masculine gender of the epithet made it clear that he was the target. And
if a war of words it was to be, he would not cede her the advantage by
conducting it in French.
He
waited until she finished reading. Can you explain this? he asked.
Explain
what? Mireille seemed to be stalling in order to gather her thoughts.
Where
it says that Michael Wilner is not the father of Daniel Wilner.
Mireille
took a deep breath, and then another. Yes, of course I can explain it.
Another deep breath, and she looked her son in the eye at last. You see, when
I met your father I mean when I met Miki Wilner I was seeing someone. I was
not in love with him by then but we were still dating. And when I met Miki I
knew that I had to break up with Jean-Marc immediately. But a breakup can get
pretty emotional, even when youre not in love, and things can happen without
thinking
She looked away. Jétais une conne
she muttered.
I
know about breakup sex, Daniel said.
Is
that what its called nowadays? Mireille asked with a forced smile.
I
guess so. Ive experienced it. He chose not to mention that his experience
also involved a probability of having caused a pregnancy. Since no child
resulted, it was irrelevant.
It
sounds so
mechanical, Mireille said, defensively. It wasnt like that. I
had to tell him that I was in love with someone else, and I felt sorry for him,
and he was very understanding, and I was grateful to him
I
get it, Daniel said with some impatience in his voice. He did not, at that
moment, want to hear about the emotional circumstances of his conception.
Just the facts, maam. So Jean-Marc, whoever he is, is my father, he
concluded.
In
a very strictly biological sense, perhaps.
Perhaps?
I
suppose so. I never thought about the possibility. As far as I am concerned,
Miki is your father and always will be. You look so amazingly like him, and not
so much like Jean-Marc! It must be some sort of biological fluke.
Did
you take precautions when you broke up with Jean-Marc?
I
dont know. Probably. Maybe not. It was something I needed to
en finir avec.
Uh
get it over with.
Do
you have any pictures of Jean-Marc? Daniel didnt quite believe that he did
not look at all like his biological father.
Of
course not. He meant nothing to me, at least after I met your fa
Miki.
Can
I meet him?
Im
afraid not.
Why?
Hes
dead.
Really?
Physically?
Yes.
What
happened to him?
Well,
Mireille began hesitantly, not sure of how to get into the subject, after we
broke up he became very promiscuous or rather went back to being very
promiscuous and a few years later I discovered that he was bisexual. He was
among the first people to develop AIDS. Have you heard of Patient Zero?
You
mean the flight attendant, Dugas? I thought that story was debunked.
It
was. But anyway, Dugas was one of Jean-Marcs lovers. And Jean-Marc died about
five or six years ago.
The
intercom buzzed. Doctor Bouchard, Sylvias voice said, Miss ONeill is here.
Yes,
Sylvia, Mireille said, just a minute. And to Daniel, Well have to continue
another time.
Maybe,
Daniel said. He gathered the papers back into the envelope, got up and left
without another word and without looking back at his mother.
He walked
back to the house, slowly this time, but still feeling agitated. It took about
half an hour. It was warmer than before, and even without running he felt
sweaty by the time he was halfway there. He would need to take a second shower
before going to see Megan.
The
thought of Megan gave him a sudden sense of calm.
Megan, Megan. A polestar in the night, a beacon in the
storm, a buoy in a turbulent sea. (Any more navigational clichés?) A cooling
comfort, like the lukewarm water that was now showering him. Did he take her
for granted? Yes, but she seemed to want it that way. Always open to him, body
and mind. (An unbeliever like Daniel couldnt very well think body and soul.
Corps et esprit was better, as was Körper und Geist.) Always
there for him, except when she wasnt there. And that one time when was it?
at the end of his freshman year, just before he went to Germany, when she
seemed distant. He would have to ask her about that, if she still remembered.
His
relationship, such as it was, with Megan was now three and a half years old.
Three and a half years! That was longer than Mireilles relationship with Miki,
also contingent on Mikis occasional visits to Montreal. True, this one turned
into a marriage and produced two children, but
Well, it didnt exactly produce
Daniel. Legally, of course, Miki was Daniels father; Harvey had explained the
presumption of paternity to him. If a child is born during a marriage or
within 300 days after its dissolution or annulment, the spouse of the child's
mother is presumed to be the father.
Was
that all it was? A legal presumption? No. There was such a thing as
intellectual paternity. It was normally applied to ideas and movements, but why
could a person not have an intellectual father? Daniels intellectual interests
and ambition had been, since the age of fourteen and perhaps in some
mysterious unconscious way even before that inspired by Michael Wilner. It
was his search for this father that had led him to know himself, as far
as he did so. And, to be frank about it, it was the inheritance from that almus
pater that made it possible, or at least easy, for him to pursue his
interests and ambitions.
What
about biology, then? Who was Jean-Marc? Mireille would tell him soon enough.
For the moment it was enough that he was a promiscuous Frenchman, not a
romantic in the German sense Polish Jew like Miki Wilner. Daniel came by
his own promiscuity genetically, if there was such a gene, and there probably
was one. He was not a mutant. Perhaps it was simply not in his nature to be in
love.
And
he was French, one hundred percent or nearly so. The ancient Gauls were his
ancestors. Nos
ancêtres les Gaulois, as French schoolbooks used to say. The
mostly Jewish kids on the Israel tour made fun of the line. But now he could
claim it for himself.
He was
now dry and he felt clean, inside and out. He felt more ready for Megan than
ever before.
At the
time that they first got together, when they were both seventeen (he was five
months older), she was already experienced. In a school that was not
hypertolerant like North Am she would have been considered a slut. Une
trainee. Or maybe there were some who did so consider her, like Bettys
friends who called Roxane a dyke! But if Megan was a slut, then so was Daniel.
Un traîné. Sluts of the
world unite! Traîné(e)s du monde entier, unissez-vous!
Nos
ancêtres les traîné(e)s
He told Megan about what he had just find out about his
ancestry. She found it amusing. I always thought of you as French, she said,
not just half French. And yes, she had a very good memory of her emotional
state in May of 1990. She had recently had an abortion. There had been a slipup
with the pill, and Keith, the jerk, had wanted her to keep it! Im sorry I was
so cold to you, she said. I understand, he answered, I got to know about
post-abortion hormones. You did? Yes, with Cici. Was it yours? She
wasnt sure. Daniel and Megan laughed heartily, and made love again.
There
was no reason not to call it making love. The French kids in the Israel tour
called their casual couplings faire lamour. And he was more French than
they were
If
I ever want to have a kid, Megan said, Id like it to be yours. Would that be
okay with you?
You
have my permission, Daniel said. The word permission struck her as
funny. She laughed heartily. He joined her.
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