Our Country Friends(81)

    Of course, by the logic of fiction, we are at a high point now. This respite, this happy family, these four new lovers, this child slowly losing her shyness, all of this must be slated for destruction, no? Because if we were to simply leave them feasting and ecstatic, even as the less fortunate of the world fell deeper into despair, even as hundreds of thousands perished for lack of luck, lack of sympathy, lack of rupees, would we be just in our distribution of happiness? And so we sigh, cross ourselves, mumble the Kaddish, perform our pujas and wudu, all in preparation for the inevitable, which, in this case, comes with the crunch of gravel down the driveway.





3


They heard the crunch of gravel down the driveway. It was Saturday, and they were not expecting workmen. Senderovsky had collected more household money from Ed and Karen (and a pittance from Dee), and now the elaborate machinery of the estate functioned perfectly and in tandem. Hot water flowed out of new noncopper pipes, hedges were trimmed by the now-cheerful handyman (he had used a state subsidy to help fund a new motorbike), and painful carpenter ants were slaughtered en masse by workers from a company across the river (motto: We kill with skill). Most important, the cable company sent a representative to install routers in the bungalows so that the colonists could resume their work lives. Senderovsky took that as a sign that they might stay indefinitely, the prospect of which gladdened him, though he knew he would run out of money before the first snow.

As the diners heard the crunch of gravel, those facing away from the driveway were loath to have to turn around and inspect the newcomer, to have their magnificent peace destroyed as it sometimes was by the orgiastic cry of the distant train lumbering up to the state’s capital. What now, they thought. Company? Guests? And on such a pretty day? Well, who needs them! Or, in Senderovsky-speak, to the devil with them! Masha reached for her purse and its treasure trove of masks.

They fixed their fading visions on the vehicle graveling toward them, its noisy advance initially shaded by the ghost of a long-dead apple tree. Eagle-eyed Nat was the first to understand what was happening. “What the heck?” she shouted, the last word recently taking pride of place in her innocent vocabulary. Dee, a champion at the optometrist’s chart, next recognized the car’s familiar irregular shape and blanched. Senderovsky sprang up from his chair and covered his breasts, as ashamed as Adam after his first helping of pie. And Ed laughed so sadly Vinod had to reach over and slap his back in commiseration. The colonists looked to one another, as if for the last time.



* * *



—

    “May I speak to Dee?” The question was directed at Senderovsky, as if he was her father and this was a different century. The Actor stood at the door of the covered porch. It was clear to all that he was experiencing technical difficulties: His hair had been cut professionally, but it flamed above him like a torch at a failed Olympics, and his eyes had the dimmed luster of dead coral clothed in a mist of algae. Sweat slicked across his forehead as if it had been moved to and fro by a windshield wiper, and his car, whose engine he had forgotten to turn off, sputtered and whirred behind him like a stinkbug at the end of summer.

Dee sat with her back to him. “You shouldn’t be seen here,” she said, loudly. “It’s not good for any of us.”

“Yes, please leave,” Ed said.

“I got this, sweets,” Dee said.

“Then at least let me talk to you,” the Actor said to Senderovsky. “I have some news.”

“Keep your distance,” Masha said to her husband, handing him a mask.



* * *



—

They walked into the Petersburg Bungalow, and Senderovsky closed the door behind them. He carried himself like a game warden caging a dangerous animal. He put on his mask and opened the windows. The Actor looked at his former abode, and every single memory touched him nostalgically, from the second he had set down his duffel bag on the night of his first arrival to the moment he triumphally hoisted the same bag to the main house to claim his rightful place with Dee. This was the dormitory of his humble romantic beginnings with her, his boarding school of love, and he stood in it now an older and properly ruined man.

    “I talked to Bob Gilderdash,” the Actor said to Senderovsky. This was the head of a small but prestigious network, a discreet rival to the one that had first commissioned the series based on the landowner’s book. “I sent him your scripts. The funny ones. He’s a huge fan of your work. He visited Moscow in 1979 or whatever, so naturally he was knocked the fuck out. He said putting this show on the air was a national imperative no matter who wins the election. Direct quote.”

Senderovsky digested the news. The old hunger gnawed at him, the chance to be somebody again. And yet he was concerned. Amid the dead coral of the Actor’s eyes there floated a strange new darkness. His gaze was fixed slightly above Senderovsky’s shoulder even though the Actor was well known for his unshakable eye contact. Senderovsky decided, for the first time all summer, not to lie. He decided to be strong and faithful to his friends. “She’s in love with Ed,” he said. “I think she was from the start, though she had trouble admitting it to herself. Why not leave her alone?”

His words, he noticed, had no effect on the Actor, one way or another. Surely, he had seen happy photographs of Dee and Ed on her social channels. Surely, he had enough congruency with the human experience to know those smiles belonged to people who desired each other, who were smiling for each other even more than for their audience. “I can make it work,” the Actor said. “If you help me, I’ll help you.”