No River Wide

Southern Review, The, Spring, 2007 by Robert Boswell

, just talking, " she said, and only Ellen had understood her. " They performed as if their characters were merely people

, " she ' d said. How terribly surprising and addictive it was to be understood. Then Theo accepted a transfer and Ellen was gone. Within a year of the move Theo and Ellen ' s marriage fell apart. Greta followed the deterioration by phone.

Theo slept with a company receptionist. Ellen had anxiety attacks. She went to bed with a man she met in a self-help class. Greta can ' t remember the man ' s name, but the class was called " How to Take Charge of Your Life. "

Duncan ' s deterioration was going on during that same time. Greta ' s stories were duller. " He can ' t tie his shoes, " she would say. " He can ' t button his shirt. " Duncan had his own ideas about Ellen and Theo ' s move, but he refused to divulge them. The disease made him stubborn.

" Here she is, " Ellen taps the shoulder of Andrew Holzman, " the one I ' ve told you about. " He turns as if to shake Greta ' s hand, but he holds a drink in the hand with the cast and a cracker smeared with cheese in the other. Greta bends down and takes a bite of the cracker. She raises her head at the same moment the girl with the ponytail passes along a drink. Liquor splashes over the front of Greta ' s dress.

" My fault, " Greta says, before the bartender can apologize.

Andrew Holzman runs a finger over the damp spot on her dress, sticks the finger in his mouth. " My, " he says. " You ' re delicious. "

Duncan finds his wife in the study standing next to Ellen. They ' re staring out the window, watching the tree men. He has spent the past few hours carrying dusty boxes down a narrow attic staircase. Even though he has washed his face, it ' s pink from exertion. Sweat darkens his shirt. His back aches. The tear in his pants is rimmed with blood, like lipstick, and the wound bites at him with each step he takes.

The window is too close to the oak ' s massive trunk to provide any perspective on what the men are doing. Leaves and small branches tumble down and settle among the roots. From the attic window, Duncan was able to watch a young man--a boy, really--suspended on a swing, trimming small limbs with a chainsaw. The kid did not inspire confidence, the saw jumping and growling in his hands like a dangerous pet. Down here the noise is not as loud but it ' s fierce. Like being inside a hive and hearing all the worker bees.

The room--the whole house--has an air of injury about it: furniture swathed in plastic wrap, rugs rolled and bound, bookcases gaping morosely. I ' m missing them in advance

, he thinks. Darkened spots mark the wails, as if the photos that had hung there left bruises. He has fetched bottles of beer from the refrigerator. He needs to rest, and the beer will give him an excuse later for his fatigue.