Devising+the+Sleep

Devising the Sleep ** Robin and Delia Stahlbaum were seated at the picnic table when they heard the footsteps coming around the house. “Pick up your feet. They must’ve been waiting at least ten minutes.” It was Carol, dragging her husband Walter along the shrubs, a platter cradled under one arm. Delia saw them and stood up. “Oh! So glad you’ve made it. And you’ve brought—” “Crab cakes,” said Carol, motioning to the platter. “You look just…lovely.” She leaned in close. “Is Robin doing better?” “He’s been fine.” Delia hesitated. “He talks and eats—completely normal. Yesterday he took his boat out on the lake.” “And the—nervous habits?” “Dwindling. Mostly.” “Good. That’s good.” Walter came forward to the picnic table and placed a hand on Robin’s shoulder, jostling him good-naturedly. “Howzit, babykiller?” “Walter!” Carol glared and lowered her voice to a hiss. “//Not// funny.” “Aw, baby,” said Walter, “he knows I don’t mean nothing. Eh, Rob?” Robin remained silent, nodding slowly. Carol sat down beside her husband. There were pitchers of beer and a salad laid out. “Everything looks so delicious. May I—?” “Go right ahead.” Delia unwrapped the tinfoil from the platter of crab cakes and turned to Robin. “Don’t these look good? Have some. And some salad. Beer if you want.” Robin stared at the table. Delia looked at him, and her eyes were pleading. “Eat something. Please.” Walter began to pour himself a glass. “I see you haven’t yet gotten rid of that tire swing out front. Y’oughta just take a blade and saw that sucker off. Huh? How about it?” “Oh no.” Delia laughed. “Not yet. He’s a bit sentimental about it.” The tire swing hung off a poplar at the front of the house, tied to a limb by a long rope. It had hung there ever since the house was built. Delia left it alone because it seemed more of a hassle to remove it. The rope was sturdy. “Sentimental nothing. If you popped out a coupla kids, then the thing would make more sense.” Walter grinned. “I’ve not thought about that. I don’t care much for children.” “I agree,” said Walter. “Carol’s an old sap. What’s the number today, Carol?” Carol swallowed a bite of crab cake. “Five. I’ve always wanted five. The number doesn’t change.” “My mistake,” said Walter. “I figure a son’s a son and a daughter’s a daughter and sooner or later they all grow up to hate you anyway, so there’s no point in bothering. Am I right or am I right?” Delia forced a laugh. Robin looked at his plate. Carol turned to Walter and said, “Eat some vegetables. All you’ve had is beer. There’s a salad.” “Salad is for queers. And broads.” “I don’t like that Walter. I don’t like that at all.” Walter shrugged and focused his attention back on the opposite side of the table. “So, Rob, you were in the service. Where you stationed?” Robin frowned. “Khe Sanh,” Delia cut in. “He was stationed at Khe Sanh.” “What division?” Robin did not answer. Delia turned to him and caught his eyes. “What division, dear?” He swiveled his torso around to glance at the trees, finally dropping his gaze to the picnic bench. Delia sighed. Walter laughed. “Cat got his, I guess. Naw, ol’ Rob’s a silent coyote.” Carol tapped Walter on the arm and said, “Where did you get that watch? I haven’t seen that watch before.” Delia frowned and folded her napkin under her plate. She looked at Walter and Walter looked back at her. They both looked away. Walter coughed and lowered his voice. “Got it from a man. A shop. In ’tucket.” “Oh. It looks nice.” Delia flicked her eyes down to her plate and pecked at her salad, her feet very still under the table. Walter drank deeply from his glass. “This is good beer, Delia.” “Thanks.” “Where’d you buy it?” “There’s a man owns a brewery around this area. I can’t remember the name.” Carol finished her crab cake and reached for the pitcher in the middle of the table. Walter’s hand blocked hers. “Sit tight, baby. She’ll grab you a coke from the icebox.” “But I want—” “Just wait two minutes. Delia will get you a coke.” Carol obeyed while Delia ran into the house to fetch a bottle of coke. She came back and handed it to Carol, smiling. “Robin,” she said, “what was the name of that drink you bought that girl? That she liked so much?” Robin looked up. “Orange something, wasn’t it?” “Orange Julius,” he said. “Girl?” Walter stared at Robin. “What girl?” “He met a girl when he was away in Vietnam .” Delia paused and added, “He said she was pretty young, in her twenties.” “Oh yeah?” Walter raised an eyebrow. “Tarts? How much they charge?” “Not tarts,” said Delia firmly. “He was working in a village in the South of the country and he came across this girl that—well—all of her children had died. In fires or something.” “That’s terrible,” Carol said. “And the girl was pretty battered up herself. Awful cuts, purple bruises. So they took her in. Took care of her. She was particularly fond of Robin.” Carol frowned. “And you were okay with this?” “Oh, it was just cute. She was just a wisp of a little girl. Perfectly harmless.” Carol pivoted to exchange glances with Walter, but found her husband staring off in another direction. She turned back to face Delia. “Was he fond of her?” “He liked her all right. Liked to baby her a bit, like a younger sister. Nothing wrong with that.” “Sounds to me like he was a bit sweet on her.” Carol grinned. “You lovesick, Robin?” Robin stood up and lumbered away from the table, into the house. His plate had not been touched. “He’ll be back,” said Delia. Carol nodded. Walter turned back, shaking his head. “It’s these foreign broads. Tarts or not, you just can’t trust ’em. Just look at him, they’ve got him all messed up.” Delia said nothing. “I mean, you take a girl like that and she’s like a blind pup at first. Real sweet, right? Wouldn’t hurt a thing. Then as soon as she’s got all his resources and stripped him of everything he owns, she cuts him dry. Same story, every time.” Walter pressed his fingertips together in a steeple. Delia looked at him, wide-eyed, and shuddered. She gathered the empty plates and said, “I think I’ll take these to the kitchen.” She wandered into the house, dumped the plates in the kitchen sink, and stumbled out on the front porch. There, she found Robin sitting in a rocking chair, rocking steadily back and forth, staring at the trees. She spoke his name softly. “Robin?” He gave a start. “Delia,” he drawled, “Delia, my wife, my sweet wife, please come here. Do you see that tree?” “Which?” Delia asked. “The one where the tire swing hangs, over by the moss.” Delia walked over, looked, and said, “I see it.” “Do you think I could reach that branch if I stood on something?” Delia looked again. “I suppose so. Why do you ask?” “No reason.” Robin sat up. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”