Happiness

Happiness

Happiness "What do you mean, brother? I don't have any brother." Waiting for his shuddering heart to subside-when the phone rang he thought, absurdly, that it might be MaddalenaThurston leans against the kitchen wall and looks out the window. Live oak and acacia stand motionless in the deepening twilight. Further down the slope, some low-growing bushes swagger back and forth, announcing the skunks who come up at night from the arroyo. "-like I said," the voice on the other end of the phone continues, "I'm your brother. Half-brother, actually. Raymond P. Toledo." The voice is deep, with a threat of laughter-a salesman's voice, full of unearned bonhomie. "I don't have any brothers," Thurston repeats. "Or sisters, for that matter." "My mother's name was Bonnie Olenick. That's your mother, right? Our Aunt Marge in Cleveland told me how to get hold of you." Our, indeed. "I'm an only child," says Thurston. With thumb and forefinger he rubs his narrow nose where his spectacles rest. "You've been misinformed. I'm sorry," he adds insincerely. "You just moved out from back East, right?" the salesman-voice persists. "Grew up in Providence, R.I., right?" "I grew up right down the road," Thurston lies, in precarious control now of his voice. "I've lived in South Pasadena all my life. Must be some other Calvin Thurston." There is a pause. Then, "Sorry to bother you. Well. You have a nice day." Thurston moves to clinch the deal. "Have a great day," he says, upping the ante, and hangs up firmly. Coward, Maddalena would have said, vigliacco-or not said, just thought, loudly enough for him to pick up on it. Thurston sits down at the table with his elbows on the green-checked cloth. Tails up like question marks, two skunks rummage in the dusty leaves of a young eucalyptus. In the twilight the V-shaped stripe down each back is the blue-white of gardenias. His mother left when Thurston was two; his father never spoke her name in his son's hearing, nor did he allow anyone else to. He got rid of all his wife's pictures (photos in their one album had irregular holes where her face or torso had been expunged) and died thirtythree years later without ever having mentioned her. Wherever she went, she has not been part of Thurston's life. And he does not even want to imagine the owner of the voice he just heard-meaty, redfaced , salt-of-the-earth-as any relative of his. Thurston goes into the main room to get back to work. The guesthouse he rented illegally when he arrived in September stands on bare red clay between the main house and the lip of the arroyo. Inside, everything is hard and white and shining-the bare walls, the tile floor, the painted woodwork-like being in an enormous bathtub. He sits down on the sofa under the overhang of the sleeping loft. There are papers strewn all over: he has two dozen verses due at HoliHappiness 25 Day Greetings next week. The month is October; the weather feels like August; Thurston is composing sentiments for Valentine's Day. There is a surrealness to this that exhausts him. In the kitchen the phone rings; Thurston ignores it. Most of the fronts they've sent him are Female Spouse/Other: For My Wonderful Wife/Better Half/Sweetheart/Darling/Honey/Wife. He flips through the fronts that already have their visuals. The first, in the shape of two cutout rabbits (one in a red-ribbon bowtie) clearly calls for "Honey-Bunny"; the last, a color photo of a chimpanzee (in a red-ribbon bowtie) has him stumped. "Don't Monkey With My Heart?" The phone is still ringing-fifteen rings, eighteen (part of Thurston 's mind cannot help counting), twenty. He gets up and goes into the kitchen and yanks the cord out of the jack. Sitting down on the sofa again in the silence, he runs his fingers through his neat beard. The watercolor of two yellow rosebuds is easy; so is the pastel lace heart. He will not think of Maddalena. Thurston the celebrant-vicarious partner in other people's births, loves, marriages, deaths, and the anniversaries thereof-goes to work. By the time she left, moving herself and her houseplants (palm, grape ivy, devi1's...