Half a Wife

I did not notice him at first. My nerves, after a difficult lunch with a Korean delegation, were not at their elastic best. I wanted to get out, away from difficult questions, far from work. Of course that was not possible. I would return to my office. Lunch tomorrow would be much the same. The wheel would turn.

The calm figure in the lobby might have been planted there, beside the potted palm, as a sadistic contrast to my own weighted existence. He was reading a newspaper with pedantic care, a man with all the time in the world to absorb news and its implications.

Something in his manner of turning the pages, keeping the edges straight, held my attention. The rusting door of memory creaked open.

I had not seen Graham in ten years. He looked exactly the same, apart from the blue suit, red silk tie, and gold cufflinks. I remembered him as he was in our student days, always tidy but never quite the picture of comfort and ease seated before me now.

“Graham?”

On a closer view I could see that there were small changes. Time had etched fine, thoughtful lines around his eyes and mouth.

“Paul,” he said, showing little surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

“Passing the time,” he answered pleasantly. “And you?”

“Business.”

“Ah.” A flash of amusement creased the corners of his mouth more deeply.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. I know what it’s like. I’ve been through it.”

“Been?”

“I have retired.”

“Christ almighty. How did you manage that?”

“Planning.”

He replaced his newspaper, folded neatly, on the low table between us. I stifled my envy. I had unpaid bills, outstanding credit cards, three children in school. For me retirement was a distant fantasy.

“Do you still see Claire at all,” I asked, “or Ken? Did they get married?”

I felt I might be touching an old wound. The question came out anyway, a connection with those times when the four of us shared a house together. Claire was then a vague, pale, heart-breaking beauty. She scarcely listened to a word we said. Naturally we told her everything and fell in love with her. Graham survived the experience (or so I believed at the time) because mercifully few people noticed he had had it. Then Ken became her chosen one. I moved out and lost touch.

“I live with Claire and Ken,” Graham said with a kind of proud precision.

He watched me taking it in. Retirement I could accept as merely a change of circumstance. Change I can understand, or another man’s luck or success. Any movement. Friends find their separate avenues and part. That is natural. What I was hearing seemed, yes, unnatural.

“Of course it’s not the same house you knew,” he continued. “After you left Claire became pregnant. Ken couldn’t hold a job. I’d begun to make good money. I bought a house.”

A sad, dreadful possibility occurred to me.

“Are you still in love with her?”

“More every day,” he said, without evasion.

“You poor bastard.”

“I think I’m a lucky man. She adored Ken, remember. Unfortunately his charm didn’t go far in the wide world. They were in trouble. Tell me, how long do you think their marriage would have lasted without my help?”

My instincts rebelled against what he was telling me, but he seemed rational.

“I had a small talent for making money. I wanted to make her happy. I have.”

“How do you bear it?”

“Ken has a steady job now. I arranged it for him. He travels interstate a great deal. When he is at home I keep out of their way mostly, to give them time together. When he’s away I’m company for Claire and the kids. I’m useful. I help.” He sipped his coffee luxuriantly. “As for the rest, I have my hobbies. I collect miniature whisky bottles. And ivory figures. They’re small too.”

I feared for his sanity. In another age I might have said I feared for his soul.

“You should have made a life for yourself. Forgive me.”

“Think about it, Paul. Every morning I enjoy breakfast with the woman I love. We have not quarrelled once in ten years. You might say I have half a life. I say I have my ration of happiness. I made the best bargain I could on the best terms available.”

The bell of truth has a surreal ring.