The Sagging Orchid
Monday, December 01, 2003
Introduction
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
- From Dover Beach (Matthew Arnold)
Summer nights on Cape Cod are as unpredictable as its abutting tides. When Serenity has her way, cool breezes slink across at dusk. The sky, touched with ocean store, tantalizes with its drizzle. Then the wind will take speed, making flags look as if hanging out flat and starting a battle of swats with the maple trees.
When Wrath has her way, dusk is an omen of burnt noses, inflated lungs, and shrieking cats. The sky has its store to breaking point, it will emit its signals of collapse and phosphorous, the flags like fillies looking to escape their grooms ; the branches throb, the fallen leaves patter in circles as if waltzing, birds dart to safety inland. Flag, do not tear! Window, do not shatter! Gate, stay shut! Gulls, come back! Lighthouse, flash on!
The Lafontaines, Taylor and Bonnie, endured many dark nights a few furlongs inland at Sandwich. The Lafontaine couple was a perfect Massachusetts prototype, saved only by loyalty and love of land : mild freckles, ruddered noses, and “aws” when they spoke ; serious dispositions, humor only when best fit ; Red Sox devotees despite their every failure ; an ambivalence to their most prominent neighbor, the Atlantic. Taylor Lafontaine was an antiques dealer, son of a real estate agent. He had an older sister, Anne, along with a slightly older sister, Clarisse, who was adopted shortly after the War. Bonnie Lafontaine was a one-time nurse, daughter of a Sandwich couple who pretty much lived on the husband’s inheritance. Bonnie would very well have done the same, had acquaintances not asked what kind of a child the Ryersons, as they were called, were producing. Bonnie was an only child and hence very dependant upon her husband.
Clarisse Lafontaine was a girl who fled Antwerp alongside a friend of her mother’s. Clarisse’s father walked out on her mother while pregnant. Her mother was too ill with tuberculosis to go overseas and probably died in Europe. The mother’s friend was a responsible adult who knew the Lafontaines from real estate dealings in the U.S. This friend could have handled matters on her own - Clarisse was 17 at the war’s end and they got along worlds well - but the lady was single, and all agreed that Clarisse should be “watched over” by two rather than one. So she was taken in - graciously - by the Lafontaines, Taylor winning another sister. Clarisse graduated high school and attended Smith College for a degree in the visual arts. She could very easily have returned to Europe, but memories of the War kept her away. She taught painting at a girl’s school in Naraganset and took on students privately. Her American career was quite well and there was little reason to make changes.
Even so, Clarisse bore the scars of a foster child, or a child who was violated just shy of being able to fend for herself. Clarisse was quiet, often seen deep in thought, and preferred being alone. The young lady was sociable, but only if she forced herself to. Fortunately, everyone knew her situation and overlooked the periods of her silence - silent lips, not a silent mind. But even if Clarisse did not speak, she was still a pleasure to look at. Her lady classmates in high school, used to the retarded development of American teenage girls, marveled to themselves over her beautiful face and flowering body. Young men were enamored, young ladies jealous. She did not even need to speak, for the all-knowing brightness of her brown eyes, the purse of her thick lips, and the gentle sway of her hips spoke volumes.
And one who easily noticed it all was Taylor, her stepbrother.
From the first days of Clarisse in the Lafontaine house, Taylor was enchanted by this sister who was not at all related. He dedicated himself to making Clarisse feel at home, or as close to home as possible. Clarisse noticed this and slowly came to understand what all the fuss was about. What, no sibling rivalry?, she would joke. Their coming together was inevitable, helped along by her advanced beauty and his boyish good looks. They both were of a sibling’s closeness, but the blood of nothing more than friends.
And how are we to explain this most profound of loves, one that cannot even be rivaled by spouses in closeness and understanding? Are there words fair enough to describe being raised in the same family while always an outsider - a foreigner and a sister at once- and knowing one’s brother more intimately than anyone?
It went on for years, on and off, like the Atlantic’s waves. To shore and back, to shore and back in torrents. Months would fly past, they would meet again, and more months would follow. To Bonnie, a sister was a sister and nothing more was to be thought. The guesswork was left to Annie, his true sister, who didn’t exactly know what was going on, but used her womanly intuition to feel that something in the family just wasn’t right. She just couldn’t quite decide what the trouble was.
The Lafontaines and Ryersons had met for the 1952 Thanksgiving, when Taylor and Clarisse’s feelings surged back into their bellies. They sat beside one another at dinner and were partners for bridge. Clarisse wanted to smack-dab on his lips when they made their first slam. And Anne was eager to watch, asking herself what exactly was rubbing her strangely. But perhaps her two overbids were the reason why.
