Cheapskate in Love

chapter 8





A light shower was in the forecast for Saturday, and when the morning dawned, thick grey clouds in the sky confirmed the likelihood of rain. Bill tried to persuade Linda to change her plan, but she was inexorable. She would not watch TV. She would not go to a movie. She would not exercise at a gym. She wouldn’t even go shopping, which was the last suggestion Bill made, because it was the most costly substitute activity. He was somewhat relieved that she didn’t want to shop, since he felt compelled to pay for her purchases, when they went to stores together, and she was accustomed to a much more expensive lifestyle than him on account of her wealth. He came from the old school of relationships and thought the man should always pick up the tab, no matter how much it hurt his wallet. The women Bill dated always allowed him to indulge this chauvinistic tendency, without complaint.

When Bill arrived at Linda’s house to go to Bear Mountain, he did not need to point out the surprise for her. “What happened to your hair?” she exclaimed instantly. She stood staring at his head with her arms straight at her side. He leaned in for a kiss, as usual, but she backed up, locked in a stare with eyes wide open, as if an alien from outer space was bending toward her.

“I dyed it,” he said, abandoning his attempt to kiss her. “Don’t you like it? I did it for you.”

“Who dyed it?” she cried.

“I dyed it,” he repeated.

“You killed it,” she blurted out. “It died.”

She insisted that he go and have his hair fixed immediately, and that was a reasonable request. It looked like a multicolored wig or the pelt of a raccoon, an old, hoary raccoon. The multitude of shades in his thinning hair extended from tan to the darkest brown—all dusted with the grey of age—because the dye had not been uniformly applied or allowed to set for the proper duration. Bill, however, was adverse to such an extreme measure as spending more money to beautify hair, even if it was on his head, and dismissed her advice. “Color highlights are in,” he said, trying to make a joke. “Next time, I’ll do a better job.” Linda was more interested in going hiking than worrying about what he looked like, so eventually she let the matter drop, although she avoided looking at him the rest of the day.

Since it was doubtful that Bill’s car could travel the distance to Bear Mountain and return, they went together in Linda’s car, and she drove. During most of the trip to the park, she entertained Bill by telling him what a piece of junk his automobile was and what kind of car he should buy. The best choice, she explained in detail, was the kind of car she was driving. Bill asked an occasional question, but mostly stared out the window, fearful that he would be walking uphill and downhill for hours.

He knew they would easily arrive in the park before eleven in the morning. She had wanted to come so early—it was the earliest time they had ever started a hike together—because she said she felt stressed. The strain of her relationship with Bill was probably the cause, but she didn’t say that, because she wasn’t the introspective type. She only said that she wanted to release the psychological pressure she felt through vigorous, extended exertion. That was all she was certain about. Acupuncture wasn’t going to cure a mind-body imbalance by itself, she knew. Bill didn’t share her philosophy of health. Although he was somewhat sad and depressed, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, hours of hiking were not going to make him feel better. On the contrary, it would exhaust him to the point where he could hardly move. He had agreed to come, however, because he wanted to mend the broken tie between them. In his innermost thoughts, he doubted that he was compatible with Linda, but he repressed those nuisance notions for now, since there was not another object for him to lavish his affection on at the moment.

Unless it started to rain, he was certain she would continue to punish him with her marathon march until at least five o’clock. Without rainfall, he knew he wouldn’t be able to convince her to go for a drive instead or have an early dinner. His power of persuasion over her was nonexistent. Since the rain had not yet appeared and might not at all, the closer they came to their destination, the more sluggish and despondent he grew, while she became more energetic and high-spirited.

When they arrived, Linda leaped out of the car and started stretching, while Bill unloaded a backpack and put it on. Filled with water bottles, food, bug repellent, a first aid kit, a blanket, and umbrellas, it was heavy and caused Bill to walk leaning forward to balance the weight. He willingly served as the beast of burden, because he thought that was the man’s role. But he hardly had a choice, because Linda would never offer to help.

In the sunlight of early summer, the natural beauty of Bear Mountain and the surrounding Hudson valley lands can fill the eyes and hearts of people of all ages with a comfort and deep solace that no city ever can. The majestic, wide Hudson River sparkles and surges onward, as if it were the source of life, nourishing the abundant trees and other plant life that press upon its shores. Even under a clouded sky, the area retains a somber, stirring magnificence. It is a vision of earthly glory in any weather, a sight to behold by anyone who can see.

But first a person must lift their eyes from the ground and look around to see the grandeur of the place. Bill trudged on the trail, weighed down by the backpack. He was always behind Linda with his eyes cast down at his feet, cringing inside with each step forward, and frequently glaring at the back of Linda. She marched ahead, vigorously swinging her arms, never looking back or talking to him.

For hours, they walked on with only brief stops to drink water or have a snack. Bill fell further and further behind. Sometimes when the path curved enough, he lost sight of Linda altogether. He tried to hurry when that happened and catch up, but the longer they hiked the less able he was to close the distance between them. Since he rarely exercised, he tired quickly. His dislike for walking up and down hills and indifference to nature further dampened his ability to match Linda’s pace. Only his interest in Linda encouraged him to keep moving, but there wasn’t enough of that to help him move as fast as her.

When they had been walking for over three hours, a light rain, which the clouds had threatened all day, finally began to fall. Bill was a hundred feet behind Linda when he felt drops of rain land on his head. This was the moment he had been waiting for. His energy shot up, and euphoria seized him. “Linda, Linda,” he shouted. “Can you wait a moment?” With his new-found stamina, Bill broke into a jog to catch up with her. “Linda, wait,” he yelled, racing as much as he could with the backpack.

Linda had heard him call her both times, but only after the second cry did she reluctantly stop and turn around. “Walk faster,” she said, when he caught up to her, panting.

“I felt a few drops of rain,” Bill said. “We had better turn back. We’re a long way from the car. It could start to pour any second now.”

Without hesitation, Linda replied, “Give me an umbrella.”

Thinking that they had no choice but to return to the car, Bill pulled an umbrella out of the backpack and handed it to her, lying, “Too bad it had to rain. It’s such a nice place to walk. The trails just go on and on. It’s so invigorating, such good exercise. We should come here again soon.” Bill secretly planned never to come back for any reason whatsoever.

Linda opened the umbrella and held it over her head. “Rain doesn’t matter,” she declared. She resumed walking on the trail in the same direction as before.

Bill watched her walk away, and his willpower collapsed. Without opening an umbrella for himself, he began to follow her, more slowly than ever, his eyes fastened on the ground. A sense of doom lay heavy upon him. He saw no way to escape the torture Linda was inflicting upon him. By the time she tired, he would be exhausted. He felt like a prisoner of war, deep in the enemy’s territory, from which there was no hope of rescue. The rain began to fall a little harder, and his hair stuck to his scalp. They were ascending a rather steep incline, and on the right side the ground dropped away from the rocky path precipitously.

A drop of rain ran into his eye, and Bill looked up at the sky to see if there was any sign of lightning. That would be a reason, he thought, to force Linda to return. While gazing upward, he stubbed his foot on a rock. Jerking his foot back from the pain, he lost his balance and fell to the side off the trail. He landed on his back, six feet down the slope, where the ground evened out slightly. He lay on top of the backpack, as drops of rain came through the canopy of tree branches above him, sprinkling his face.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He had made a considerable amount of noise falling from the trail, and he wondered if Linda was returning to see what had happened. He couldn’t hear her. Since he was uncertain that she would come looking for him, he tried to raise himself.

“Ooooww,” he screamed. In his fall, Bill had pulled a muscle in his back. “Linda, help. My back.” He tried to move again. “Ooowww.” Louder he shouted, “Linda, help.”

After a few minutes, Linda returned to the spot on the trail above him. Holding her umbrella steady over her head, she looked at him without any feeling, as if she was at a Chinese fish market selecting what she would have for dinner.

“Linda, I hurt my back,” he whined. “You have to help me. I can’t move. I think I need an ambulance. See?” Bill tried to roll on his side. “Ooowww, my back.” He returned to lying flat on his back. As he lay on the ground in the uncomfortable position on top of the backpack, pain, fatigue, and need were plainly visible on his face. He lifted his hands a little toward Linda, beseeching her for help.

In response to his appeal, without moving or displaying any emotion, she told him, “Get up.”