It occurred to him that they were about to partake of a miraculous meal. Less than an hour ago they had stared at the open, empty cupboards with disappointment and he had thought they would end up in a pub, eating liver-and-onion sandwiches amid the smoke and the noise. Now the kitchen was full of food.
From the doorway, invisibly, he watched them. And the longer he watched without their noticing, the stranger he began to feel. He felt suddenly as though he had receded from the reality of the kitchen onto another plane of existence, as though now he were not looking at life but peering into it. Wasn’t he dead in some respects? Hadn’t he come to the point of despising life and throwing it away? At the sink Sean was wringing out a yellow dish towel, Annie was melting the stick of butter over the stove, at the table Maria was holding a silver spoon up to the light. But none of them, not one, recognized the significance of the meal they were about to share.
And so it was with the greatest joy that Malcolm felt his bulk finally ease forward (from out of the netherworld back into the dear sluggish atmosphere of earth). His face came into the light. He was smiling with the bliss of reprieve. There was still time left for him to speak.
*
Sean didn’t notice Malcolm enter the kitchen because he was carrying the bowl of artichokes to the table. The artichokes were steaming; the steam was rising in his face, blinding him.
*
Annie didn’t notice Malcolm enter the kitchen because she was thinking about what she would write home in her next letter. She would describe it all: the artichokes! the steam! the bright plates!
*
Malcolm entered, took his seat at the table, and deposited his artichokes on the floor beside his feet. At that moment the faces of the girls were indescribably beautiful. The face of his old friend Sean was also beautiful.
*
Annie wasn’t paying attention when Malcolm began to speak. She heard his voice but his words had no meaning for her, were only sounds, in the distance. She was still calculating the total effect of a letter home, imagining her family around the table, her mother reading it with her glasses on, her little sisters acting bored and complaining. Other memories of home crowded in: the backyard grass full of crab apples, the kitchen entrance, in winter, lined with wet boots. Through the parade of these memories Malcolm’s voice kept up its slow, steady rhythm, and gradually Annie began to pick out bits of what he was saying. He had gone on a drive. He had stopped above a cliff. He had stood looking down at the sea.
In the middle of the table the artichokes fumed on their platter. Annie reached out and touched one but it was too hot to eat. Next she glanced at Sean’s profile and then at Maria’s and saw that they were uncomfortable about something. Only then did the full import of what Malcolm was saying become clear to her. He was talking about suicide. His own.
*
The idea of this middle-aged, heavyset man throwing himself off a cliff struck Maria as comic. Malcolm’s eyes were moist, she could see that, but the fact that his emotion was genuine only separated her further from him. Maybe it was true that he had contemplated killing himself, maybe it was true that now (as he insisted) this meal had brought him back to life, but it was a mistake to think that she, who hardly knew him, could share either his sorrow or his joy. For a moment Maria reproached herself for not being able to feel for Malcolm (in a voice full of emotion he was describing the “darkest days” immediately after his wife had left him), but the moment quickly passed. Maria admitted to herself that she felt nothing. She kicked Annie under the table. Annie began to smile but then covered her mouth with her napkin. Maria rubbed her foot against Annie’s calf. Annie moved her leg away, and Maria couldn’t find it again. She searched back and forth with her foot and waited for Annie to look at her again so that she could wink, but Annie kept looking down at her plate.
*
Sean watched as Malcolm began to stuff himself with artichokes. He had them all captive now and so began to speak and eat at the same time. And what a time to pick! Nothing could be so detrimental to the mood of romance (which was the mood Sean was hoping to induce) than the mention of death. Already he could see Annie cringing ever so slightly, hunching her shoulders, pressing (no doubt) her lovely legs together. Death, jumping off cliffs, why did Malcolm have to talk of it now? As if it meant anything to them! Some dramatic moment Malcolm had indulged in to convince himself he could feel love. And how much love had he felt? Hadn’t he recovered rather quickly? Five weeks! “I never thought I would again enjoy a simple meal among friends,” he was saying, and Sean watched as, unbelievably, a tear slid crookedly down Malcolm’s cheek. He was crying, plucking the leaves off a huge artichoke (even in the swell of emotion he had managed to take the biggest one), plucking off the leaves and dipping them in the butter before putting them in his mouth.
*
“We’re too quick to reckon the value of our lives!” Malcolm proclaimed to them, and it seemed that he had never been so close to any group of people in his life. They were all silent, hanging on his every word, and his emotion was stirring him to eloquence he had never known. How often in life one says unimportant things, he thought, trivial things, just to pass the time. Only rarely does one get a chance to unburden one’s heart, to speak of the beauty and meaning of life, its preciousness, and to have people listen! Just moments before he had felt the agony of the dead barred from life, but now he could feel the joy of language, of sharing intimate thoughts, and his body vibrated pleasurably with the sound of his own voice.
*
At his first opportunity Sean broke Malcolm’s gloomy soliloquy by taking an artichoke from the platter and saying: “Here’s one for you, Annie. It’s not too hot now.”
“They’re marvelous,” said Malcolm, dabbing his eyes.
“You know how to eat them, Annie, don’t you?” Sean asked. “You just pick off the leaves, dip them in the butter, and then scrape the meat off with your teeth.” As he explained this, Sean demonstrated, dipping a leaf in the butter and holding it to her mouth. “Go on, try it,” he said. Annie opened her mouth, put her lips around the leaf, and bit down softly.
“We have artichokes in America, you know, Sean,” said Maria, taking one herself. “We’ve eaten them before.”
“I haven’t,” said Annie, chewing and smiling at Sean.
“You have too,” said Maria. “I’ve seen you eat them. Lots of times.”
“Perhaps that was asparagus,” said Sean, and he and Annie laughed together.