“I am not into saving whales so I don’t have to mix with ecologists.”
She never sacrificed herself for another person or an ideal: self-denial was not one of her virtues. Apart from Nathaniel in his final illness, she had never had to look after anyone, not even her son. Motherhood was not the cataclysm of adoration and anxiety that all mothers are supposed to experience; instead it was tranquil, sustained affection. Larry was a solid, unconditional presence for her; she loved him with a combination of complete trust and long habit, a comfortable feeling that demanded little from her. Although she had admired and loved Isaac and Lillian Belasco, whom she went on calling Uncle and Aunt even after they had become her in-laws, none of their kindness and vocation to serve had rubbed off on her.
“Thank goodness the Belasco Foundation creates green areas rather than trying to help beggars or orphans. That means I’ve been able to do some good without having to get too close to those who have benefited,” she told Lenny.
“Be quiet, will you? If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were a narcissistic monster.”
“If I’m not one, it’s thanks to Ichimei and Nathaniel, who taught me to give and receive. Without them I’d have retreated into indifference long ago.”
“Many artists are introverts, Alma. They have to absent themselves to create,” Lenny said.
“Don’t look for excuses. The truth is that the older I get, the more I like my defects. Old age is the best moment to be and do whatever you enjoy. Soon no one will be able to bear me. Tell me, Lenny, is there anything you feel sorry about?”
“Of course. All the crazy things I never did, having given up cigarettes and margaritas, becoming vegetarian, and killing myself doing exercise. I’m going to die anyway, but at least I’ll be fit,” laughed Lenny.
“I don’t want you to die . . .”
“Nor do I, but it’s not optional.”
“When I first knew you, you used to drink like a Cossack.”
“I’ve been sober for thirty years now. I think I drank so much to avoid thinking. I was hyperactive; it was all I could do to sit still to cut my toenails. As a young man I was gregarious, always surrounded by noise and people, but even so I felt alone. Fear of loneliness defined my character, Alma. I needed to be accepted and loved.”
“You’re talking in the past. Isn’t it like that anymore?”
“I’ve changed. I spent my youth searching for approval and adventures, until I really fell in love. Afterward my heart was broken and I spent a decade trying to pick up the pieces.”
“And did you succeed?”
“Let’s say I did, thanks to a smorgasbord of psychology: individual, group, gestalt, biodynamic therapies. Anything I could lay my hands on, including primal scream therapy.”
“What on earth is that?”
“I used to shut myself in with the woman psychologist to shout like a man possessed while I punched a cushion for fifty-five minutes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. And what was more, I paid to do it. I was in therapy for years. It was a rocky road, Alma, but I learned to know myself and to look my loneliness in the face. It doesn’t frighten me anymore.”
“Something like that would have helped Nathaniel and me a lot, but it never occurred to us. It wasn’t something that was done in our circles. By the time psychology became fashionable it was too late for us.”
* * *