The Nature of Man

By

Stephanie Dray

I.

Professor Emily Franklin was in the midst of taking a bite of their anniversary desert when she saw him reach into his pocket. Councilman John Hamilton was staring at her across the table with his dimpled politician's grin. "I did it Emmy. I know you said not to, but I think the idea will grow on you when you look at it. Your sister even helped me pick out the ring!"

Normally, Emily would be charmed by John's exuberant display and his dashing dimpled smile, but at this moment the charm of the dimples are lost on her. She doesn't look at the ring. Instead, she swallows, sets her fork down and says, "I told you I didn't want a ring." The delivery is brutal and she knows it. She even considers apologizing, but she's too angry.

John sets the box down in front of her plate where he is sure she will see it. This isn't the reaction he'd expected and he looks around the restaurant in embarrassment, wondering if anyone is watching. Finally he asks in frustration, "Don't you ever want to get married?"

"I'm not sure," she tells him. "I don't think I do." With that, she pushes her chair away from the table, picks up her purse, and walks out of the restaurant. She says nothing in the car on the way back home. The silence begins to grate on John's nerves.

"So we're not even going to talk about it? That's just it? Nevermind that you're crushing me here?" he asks as they park. She doesn't wait for him to open her car door.

"You're the one who made this an issue. I didn't set out to ambush you in a restaurant. I didn't get your family to betray you!" she shouts.

John looks aghast. "Ambush you? Betray you? Emily!" He stammers as she fumbles for the keys to the front door. "All I want to do is marry you. My God, is that a crime? I want to start a family, or not. It doesn't matter. But we'd be making commitments, we'd have more security."

"Don't go making speeches to me John. This isn't a debate and there aren't any cameras around." She opens the door and adds, "Why do we need more security and commitment? Are you seeing someone else?"

John's look of incredulity expands as he follows her. "No, there's no one else, damnit. Why don't you tell me why we need more security? Explain to me why you go into hysterics every time I'm five minutes late coming home? Explain why you wake up at night and call for me in a panic if I'm not next to you? Why is it that every time I go on a trip you seem to think I'm never coming back? Is it because you feel secure?"

Emily pauses, searching for an answer. She knows she's being unfair, and yet she can't seem to conquer the rage and the panic. "I'll think about it," she finally says with a note of finality. He knows that she's heading towards her study and moves to block her path.

"It'll be good Emily ... I promise." he says gently, reaching out to touch a blond wisp of hair that has escaped from her barrette.

"Don't make me any promises John. I really don't want to hear promises," she says bitterly.

John looks at her a moment, wondering why it is that he understands her so well and so little. "Is it that you don't want to get married Emily? Or that you don't want to marry me? I've never seen a woman respond with more bitterness to an offer made with such heartfelt sincerity. I love you, and if you don't feel the same way, just tell me. Don't string me along."

"It isn't you, John," she says truthfully. Despite the awkwardness of the moment, she brushes past him into her study and closes the door behind her. He knows better than to follow her. Emily sits down at her desk and attempts to busy herself with grading papers, but John's noises break through the silence of Emily's study. He's washing dishes, sloshing water, and clanking glass. Wherever she goes, she can hear him. The man simply cannot be quiet. She hears him even when she is in her office at the University. He's on the phone running through their schedule, or else he's making speeches on the television. She doesn't think he understands the value or meaning of silence. Still, as hard as she tries to perpetuate her annoyance with him, she can't do it.

She loves him, and his dimples, and his godawful whistling. She even finds herself wondering what the ring looks like, although she has too much pride to go out and ask. Later that evening she hears him talking to himself, practicing, she thinks. He's saying, "Maybe you could just try it on for a while. Just see how the ring feels on your finger." It breaks her heart.

When Emily met John, he was talking to himself too. He was standing outside of a lecture hall, mumbling under his breath as she'd passed. "Are you talking to me?" she'd asked.

"I'd like to be," he'd answered, smiling his dimpled smile. As she would later discover, John was giving a lecture at the University. She invited him to stop by her office afterwards. He'd glanced at the diplomas over her desk and said, "I could use a running mate. Did you ever think of running for office? It's a good time for women candidates."

"A running mate?" she laughed. "I wasn't aware city council members ran on tickets here."

He leaned forward towards her with a winning grin, "OK, I was joking. But still . . . "

She tossed a mass of blond curls over her shoulder in flirtatious laughter. "You mean you lied. It's a politician's specialty, I'm told."

He feigned a pained look. "There are worse crimes!"

"Really?" she asked coolly.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I was a mostly honest politician?"

"No," she said. He was encouraged, however, by the fact that she wore an impish smirk while saying it.

"Are you always such a skeptic?"

"Age does that to a person," she replied.

"Does that mean you'll never trust me?"

She declined to answer, handing him her phone number on a small piece of paper instead. When he left her office, he promised he'd call. She was surprised when, two days later, she found his message on her answering machine. She decided that she liked him because of the way he stood. He might be jabbering away, but his feet stayed planted firmly on the ground. No shifting of weight from one to the other. She was surprised when John had asked her on a second date. Now, years later, she was still a little bit surprised and relieved every time he came through the front door.

II.

Arthur Williams is a tall redheaded stockbroker. He has three tall redheaded children, two mortgages, and one therapist. Arthur hired his therapist after the birth of his first child. He was told he had a guilt complex and that he'd married his wife for all the wrong reasons.

Arthur met his wife Jane at a wedding. It was an outdoor affair, and the way the sun glimmered in Jane's hair touched some cold spot inside him and made it warm. Jane Williams, for her part, likes being married to Arthur. She likes having two houses and enough credit cards to fill up all the slots in her wallet. Every year or so, Jane adopts a new cause or charity and Arthur writes out checks for her. This year she'd become interested in city politics.

On Thursday night, before they get in bed, Jane tells him of her new project. "And don't forget that tomorrow we have a dinner party first and then the councilman's fund-raiser. Are you listening to me, Arthur?" He nods his head and Jane continues. "I think that we should get the gutters cleaned out. There is no sense in you going up there on a ladder yourself. You might fall," she says.

Arthur shrugs in response. "Do you think that maybe you could say a word or two? Can we talk Arthur? You know, have a DISCUSSION!?"

Arthur puts down the paper he is reading and stares at her for a moment. She is rubbing an extremely expensive lotion into her bare arms. "A discussion," he begins. "Do you think that mankind is naturally good or naturally bad?" Jane's face crimsons in anger. Arthur sees her impending reaction and adds, "I am entirely serious."

"You're serious? You're serious!" Jane exclaims.

"Yes. I think mankind is naturally corrupt . . . evil you might even say. What do you think?" he asks her.

"Well that's what I think too," she says slamming the bottle of lotion down onto the dresser.

"Why?" Arthur asked his wife.

"I'll tell you why. Because men are like you Arthur. And you, Arthur, are a son-of-a-bitch!"

He tries to mentally record the whole discussion so that he can repeat it to his therapist in the morning. His therapist will say, as he always says, "Are you ready to consider a divorce yet, Arthur? You're unhappy, she's unhappy, neither of you are going to change."

Arthur will answer, as he always answers, "I can't do that. I made promises. I took vows. I can't break them."

At their dinner party, Arthur sits stiffly in his chair as Jane recites a familiar story to their guests. The story is about the time that they were on vacation in Disneyland and a little Mexican girl started stepping on the shoes of the people who cut in line. As Jane nears the end of the tale, Arthur feels his stomach clench. He knows that she is going to tell the guests that it was one of their redheaded children who did the stepping. He guesses that she thinks the fabrication makes the story more amusing. His grip tightens on the fork in front of him as she tells this lie as easily as she tells so many others right in front of his face. As they get ready to go to the fund-raiser, Arthur watches the rain against the windows. He sees his own reflection and feels the urge to spit at it. Instead, he scratches down the image with a discarded fork left over from the dinner party. He feels as if he is coming undone.

III.

As Emily lifts her eyes, red hair comes into focus, and her gaze settles upon Arthur Williams. Her hand slips heavily out of John's, and she feels crushing gravity dragging her to the floor. Still she manages to stand stiffly by John and the milling guests. Arthur has seen her, that much she can tell, and he is shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

They've stared too long to pretend that they haven't recognized one another, so Arthur moves first. His heartbeat crashes in his ears at a deafening volume as he walks toward her. "Emily?" he manages.

The deputy mayor and John turn to look. Emily is slow to respond, and the deputy mayor, sensing the awkwardness, makes an excuse to leave. John finally nudges Emily.

"Arthur. What a surprise to see you." she finally says. She looks at John and begins to stammer in explanation. "Arthur is -- Arthur and I -- he's an old friend of mine."

John extends his hand. "Hello. It's nice to meet you. I'm Councilman John Hamilton."

"My wife is a supporter of yours, councilman," Arthur says with practiced corporate diplomacy. He measures Emily's seemingly calm gaze, and struggles to maintain his composure.

Emily, meanwhile, leans against the wall behind her to disguise the shaking of her knees. She is embarrassed by Arthur's unfaltering pleasantries. "Arthur and I knew one another in college, John." she says forcing a smile.

"Well then, you two must have a lot to catch up on. Will you excuse me while I visit with Mrs. Ester?" John asks and leaves without waiting for an answer.

Arthur and Emily stare at one another in silence. She presses back harder against the wall. He folds his arms in front of him.

IV.

They met in a political science class. Arthur was twenty-one, Emily was nineteen, and they were partners on a research project entitled 'The Nature of Man.'

"So our thesis will be that man is naturally good," she began. They were sitting on the grass and the sunlight caught her blond hair in such a way as to make it shimmer.

"That's fine," he'd said, eager to begin the project and get it over with.

"Is that what you believe?"

"Why does it matter what I believe? It's just a class project."

"I want to know your opinion. I want to have a dialogue. Talk. Have a discussion," she'd protested.

He picked a blade of grass and rolled it between his teeth. "I think I agree with Hobbes. If you're afraid, you'll do anything to protect yourself. You'll lie, cheat, steal, anything that serves your interests."

She looked at him with amusement, "What about God? What about honor? What about love?"

He gave her a serious look, "What if I told you that I had a copy of the exact paper we're working on and it received an A."

"I wouldn't use it," she said resolutely.

"Why not?"

"That'd be lying. I'd always feel guilty."

He laughed. "I wouldn't use it either."

"See, you're naturally good," she'd grinned girlishly.

"Oh, but see, you're just going to believe me?"

"Yes," she told him.

Two months later Arthur and Emily spent their first evening together in silence. Every time she would try to speak, he would kiss her quiet. They looked at one another until she began to feel the silence speaking to her. Arthur's feelings were unutterable, and Emily felt the word "love" to be an inadequate expression.

Arthur realized that Emily never questioned him about his whereabouts, his past, or his feelings. He felt the huge responsibility of being completely trusted. They made plans together without the slightest doubt that they would come to pass. She wanted to be a professor. He wanted to go into business. He'd taken all his savings and purchased a small diamond ring for their engagement. Then Emily told him about the baby.

"I want you to have an abortion," he told her. His arms were folded in front of him, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Emily stared at him and saw the fear crawling up his tensed and folded arms. "You're scared. It's all right. I'll raise it myself. I won't hurt you. I love you. It'll be all right."

"If you really do love me Emily, get rid of it," he told her brutally. The words were icy and he caught the pain in her eyes and softened his tone. "It's not an embodiment of anything. This isn't about me; it's about us. I'll be right there with you. I'll take you home and take care of you. And in a few more years we'll try again. I promise, Em. I promise you this is the best thing. I promise." He knew she'd do as he asked.

At the clinic, Arthur kissed her forehead before the nurse led her into the back room. Their eyes met. Hers held impenetrable faith in his judgment. He looked away in shame.

Hours later, when Emily came back into the lobby, she stared at the empty chairs for several minutes. Emily's phone didn't ring that night and the silence in her room told her she'd been betrayed. She'd never seen Arthur again. Until tonight.

V.

She speaks first. "So, you're married then?" she asks him.

Arthur stares at Emily's grown up frame and the elegant black velvet dress. "Yeah. Three kids," he tells her and then instantly regrets saying so.

Emily feels a wave of nausea. "How nice."

"And you?" he asks her politely.

"No children. I am teaching at the university now."

He tries to smile pleasantly, but finds that he can't. "Are you married?" he asks. If she says no, he thinks that he might simply sink to his knees.

"I'm living with John," she says absently twisting the engagement ring around her finger.

"Ah. . . "

They stare at one another for more awkward seconds. Their silence is broken by the voice of Arthur's wife. "You must be the lovely Ms. Franklin that the councilman has told me so much about! I see you've met my husband Arthur, and I'm Mrs. Williams. You can call me Jane," the woman says touching Emily's rigid arm.

Emily's eyes focus on this woman who bears a striking resemblance to herself. She feels the nausea rise higher in her throat as she concludes that she'd meant nothing to Arthur. Clearly, she was just his 'type'. She was probably one in a long string. His wife didn't even known about her. Arthur is a happy family man now with everything he'd told Emily he'd wanted. He obviously lived with no regrets and no pain from the past. Emily supposes, bitterly, that she is lucky Arthur remembers her name.

Emily gathers up her indignation and draws herself away from the wall. "I had better join John now. Have a good evening," she says and walks away from them.

Arthur watches Emily leave him with a depressed relief. He feels now that he had been insignificant to her. He'd overestimated his role in her life and the mistakes that he'd made. At least his cowardice hadn't hurt her in the end. He felt himself a fool for ever supposing that lovers leave a mark upon each other's lives.