The Subject Was Roses Page #6

Why?

If you're through eating,

I'll clear the table.

Didn't you hear me?

Your father's not the only one

who got up on the wrong

side of bed this morning.

I'm not talking about this morning!

There's no need to shout.

You and him and me

and what's been going on

around here for 20 years,

it's got to stop.

What's got to stop?

We've got to stop ganging up on him.

Is that what we've been doing?

You said you never understood him.

And never will.

Have you ever really tried?

Go on.

Have you ever really tried

seeing things his way?

What things?

The lake house, for instance.

It's the pride and joy of his life,

and you're always knocking it.

Do you know why?

Because he bought it

without consulting you.

Drove me out to this godforsaken lake,

pointed to a bungalow

with no heat or hot water and said,

"that's where we'll be

spending our summers

from now on."

An hour's ride from New York City

isn't exactly godforsaken.

It wasn't an hour's ride 20 years ago.

The point is would he have

gotten it any other way?

If he'd said he wanted

to buy this cottage

on a lake in New Jersey,

would you have said yes?

I might have.

No. Not if it had been

a palace with 50 servants.

I don't like the country.

We'd have spent every summer right here.

My idea of a vacation is to travel,

see something new.

You had a chance to see Brazil.

That was different.

The fellow who took that job

is a millionaire today.

And still living in Brazil.

Which is not to be

compared with the Bronx.

So it's my fault we're not millionaires?

Who knows?

Your mother might have loved Brazil.

You violently objected to moving

from Yorkville to the Bronx. Why?

I hate the Bronx.

But you insisted

your mother move up here.

They tore down her building.

She had to move somewhere.

Except for summers at the lake,

have you ever gone two days

without seeing her?

Only because of Willis.

Where are you going?

To get dress.

I'm going to church and apologize to him

for acting like a fool.

You'll be at mamma's for dinner.

Only if he'll come with me.

You disappointed Willis yesterday.

You can't do it again.

Yes, I can.

How cruel.

Not as cruel as your

dragging me over there

every day when I was little,

and when I was bigger

and couldn't go every day,

concentrating on Sunday...

"is it too much to give your

crippled cousin one day a week?"

When I didn't go on Sunday,

I felt guilty.

I couldn't enjoy myself anyway.

I hate Sunday.

I don't think I'll ever get over that,

but I'm going to try.

How fortunate for the

cripples in this world

that everyone isn't as selfish as you.

Why do you keep calling him a cripple?

That is not the worst thing

wrong with Willis.

It's his mind.

He's like a 4-year-old.

Can a 4-year-old read a book?

He reads after your drilling

away at him for 20 years.

Does he have any idea

what he's reading about?

If you and them

want to throw your lives away on Willis,

go ahead, but don't

sacrifice me to the cause.

Look, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean that.

Can I come in?

Where are you going?

Your mother doesn't

expect us till 12:00.

Give me a minute to get

dressed. I'll go with you.

Now, look.

This thing is like lead.

You've got all your coins in here.

You taking your coins?

What for?

Will you please say something?

Thank you for the roses.

The lady comes to the gate

Dressed in lavender and leather

Looking north to the sea

She finds the weather fine

She hears the steeple bells

Ringing through the orchard

all the way from town

She watches sea gulls fly

Silver on the ocean,

stitching through the waves

The edges of the sky

Many people wander up the hills

From all around you

Making up your memories

And thinking they have found you

They cover you

with veils of wonder

As if you were a bride

Young men holding violets

Are curious to know

if you have cried

And tell you why and ask you why

And hear the way you answer

lace around the collars

of the blouses of the ladies

Flowers from a Spanish

friend of the family

The embroidery of your life

Holds you in and keeps you out

But you survive

Imprisoned in your bones

Behind the isinglass windows

of your homes

And in the night

The iron wheels

rolling through the rain

Down the hill

through the long grass

To the sea

And in the dark

The heart bells ringing with pain

Come away alone

Even now by the gate

With your long hair blowing

And the colors of the day

that lie along your arms

You must barter your life

to make sure you are living

And the crowd that has come

You give them the colors

And the bells and the wind

and the dream

Will there never be

A prince who rides along

the sea and the mountains?

Scattering the sand and the foam

Into amethyst fountains

Riding up the hills

from the beach

In the long summer grass

Holding the sun in his hands

and shattering the isinglass

Day and night and day again

And people

come and go away forever

While the shining summer sea

Dances in the glass

of your mirror

While you search

the waves for love

And your visions for a sign

The knot of tears

around your throat

Is crystallizing into your design

And in the night

The iron wheels

rolling through the rain

Down the hills

through the long grass

To the sea

And in the dark

The heart bells ringing with pain

Come away alone

Come away alone

I remember sitting here like this

that night she went to have John.

Why would she just walk out

without telling anyone

where she was going?

I was 6.

Without any reason?

Dr. Grossburg

came at midnight

and took her to the hospital.

It doesn't make sense.

After they left, I started to cry.

You did, too.

It's not like her.

I asked you if you loved her.

You nodded.

I asked you to say it.

You hesitated.

I got hysterical.

To quiet me, you finally

said, "I love her."

Maybe she's at Sophie's.

No.

I called Sophie.

It's after 10:
00.

I called everybody.

She's been gone 12 hours.

They all said they'd call back

if they heard from her.

If she's not here

by 11:
00,

I'm calling the police.

I wonder what difference

it would have made

if John lived.

I wonder what department you call.

I remember you and I going to visit her

at the hospital on a Sunday afternoon.

I had to wait downstairs.

I guess you call missing persons.

The first time I ever heard

the word "Incubator."

In-cu-ba-Tor.

As we left the hospital

and started down the concourse,

we ran into an exotic

Spanish-looking woman

whom you met on one

of your trips to Brazil.

She was a dancer, very beautiful.

You and she spoke awhile,

then you and I went to a movie...

Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers

in flying down to rio.

What are you talking about?

I always thought that was a coincidence,

meeting a south American woman

and then seeing a picture about rio.

Was it a coincidence?

What?

Hey, rio

Rio by the sea-o

Got to get to rio,

and I've got to make time

You're drunk.

Abracadabra ca deedra slideherin.

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