Matters of Chance by Jeannette Haien

Author:Jeannette Haien
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1997-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

The assailing rain—slowing him way down, lengthening the trip into the city, delaying arrival at his office.

After a week away from his desk, and with what would surely be a massive pile-up of work awaiting him, he should logically be regretting the delaying circumstance of the storm. Yet far from regretting it, he welcomed it for its being the prolonging agent of this, his first solitude since Mrs. Leigh’s death…. It was as if he had two heads, hence two minds, one employed at driving the car, the other (seemingly beyond his power to control it) using up the extended time of this first solitude by taking a kind of synoptic roll-call of the persons he most loved in this world.

Now, present before him: Geoffrey Barrows…After five and a half years of war’s separation, they had met again; the unforgettable date Friday, January 11, 1946 (at which time Morgan had been home from the war about two months, Geoff nearly six months). They had spoken frequently on the telephone: Hatherton—Philadelphia, Philadelphia—Hatherton: calls of the kind easy between vintage friends. But beyond glossary reassurances of their post-war states of health and mind, they had not attempted to talk about themselves in any way that resembled completeness: there was, they agreed, too much to say, too much that had to be told about the last five years’ experiences, too much to tell about what was happening to them now. For such communication as that, they must be together. Thus had come into being this planned, greatly anticipated meeting.

At Geoff’s request, they had settled on New York as the place for their reunion. Morgan opted to put up at the Plaza Hotel; Geoff said he would stay at a friend’s apartment. In the comfort of a Pullman bedroom, Morgan had made the overnight journey from Cleveland; by ten A.M. he was at the Plaza, settled in a large room windowed above Central Park. Geoff, coming by car from Philadelphia, had promised an “elevenish arrival.” At about 10:45, tapped out rhythmically on the room’s door, was the identifying knock that went back to their Harvard Law School days: Da dada da da—DA DA (“Shave and a haircut—six bits”).

“Come in!”

They had had just enough time to sound each other’s names before they collided in embrace, following which bodily impact, rocked back from it onto their heels, they looked at each other, laughing, completely amazed at being together again.

Near the room’s windows they sat down in the deep comfort of chairs positioned to give a view of the park. There were two pigeons taking temporary shelter on the sill, complaining in throaty tones about the day’s weather: typically January, cold and gray and windy. Remoter from the pigeons’ voices was the sound of moving traffic and the urgent trill, erratically let, of a doorman’s steel whistle blown to summon cabs, and farther away the held pitch of a car’s stuck horn, all of which outside auditory pother heightened appreciation of the room as a relatively peaceful, quiet haven.

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