Son of a Smaller Hero by Mordecai Richler Page A

had been ten years old Theo had kept several sheets of paper tacked over his desk. One of them, a chartdivided up into hours, listed things to be done on a particular day. Another listed books to be read: a third music to listen to. Through boyhood and adolescence and into manhood he had hurried through his days trying to catch up with his self-imposed schedules. He had seldom had moments for unscheduled pleasures, so now, slumped back on the sofa with his eyes shut, he could no longer remember what he had wanted to think about when he had the time. He felt guilty. So he switched on the reading-lamp and began to read. He read for an hour or more, not really absorbing anything, before he fell asleep on the sofa. He woke suddenly when his book fell to the floor. The crash startled him. Where are the students? Miriam! I’ll be late for lectures! Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. He slumped back into the warm, snug sofa. 12:15. I wasted a half-hour sleeping, he thought.
    He heard the key fumbling in the lock.
    Miriam opened the door and Theo smiled calmly. She was surprised, almost insulted, to find him unchanged. The familiar room whirled around her. She allowed herself to be kissed in a perfunctory way.
    “Are you drunk, darling?”
    “I don’t really know,” she said. “Why? Would that be funny?”
    “I’ll make you some black coffee.”
    “Will you stop being so understanding! If I’m drunk perhaps I’d like to stay that way.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry. All right.”
    Oh God, she thought. She got up and kissed him, clinging to him tightly. Her ardour distressed him. “I’m a bitch, Theo. An awful bitch. I’m so sorry.”
    “You’ll be fine, darling. You’ve had a bit too much, that’s all.”
    She moved away from him coldly. “I need a shower. You go to bed, Theo. I won’t be long.”
    “Oh, Miriam. What’s happened to Noah?”
    But, shutting the bathroom door behind her, she had pretended not to hear. Theo shrugged his shoulders. Something was wrong, but that something, which was certainly oppressive, eluded him. He sat down and tried to read again, but he couldn’t concentrate. Looking around the room he saw all the familiar possessions and heard all the familiar noises and thought,
This
is what I have striven for, but found no comfort in the thought or in the possessions. His eyes filled with the ineffable terror of those who, drowning, search an empty hostile sea for something, anything, to hold firm to: whether that thing be true or not. Nothing’s wrong, he thought. I’m tired. He tried to read again, desperately, but the print blurred. The books can be sold, he thought. So can the furnishings.
Everything I have is rented
. “Miriam …”
    The shower drowned out all other noises. She could not hear him call out and he could not hear her sobbing. She realized quickly that, as far as Noah was concerned, Theo was just a thing in the way. But she knew differently. She recalled with some disgust the exhibition that she had made of herself in the Bar Vendôme. Then she relented. She felt that she was betraying Noah.
I do
love him, she thought. But if I don’t betray him I must betray Theo. She ripped off her cap and turned the tap on harder, surrendering herself to the water like a punishment. Drying herself, she meticulously avoided looking into the mirror. An ageing woman’s lust, she thought. I can’t. He must know that I can’t. That I was drunk.
    Theo was still up when she got into bed with him. The room helped. She lay her head child-like on the pillow, newly rich in an acquired belief and intent on falling asleep before Noah returned.
    Theo kissed her cheek. “Miriam. Let’s have a child.”
    “Oh. Oh, no!”
    “Why?”
    “Oh, Theo, I … Remember? We said that we wouldn’t until you …”
    “Until I was earning enough money. Well, I am now.”
    He waited, but she didn’t reply. Miriam stared into the familiar, habitual dark of their room. Then, sadly, she turned to