DAPHNE
“Women tend to choose rugged, handsome, athletic men as casual sex partners,
since they want to produce the best and strongest possible offspring. However, it has been
found that they prefer gentler, less masculine men as husbands and long term partners
since those are the qualities they need in a man in order to safely raise a family: trust,
sensitivity and loyalty. It is because of the way in which the institution of monogamous
marriage is structured that women are not able to have the best of both worlds, and what
is the likelihood of landing a man who is simultaneously owl-eyed nebbish and handsome
studly jock?”
The sunshine of early spring poured through the window like molten glass as
Jared stared disinterestedly at the newspaper spread open before him on the café table. It
was a busy day here, being a Sunday afternoon and he hadn’t quite encountered the peace
and quiet he had been seeking after. The table to his left was occupied by two young men
in pullover sweaters and fresh young faces defiled by two-day-old stubble debating
energetically about the merits of violence in political demonstrations. Behind him a
young couple sat with their two noisy preschoolers and all the other tables in the small
café were similarly occupied, as were all the cafes on the street. This elusive quality of
serenity didn’t seem to exist anywhere for him, but in his own little apartment, and he
was damned if he was going to be sitting inside on such a beautiful day. Well, he
thought, he was sitting inside anyway, but at least he was out and in public and among
people, which he supposed was really the best thing in the world for him. Funny, he
thought, how distant and absent his friends had become since Daphne’s death last year.
One by one they had fallen out of view, even his two best buddies from high school.
There had been no falling out, nor any explanations. He had never been so alone in all
his life.
“Daphne.” He heard himself form his wife’s name on his lips and self-cautiously
looked around in case someone had heard him. It was a lovely name, if somewhat old-
fashioned. That was really what had first attracted him to her, he now believed: her
name. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but not exactly a movie star. She was very slender,
tall, with a slightly too pointed nose and rather hollow cheeks and the most sultry
indifferent grey eyes he had ever seen on a woman. They had been eyes that scrutinized
every single detail, assessing, measuring, weighing, calibrating, judging, but giving away
nothing. Daphne really had spent the full eight years of their marriage giving nothing.
Not even children. Theirs had never been a particularly passionate union. But Jared was
not a particularly passionate man. Jared was asexual.
For years he had wondered if he was gay, and experimented enough with three or
four different men to whom he felt strongly attracted to realize that it wasn’t sex that he
wanted. When Daphne met him in the grocery store line up one day she devoured him in
a single glance and invited him out for coffee. She seemed to him like one of the first
women he had ever felt really attracted to, so he continued to meet with her and
eventually returned to her apartment with her one night after a movie for their first
bedding together. He never told her that he was, so far as women were concerned, a
virgin.
He looked in the washroom mirror and scrutinized his face. Certainly not a
handsome studly jock and he definitely was not athletic. But he wasn’t an owlish nebbish
either: he didn’t even wear glasses. Daphne had described him as rather too pretty for a
man, but he didn’t see it. He thought he seemed decent enough, and reasonably
intelligent, but with his tall, slender frame, his thin face and deep brown eyes, he didn’t
really know how to define his looks. His hair was still okay, perhaps just beginning to
thin on top but still not showing grey, which suited him fine. He wasn’t yet forty after all.
He decided to pass the time on one of the side streets. This one was lined with
quaint old houses and luminous ornamental plum trees resplendent in full pastel blossom.
He only liked to walk on this street in late February and early March, when the trees were
in their glory. The small friendly black cat was waiting for him on the corner and he
stooped to pet it. As it rubbed affectionately against his leg Jared looked up at two crows
mating discreetly in the flowering plum overhead. As though embarrassed at being
caught in the act the two birds immediately separated and cawed fiercely at him before
flying off. He walked on for two blocks then paused at the corner of his destination.
There it was in full blossom. He still didn’t know the name of this bush that bloomed in
small white and pink starflowers over the sidewalk. He could smell them from nearly a
block away. A sweet heady perfume redolent of citrus, a fragrance so lovely and
overwhelming that it surely must be poisonous. He always felt overwhelmed by the scent
of these flowers. He stopped to smell them and felt again transported. Every year, since
when he first met his wife Jared would pause to smell these flowers.
A young woman was sitting on the front steps of the house sunning herself with a
cup of something next to her and a cigarette. “Do you like my flowers?” she asked,
friendly, not remotely defensive or hostile.
“Every year I stop to smell them. They are so lovely,” he said. “What—what is
the name of this bush?”
“Daphne,” She replied.
He stared towards her briefly as though having been just woken from a dream.
“Daphne?” he replied.
“Daphne.” She smiled at him as though she would have welcomed a bit of a chat.
“Thank you”, he shyly replied as he wandered off.
At the produce market on the corner he carefully selected blood oranges, then
chose a bunch of red grapes, a butternut squash and tomatoes. He was in the mood for
cooking this evening. Eleven months ago he received a phone call from the hospital to
come down immediately, as they didn’t know how much longer his wife had to live. She
had been hit by a car and lost too much blood. When he arrived in Emergency the
curtained off bed suggested what the sight of the ashen-white face inside only confirmed.
It had all been very quick and brutal. He stared down at the face that had been alive
perhaps five minutes ago. He dared not touch it. He went home that night numb, feeling
nothing. To his surprise he slept marvellously well.
He stopped at another store for tofu and yogurt. He always did his shopping
selectively, sometimes roaming between a half-dozen different shops for those items that
were of such quality and value that he could not find anywhere else. He had been the
househusband in their marriage, though his part-time job as a counsellor still helped pay
the bills. He picks up my socks, Daphne used to jest to their friends. And he did pick up
after her. In her high school teaching job she was always too busy, and during the
summers, when she wasn’t upgrading or teaching summer school she was off on holidays
somewhere. Never had they ever vacationed together. She would never hear of it. To his
surprise, when Jared asked her why one day, she replied brutally, “So I can fuck other
men.”
He didn’t answer her, nor ask any questions. They stood in the kitchen, two silent
solitudes. When she left to mark papers he took out a knife from the drawer and
proceeded to chop an onion for the chili they would be eating for dinner. It was the worst
thing he’d ever cooked. Their marriage had suffered an early bed-death. During the first
six months Daphne initiated nearly everything between them. She was voracious. As his
enthusiasm ebbed she began to insist on an open marriage. At first Jared wouldn’t hear of
it—too messy, he thought, and too much potential for things going wrong. To his
surprise, and nearly to his horror, however, he did not feel really jealous. On his wife’s
decision they began to advertise and troll for threesomes. She wanted at first to hire a
male prostitute but that was a line her husband adamantly refused to cross. He did agree
to a little experimentation and that is when she began really to embarrass him. He
particularly recalled when the huge new chain bookstore opened downtown and promptly
put most of the independent booksellers out of business. The mammoth retail space was
decorated with groupings of comfy upholstered armchairs. On the second floor, while
they both browsed together, equally for a man as for books, Daphne spied a youngish, but
likely mature fellow curled up in a chair with a book. There were just two other chairs
arranged in a triangle with his. She nudged her husband and led him to the two empty
chairs and she looked pointedly at the stranger to ensure that he realized that they were
about to sit down with him. He must have been about forty-two, perhaps younger, but
very handsome and nicely put together. He wore a faded black T shirt and khaki pants
and army boots. Jared noticed a tattoo on one of his arms. He looked at them both and
said slyly as they began to chat in his presence, “I promise not to eavesdrop.”
“Oh,” said Daphne defiantly, “But we were going to talk about sex.”
“Oh, that’s boring,” the man replied.
“Not for us it isn’t,” she fumed indignantly. As it became clear that they were not
about to leave, the man picked up his book and walked away. As her husband’s
reluctance became something chronic and incurable Daphne began to embark on her solo
holidays. Jared retaliated by taking off to rural Ontario every summer to see his parents,
with whom he had never been close. The first two years were a trial, and then he began
to discover that he liked his mother and father as they rediscovered for their only son the
love that he had moved to Vancouver to escape from. They never discussed Daphne or
the marriage, but they alluded enough that they were concerned and this kept their son
returning for more.
When he got home, Jared discovered in his e-mail a message from Gertrude,
Daphne’s mother. It was an invitation to dinner, and he promptly replied his acceptance.
They communicated about twice a month. Daphne had been the old woman’s only child.
She had no husband, having never married, and she felt frankly and authentically alone in
the world. She had always rather hit it off with her son-in-law and now a rather
respectful and careful friendship had developed between them. He put the groceries
away, but left the butternut squash, which he was going to bake for dinner, on the counter.
It was Daphne who had introduced Jared to the sweet and savory joy of butternut squash,
that, in her words, “most gloriously phallic of vegetables.” He still felt slightly creepy
whenever he touched one, but found them all the same delicious. He cut it in two
lengthwise and gazed upon the saffron-yellow interior. It shone almost with its own light,
this most astonishing shade of yellow orange he had ever looked upon. It felt as though
he was absorbing the bright sunny joy that had been stored throughout the hot brilliant
days of summer in the squash’s interior. With the squash he enjoyed a tofu, cheese and
cauliflower bake, pasta, and a tomato and basil salad. He always ate at home and was
generally careful to cook and eat very well. He never had guests over for dinner, or for
casual visits, just as people had never come over while his wife was alive. They simply
did not entertain, and never felt moved, either of them to mention this between them. The
sun had already set as he washed and put the dishes away. Still, with the silver afterglow
of the recently departed sun illuminating the bottom of the sky so that it shone like an
enormous dark sapphire, Jared was resolved to walk outside in the fresh cool air. He
came again by the Daphne bush. The young woman was nowhere to be seen and he
silently prayed that she wouldn’t see him as he bent over to inhale the thick sweet
perfume. He only worked now three days a week, which was enough for his needs. His
rent was affordable, and he could save now for another vacation. He still hadn’t figured
out where to go. He had done Europe, alone, before meeting Daphne, and Southeast Asia
seemed to beckon but he still didn’t know. Perhaps the Caribbean instead, or Mexico.
He didn’t know. He didn’t think he would be embarking on an affair any time soon or
late, just as marrying ever again felt completely out of the question. Was he comfortable
alone? This he could not answer. He was alone now much as he was alone while
married. He lived now in a different apartment. There was nothing to remind him of her.
He did not keep her photo anywhere. They had been contemplating divorce in the weeks
before the accident.
When Jared arrived home he plugged in the kettle and took some ice cream from
the freezer. This was part of his routine, tea and dessert following the after dinner stroll.
Since moving he had come to prefer regularity. Deciding not to check his e-mail yet he
reached for the bookshelf and found a volume on Greek Mythology. Checking the index,
and there it was, he sat at the table with his steeping tea and dish of chocolate ice cream:
“Daphne was the name of a nymph who refused the love of the god Apollo. While
fleeing from him she beseeched Zeus to come to her aid and she was transformed into a
laurel bush that became sacred to the god.” It said nothing about fragrant starflowers.
Jared still hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell Gertrude his mother-in-law that they had
found during the autopsy that Daphne was three months pregnant. He already knew that
the child wasn’t his. He promised himself that he would tell her at dinner this week. He
closed the book, and shoveled spoon after spoonful of cool melting ice cream into his
mouth. He wanted to go to bed early tonight. He looked forward to Monday. He still
didn’t feel even remotely tired.
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