Off they went.
First to Gymboree, located in a big building just off Wisconsin. Gymboree was a chance to get infants together when they did not have some other daycare to do it. It was an hour-long class, and always a bit depressing, Charlie felt, to be paying to get his kid into a play situation with other kids, but there it was; without Gymboree they all would have been on their own.
Joe disappeared into the tunnels of a big plastic jungle gym. It may have been a commercial replacement for real community, but Joe didnt know that; all he saw was that it had lots of stuff to play with and climb on, and so he scampered around the colorful structures, crawling through tubes and climbing up things, ignoring the other kids to the point of treating them as movable parts of the apparatus, which could cause problems. Oops, say youre sorry, Joe. Sorry!
Off he shot again, evading Charlie. He didnt want to waste any time. The contrast with Nick could not have been more acute. Nick had seldom moved at Gymboree. One time he had found a giant red ball and stood embracing the thing for the full hour of the class. All the moms had stared sympathetically (or not), and the instructor, Ally, had done her best to help Charlie get him interested in something else; but Nick would not budge from his mystical red ball.
Embarrassing. But Charlie was used to that. The problem was not just Nicks immobility or Joes hyperactivity, but the fact that Charlie was always the only dad there. Without him it would have been a complete momspace, and comfortable as such. He knew that his presence wrecked that comfort. It happened in all kinds of infant-toddler contexts. As far as Charlie could tell, there was not a single other man inside the Beltway who ever spent the business hours of a weekday with preschool children. It just wasnt done. That wasnt why people moved to D.C. It wasnt why Charlie had moved there either, for that matter, but he and Anna had talked it over before Nick was born, and they had come to the realization that Charlie could do his job (on a part-time basis anyway) and their infant care at the same time, by using phone and e-mail to keep in contact with Senator Chases office. Phil Chase himself had perfected the method of working at a distance back when he had been the Worlds Senator, always on the road; and being the good guy that he was, he had thoroughly approved of Charlies plan. While on the other hand Annas job absolutely required her to be at work at least fifty hours a week, and often more. So Charlie had happily volunteered to be the stay-at-home parent. It would be an adventure.
And an adventure it had been, there was no denying that. But first times a charm; and now he had been doing it for over a year with kid number two, and what had been shocking and all-absorbing with kid number one was now simply routine. The repetitions were beginning to get to him. Joe was beginning to get to him.
So now Charlie sat there in Gymboree, hanging with the moms and the nannies. A nice situation in theory, but in practice a diplomatic challenge of the highest order. No one wanted to be misunderstood. No one would regard it as a coincidence if he happened to end up talking to one of the more attractive women there, or to anyone in particular on a regular basis. That was fine with Charlie, but with Joe doing his thing, he could not completely control the situation. There was Joe now, doing it againgoing after a black-haired little girl who had the perfect features of a model. Charlie was obliged to go over and make sure Joe didnt mug her, as he had a wont to do with girls he liked, and yes, the little girl had an attractive mom, or in this case a nannya young blonde au pair from Germany to whom Charlie had spoken before. Charlie could feel the eyes of the other women on him. Not a single adult in that room believed in his innocence.
Hi Asta.
Hello Charlie.
He even began to doubt it himself. Asta was one of those lively European women of twenty or so who gave the impression of being a decade ahead of their American contemporaries in terms of adult experiencesnot easy, given the way American teens were these days. Charlie felt a little surge of protest: Its not me who goes after the babes, he wanted to shout, its my son! My son the hyperactive girl-chasing mugger! But of course he couldnt do that, and now even Asta regarded him warily, perhaps because the first time they had chatted over their kids he had made some remark complimenting her on her childs nice hair. He felt himself begin to blush again, remembering the look of amused surprise she had given him as she corrected him.
Sing-along saved him from the moment. It was designed to calm the kids down a bit before the session ended and they had to be lassoed back into their car seats for the ride home. Joe took Allys announcement as his cue to dive into the depths of the tube structure, where it was impossible to follow him or to coax him out. He would only emerge when Ally started Ring Around the Rosie, which he enjoyed. Round in circles they all went, Charlie avoiding anyones eye but Joes. Ally, who was from New Jersey, belted out the lead, and so all the kids and moms joined her loudly in the final chorus:
Eshes, eshes, we all, fall, DOWN!
And down they all fell.
Then it was off to the park.
Their park was a small one, located just west of Wisconsin Avenue a few blocks south of their home. A narrow grassy area held a sandpit and play structures. Tennis courts lined the south edge of the park. Out against Wisconsin stood a fire station, and to the west a field extended out to one of the many little creeks that still cut through the grid of streets.
Midday, the sandpit and the benches flanking it were almost always occupied by a few infants and toddlers, moms and nannies. Many more nannies than moms here, most of them West Indian, to judge by their appearance and voices. They sat on the benches together, resting in the steamy heat, talking. The kids wandered on their own, absorbed or bored.
Joe kept Charlie on his toes. Nick had been content to sit in one spot for long periods of time, and when playing he had been pathologically cautious; on a low wooden bouncy bridge his little fists had gone white on the chain railing. Joe however had quickly located the spot on the bridge that would launch him the highestnot at the middle, but about halfway down. He would stand right there and jump in time to the wooden oscillation until he was catching big air, his unhappy expression utterly different from Nicks, in that it was caused by his dissatisfaction that he could not get higher. This was part of his general habit of using his body as an experimental object, including walking in front of kids on swings, etc. Countless times Charlie had been forced to jerk him out of dangerous situations, and they had become less frequent only because Joe didnt like how loud Charlie yelled afterward. Give me a break! Charlie would shout. What do you think, youre made of steel?
Now Joe was flying up and down on the bouncy bridges sweet spot. The sad little girl whose nanny talked on the phone for hours at a time wandered in slow circles around the merry-go-round. Charlie avoided meeting her eager eye, staring instead at the nanny and thinking it might be a good idea to stuff a note into the girls clothes. Your daughter wanders the Earth bored and lonely at age twoSHAME!
Whereas he was virtuous. That would have been the point of such a note, and so he never wrote it. He was virtuous, but bored. No that wasnt really true. That was a disagreeable stereotype. He therefore tried to focus and play with his second-born. It was truly unfair how much less parental attention the second child got. With the first, although admittedly there was the huge Shock of Lost Adult Freedom to recover from, there was also the deep absorption of watching ones own offspringa living human being whose genes were a fifty-fifty mix of ones own and ones partners. It was frankly hard to believe that any such process could actually work, but there the kid was, out walking the world in the temporary guise of a kind of pet, a wordless little animal of surpassing fascination.
Whereas with the second one it was as they all said: just try to make sure they dont eat out of the cats dish. Not always successful in Joes case. But not to worry. They would survive. They might even prosper. Meanwhile there was the newspaper to read.
But now here they were at the park, Joe and Dad, so might as well make the best of it. And it was true that Joe was more fun to play with than Nick had been. He would chase Charlie for hours, ask to be chased, wrestle, fight, go down the slide and up the steps again like a perpetuum mobile. All this in the middle of a D.C. May day, the air going for a triple-triple, the sun smashing down through the wet air and diffusing until its light exploded out of a huge patch of the zenith. Sweaty gasping play, yes, but never a moment of coaxing. Never a dull moment.
After another such runaround they sprawled on the grass to eat lunch. Both of them liked this part. Fruit juices, various baby foods carefully spooned out and inserted into Joes baby-bird mouth, applesauce likewise, a Cheerio or two that he could choke down by himself. He was still mostly a breast milk guy.
When they were done Joe struggled up to play again.
Oh God Joe, cant we rest a bit.
No!
Ballasted by his meal, however, he staggered as if drunk. Naptime, as sudden as a blow to the head, would soon fell him.
Charlies phone beeped. He slipped in an earplug and let the cord dangle under his face, clicked it on. Hello.
Hi Charlie, where are you?
Hey Roy. Im at the park like always. Whats up?
Well, Ive read your latest draft, and I was wondering if you could discuss some things in it now, because we need to get it over to Senator Winstons office so they can see whats coming.
Is that a good idea?
Phil thinks we have to do it.
Okay, what do you want to discuss?
There was a pause while Roy found a place in the draft. Here we go. Quote, The Congress, being deeply concerned that the lack of speed in Americas conversion from a carbon to a clean fuel economy is rapidly leading to chaotic climate changes with a profoundly negative impact on the U.S. economy, unquote, weve been told that Ellington is only concerned, not deeply concerned. Should we change that?
No, were deeply concerned. He is too, he just doesnt know it.
Okay, then down in the third paragraph in the operative clauses, quote, The United States will peg carbon fuel reductions in a two-to-one ratio to such reductions by China and India, and will provide matching funds for all tidal and wind power plants built in those countries and in all countries that fall under a five in the UNs prospering countries index, these plants to be operated by a joint powers agency that will include the United States as a permanent member; four, these provisions will combine with the climate-neutral power production
Wait, call that power generation.
Power generation, okay, such that any savings in environmental mitigation in participating countries as determined by IPCC ratings will be credited equally to the U.S. rating, and not less than fifty billion dollars per year in savings is to be marked specifically for the construction of more such climate-neutral power plants; and not less than fifty billion dollars per year in savings is to be marked specifically for the construction of so-called carbon sinks, meaning any environmental engineering project designed to capture and sequester atmospheric carbon dioxide safely, in forests, peat beds, oceans, or other locations
Yeah hey you know carbon sinks are so crucial, scrubbing CO2 out of the air may eventually turn out to be our only option, so maybe we should reverse those two clauses. Make carbon sinks come first and the climate-neutral power plants second in that paragraph.
You think?
Yes. Definitely. Carbon sinks could be the only way that our kids, and about a thousand years worth of kids actually, can save themselves from living in Swamp World. From living their whole lives on Venus.
Or should we say Washington, D.C.
Please.
Okay, those are flip-flopped then. So thats that paragraph, now, hmm, thats it for text. I guess the next question is, what can we offer Winston and his gang to get them to accept this version.
Get Winstons people to give you their list of riders, and then pick the two least offensive ones and tell them theyre the most we could get Phil to accept, but only if they accept our changes first.
But will they go for that?
No, butwaitJoe?
Charlie didnt see Joe anywhere. He ducked to be able to see under the climbing structure to the other side. No Joe.
Hey Roy let me call you back okay? I gotta find Joe hes wandered off.
Okay, give me a buzz.
Charlie clicked off and yanked the earplug out of his ear, jammed it in his pocket.
JOE!
He looked around at the West Indian nanniesnone of them were watching, none of them would meet his eye. No help there. He jogged south to be able to see farther around the back of the fire station. Aha! There was Joe, trundling full speed for Wisconsin Avenue.
JOE! STOP!
That was as loud as Charlie could shout. He saw that Joe had indeed heard him, and had redoubled the speed of his diaper-waddle toward the busy street.
Charlie took off in a sprint after him. JOE! he shouted as he pelted over the grass. STOP! JOE! STOP RIGHT THERE! He didnt believe that Joe would stop, but possibly he would try to go even faster, and fall.
No such luck. Joe was in stride now, running like a duck trying to escape something without taking flight. He was on the sidewalk next to the fire station, and had a clear shot at Wisconsin, where trucks and cars zipped by as always.
Charlie closed in, cleared the fire station, saw big trucks bearing down; if Joe catapulted off the curb he would be right under their wheels. By the time Charlie caught up to him he was so close to the edge that Charlie had to grab him by the back of his shirt and lift him off his feet, whirling him around in a broad circle through the air, back onto Charlie as they both fell in a heap on the sidewalk.
Ow! Joe howled.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING! Charlie shouted in his face. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DONT EVER DO THAT AGAIN!
Joe, amazed, stopped howling for a moment. He stared at his father, face crimson. Then he recommenced howling.
Charlie shifted into a cross-legged position, hefted the crying boy into his lap. He was shaking, his heart was pounding; he could feel it tripping away madly in his hands and chest. In an old reflex he put his thumb to the other wrist and watched the seconds pass on his watch for fifteen seconds. Multiply by four. Impossible. One hundred and eighty beats a minute. Surely that was impossible. Sweat was pouring out of all his skin at once. He was gasping.
The parade of trucks and cars continued to roar by, inches away. Wisconsin Avenue was a major truck route from the Beltway into the city. Most of the trucks entirely filled the right lane, from curb to lane line, and most were moving at about forty miles an hour.
Why do you do that, Charlie whispered into his boys hair. Suddenly he was filled with fear, and some kind of dread or despair. Its just crazy.
Ow, Joe said.
Big shuddering sighs racked them both.
Charlies phone rang. He clicked it on and held an earplug to his ear.