My Gardener: A narrative from Ms. Gimply's collection
I didn't think about it at the time, but it turned out that he was old enough to make what we did legal. It was legal, that is, except for the adultery part, but no one seems to bother about that these days.
He was the younger brother of a college friend of my daughter, Mary. He was doing odd jobs for the Summer before he left to begin college in the Fall. Mary had recruited him to work one day a week -- Tuesdays -- in my garden. Our original plan was that she would be home that day to supervise him.
Of course the garden needed a lot of work. I had spent years landscaping, making paths, planting and tending our two-acre lot. But now my Multiple Sclerosis had progressed well beyond the stage where I could do any useful physical work. Mary helped as much as she could but she was busy with school. Her older brother was married and a long distance away. My husband was useless in this regard. (And in other regards as well.)
Now it was Tuesday and the gardener was here for the first time. I was alone when he arrived. Mary had been required to change her Summer school schedule at the last minute. She was off to a day long field course in surveying that was a requirement of her engineering program. She had promised to negotiate a different day for the gardener.
I had decided when I got up that morning that I was doing well enough to show him what to do. I was glad for that. I never knew what to expect. Some days I was almost immobile and spent long hours in bed. Other days I could even walk a bit with the help of my cane. I didn't do that much anymore because I was likely to fall. On this particular day, I found I could move fairly easily with my walker. I knew I could spend a little time in the garden as long as I was careful not to overexert myself.
As soon as he arrived, I sent him to the tool shed for a spade and a hoe. Then I followed, slowly and carefully, to meet him by the plot that needed to be turned over. The walkway down the gentle slope had steps to challenge me every six or eight feet. I saw him ahead of me with the garden tools in hand. He was watching me with a look of concern. He was tall and slender and very easy to look at.
"Don't worry," I told him as I negotiated the last step but one, "I'll get there eventually." He smiled at me for the first time.
I showed him where to turn over the earth and how deep to dig. I sat on a nearby bench and watched him for a few minutes to make sure he got it right. It was beginning to be a warm day and he was soon perspiring. He stopped to remove his tee shirt and to tie a rolled bandana around his head as a sweat band. Then, clad only in shorts and work boots he resumed. The muscles in his back flexed and rippled as he shoveled with an easy rhythm. His body was tanned in all the places that showed. It was difficult not to stare. I vaguely wondered whether he was tanned in the places that were still covered.
I was getting tired. I held the walker and lifted myself to my feet. I interrupted him to give him instructions for weeding a nearby perennial bed. Then I left him to his work and retraced my steps up the path. I made it over the first three steps without incident. But on the next one I lifted my walker and raised my right foot to follow. Then my right leg refused to lift me. I lowered it again and tried to raise the left instead. It refused to move. I was stranded.
Then I sensed him standing behind me. "Let me help," he said with a gentle voice.
"Just lift me a little when I ask," I told him. My right foot went up again and I signaled him. His hands were under my arms and lifting and then I was up the step. I imagined what his muscles looked like as he lifted. I anticipated the next step. We reached the top without incident. I was even sorry we got there. He offered to walk with me.
"No," I told him, "I'll be fine now. You can get on with your work. You'll find me by the pool when you're done." I calculated that he would finish in about an hour and a half.
I made my way along the level walk to the pool. I sat down (harder than I wanted to) on the oversized chaise in the shade of the ornamental crabapple tree. I laid back on it and my sense of relief was immediate. I needed the rest.
After a while I began to eye the pool. I loved the water. It was cooling on hot Summer days and the water supported me and nullified the cruel pull of gravity. I didn't dare to try to get in and out of the pool by myself. I needed Mary to help me. Our pool and garden were so completely private that we never wore bathing suits. The feel of the water on my naked body was deliciously sensual.
