Can’t Take My Eyes Off You
I love to watch him doing ordinary things; chopping wood, drinking coffee, grooming his horse. Even after all this time, I can’t keep my eyes off him. There’s something so compelling about him, something I can’t let go off. So I watch him, my heart in hiding.
Of course, he doesn’t know I’m here, looking at him from a distance,just
longing to be with him again, to feel his arms around me and the warmth
of his breath on my neck, making small shivers of delight run down my spine
and infusing my body with a deep joy. I just have to catch a glimpse of
him out of the corner of my eye and my heart will beat a little too fast.
But what can I do to make him notice me?
He intrigued me from the very beginning. There was something indefinable
about him that made people notice him: something about the way he walked
with a slight swagger that sent his hips swaying; something about the way
he wore his hat and most of all, something about the way he looked straight
at you, as if he could see straight into your soul. All those things made
him different from any other man I had ever met and meant he stood out in
a crowd. Oh, I can’t explain it – but there was just something about him
that made me feel that little bit more alive. He would walk past a saloon
and you would see the girls begin to preen themselves, standing up that
little bit straighter, thrusting their breasts out and batting their eyelashes
at him. How I envied them their courage!
Other men would probably have taken up the invitation - either that or they
would have hurried on by, red in the face and hoping no-one who had seen
the little show would tell their wives. But not him. Oh no, he would tip
his hat gallantly, with a continental flair and meet the coquettish glance
directly. And he would smile and say “Ma’am,” in the most courteous tone
that nevertheless held a hint of roguishness and then saunter slowly past.
In his wake, the girls would give a collective sigh, then shake themselves
and get back to the serious business of enticing paying customers into the
saloon to buy beer, to play cards and maybe rent a room for an hour.
I’m not as naive as I look, you see. Sometimes I envied those girls their
confidence, their daring, even as I pitied the existence they were forced
to endure. What happened to them as they grew older, once their looks began
to fade and their bodies grew a little too slack? Where did they go and
how did they live? Those fears were something I could relate to, for I was
no longer a fresh-faced schoolgirl myself and my greatest terror was that
one day I might be faced with such a prospect. But then, of course, I met
Joe Cartwright and I fell in love. And for some reason I could never quite
fathom, he fell in love with me.
I had only been in Virginia City for a few hours before hearing about the
Cartwrights. They were the most famous family in the area, known not only
for their wealth, but for the way they treated people, whether the men who
worked for them on the ranch, the townsfolk and neighbouring ranchers or
even complete strangers. The Cartwrights had a reputation for being people
you could trust, people who did not wait to be asked for help but who would
stretch out a willing hand to anyone in need. They had even taken a young
boy into their home and were bringing him up as one of the family, but it
seemed there was little else to say about Jamie Hunter and I was not particularly
interested in a teenager. No, it was Joe Cartwright who interested me, despite
all my efforts to push him out of my mind.
At night, lying in a narrow hotel bed that had seen years of hard use and
which bore the traces of rather too many of its previous occupants, I would
dream about Joe. Such dreams! Dreams that made me blush when I recalled
them. Those dreams surely made me no better than one of those saloon girls,
flaunting their bodies in tight dresses that exposed their breasts and legs.
It worried me, forif I could feel all these emotions before I had even spoken
to the man, how on earth would I react if I actually met him? I was already
in love, you see.
Looking back, over the distance of years, I can laugh at myself for my girlish
emotions, even if I was in my twenties at the time. A young woman, of good
(if impoverished) background behaving like a girl fresh from a ladies’ seminary,
while having decidedly erotic dreams was surely an oddity. But, back then
I was young and very innocent in spirit and it showed. I had not had many
suitors and did not know how to flirt. I had no money for fancy dresses
or jewelry to enhance myself with. What did I have to offer a man like Joe
Cartwright?
When I arrived in Virginia City I was beginning to resign myself to a life
of spinsterhood and wished only for the comfort of being a beloved maiden
aunt, surrounded by nieces and nephews. The only fly in the ointment there
was my brother, who was not exactly the type to settle down and live a respectable
married life.He had aways been a worry to me. I envied Joe Cartwright for
his family, his home and his whole life. It was everything I had ever hoped
for, but I knew it was a merely a castle in the sky for a girl like me.
And then I met him and everything changed. It was just a chance encounter,
but nothing else was ever the same for me after that. How is it possible
for one man to have such an impact? What was it about Joe that made me throw
my caution to the winds and allow myself to fall in love with him? I wish
I knew. But I gave my heart and I loved him. More amazingly, he loved me.
I have lost count of the number of times I have watched him coming riding
out to the ruins of the burnt- out house on the Ponderosa. Of course, I
know what happened here and the dreams that turned to ashes. The very earth
seems imbued with sadness. Joe is always sombre when he is here and his
shoulders seem to slump under the weight of the memories .This is where
he does his mourning, rather than at the graveside. The hard-packed earth
here has received so many of his tears.This is where he mourns and shouts
out his sorrow to the wide open skies, little realising that I can hear
every word. It hurts me to see him like this and I want to go to him, to
comfort him and tell him that I am here. But, of course, I cannot. He has
come here to be private and alone with his grief. And, of course, he does
not know that I am here, in the shadows of the trees, watching him and aching
alongside him.
My son tugs at my hand. “Why is he sad?” he asks, with all the innocence
of youth. He is so young and he is all that I have left of his father.
I look down at his face, so like Joe’s, only softer, not yet written on
by life and I feel my heart ache with love for both of them. “He’s lonely,”
I say. “He’s lonely because he is all alone.”
“We’re not alone,” my little boy states with confidence. “We’ll always be
together.”
And I smile at him, take him in my arms and walk away,holding him clsoe
to me and pressing my eyes tight shut so that the tears will not fall and
betray my feelings. We leave Joe, standing alone, with his hat held so tightly
between his fingers that the skin shows white over his knuckles and his
eyes fixed upon the ground. I wonder what he sees and if it gives him any
comfort. I leave him alone with his thoughts.
The first time we made love was the beginning of my new life. It had been
a whirlwind romance; something that the local gossips had assured me was
typical of Joe Cartwright.
“Oh, Joe falls in love at the drop of a hat! So you be careful, dearie,
because those handsome men throw their charms around.”
I didn’t listen to them. Why should I? I loved Joe and I knew I could trust
him – could trust him to the ends of the earth. He promised to look after
me and I knew he loved me. I knew the gossips would be talking about that
too. What did I have that would entice a man like Joe Cartwright? That did
not bother me in the slightest, because I believed in him. And I needed
him. I had never realised before just how much you could need someone. To
contemplate life without him was unbearable. I knew I would love him forever.
Last autumn, Joe got married. I stood on the corner of the street with my
son beside me and I watched as he and his father drove past in the buggy
to the church where his bride was waiting. I watched as they came out of
the church and people threw handfuls of rice. He looked so happy and she...
well, she looked at him as if the sun rose and set in his eyes. I used to
look at him like that too – gazing into his mesmerising green eyes and seeing
te world in them, but now I can only look at him from a distance and my
world has shrunk to nothingness.
Life is very unfair, but I have grown accustomed to that and I know there
is no sense in fighting against things you cannot change. I try to console
myself by saying “he loved me first!” but it is of little help. My son is
older now, his head is level with my waist and he reaches up and takes hold
of my hand. At least I still have him. He will stay with me always. I smile
through the darkness as Joe and his new wife ride off to begin their lives
together and I remember what we once had together.
After it was over, I met Joe’s brother. He had left the Ponderosa some time
before, but I could sense his heart was still there. I liked him immediately,
for he was so friendly and welcoming, but he was lonely and talked of his
home with such passion it was obvious he longed to return.
“Why don’t you go back?” I asked. “It’s still all there and you could see
your family again. Joe used to talk about you often. He misses you and so
does Ben.”
He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same,” he said in an undertone, and
I knew what he meant. There is no way you can go back to the past, after
all. But it is impossible for me to stay away from Joe for long, I just
cannot help myself. I simply cannot stop going back to the places where
I spent time with Joe and trying to recapture what we had. Perhaps it is
stupid; certainly it is futile, for I make sure he does not see me, but
I cannot help myself. I need to see him. My love for him continues, over
the years. And, although we do not meet, I keep watching him. I can never
tire of watching him.
Joe is happy now, I can see that. He and his wife live in the big house
on the Ponderosa, where his father still oversees all the many operations
of the ranch. Ben is still tall, although he has got a little thinner over
the years since I first met him, but his voice is as strong as ever.
Today I sit in one of the dark corners of the barn and watch as Joe grooms
his horse. It is high summer, outside the sun is pouring down like honey
and both man and beast are hot and tired. Joe stops for a moment and pulls
off his shirt. It is all I can do to stop myself rushing forward and greeting
him, throwing myself into his arms and holding him as if I would never let
him go.
“Well, Cooch,” he says in a conversational tone and I remember how he has
always treated the animal as if it could understand him. “Lot of changes,
boy – lot of changes. You and me – we’ve been together a long time, and
I guess you know me about as well as any man.”
The horse snickers and reaches around to nudge him gently and I almost wonder
if Cochise does actually understand what Joe is saying. Then I give myself
a little shake and mentally tell myself not to be so silly.
Joe laughs. That laugh – I would know it anywhere. He gently runs his hand
down the soft nose of the horse in a loving caress and I find myself absurdly
envious. How silly – to be jealous of a horse.
“Going to be more changes,” he continues, brushing down the flanks of the
animal. His bare torso glistens with sweat and I watch the strong muscles
as he works. I note his broad shoulders and strong arms and his slim waist
and I think how little Joe has changed. And I remember how he would hold
me close against his chest, so close I could feel his heart beating. The
next words halt all my dreams and shatter my memories, bringing me back
to reality with a start.
“Gonna have a baby, Cooch.” Joe stops tending to the horse and rest his
head against its side. “I’m going to be a daddy at last.” His voice breaks
and I know the tears will soon begin to fall. Joe was never afraid to show
his emotions, that was one of the many things that made me fall in love
with him.
My world is spinning out of control now and I know I have to go. This is
something intensely private and I should not be intruding. But how can I
leave Joe? How can I ever bear not to be a part of his life? What would
I do if I didn’t have him to watch over?
“Mamma?” My son is beside me as we walk towards the burnt out house. He
is tall and slender, like his father. “Why don’t I remember being here before?”
“It burnt down before you were born,” I answer and the taste of smoke fills
my nose and mouth again. I can hear the crackle of the flame and have to
fight to beat down the terror that rises within me as I relive those last
few moments of my life. “It burnt down and we had to leave and go away.”
“Did you want to go?” he asks, running his hand through his curly hair that
is so like his father’s. Every time I look at him I see Joe and I remember
all the dreams we shared in this house.
“No, it broke my heart to think I would never see your father again. So
I decided to stay close to him, even though he doesn’t know we are here,
watching over him, keeping him safe.”
And the boy smiles at me, his green eyes full of love. “I think Daddy wants
us to go now,” he says and leads me over to the ruins, where Joe is standing.
Joe’s voice is very low and the tension in the air is palpable. “You’re
always here, Alice, always. And you are forever in my heart. None of this
makes any difference. I’ll always love you. I’ll love you forever.”
I would give so much to reach out and comfort him, to tell him that I never
doubted his love, and that I will always love him. I would give anything
to be able to tell him that I love him so much that even death could not
separate us. But that isn’t possible. It is only by some miracle that I
have been able to stay as long as I have.
“I think you stayed until you knew he was happy again,” Hoss says. He is
standing beside me, and despite the bright sunshine, there is something
unsubstantial about him. “But it’s time to go now. Time to say goodbye.”
His voice is full of love and understanding and the look he gives Joe is
so full of longing it almost breaks my heart.
Of course, Joe does not know we are beside him, watching him, looking after
him as we have been every day since we died. Perhaps it would have helped
him to know he was never alone – or did he sense I had never really left
him? How could I leave him when he still needed me?
Hoss takes my hand in his. I feel very small next to him, and very safe.
And I know that he loved Joe almost as much as I did. “We have to go, Alice.”
“I can’t go!” I plead. “I’m not doing any harm – I’m just watching him!
And I need him...”
Next to us, Joe kneels down and touches what was once our bedroom floor
with reverence. “Goodbye, Alice,” he says and is perfectly still for a moment.
His hand sweeps slowly across the ground in a loving caress. Then he stands
up and begins to walk away. I know that he will not return here again. And
all at once I realise that Hoss was right and that it is time to go.
I turn around and let Hoss lead me away, towards the shade of the trees,
towards the cool darkness and the solitude. My son follows, with the light
step of one who has no cares, for he never knew the world, its sorrows and
its joys. He is an unblemished soul, who died before he was born and who
lived only in the imagination of his parents.
Just once do I turn around and see Joe riding away, riding back to the Ponderosa
and back to his life. I have watched him for so long that I can scarcely
allow myself to think this is the last time I will see him. I cannot take
my eyes off him, so I stand watching, until he is just a small figure in
the far distance. This time, I know I cannot follow him. But I will love
him forever.
Claire Kulagowski
4 December 2009