The Crystal Child by Theodore Roszak Page A

already becoming more absorbed in his legal briefs than in anything Julia had to tell him.  It was not usual for him to spare even that much of a comment on her work.
    “Why do you say that?” she asked, wondering if he had misunderstood what she said.
    “This is the kid who was so feeble when he first came to you?  The pro … ”
    “The progeric, yes.”
    Jake raised his eyebrows, as if to imply nothing could be more obvious.  “If they’re having trouble holding him down, maybe he’s getting better.”
    He made the comment as a lawyer would — catching a witness out on a contradiction.   But he phrased the remark dismissively.  That was typical of Jake, who was inclined to regard his wife as a benign quack.  But he could be right, Julia realized.  She had seen Aaron fighting like a little demon with his nurses.  She thanked Jake for the insight, then smiled to herself at how formal and remote they had become.  She had thanked him the way she might thank a stranger for giving her street directions.
    Brief as the exchange had been, it was the most they had said to one another about their work in weeks.  They had fallen into the habit of speaking as if words were rationed, each assuming the other preferred terse bulletins.  At first, as their relationship cooled, they had tried to remain curious about their careers. It was something to talk about, a safe topic.  They spoke not at all about feelings; instead, she asked about his cases, he asked about her patients and they made as much of that as they could.  In reality, he had no more interest in geriatric medicine than she had in corporation law.  In time they talked less and less about anything they had not come across in the newspaper.  Their jobs were eroding their marriage, giving them too many occasions to travel, to stay away late, to seek the company of others.  In time, they asked less and less about one another’s work, perhaps because success was the rival both faced.
    Sometimes, with no more than idle curiosity, she wondered where Jake’s sexuality had gone. She could not imagine he had turned celibate, an affable, well-liked, and successful man in the active middle of his life.  Perhaps he was seeing other women.  From time to time he mentioned the women he worked with, often remarking on their attractiveness before he got round to crediting them with brains or ability.  At parties his habit was to immerse himself in conversation with one or another of the younger women in the room, a kind of innocuous and discreet flirting.  He never told Julia afterwards what they had been talking about so intently.  “Nothing much,” he would answer if she asked, or perhaps he would say they had talked about a movie or a book.  Women often phoned asking for him. Partners, he said they were — or clients.  He had ample opportunity to cheat, but then so did she.  It would not take much for either of them to pull it off.  A few lies, maybe not even that, so rarely did they any longer ask about what the other did when they were apart.  She gave Jake the benefit of the doubt, mainly because confirming any suspicions she had about his fidelity would have put her to more trouble than it was worth. She preferred to grant him innocence until he proved himself guilty — a good legal principle.
    But did Jake ever wonder about her desires?  Did he care?  Sometimes in the night she composed scenarios of possible love affairs and how she might manage them.  If she told Jake she was off to a conference for the weekend, he never asked where or why.  “Leave a number on the fridge.”  That was all he might say.  She could have had all the lovers she wished, but bedtime fantasies were as far she went.  Her sexuality was in indefinite cold storage.  She was almost proud of how easily she had made that transition — seemingly without regret, without resentment. A mature adjustment.  Men — those she worked with, those she met in the course of