Anastasia Again! (11 page)

"Not
weird,
Anastasia. Unusual, maybe. Precocious."

Anastasia groaned. "Well, anyway, when we were still living in Cambridge before we moved, I was talking to Robert Giannini—who really
is
weird, by the way, I'm sorry, but there isn't any other word for Robert Giannini—and he asked me how my brother was. He's never seen Sam. And I was trying to describe Sam to Robert Giannini. And somehow, I haven't figured out how, I
never
will figure out
how
, Robert got the idea that Sam was deformed..."

"Deformed?
Sam?
"

"Yeah. It was because I was trying to explain how Sam grew at different rates, because that's what Dad told me, that his brain developed faster than some other parts of him. That's
true,
Mom. You know he talks like Einstein, but he still sucks his thumb and wears diapers..."

"Yes, but that's not
deformed,
Anastasia."

"I know that, and you know that. But for some reason Robert Giannini got the idea that poor old Sam is crippled..."

"Handicapped," corrected her mother.

"Okay, handicapped. And he started being very sad about it and telling me about his retarded cousin and asking if we had taken Sam to Children's Hospital and telling me about the March of Dimes..."

"Good grief."

"Mom, you know what? Robert Giannini was making premature assumptions."

"And you were letting him, Anastasia."

Anastasia sighed. "I know. But I don't know how it happened. And now, guess what."

"I'm not sure I want to guess what. You mean there's
more?
"

"Mom, Robert Giannini is going to ride his bike out here next Saturday."

Her mother groaned.

It was at this point, Anastasia was quite sure, that Dear Abby would take a deep breath in order to stop laughing and would write: "Dear Confused, It is very simple to solve this ridiculous problem. You must simply explain to your friend that it was a matter of poor communication, of misunderstanding, of premature assumptions. Tell him the truth about your brother. A real friend will understand."

But Anastasia's mother didn't say any of that. She didn't laugh. She just groaned.

"You want to hear a story about a terrible thing I did once?" she asked, looking embarrassed.

"Yeah." For some reason, when you had done something stupid, it always made you feel better to hear about stupid things that other people had done.

"Well, do you remember what my name was before I got married?"

"Sure. Katherine Klein."

"Well. When I was in art school, when I was oh, maybe nineteen, I had a terrific crush on a guy in one of my classes. One evening he asked me to go out and have a cup of coffee with him.

"Now, do you know that little framed print that's hanging in the hall, near the telephone? The one that's black and white, very abstract?"

"Sure. It looks like an ink blot. Like a psychiatrist would ask you what you see in it."

"Well, that's a copy of a painting by Franz Kline."

"Is he related to you?"

"No. That's the point. The name isn't even spelled the same. But Franz Kline was a very, very well-known expressionist painter. Now, we were all young art students, and we used to sit around talking for hours about painters. That's what this boy and I did that night. And somehow, in the course of the evening, he got the idea that I was Franz Kline's daughter."

"
Mom
! You didn't tell him that, did you?"

"Of course not. I just let him make the assumption. But I also didn't tell him that my father was Joseph Klein, insurance man, from Hartford, Connecticut. By the end of the evening, this boy thought that my home was in a loft in New York City, with my famous painter father."

"Good grief."

"Good grief is right. Because—as you know—there's a point at which you can say, 'Hey, no, you got it wrong.' But if you don't say it
then,
it gets harder and harder to say it, and you get in deeper and deeper."

"Did he ever find out the truth?
Did he ever come visit you at your house?
"

"No. He kept wanting to. He kept hinting that he wanted to, because of course he wanted to meet my father, or who he thought was my father. I kept making excuses."

"What happened?"

Anastasia's mother groaned, remembering. "Well, one thing that happened was that I flunked an important
exam. Franz Kline
died
that year. It was in the
New York Times,
of course. So for two days I had to hide. I couldn't go to any classes—and missed an exam, so I got a failing grade—because of course I wanted this boy to think that I had gone home to the funeral and everything."

"That's
terrible.
"

"Of course it's terrible. And it's something like your situation right now. What are you going to do when Robert comes next Saturday?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe we could talk Sam into lying in bed all day with a blanket over him."

"It's too hot. I already thought of that."

"
I
know."

"What?"

"Simple. Mrs. Stein and Sam really get along very well. I'll ask her if she can babysit on Saturday. Sam can go to her house for the day. But listen, Anastasia..."

"What?"

"Robert Giannini's not going to come visit
often,
is he?"

"No. Absolutely not. This is the last time. I can't stand him."

***

"Unfortunately," continued Anastasia in Chapter 2 of her novel, "just as the young girl began to live a new and well-adapted life, her past crimes began to catch up with her."

Then she crossed out the word
crimes.

"...her past sins began to catch up with her," she wrote.

Then she crossed out the word
sins
and chewed on her pencil eraser.

Finally she wrote, "...her Past began to catch up with her, and to get tangled up with her Future."

"It's Anastasia again," Anastasia called, after she had rung Gertrustein's doorbell. "I've brought you something!"

"Hello there, Anastasia Again," said Gertrustein, when she opened the door. It was amazing how Gertrustein's disposition had changed in a short time. Anastasia remembered how grouchy she had been, the first time they had met. Now she answered the door cheerfully, always smiling.

It had to do with her hair, thought Anastasia. Now that her hair looked pretty, Gertrustein felt cheerful. Anastasia had noticed that she
herself
felt more cheerful now that she was washing her own hair twice a day with special shampoo for oily hair. She had been doing it ever since she had met Steve Harvey. The better her hair looked, the better she felt.

Now
that
was something worth sending into
Psychology Today,
instead of a dumb Giannini survey on joggers.

She would have to figure out, though, how people like her father figured into her theory. Her father was almost always cheerful even though he was bald.

"Hey, Mr. Stein is getting fat!" Anastasia peered into the goldfish bowl at the plump goldfish who stared back at her silently.

Gertrustein laughed. "I know. I think I'm feeding him too much. It's so nice to have someone to
feed
that I get carried away sometimes."

"Gertrustein," said Anastasia very seriously. "You absolutely have to make an effort to make some friends. You could invite friends over for dinner, or you could go to their house for dinner. It's not healthy to stay all shut up in your house, feeding too much to a goldfish."

But Gertrustein got a very stubborn look on her face. "I do not like people," she said, with dignity.

"Ridiculous. You're only pretending that because you're
scared
of them."

"What are you, some kind of
social worker?
"

"No. But I know what I'm talking about. Because look at me: when I moved here, I pretended that I wasn't going to like anyone in the suburbs. You know why? Because I was scared they wouldn't like
me!
And then I met you, and you like me ... you do like me, don't you?"

"Yes," said Gertrustein reluctantly.

"And then I met Steve, and Steve likes me, at least I
think he does. And now I can't wait to meet more people. Steve's going to have a cookout at his house, and invite a lot of kids my age, and I'm really looking forward to it. It was all my imagination, that I didn't like people in the suburbs. And it's all
your
imagination, Gertrustein, and what you should do is..."

"You said you brought me something. What is it?" Gertrustein changed the subject.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Look!" Anastasia held up a piece of paper. "A gift certificate!"

Gertrustein took the paper and frowned at it.

"A lady came to the house," Anastasia explained, "to welcome my mother to town. She brought lots of free stuff that the town gives to new people. Two free passes to the movies—Steve and I are going to use those—and, let's see, my father gets a free oil change for the car at some gas station, and my mom gets a discount on a leg of lamb at the supermarket. We get dinner for four at some restaurant, if we go on a Tuesday night. And then there was this one, which Mom said I could give you, because she and I don't need it: a free permanent at the Clip 'n Curl Beauty Salon! If you get a permanent, your hair will look nice all the time, without my helping you put it in rollers."

Gertrustein looked dubious. "Well..." she said.

"Hah. I
knew
you'd say that. So I already called and made an appointment for you at the Clip 'n Curl. It's right next to the drugstore, close enough for you to walk, and your appointment is for ten o'clock Saturday morning."

"You're taking over my whole life, Anastasia Krupnik."

"No, I'm not. I'm just helping you get your life started. I'm sorry if it's rude to say this, Gertrustein, but I think your life ended when Mr. Stein—the man, not the goldfish—ran off with his mandolin player. And that was forty years ago!"

Gertrustein smiled suddenly. "You're right, Anastasia, but you're also wrong. My life ended when Edward Evans married the local nursery school teacher forty-seven years ago. Too late to start it up again now. But all right. I'll go and get a permanent at ten o'clock Saturday morning."

"Then you'll make new friends, and..."

"Hold on there. I will get a permanent. Then I will come home and feed my fish and watch TV. One thing at a time. I'm too old for any more changes."

"Good grief," said Anastasia suddenly. "I forgot something. Mom wanted you to babysit for Sam on Saturday. And it's really important. Maybe I should call and change that appointment..."

"No. Sam can come with me. I'll need the moral support."

The thought of someone who wears Pampers being moral support was a little startling to Anastasia, but it did seem to solve the problem.

And she was beginning to have another idea. Maybe it would be meddling in Gertrustein's life. On the other hand, she had
already
meddled in Gertrustein's life quite a bit, and it had seemed to work out okay. If
this
idea worked...

"I have to go someplace," she announced. "I'll see you later, Gertrustein."

She ran to the garage and wheeled out her bike.

***

Anastasia had already been to the small library. It was one of the first things she had done after they moved, finding the library and getting a library card.

In Cambridge, there had been a branch library not far from the Krupniks' apartment. Anastasia had been going to it since she was Sam's age: not by herself at that age, of course, but holding her mother's hand. Once, just before she moved, she had figured out that—if she had checked out eight books every week from the time she was two—she had taken more than four thousand books out of that library. That was a little puzzling, because the branch library was so small that she didn't think it
had
four thousand books. But her mother had pointed out that sometimes she took the same books over and over again.

In Cambridge, they knew her so well at the branch library that they called her Anastasia Again, the way Gertrustein was beginning to.

At this new library, they didn't know her at all, at least not
yet,
which was a little depressing. But they would. She had looked through their card catalogue and discovered they were missing some of her favorite books, so she was planning to write them a letter. One book that had been her favorite for years, in Cambridge, described all the symptoms of leprosy in great detail. She had checked
it out regularly once every few months, just to be sure once again that she didn't have leprosy. Sometimes it was hard to tell, because one of the symptoms was itchy ear lobes. Every now and then Anastasia had itchy ear lobes. When she did, she always checked out the leprosy book so that she could read the other symptoms and be certain she didn't have them, too. Now that she lived in a town whose library didn't contain the leprosy book, she didn't know what she would do when her ear lobes itched. So she was going to mention that in her letter to the local library—politely, of course.