Flying to America (31 page)

— The maid. She was studying eschatology. Maiding part-time. She left us for a better post. Perfectly ordinary departure.

— Did she perhaps wear shoes of this type?

— No. Nor was she given to the
cri de coeur.
Except perhaps, once. Death of her flying fish. A cry wrenched from her bosom. Rather like a winged phallus it was, she kept it in a washtub in the basement. One day it was discovered belly-up. She screamed. Then, insisted it be given the Last Rites, buried in a fish cemetery, holy water sprinkled this way and that —

— You fatigue me. Now, about the hundred-pound sack of saccharin.

— Mine. Indubitably mine. I’m forbidden to use sugar. I have a condition.

— I’m delighted to hear it. Not that you have a condition but that the sack is, without doubt, yours.

— Mine. Yes.

— I can’t tell you how pleased I am. The inquiry moves. Progress is made. Results are obtained.

— What are you writing there, in your notes?

— That the sack is, beyond a doubt, yours.

— I think it’s mine.

— What do you mean,
think?
You stated . . . Is it yours or isn’t it?

— I think it’s mine. It seems to be.

— Seems!

— I just remembered, I put sugar in my coffee. At breakfast.

— Are you sure it wasn’t saccharin?

— White powder of some kind . . .

— There is a difference in texture . . .

— No, I remember, it was definitely sugar. Granulated. So the sack of saccharin is definitely not mine.

— Nothing is yours.

— Some things are mine, but the sack is not mine, the shoe is not mine, the bonbon dish is not mine, and the doors are not mine.

— You admitted the doors.

— Not wholeheartedly.

— You said, I have it right here, written down, “Yes, they must be mine.”

— Sometimes we hugged. Lengthily. Heart to heart, the one trying to pull the other into the upright other . . .

— I have it right here. Written down. “Yes, they must be mine.”

— I withdraw that.

— You can’t withdraw it. I’ve written it down.

— Nevertheless I withdraw it. It’s inadmissible. It was coerced.

— You feel coerced?

— All that business about “dish” rather than “plate” —

— That was a point of fact, it was, in fact, a dish.

— You have a hectoring tone. I don’t like to be hectored. You came here with something in mind. You had made an a priori decision.

— That’s a little ridiculous when you consider that I have, personally, nothing to gain. Either way. Whichever way it goes.

— Promotion, advancement . . .

— We don’t operate that way. That has nothing to do with it. I don’t want to discuss this any further. Let’s go on to the dressing gown. Is the dressing gown yours?

— Maybe.

— Yes or no?

— My business. Leave it at “maybe.”

— I am entitled to a good, solid, answer. Is the dressing gown yours?

— Maybe.

— Please.

— Maybe maybe maybe maybe.

— You exhaust me. In this context, the word “maybe” is unacceptable.

— A perfectly possible answer. People use it every day.

— Unacceptable. What happened to her?

— She made a lot of money. Opened a Palais de Glace, or skating rink. Read R. D. Laing to the skaters over the PA system meanwhile supplementing her income by lecturing over the country as a spokesperson for the unborn.

— The gold eyebrows, still?

— The gold eyebrows and the gray-with-violet eyes. On television, very often.

— In the beginning, you don’t know.

— That’s true.

— Just one more thing: The two mattresses surrounding the single slice of salami. Are they yours?

— I get hungry. In the night.

— The struggle is admirable. Useless, but admirable. Your struggle.

— Cold, here in the garden.

— You’re too old, that’s all it is, think nothing of it. Don’t give it a thought.

— I haven’t agreed to that. Did I agree to that?

— No, I must say you resisted. Admirably, resisted.

— I did resist. Would you allow “valiantly”?

— No no no no. Come come come.

— “Wholeheartedly”?

— Yes, O.K., what do I care?

—
Wholeheartedly,
then.

— Yes.

—
Wholeheartedly.

— We still haven’t decided what color to paint the trucks.

— Yes. How about blue?

The Question Party

Y
es, Maria, we will give the party on next Thursday night and I have an agreeable surprise in contemplation for all our old friends who may be here.” The pleasant air about Mrs. Teach as she entered the parlor where her daughter was seated betokened the presence of something on her mind that gave her great satisfaction. The daughter had been importuning her mother for a party which after due deliberation she had decided to give and to make the evening more entertaining she had determined to introduce a new feature which she thought would create some excitement in the circle of her acquaintances and afford them the means of much amusement. She had just hit upon the plan before entering the room and the smile of satisfaction upon her face was noticed by her daughter.

“Shall we, Mother? I am so glad!” she answered. “But what is it you are preparing for our friends? Are you going to sing?”

“No, Miss, I ain’t going to do no such foolish thing! And, for your quizzing, you shall not know what it is until the evening of the party!”

“Now, Mother, that is too bad. You are too hardhearted. You know the extent of woman’s curiosity and yet you will not gratify me. Are you going to introduce a new polka?”

“There is no use in your questioning; I shall not tell you anything about it, so you may as well save your breath.”

“Do you intend showing your album quilt?” perseveringly inquired Maria.

“Now do not provoke me to cancel my promise by your pertinacity. I tell you as a punishment for quizzing your mother you shall not know until Thursday next what it is.”

“Morning or evening, Mother?”

“Evening, Miss. So no more questions but get about writing your invitations.”

Maria proceeded to the bookcase and taking from it her notepaper and envelopes commenced writing.

Eight o’clock on the evening of the party. The first who were ushered into the parlor were Mrs. Jawart and her two daughters, who were always the first at the reunions. The younger Miss Jawart was somewhere out of her teens, and the elder, although her face was profusely bedecked with curls — the original owner of which, being dead, had no further use for them — could not conceal that she was much older than she wished to be considered. Mr. and Mrs. White came next, the lady somewhat pompous in her manner, and the gentleman quite so. An interest in a canal boat had placed him, in his own view, among shipping merchants, and some of his acquaintances broadly hinted that if he were cut up in small pieces and retailed out for starch, he would be fulfilling his destiny. The two Misses Jennings and brother came next. These young ladies, the one eighteen and the other twenty, seemed somewhat disappointed, when they entered the room, at the absence of some of their young beaux, whom they expected to find there; this feeling was dispelled in a few moments, when a matched pair of the latter presented themselves.

Mr. Lynch, a bachelor of fifty, was the next to claim the attention of the company. He was a short, thickset man, with a small pair of whiskers that curled up on his cheekbones as if endeavoring to cultivate an acquaintance with his eyes. A few gray hairs in them, overlooked by the owner — his attention to them was
exemplary — had been, in his toilet for the evening, elbowed, as it were, by the others to the fore, possibly to attract the attention of a few of the same color which peeped from behind the false hair of Miss Jawart A standing collar formed a semi-wall around his neck, and shoes of the brightest polish graced his feet. At about half past nine, then, all the guests had assembled, filling comfortably both parlors and rendering the place vocal with their animated conversation.

The company had been engaged some time in singing when there was a call for a polka. In a few moments partners were selected and everyone was hopscotching through the figures at a lively rate, reminding one strongly of a group in a state of advanced intoxication. The mind of Maria suddenly became abstracted to such an extent by thoughts of the surprise that her mother had promised that she forgot her time and the dancers were compelled to stop and reprove her jokingly for her remissness. Just at that moment Mrs. Teach’s voice could be heard, above the general din of laughter and music, calling for everyone, without exception, to come into the front parlor as she had something to show them which she thought would amuse. In her haste to get into the room Maria almost knocked one of the Misses Jennings over.

The company after much confusion being seated, Mrs. Teach took from the center table a handsome marble card basket containing a pack of plain, gilt-edged cards and explained that she had prepared an innocent and entertaining amusement for them which she hoped would prove interesting.

“Maria,” she continued, “will you pass around this basket, my dear, and let each one of the company select from it one of the cards?”

Maria did as her mother requested.

“I shall propose a question,” said Mrs. Teach, “to which each one must write an answer on the card they have. Which cards shall be placed in this vase on the pedestal behind me. After they are all deposited I will draw them out singly and will read them aloud. There is to be no mark upon the response by which its author may be known.”

There was a general mustering of pencils at this announcement and an evident curiosity was immediately raised in regard to the subject which would be propounded.

“As there is a majority of ladies here, I shall propose for the first question: What is a bachelor?”

For the space of a quarter of an hour the pencils of the company made desperate attacks upon the faces of the cards which left them covered over with black lines. The last answer written and deposited in the vase, Mrs. Teach, with a smile, commenced the task of reading them aloud.

“
A target for fair hands to shoot at,
” she read.

A general laugh greeted this response.

“I beg of you, ladies,” said Mr. Lynch, “not to shoot too close to me, but I know that my prayer is to no avail since your arrows are already in that vase.”

The second card was drawn forth.

“
Any icy peak, on the mountain of humanity, that the sun of woman’s love has never melted,
” read Mrs. Teach.

“Then I will nip you with my frost,” said Mr. Lynch, putting his arms playfully around one of the Misses Jennings.

“How do you know it was my answer?” she cried, releasing herself from him.

“I read it in your face this moment,” he replied.

“Then we must turn our faces from you, or we shall all betray ourselves, if you are such an excellent face reader,” said the elder Miss Jawart.

“I beg you, do not!” exclaimed Mr. Lynch. “For that would deprive me of much pleasure.”

“
An old maid’s forlorn hope,
” said Mrs. Teach, reading the next response, the aptness of which was felt by all — yet a sense of propriety restrained any acknowledgment of this. Another card was instantly drawn to divert attention from it, and to relieve Miss Jawart from her unpleasant dilemma.

“
A fox longing for the grapes he pronounces sour.
”

“Now I really do object!” said Mr. Lynch. “I could never find it in my heart to pronounce any lady sour.”

“Heart, indeed! This is the first time I ever knew you to acknowledge the possession of such an article,” Mrs. Teach quickly replied.

“There you do me wrong, for, see! I have one now which you gave me,” said Mr. Lynch, taking from his pocket a handsomely worked velvet heart. “And observe, there are as many pins in it as you are endeavoring to plant thorns in its partner here,” he went on, placing his hand over that part of his coat which covered the real article.

The laugh was turned on Mrs. Teach and she drew forth another card.

“
A creature whose miseries might be pitied had he not the remedy within his reach
.”

“It must be you, Miss Bookly,” said Mr. Lynch, “as you are sitting closest to me.”

“I did not write it,” said Miss Bookly. “And besides, Miss Jennings was sitting closest to you before she moved away after you put your arms around her.”

“That is true,” he said with a mock sigh.

Another card terminated the conversation on that subject.

“
Just like Mr. Lynch
.”

The merriment of the company knew no bounds at this answer. Mr. Lynch joined the rest with great zeal, and in a few moments exclaimed, “Well! I really do think you are making me a target to shoot at tonight. It is well for you that I am good-natured, else I might retaliate with some formulations of my own.”