Justin Kramon (13 page)

“I’ll make a pie for you later,” Finny said, and hugged her brother around the neck.

“How about you just give me the money you’d use to get the ingredients?” Sylvan said. “I’ll tell Judith you’re out.”

“I’ll bet you will.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just don’t go making kissy faces while she’s asleep.”

“You want me to tell Mom where you went?”

“Okay, okay,” Finny said. “Thanks!” And she ran out of the room.

At Earl’s house, Finny and Earl had a cup of coffee with Mr. Henckel. He told Finny a story about how, after his concert career had collapsed, he’d joined a traveling act.

“A kind of cabaret, shall we say,” he confided to Finny with a half dozen smile-frowns. “But the costumes were very expensive, especially for the ladies. So they came upon this formula. Which is to say they realized the gentlemen patrons would pay more for less costume. A win-win, if you will. So the ladies’ costumes were gradually, shall we say, removed from the budget.” Mr. Henckel was practically drenched by the time he finished this confession. He mopped his face with the yellow handkerchief, but it was like trying to stop a waterfall with a dish sponge.

Finny couldn’t believe that Mr. Henckel was telling her he’d worked in a strip show. “What kind of music did you play?” she asked.

“The classics, mostly,” he said. “It was a rather arty production. There was a grand finale involving the William Tell Overture.”

“How did they dance to
that?”

“You see, young lady, the music is of very little consequence in this sort of performance.”

“I guess so.”

“We’d been on the road for nearly three months when I realized that possibly this wasn’t the greatest use of my talents.”

“Of course not, Mr. Henckel. But what did you do?”

“Thus began the long and cold decline into the life of a teacher, my dear.”

“Dad,” Earl said, “I think Finny and I are going for a walk.”

“Okay,” Mr. Henckel said, offering a single smile-frown, like he’d just told them about his first time on a Ferris wheel.

Back at home, Finny went upstairs to meet Judith in their room. She pushed open her door without even thinking to knock. Finny was three steps into the room when she looked up and saw something that made her stop: it was Judith, lying on Finny’s bed, next to Sylvan. They were kissing, and Sylvan had his hand on Judith’s breast.

“I’m sorry,” Finny said. “Oh my God.” And she started out of the room.

“Finny,” Judith said, sitting up.

But Finny wouldn’t stop now. She heard Judith call her again, but she just kept walking, out the door, down the hall, down the stairs, into the kitchen, where Laura was scrubbing some dishes.

“You look like you just saw a ghost, sweetheart,” Laura said.

“No, I didn’t,” Finny said, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

They spent the rest of the day with Finny’s family—whom Finny used as a kind of shield—and Judith left in the evening. She called the next week to try to explain about Sylvan, but Finny said, “Look, I don’t want to get between you and my brother. I just think I’d prefer not to hear about it, if that’s okay with you.”

And when Sylvan broached the subject, Finny said, “You two can do whatever you want. But if you ever ask me for condoms, I’ll kill you.”

Chapter
13
Another Visitor

April to June was a busy time for Finny. Since her mother couldn’t afford the room and board at Thorndon, Finny completed her classes by mail, with a few phone calls to teachers and one conversation with Mrs. Barksdale, during which Finny had to hold the phone several inches from her ear. Mrs. Barksdale told Finny again how sorry she was for Finny’s loss, and assured her that everyone had missed her during the final months of classes.

Poplan called. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” she told Finny.

“Where are you?” Finny asked.

“At my cousins’. In Virginia. Remember?”

“What’s that in the background?”

Finny heard some brassy, syncopated music playing, and a squeaky voice saying, “Cha-cha-
cha
, cha-cha-
cha
,” to the beat of the song. She couldn’t tell if it was the voice of a woman or a young girl.

Then Poplan said to someone in the room, “Alana! Put down that maraca
right now.”

After a brief pause, Poplan said, “Sorry,” to Finny. “They get so wound up when they hear a good mambo.”

“Understandable,” Finny said. She was just so pleased to hear Poplan’s voice on the other end of the line.

“It might be my vacation,” Poplan continued, “but I remain vigilant.”

“Of course.”

Poplan then told Finny she was going to be passing through Maryland on her way back to Thorndon, where she’d be spending the summer. “I thought maybe I would stop by to say hi.”

“That would be great.”

“Of course, it would be impossible to do that without proper directions and an ETA.”

“ETA?”

“What time do you want me to get there?”

“Oh. Sorry,” Finny said. “Noon? But it’s still a little weird here. Maybe we could meet at my friend’s house …”

Finny was at Earl’s house at eleven, and she heard Poplan’s decisive knock at 11:42. Finny started up out of her chair. Mr. Henckel snorted awake.

“No,” Earl said to Finny. “Sit. Let me get it. I’m so excited to meet your friend.”

Finny sat back down, and Earl went to the door.

When he opened it, Poplan was standing there, wearing a bright shawl made from a red and gold fabric that looked Indian. She had on lipstick, and some dangly gold earrings. Earl invited Poplan in, and when she strode into the small living room, Finny heard Mr. Henckel let out a gasp. Finny looked at him, and noted that his face was nearly white, his lips parted and trembly, like he had something important to say. Finally, after several seconds, he gathered himself enough to whisper to Finny, “She … she’s
radiant.”

“Who?” Finny said. “Poplan?”

“Poplan,” Mr. Henckel repeated, as if Finny had taught him the name of some rare and delicious fruit. And in truth, Poplan did look striking in her red-gold suit. Her hair was pushed off her forehead from the breeze outside. Her cheeks glowed. Finny could see how with a little imagination someone could even call her “radiant.”

Finny walked over to Poplan, and just as she was about to speak, Poplan said, “Now tell me you’ve washed your hands.”

“Of course!” Finny said.

“Then give me a hug.”

Finny put her arms around Poplan, and the two women held each other for what felt like a full minute. Finny had to check herself from getting teary. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Poplan, how much this older woman meant to her.

After their hug, they all got down to the business of the visit. What Finny had known about Mr. Henckel but hadn’t quite had the opportunity to observe in full effect was how intensely and painfully shy he was around new people. Earl and Poplan had introduced themselves at the door, and now Poplan looked to Mr. Henckel, who was standing by Finny’s side. Any other adult would have taken the opportunity to introduce himself at this juncture, but Mr. Henckel, who was not like any other adult, was silent.

“I’m Poplan,” Poplan said.

Mr. Henckel nodded and thrust an elbow into Finny’s side. Taking the hint, Finny said, “This is my friend, Mr. Henckel.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Poplan said.

Mr. Henckel nodded again, and offered a quick smile-frown as his only response. They all sat down at the kitchen table.

Then began a long series of proddings and gesturings by Mr. Henckel, for the purpose of getting Finny—who had the bad luck of being seated next to him—to perform various tasks for Poplan. First she was offered a better seat at the kitchen table. Then, when it was observed that she might not be comfortable enough, Finny received an elbow to her side to inform her that a cushion should be brought from one of the living room chairs. Once this was done, the coffeepot was nodded at, and then the cream pitcher and sugar bowl successively. Finny poured the coffee, then added the cream and sugar in turn. After one spoonful was added, Finny received another painful jab from Mr. Henckel to suggest that Finny should ask whether Poplan preferred one spoonful or two.

“Two,” Poplan responded, after Finny asked, and a completely unnecessary jab informed Finny that she would have the honor of adding the spoonful to Poplan’s cup.

Because of Mr. Henckel’s reluctance to speak, conversation was somewhat strained. But Earl and Finny made do, talking about some of the walks they’d taken recently. Then Finny explained how Poplan loved to play Jenga, and was the best player at the school. Mr. Henckel looked impressed, and nodded appreciatively, signaling his admiration with an extended series of smile-frowns.

After several minutes of conversation, Poplan stood up and stated that she had brought a gift for her hosts but had waited for the proper moment to present it. Now was that moment.

Poplan returned to the house carrying a beige tote bag with the words
Buloxi Regional Square Dancing Championships
in green letters on it. Inside the bag was some round, heavy object, about the size of a human head. Poplan set the bag down on the living room floor. Immediately, a smell of rotting meat filled the room.

“What
is
that?” Finny said.

“What is what?” Poplan said.

“That smell.”

“It’s our snack.”

“Is it alive?” Finny asked.

“Not anymore,” Poplan said. “I suggest we repair to the kitchen. By the way, Mr. Henckel, do you own an extremely sharp knife?”

Finny and Earl looked at each other. Earl’s forehead was creased, like he was trying to figure out a difficult math problem.

But Mr. Henckel nodded eagerly, and took Poplan by the hand into the kitchen—a very bold move for him—to show her where the knife was.

“Mr. Henckel, have you washed that sweaty hand you’re holding me by?” Poplan asked.

Mr. Henckel nodded, still unable to speak. Finny had warned him to wash his hands before Poplan arrived.

Finny and Earl followed them to the kitchen. By now the scent had filled the entire house. To Finny it was like the smell of a garbage bag that should have been taken out the day before. They saw Poplan examining the knife blade. Approving it, she fetched the tote bag from the living room floor and placed it on the kitchen counter.

“Is this going to be bloody?” Finny asked. She and Earl were standing behind Poplan, a few feet away from her in case anything sprang out of the bag.

“Not if it’s done right,” Poplan said.

Then she opened the bag. The first thing that struck Finny was the smell. It was overpowering, like someone’s old gym socks. She coughed, hardly able to breathe, and covered her nose and mouth with her shirt. She could see that Earl had the same reaction. He didn’t want to seem rude, Finny knew, but he was taking small breaths from his mouth like he was sipping from a straw.

Poplan and Mr. Henckel seemed unaffected by the odor. Or rather, they seemed to enjoy it. Both inhaled deeply through their noses, and Mr. Henckel’s pleasure was intense enough to prompt him at last to speak. “That’s astonishing,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s a durian,” Poplan said. “A kind of fruit. A delicacy in Southeast Asia.”

Poplan explained that she had procured the fruit from friends who shopped at the markets in Chinatown in New York. It was a spiny fruit, actually a bit larger than a human head though with the same oblong shape. When Poplan hacked into it, a cloud of the offensive odor wafted over Finny, and even Earl had to cover his nose to prevent himself from choking.

“Is it rotten?” Finny asked.

“It’s perfect,” Poplan said.

The flesh, Finny saw when she could bring herself to examine it, was yellow-white, like a used undershirt. The texture looked mushy, and a little grainy.

“I can’t eat that,” Finny said.

“You have to try it,” Poplan said, with an assurance Finny was afraid to question.

“It smells rich,” Mr. Henckel said. “Like almonds. Or butter. Or custard, almost.” He seemed to have forgotten his shyness in his enthusiasm about the durian.

“Exactly,” Poplan said. “Some people can’t stand the smell, and they think it looks terrible. But the people who love it would choose it over any fruit in the world. It’s all in your tastes. And how you see it.”

Mr. Henckel looked overjoyed by this explanation, and he offered up several enthusiastic smile-frowns to demonstrate his approval.

Poplan handed pieces of the fruit to Earl, Finny, and Mr. Henckel. Then she took a piece for herself. “Bottoms up,” she said.

They each placed the fruit on their tongues. Mr. Henckel and Poplan had contemplative looks, like they were sampling a fine bottle of wine. Finny squished the weird fruit through her teeth. It had the texture of an apple that had gone completely soft. She and Earl ran to the sink at almost exactly the same moment and spit their helpings into it.

“I’m sorry,” Earl said, looking at Poplan with an expression close to terror. His cheeks were ashen and glistening with perspiration, like he was about to puke. “I just can’t.” He bolted out of the house, forgetting even to shut the door behind him.

Poplan and Mr. Henckel laughed. Finny watched them for a second, unsure what to do. Then she dashed out after Earl, shutting the door behind her.

After she caught up to Earl, they walked around the valley for an hour, until they were sure the fruit had been either eaten or disposed of.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted,” Finny said.

“It was nice of her to bring it,” Earl said. “I felt so bad running out like that.”

“Poplan doesn’t mind. She seems tough, but she’s really nice.”

As they approached the house, Finny could already hear the piano music. It was the same piece she’d heard Mr. Henckel playing that day when Earl had first invited her over, that swirling melody, sweet but somehow sad. When they were in front of the door, she grabbed Earl’s arm and held a finger to her lips. They stood and listened. The music was arrestingly beautiful. Almost painful. It brought tears to Finny’s eyes.