Other People's Lives (10 page)

In the gloomy dimness which had been increasing, Louise could not tell when Julie had come back from the bathroom and did not know how much of all this she had actually heard.

She said, “I
told
you. My mother never cooks
anything.
She never
eats
anything. She's five four and she weighs a hundred and twelve pounds. Daddy says she's the closest thing to an anorexic he's ever seen. All she ever does is play tennis.”

Because of the darkness, which was now nearly total, Louise had a sudden sensation of blindness. All she could see was an outline of Julie's familiar slouching form, and hearing her voice—a grudging whine—was certain that the expression on her invisible face was sour, sullen, and superior. It was unfair and not to be trusted: she was toying with the idea of blindness as if it
were
an idea, and easily playing out to herself this character of Julie—undeserving but lucky—lucky, lucky Julie, as if she were just that, simply a character. She could not see Rebecca, either, who now said, “
Tennis?
Julia, darling! Does your mother
still
play tennis? I think that's absolutely marvelous. People who want to stay alive and vital and open to the future have to find their own way of doing it. And if tennis is
your
mother's way, I think it's a wonderful thing! It's not
my
way, but I'm not the kind of person who has to wait around tennis courts, making small talk in ridiculous outfits, and then get crushed at cocktail parties! For
me,
being young and staying young is always inside me. But that's just a difference of outlook and attitudes. And someday I know you'll understand…Tell me something, darling. It just occurred to me because I know some
wonderful
people who
also
used to have a house on Martha's Vineyard—where do your parents play tennis?”

“I didn't
say
my parents. I said my
mother.
Daddy wouldn't—”

“Oh, that's even
more
marvelous. You see that? She does it by herself! The one thing I have no patience for is people who
stand still.
And if that means having to lie about your age on applications, then, by all means, go ahead and lie! It's what I tell all my friends and I
know
that I'm shocking them. Because they know how deep-rooted a principle honesty is with me. But if you're living in a society as primitive as ours is—primitive and
callous!
So that if you even whisper sixty-five, just the number itself makes you totem and taboo, and everyone's ready to throw you away! Not that anybody believes how old I am anyway! So that when I was in the city the last time and I went to get my special discount bus pass—”

“Bus passes!” Maria said. “Oh my God, Matthew! I forgot again to give you milk money! Again for a whole week you'll have nothing to drink. Bus passes you don't need, it's anyway not so far. You must only be careful about enough money with you. For muggings.”

“It's too windy, Mommy,” Matthew said. “That's the part I don't like. It's too windy when you have to go around the corner.”

“Your
corner, Maria, darling? Is that what he means? Because if it is, I don't blame him for one minute. And as much as I always loved to walk.”

Maria said, “
‘Der Wind, der Wind, das himmlische Kind'…
I think, Rebecca, on all streets between West End and the Drive, it's all over the same.”

“What's that
from,
darling? Wait a minute—don't tell me! I know that I know it—you're quoting Goethe!”

“Mommy, it's too dark in here,” Matthew began to whine. “I can't
see
anything. When are we going to Jamie Laufer's?”

“Rebecca will maybe put on a light, baby, angel. It
is
dark. Because really it's already late.”

“It would be dark in here anyway,” Julie said. “Just like our living room. No matter how many lights my mother turns on or how many exposures she has! Do you know that people can live in caves and still feel completely suffused with sunlight?”

“Matthew, sweetheart! Of
course
I'll put on a light for you. It's just that with all the electricity problems here, and all the times I've had blow-outs, the whole thing makes me nervous. And furious! All because of that damn electrician!…Let me start with the plugs and we'll hope!”

Rebecca crept around on the floor, apparently tugging at wires. Raising her head, she said, “I've got it! I'm positive! It's not
Faust,
right? It's the ‘Erlkönig!'”

The “Erlkönig”: a Schubert song Louise could not stand. A man who sees that there's suddenly something wrong with his child becomes desperate to save him. From what? What's wrong? Is he sick? The piano part: a horse, a horseman, galloping, galloping.
Tell
me,
say
something. What is it? You're getting paler and paler.
Tell
me. Galloping, galloping. Father, Father, help me! Save me! Listen to it! It's getting closer and closer, I can't even—What? What are you t
alking
about? What shall I listen for? Galloping, galloping. Galloping, galloping. Father! Father! In the distance there is an eerie wind blowing.
Tell
me,
tell
me, your voice is so faint. I can't
hear
you. Your eyes are closed, you're not moving. This is no time to fall asleep! Wind, galloping, silence, sleep—that's all and the whole thing is over. And now, finally, the father understands: his son is dead. He's been carried away, kidnaped by the galloping horseman—the Erlkönig, a figure from legend. The father sings about his grief, berates himself for his own stupidity in not recognizing the notorious villain, and that's how the song ends. The song is a lie; the legend is a lie. The only thing it's about is suicide and the child doesn't want to be saved from its seduction. Gallop, gallop, gallop: how is the father supposed to do something about an inaudible, invisible horseman?

“What?” Maria said.

“What you just
quoted,
darling!
‘Der Wind, der Wind, das himmlische Wind.'
You're so
erudite,
Maria! I don't know how I could forget that about you. I
didn't,
really, because I am too in my own way. Not that I know German, but I come from a very musical family, and people are always amazed at the things I can recognize even though I never took a lesson in my life!” Rebecca managed to plug in one dim, heavily shaded antique hurricane lamp; the bulb went out immediately. “Do you see what I mean? That's exactly what I'm struggling against!”

“I think it could be maybe only the extension cord. Or other wires—not exposed, I hope…What I said now is from
Hansel and Gretel.”

“
Hansel and Gretel!
” Rebecca said, immediately beginning to hum the theme of
Peter and the Wolf.
“Does that take me back years! I always used to take my daughters and all their little friends. Every single year! Every Christmas! Even if in my opinion it
is
on the sugary side. Still, you have to let children build and develop their own taste. When I think of all those pushy parents! What did they get? Midgets who could parrot!”

The antique hurricane lamp went on again, seemingly of its own volition, and Maria said, “Ah! It
does
work, Rebecca. Only you have I think intermitting current.”

In the sudden burst of light, Matthew rubbed his eyes, making them seem smaller and suspicious. “
That's
not from
Hansel and Gretel,
it's
Peter and the Wolf!
We have the record in school. In my
old
school. If you don't believe me, you can call up Jamie Laufer.”

“What's this Jamie Laufer business, Maria? Why do you want to see the Laufers?”

“I don't,” Maria said, and with her hands in her pockets, looked toward the windows. “Only Matthew does. It's who he remembers from around here in the summer, and it's what I promised. I told him probably you would know who is up here now in the winter and who comes only for special weekends.”

“Well, of course I do! Because who ever comes here in the middle of winter? Leon thinks I'm crazy,
he
won't come! Nobody comes! Unless it's a holiday or unless they're running away from each other. And with the Laufers, what good would that do them? In
that
family, each one is crazier than the next! And don't think people don't notice it! And I'd say it's a pity on the children. But that Jamie! With that mouth on him even
I
can't feel sorry! I'll tell you something, Maria, and I hate to even
think
of it coming out of my own mouth—but you listen to that child for five seconds and you can't help coming to the most
atavistic
conclusions! The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree!
Trees!
Because you look at that marriage and you don't know who to feel sorrier for.”

Maria nodded noncommittally. “They went to the same school,” she said. “
Used
to.”

“And you're not going to try to tell me he was any different there! All you have to do is watch him run around with that dog—a
beautiful
Irish setter! Or it
was,
anyway. Because even
studies
have proven it! A dog reflects the personality of the people who own it. And the Laufers made that poor dog as crazy as they are. And that was a
very
expensive dog!”

“What do you think, Matthew, angel? You think the turtle reflects your personality, that's why it's getting lost always? Or the cat? What do you think?”

The light blew out suddenly, as unpredictably as it had gone on before, and Rebecca said, “Even the
bulbs
go out on me here, and I can't tell you how new they are.”

Maria, standing in the darkness, clicked the lamp's switch on and off several times. “For intermittent current, you need only something to tap it. You break the circuit. You make the circuit? I don't know which one, it's contact only.
Not
a spoon, definitely, because of conductoring electricity and shockings. It's what happens if you put a fork inside the toaster. I scream it at Matthew always, yes, baby?”

Julie said, “But what do you do when bagels get stuck? I
always
use a fork and nothing ever happened. Daddy even does it and he's
into
all that scientific shit…I really loved those breakfasts, he did it every single Sunday. When he bought the
Times
and Nova and cream cheese and everything…My fucking mother didn't even make the
coffee.
She used to have her own little private tiny teapot so she could have it with her sickening, plastic Melba toast. Or her
grapefruit!
” Julie shook herself in remembered disgust; Louise heard the various zippers on her fatigue jacket jangling in the darkness like the keychain of a Victorian housekeeper. “That's probably why I
still
can't stand grapefruit. Even when it's been grown pure and organic and
right
for you.”

At Birch Hill the one Indian social worker also ate grapefruit. Raised as a vegetarian, she could not accustom herself to eating meat, she explained. Flesh…it disgusted her. So, every single day at noon, the bracelets and bangles on her thin brown arm falling and ringing together, she reached into the bottom of her English leather purse to pull out her lunch: a grapefruit. Using no utensils, she peeled the grapefruit whole and pulled apart each section. With tiny, quick gestures she thrust the grapefruit sections into her mouth, and as she crushed them whole against her tongue, Louise always felt newly the meaning of the word flesh.

Still moving around in the dark, Rebecca said, “You see how you underestimated your mother, Julia? Teal Grapefruit! Melba toast! Even
you
have to admit that there's nothing wrong with it and how wonderful and healthy and natural it is. Although God knows how anyone could go on putting that into their mouth year after year and pretend to themselves that they're eating. Or living, for that matter! But—each to his own! I was always very tolerant and open-minded about individual differences and
mishugassen.
It's what you owe to your fellow human beings, not that I like the word
owe!
”

Maria, standing over the lamp, began tapping the glass funnel.

“What are you
fiddling
with, Maria? For God's sake! What are you
doing?
I don't know what's going on and I can't even
see
you!”

“Something with a wooden handle you need, I think. Not really
handle—
you know, a mop, a broom. It wouldn't
fix
it, but only for making it work temporarily.”

“Wooden?
Wooden?
Where do I have something wooden?” Rebecca said, clapping her heavy-gloved hand against her forehead.

“It's her head,” Matthew whispered to Julie and began laughing.

“All right, Matthew! All right!…I heard that because I'm still not deaf! And if I believed in hitting children—anybody's children—and God knows I never did. Because otherwise right now, with your mother sitting right here and your father lying in a hospital, you'd be the first one to get it! And I mean
get
it! Because I'm not fooling around, and you're just very lucky that I have a sense of humor about these things. And about myself! Which I always had! Which is why I—”

“Matthew!” Maria said. “You must apologize. Right now. Say you're sorry. You
must.
”

“Maria, darling! Stop it!
Please!
You're being so
harsh.
After all, he's only a child—a baby, practically. And anyway, since when can't I laugh at myself? Where would we be—all of us—if we couldn't laugh at ourselves once in a while? And anyway, am I the kind of person who would take offense at something like that?
Am
I?”

Maria said, “In the car I have usually somewhere an umbrella. With a wooden handle. I
think
wooden, not plastic. If plastic makes a difference I don't anyway know. What do you think?”