her! Giving her so much money and never even asking if her mother had called her to thank her. (No. Essie Spivak had not called. Hadn't even acknowledged receiving the check, let alone expressed any curiosity about it. Their mother was "taking long weekends" in Atlantic City, Katya learned from her sister Lisle. At which casinos, and with whom: don't ask.)
How distant Katya felt from her family. The Spivaks were scattered like sea creatures washed ashore in the wake of a terrible storm, dazed and quivering with life, and some of this was a stinging, venomous life but the only life they knew. Katya thought, I am not one of them! Not in Mr. Kidder's house.
He would love her as her family could not, he seemed to promise. He would love her enough for two.
"Damn! Goddamn."
Sometimes he surprised her, losing his temper. While he was sketching Katya in pastel chalks, a sudden misstroke of the chalk and Mr. Kidder cursed, tore the paper in two, flung the chalk down so that it shattered on the floor.
Katya cringed, hoping he wasn't angry at her. Accustomed to men, boys and men, turning mean suddenly, blaming who's nearby.
"How elusive you are, Katya! A gossamer soul, like a butterfly's wings."
These pastel sketches were preliminary to paintings, Mr. Kidder told her. It was his intention to paint a sequence of oil portraits of her that would be "autonomous" artworks he'd envisioned long ago, before he'd actually seen her on Ocean Avenue.
"Before, even, you were born. I know this."
Marcus Kidder spoke quietly, forcefully. As his deft fingers moved, wielding chalk.
Skeptically, Katya asked how he knew this.
"Because, Katya, when I saw you there with those children, it was as if I remembered you. Except you'd been dressed differently that other time. Your hair had been loose, curlier. But it was you, Katya. You recognized me, too."
Katya tried to think: could this be so? A stranger, an older man with the most beautiful head of white hair, close beside her saying, And what would you choose, if you had your wish?
Mr. Kidder smiled at her from behind the easel. "Think back, dear! We both felt that we'd already met, in another lifetime perhaps. Somewhere."
Katya thought, No! never. This had to be a joke. Like Funny Bunny, who said such silly things, such far-fetched things, and expected you to believe them; and you had to love him, because he made you laugh.
Katya objected: if Mr. Kidder was going to tear up the sketches of her, why couldn't she have them? No one had ever drawn her likeness before—it didn't have to be perfect ... But Mr. Kidder said, "No. When I achieve what I see, I will show you, and I will provide you with a copy. But it would pain me, Katya, for you to see anything less than perfection."
These other girls you've drawn, were they perfect? Katya wanted to ask but knew that Mr. Kidder would be offended by so personal a question.
And who was Naomi? And how did Naomi die?
No one had ever asked Katya Spivak what she planned to do with her life, but Marcus Kidder asked.
As Katya posed for him, so Katya spoke to him, shyly at first, for it seemed to her strange that Marcus Kidder should actually be interested in Katya Spivak's future; and then more openly, since he seemed sincere. So wonderfully sincere! Katya confided in the artist as she'd never confided in anyone: that she wanted to leave Vineland after high school, if she could; wanted to attend a good university, like Rutgers in New Brunswick, not the local community college. Mr. Kidder asked Katya what she'd like to study and Katya told him maybe psychology, linguistics—she'd seen a TV documentary about a team of psychologists who worked with chimpanzees, experimenting to determine if chimps could use language as human beings did. And more recently, since Funny Bunny, Katya was thinking she might study art and children's literature and become a children's book author/illustrator like Marcus Kidder...
"Really! But not 'like Marcus
How distant Katya felt from her family. The Spivaks were scattered like sea creatures washed ashore in the wake of a terrible storm, dazed and quivering with life, and some of this was a stinging, venomous life but the only life they knew. Katya thought, I am not one of them! Not in Mr. Kidder's house.
He would love her as her family could not, he seemed to promise. He would love her enough for two.
"Damn! Goddamn."
Sometimes he surprised her, losing his temper. While he was sketching Katya in pastel chalks, a sudden misstroke of the chalk and Mr. Kidder cursed, tore the paper in two, flung the chalk down so that it shattered on the floor.
Katya cringed, hoping he wasn't angry at her. Accustomed to men, boys and men, turning mean suddenly, blaming who's nearby.
"How elusive you are, Katya! A gossamer soul, like a butterfly's wings."
These pastel sketches were preliminary to paintings, Mr. Kidder told her. It was his intention to paint a sequence of oil portraits of her that would be "autonomous" artworks he'd envisioned long ago, before he'd actually seen her on Ocean Avenue.
"Before, even, you were born. I know this."
Marcus Kidder spoke quietly, forcefully. As his deft fingers moved, wielding chalk.
Skeptically, Katya asked how he knew this.
"Because, Katya, when I saw you there with those children, it was as if I remembered you. Except you'd been dressed differently that other time. Your hair had been loose, curlier. But it was you, Katya. You recognized me, too."
Katya tried to think: could this be so? A stranger, an older man with the most beautiful head of white hair, close beside her saying, And what would you choose, if you had your wish?
Mr. Kidder smiled at her from behind the easel. "Think back, dear! We both felt that we'd already met, in another lifetime perhaps. Somewhere."
Katya thought, No! never. This had to be a joke. Like Funny Bunny, who said such silly things, such far-fetched things, and expected you to believe them; and you had to love him, because he made you laugh.
Katya objected: if Mr. Kidder was going to tear up the sketches of her, why couldn't she have them? No one had ever drawn her likeness before—it didn't have to be perfect ... But Mr. Kidder said, "No. When I achieve what I see, I will show you, and I will provide you with a copy. But it would pain me, Katya, for you to see anything less than perfection."
These other girls you've drawn, were they perfect? Katya wanted to ask but knew that Mr. Kidder would be offended by so personal a question.
And who was Naomi? And how did Naomi die?
No one had ever asked Katya Spivak what she planned to do with her life, but Marcus Kidder asked.
As Katya posed for him, so Katya spoke to him, shyly at first, for it seemed to her strange that Marcus Kidder should actually be interested in Katya Spivak's future; and then more openly, since he seemed sincere. So wonderfully sincere! Katya confided in the artist as she'd never confided in anyone: that she wanted to leave Vineland after high school, if she could; wanted to attend a good university, like Rutgers in New Brunswick, not the local community college. Mr. Kidder asked Katya what she'd like to study and Katya told him maybe psychology, linguistics—she'd seen a TV documentary about a team of psychologists who worked with chimpanzees, experimenting to determine if chimps could use language as human beings did. And more recently, since Funny Bunny, Katya was thinking she might study art and children's literature and become a children's book author/illustrator like Marcus Kidder...
"Really! But not 'like Marcus
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