ridiculous and yet adorable on her. I could see how as a child she must have been equally precocious and charming, an entertaining little character who could be brought out in her mother’s oversize clothes to amuse elderly aunts and grandparents.
Judith went into the landing and waited a few seconds before knocking on the door. When I opened it she blew right past me, flung the coat on the couch, and then collapsed onto it herself. She rested her forearm against her head and closed her eyes. It was a perfect performance.
Once the experience had settled in she asked, “So, how was that?”
“Better. Much better. Although I think a little dialogue at the door might have helped.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ ‘Are you alone?’ That sort of thing. How do you know, for instance, that I wasn’t with another woman?”
“Or man.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Anything else?”
“Where’s Naomi?”
“Asleep.”
“By herself?”
“Tylenol PM. It works wonders. I’m only kidding. All the doors are locked, though, including the one leading to the third floor. A mother can never be too careful.”
She was slightly drunk. I saw that now. As she spoke, her head lolled unwittingly to the side, and her eyes, in the full glare of the hundred-watt ceiling bulbs, were heavily hooded.
“Is everything all right?” I asked her.
She paused for a second and fixed her eyes directly onto mine. I knew the technique. I had seen hundreds of parents do it before with their children in my store. The fixed, stern gaze against which any deceit was supposed to be helpless.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me the other day?” she asked.
“When?”
“When I was standing in front of my door for God knows how long pretending I couldn’t find my keys. You don’t think I saw you standing down the block waiting for me to disappear?”
I didn’t know what to tell her. She sat there and stared at me with that narrow doll-like head of hers that made her look as seemingly innocent as a child. I wanted to laugh the past six days off, and now that Judith was sitting here in my living room late on a winter evening, everything seemed entirely possible once again. I could fit into her life after all. There was nothing crazy about it. I had the trust and affection of her daughter, and once, not that long ago, I had been a young boy with the greatest ambitions and dreams, guided by a prominent father and distinguished family background. I still had that in me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You looked like you were in a hurry and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was easier than the truth.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’m just babbling.”
My eyes followed hers from one corner to the next, catching sight of the spiderwebs hugging the northwest corner and the trail of dust creeping along the surfaces in a steady, unstoppable march.
“So this is it,” she said.
“It’s not much,” I said.
“No. It’s perfect. It’s exactly as I imagined it. You have a great sense of space.”
“You mean I don’t have any furniture.”
“That’s just one way of looking at it. I always thought I would live a sparer life,” she said. “I never wanted to be one of those people who had walls and walls of stuff they could care less about. I thought that would be the death of me.”
“So what happened?”
“Inheritances. They can kill you.”
She laughed just slightly at her joke without looking up to see if I had caught it.
“First it was my grandmother. Most of the furniture in the house came from her. Then there were a few aunts who had no children, a godmother in Boston who I barely even knew, and then finally my mother and father. I’m not sure what it is about me, but for some reason when people are about to die they seem to think of me. I think it’s because they know I’ll never throw any of it away.”
She
Judith went into the landing and waited a few seconds before knocking on the door. When I opened it she blew right past me, flung the coat on the couch, and then collapsed onto it herself. She rested her forearm against her head and closed her eyes. It was a perfect performance.
Once the experience had settled in she asked, “So, how was that?”
“Better. Much better. Although I think a little dialogue at the door might have helped.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ ‘Are you alone?’ That sort of thing. How do you know, for instance, that I wasn’t with another woman?”
“Or man.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Anything else?”
“Where’s Naomi?”
“Asleep.”
“By herself?”
“Tylenol PM. It works wonders. I’m only kidding. All the doors are locked, though, including the one leading to the third floor. A mother can never be too careful.”
She was slightly drunk. I saw that now. As she spoke, her head lolled unwittingly to the side, and her eyes, in the full glare of the hundred-watt ceiling bulbs, were heavily hooded.
“Is everything all right?” I asked her.
She paused for a second and fixed her eyes directly onto mine. I knew the technique. I had seen hundreds of parents do it before with their children in my store. The fixed, stern gaze against which any deceit was supposed to be helpless.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me the other day?” she asked.
“When?”
“When I was standing in front of my door for God knows how long pretending I couldn’t find my keys. You don’t think I saw you standing down the block waiting for me to disappear?”
I didn’t know what to tell her. She sat there and stared at me with that narrow doll-like head of hers that made her look as seemingly innocent as a child. I wanted to laugh the past six days off, and now that Judith was sitting here in my living room late on a winter evening, everything seemed entirely possible once again. I could fit into her life after all. There was nothing crazy about it. I had the trust and affection of her daughter, and once, not that long ago, I had been a young boy with the greatest ambitions and dreams, guided by a prominent father and distinguished family background. I still had that in me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You looked like you were in a hurry and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was easier than the truth.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’m just babbling.”
My eyes followed hers from one corner to the next, catching sight of the spiderwebs hugging the northwest corner and the trail of dust creeping along the surfaces in a steady, unstoppable march.
“So this is it,” she said.
“It’s not much,” I said.
“No. It’s perfect. It’s exactly as I imagined it. You have a great sense of space.”
“You mean I don’t have any furniture.”
“That’s just one way of looking at it. I always thought I would live a sparer life,” she said. “I never wanted to be one of those people who had walls and walls of stuff they could care less about. I thought that would be the death of me.”
“So what happened?”
“Inheritances. They can kill you.”
She laughed just slightly at her joke without looking up to see if I had caught it.
“First it was my grandmother. Most of the furniture in the house came from her. Then there were a few aunts who had no children, a godmother in Boston who I barely even knew, and then finally my mother and father. I’m not sure what it is about me, but for some reason when people are about to die they seem to think of me. I think it’s because they know I’ll never throw any of it away.”
She
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