said, trying for a happy brightness, âWell, is anyone hungry for some supper?â
Because Reverend Judy had arranged matters in such an expeditious, not to say careless, way, there were several aspects of the Djukanovicsâ living with us that befuddled me. Were we merely providing shelter, or were we expected to feed them three meals a day? (By âweâ I mean âI.â) Was it a sort of bed-and-breakfast, lunch-and-dinner type of arrangement, or was I meant to let the Djukanovics fend for themselves?
Anyway, this question seemed to be answered by Mr. Djukanovic. He said, âYes, very hungry in fact.â
I thought Mrs. Djukanovic might pipe up at this moment and suggest that she could cook her family whatever type of supper they liked to eat, but perhaps she was really sleeping because she made no movement whatsoever.
âWell, how about some spaghetti?â I suggested spaghetti for several reasons. The first was that I knew I had lots of it, as itâs one of the few things that Robert still likes. As heâs gotten older, heâs been having some problems with his digestion, and his appetite isnât anything like it was. He now refuses to eat any dish that can be considered even remotely foreign or exotic. The second was that so many people donât eat so many things these days. Alice was a special type of vegetarian, I forget which kind, but it made things very difficult when she and Charlie (her husband) and Laila (their daughter) came over for supper, and thirdly because spaghetti is one of the few things I feel confident about cooking. If you can call it cooking. I used to think I was quite a good cook, what with Shake ân Bake and fried chicken and a nice meatloaf once or twice a week, but now that everything is supposed to be local and organic and good for you, Iâm afraid to do more than scramble some eggs (which I do very well, but I didnât think I could offer scrambled eggs to the Djukanovics for supper, even though Robert and I often eat them in the evening).
My suggestion of spaghetti was met with a sort of shrug from Mr. Djukanovic, which I chose to interpret as a yes, so I made a big pot of spaghetti (a whole box) and heated up a whole jar of sauce and itâs funny, like hot dogs and hot dog buns, how the quantities never correspond, there was far too much spaghetti, but I figured better too much than too little, and made a pathetic salad from some tired lettuce and a bag of those little baby carrots that are all peeled for you that I find a bit creepy because for some reason I associate those peeled baby carrots with babies being flayed alive, which I know is just horrible and I donât know why I think that but I do. I also wonder if they really are baby carrots or if they are really big carrots that are just cut into pieces and shaped to look infantile. Anyway, despite these reservations, I bought them because I thought they might make a nice healthy snack for Robert and me, but like so many things I bought hoping to brighten or at least alter our life in some way, the carrots had been ignored and their expiration date loomed. (In fact it had passed, but only by a few days.)
Â
That night, something strange happened. Well, I suppose just about everything that had been happening for the past day or two, ever since Reverend Judy had clutched at me in the vestibule of the church, had been strange or at least abnormal, but what happened that night was stranger still. Or perhaps not; you know I have trouble distinguishing the strange from the normal.
After I had prepared the spaghetti/salad supper and set it out on the kitchen table and set three places and told the Djukanovics that supper was ready, I went down into the basement and told Robert we were going to Gullyâs. Robert doesnât like to go out to dinner because he doesnât like spending money on things he thinks he can get cheaper. In restaurants heâs always
Because Reverend Judy had arranged matters in such an expeditious, not to say careless, way, there were several aspects of the Djukanovicsâ living with us that befuddled me. Were we merely providing shelter, or were we expected to feed them three meals a day? (By âweâ I mean âI.â) Was it a sort of bed-and-breakfast, lunch-and-dinner type of arrangement, or was I meant to let the Djukanovics fend for themselves?
Anyway, this question seemed to be answered by Mr. Djukanovic. He said, âYes, very hungry in fact.â
I thought Mrs. Djukanovic might pipe up at this moment and suggest that she could cook her family whatever type of supper they liked to eat, but perhaps she was really sleeping because she made no movement whatsoever.
âWell, how about some spaghetti?â I suggested spaghetti for several reasons. The first was that I knew I had lots of it, as itâs one of the few things that Robert still likes. As heâs gotten older, heâs been having some problems with his digestion, and his appetite isnât anything like it was. He now refuses to eat any dish that can be considered even remotely foreign or exotic. The second was that so many people donât eat so many things these days. Alice was a special type of vegetarian, I forget which kind, but it made things very difficult when she and Charlie (her husband) and Laila (their daughter) came over for supper, and thirdly because spaghetti is one of the few things I feel confident about cooking. If you can call it cooking. I used to think I was quite a good cook, what with Shake ân Bake and fried chicken and a nice meatloaf once or twice a week, but now that everything is supposed to be local and organic and good for you, Iâm afraid to do more than scramble some eggs (which I do very well, but I didnât think I could offer scrambled eggs to the Djukanovics for supper, even though Robert and I often eat them in the evening).
My suggestion of spaghetti was met with a sort of shrug from Mr. Djukanovic, which I chose to interpret as a yes, so I made a big pot of spaghetti (a whole box) and heated up a whole jar of sauce and itâs funny, like hot dogs and hot dog buns, how the quantities never correspond, there was far too much spaghetti, but I figured better too much than too little, and made a pathetic salad from some tired lettuce and a bag of those little baby carrots that are all peeled for you that I find a bit creepy because for some reason I associate those peeled baby carrots with babies being flayed alive, which I know is just horrible and I donât know why I think that but I do. I also wonder if they really are baby carrots or if they are really big carrots that are just cut into pieces and shaped to look infantile. Anyway, despite these reservations, I bought them because I thought they might make a nice healthy snack for Robert and me, but like so many things I bought hoping to brighten or at least alter our life in some way, the carrots had been ignored and their expiration date loomed. (In fact it had passed, but only by a few days.)
Â
That night, something strange happened. Well, I suppose just about everything that had been happening for the past day or two, ever since Reverend Judy had clutched at me in the vestibule of the church, had been strange or at least abnormal, but what happened that night was stranger still. Or perhaps not; you know I have trouble distinguishing the strange from the normal.
After I had prepared the spaghetti/salad supper and set it out on the kitchen table and set three places and told the Djukanovics that supper was ready, I went down into the basement and told Robert we were going to Gullyâs. Robert doesnât like to go out to dinner because he doesnât like spending money on things he thinks he can get cheaper. In restaurants heâs always
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