The Enchantment of Lily Dahl by Siri Hustvedt Page B

afternoon, Lily asked Ed a question she knew she shouldn’t ask. She hesitated, understood it would be smarter not to give in to her curiosity, but the desire was strong, like wanting to pick at a scab that’s bound to bleed if you touch it.
    “What’s she like?” she said to the ceiling as she lay on the bed.
    “Who?” Ed turned to look at her. He had been standing in front of his canvas.
    “Your wife.”
    He looked at her and smiled. “Maybe you should tell me. It seems that my life is an open book.”
    “No, I just know you have a wife and she’s not here.”
    “No, she’s not here.”
    “Okay,” Lily said. “I take it back.”
    “No,” he said. “It’s all right.” He walked over to the bed and sat down. “I was married for five years.” He paused. “It fell apart. She’s a painter. Her work is very different from mine. She does these tiny little paintings.” Ed traced a rectangle in the air with his fingers about as big as a postcard. “They’re pretty abstract, but once in a while you can make out a little object in them—a pair of scissors or a hat or a pillbox.” He paused. “I always respected her work, but I don’t think she ever liked mine. She never said it, but I got the feeling she thought my stuff was oversized and vulgar. She always seemed surprised when other people showed interest in it.”
    “But what’s she like?”
    “I thought I was telling you.” He leaned across the bed and took her hand. “Maybe not.”
    “How could you marry someone who didn’t like your paintings?”
    Ed pressed his lips together and was silent. “I guess I didn’t know until later. We met when we were eighteen, and I think I found her mysterious. I never understood what she was about really, and I ran after her for years.”
    “She must be beautiful, though.”
    Ed smiled at Lily. “Why do you say that?”
    “Because you said she was mysterious and you chased after her, and I think men see pretty women, and they imagine all kinds of things inside the prettiness before they even know the person, and then they’re stuck running and running.”
    “Are you speaking from experience, Lily Dahl?” He looked at her tenderly with his eyes narrowed and then grabbed his T-shirt, which was hanging from the iron rail at the end of the bed.
    Lily leaned back and looked at him. “You’re the third.”
    Ed gave her a surprised look. “Is that what you thought I asked you?”
    “I’m telling you. There were two others. I broke up with the second guy the day before yesterday.”
    Ed pulled the T-shirt over his head and reached for his jeans. He forgot his boxer shorts, which were lying beside them, and pulled the jeans up over his naked thighs. “Is this for the record, or are you telling me something else?” he said.
    Lily bit her lip and looked at him. She looked for her shirt, the same one she had worn yesterday. I have to change, she thought. Then she said, “I guess I just like things to be clear. Do you know what I mean?”
    He walked over to the window and looked out. Lily studied his back and wondered if he was hiding some emotion. She thought that if she were in her own room now, she might be able to see his face.
    “It’s rare, isn’t it, for things to be clear?” He didn’t turn around. Lily thought he might have been looking into her window across the street, and thinking this made her sad. They were silent for at least a minute. Lily dressed quickly, grabbed her crumpled apron from the bed and walked to his door.
    “I’m going home now,” she said. “Good-bye, Ed.”
    He turned then and walked toward her. He kissed her hard on the mouth and said, “I’ll call you later.”
    Lily lifted her face to his. He likes me better when he knows I’m leaving, she said to herself.
    “What’s that look?”
    “What look?” she said.
    “That look, that look of irony and smugness.”
    “Guess,” she said. Then she turned around and walked out the door.
    There were no sounds from