The Girls by Helen Yglesias Page B

with a couple of rubber bands she found stashed away in her handbag, which she twisted around the little wet napkins tucked in at her wrists, it was hard to keep her makeshift gloves in place. Maybe she could walk into a nursing home and steal a pair of rubber gloves? Never mind. The important thing was not to touch the filth. She changed tactics, using the Wash’n Dri’s as though she were mopping up gravy with two pieces of bread, shoveling the stuff up from the sidewalk into the almost empty trash can. It was amazing how quickly the state of the sidewalk was improving. Just one person making all this difference. All by herself she was cleaning up. Suddenly stiff from bending, she straightened to rest her back, and as she was admiring her own handiwork, she was stilled by a consciousness of peculiar silence. A crowd had gathered. Not only the people waiting for the bus, but others, out for a walk, doing errands, shopping. Quite a number had stopped in their tracks to watch.
    “Crazy. Poor thing’s crazy,” a woman said.
    “Meshuga ahf toit” said another.
    You could help, she yelled, unable to comprehend what these strangers were doing in her dream. And then, Yes, Yes. I am, I am, I’m meshuga ahf toit.
    Exactly. Crazed to death.
    She ran from the bus stop. Back in her room, she showered vigorously, washing, washing, washing away craziness and filth. She was planning to visit Eva in her residence, and later Naomi in hers. What if she carried exotic germs to infect them? Well, what if she did? Wouldn’t it be a mitzva? Wasn’t it everybody’s unspoken hope that her sisters would die quickly and quietly, and as inexpensively as possible?
    She took two aspirin, then dressed in a carefully chosen cream silk outfit, adding dark kid shoes, a multicolored scarf, and the Coach bag. Obliterate that madwoman cleaning up the street. The mirror returned an image of a well-dressed, self-contained, modestly made-up elderly woman with a good haircut.
    Her daughter called from Vermont, loving and anxious. Jenny had become sufficiently herself to chat reassuringly, though her daughter was not convinced.
    “You don’t sound right, Mom. Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine, darling, I’m fine. It’s hard. Four sisters make for a slippery slope, but I’m fine. How are you and Dan and the children?”
    “Everybody’s great. Kids are great. Dan’s busy busy busy, and so am I. I’m worried about you, Mom. Don’t overdo, remember you can’t save the world. You couldn’t do it when you were young, hard as you tried. No chance now when everything is worse. Promise me you’ll go home if it becomes unbearable.”
    “I can’t leave your aunt Naomi. I can’t leave her alone.”
    “I know. I wish I could help, but I’m so busy on that new project I told you about. Today is a day from hell. I love it, though, I couldn’t possibly pull out right now. And your sons aren’t even around. They’re both in Australia, but not together. Isn’t that wild?”
    “Why is it wild?” There were times when Jenny hardly understood the tack her children’s conversation took. “Is something going on I don’t know about?”
    “No, no, it’s just an expression. I meant the coincidence, you know, that they should both be in Australia of all places at the same time in connection with their work.” And without a pause, “Shit, there’s another call, and I’m late for a meeting. I better go now. I’ll call again tomorrow and check on things. Are my cousins down there helping? Eva’s kids? I’m sure Aunt Flora’s a handful all by herself. Any of her kids around, or aren’t they speaking this week? Were all those male cousins of mine clever enough to stay away? Mom, please take care of yourself, don’t let them—hell, I know you’re the youngest, and I know you’re in great shape, but don’t forget you’re eighty. I’m sorry, but I better take that other call. Bye, Mom, speak to you soon. Feel good.”
    Jenny hung up. She could see