by Ann Beattie
“It’s too much trouble to bring the things back. Isn’t there something else I could bring you?”
“No. I want that.”
“I’ll do it if I have time. You can’t just buy goldfish everywhere.”
“Go where you can get them.”
“This is my mission, kid. Okay?”
“When are you going to take me with you?”
“When you grow up.”
“I am grown up.”
“Grownups don’t want goldfish.”
*
“How did it go in the morgue, Estelle?”
“Fine,” Estelle says.
“Did you cut up dead bodies?”
Estelle comes into the living room. She can hardly wait to see if Big Bear is drunk. Estelle stares at Big Bear, who is reclining in his La-Z-Boy reclining chair. She sees that he is reclining because he is drunk.
“I thought you were going to Pete’s party tonight.”
“We were both going.”
“That’s what I said,” Estelle says.
“But now we’re not both going,” Big Bear grins. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“I know!” Estelle cries. She doubles over, as though somebody just passed her a football.
“Jesus Christ,” Big Bear says. “I didn’t know you wanted to go to Pete’s. I’m not so drunk we can’t go. Stand up, for Christ’s sake. What’s the matter with you, Estelle?”
*
“I hate not to be the perfect host,” Big Bear says to the spacemen. “But tomorrow is another day and …”
They seem not to have understood. If they smoked, Big Bear could empty the ashtrays.
“To be honest with you,” Big Bear says, although none of the spacemen seem interested, “we’ve had a big night and it’s about time for you to go.”
“The disgusting thing,” Donald says. “Blowing bubbles in his milk.”
“We’re all out of milk, now, Bobby. It’s about time for you to go,” Big Bear says.
“I hope he falls over and we can just leave him,” Donald says.
Fred has thrown a glass of milk against the wall. The glass was soft plastic, so it just bounced. The sound wasn’t loud enough to awaken Sammy and David. Estelle finds herself looking on the bright side of the spaceman’s little faux pas.
*
At a gas station in Big Bear City, California, a little boy gets out of his mother’s car to buy a soft drink.
*
Laura takes Big Bear’s coat. She turns to look at Big Bear as he walks away. I hope he picks the hors d’oeuvres that have liver hidden inside them, she thinks.
“Mommy!” the little boy says. “I put the money in and nothing happened.”
“Push the coin release.”
“What’s that?”
“Can I help?” the service attendant asks.
“That’s all right,” the little boy’s mother says. “I’ll take care of it.” She goes to the machine and pushes the coin-release lever. Nothing happens.
*
Lying in a field in Viet Nam, in the second before he dies, Estelle’s brother wonders what will happen to his Peugeot. He wonders why he’s thinking of his Peugeot instead of Estelle or his mother or father. Rather, he starts to wonder, but dies before the thought is fully formulated.
*
“Maybe I could get a picture of the two of you by the door. Could you get together and pretend that you’re going grocery shopping?”
“We don’t have to pretend we’re going grocery shopping. We’ll just stand by the door, as if we’re going out.”
“Pretend you’re going grocery shopping,” the spaceman says.
“We look the same way whether we’re going to the P.T.A. meeting, or going to get groceries, or to visit her parents.”
“Then, just stand by the door as though you were doing one of those things, please, Bill.”
“Wake up, Estelle,” Big Bear says. “Wake up. Come on, Estelle,” Big Bear says. “This is the last picture. Are you going to wake up?”
*
“The machine doesn’t work,” the little boy’s mother says to the service-station attendant. Just one more problem on grocery day in Big Bear City, California.
*
“You had quite a night,” the babysitter says cheerfully. The babysitter and Sammy are awake. David is still sleeping. Big Bear envies David.
“I didn’t know I left the milk bottle out,” the babysitter says apologetically.
“Actually, we came home a while ago and some friends had milk.”
The babysitter looks at the milk glasses. She also sees the one that has been thrown against the dining-room wall.
“Good-night,” Big Bear says, and climbs the stairs. Since they did not smoke, Estelle will have no ashtrays to empty and will join him soon. Not that he really cares. He is so tired he’d sleep with the spacemen. Except Fred … Jesus, it sure is good they loaded him out of the house, Big Bear thinks. If I had irritated them, they might have left him. Big Bear is glad that he only has Sammy and David. If they had tried for a girl, like Estelle wanted, it might have been retarded.
Big Bear falls into bed, with visions of Fred. It rhymes: bed, Fred. Big Bear falls asleep.
*
There has been a spaceship sighting in Reno, Nevada, and that’s where Estelle wants to go.
“Estelle, you heard them say that there are a lot of other spacemen. Any of them could have flown over Reno, Nevada.”
“We haven’t taken a trip in years. The boys should see some of the country.”
“Aren’t you going to summer school? What happened to your plans?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I paid a year’s tuition. I’d like to have a talk about why you’re quitting.”
“Something disgusting happened.”
“What?”
“I want to go to Reno,” Estelle says. “Will you take me or won’t you?”
“The spaceship won’t still be there.”
“There have been sightings all around Reno.”
“We’re going to take the boys to Reno and sit in a motel waiting to hear rumors of spaceships?”
“It’s my birthday,” Estelle says. “You have to please me on my birthday, and I want to take a trip.”
“What do you mean, I have to please you on your birthday?”
“I suppose you don’t have to be nice to me if you don’t want to, Bear. Excuse my presumption.”
“I already am nice to you. That night with the spacemen I let you act like a jackass. Anybody else would have straightened you out.”
“How gallant of you not to criticize me in front of my friends.”
“Friends? You met them once.”
“Of course no one would want to be my friend,” Estelle says. “Excuse me.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t your friends. I did say that. I don’t know. Let’s forget this, okay?”
“Let’s go to Reno, Nevada.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” Big Bear says.
*
Big Bear meant to avoid this card shop, but it’s so convenient, and he doesn’t have the time to look all around for another place to get Estelle’s birthday card. The woman will probably not be there anyway.
The woman is there. She finds Big Bear as he stands browsing through the Relative Birthday group of cards. She asks if she can help him.
“No, thanks,” Big Bear says.
“This is a nice one,” the saleswoman says, taking a big pink card down.
Big Bear looks. There is a plastic window, in the shape of a heart, through which a blond lady is visible. “My Darling” it says across the top of the card.
“I don’t like that one,” Big Bear says.
“Then look at this one.” She hands Big Bear a blue card with bluer velvet bluebirds on it. The bluebirds trail a ribbon that spells “Happy Birthday, Darling” as it unrolls.
“Okay,” Big Bear says. “Fine.”
The ca
rd costs one dollar and fifty cents. For a card! It takes the woman a long time to slip it carefully into the bag. It takes her a long time to count out his change. He is never going to come to this card shop again.
“Thank you, sir,” the saleswoman says, with her usual ironic smile.
Big Bear holds the bag tightly and makes the mistake of crushing the velvet bird.
*
“You’re wrecked. You going to work like that?”
“I couldn’t work there if I wasn’t wrecked.”
“You should avoid getting wrecked sometime and try it.”
“You try it if you’re so curious. You can have my job.”
“I don’t want a job.”
“Then that means I have to have one. So don’t criticize me for getting wrecked.”
“You’re wrecked.” The saleswoman’s boyfriend laughs. He is also wrecked.
*
“Look at this one, look at this,” Bobby says.
His friend’s face turns red. “Put the things away,” his friend says.
“Look, look, this one was Estelle’s idea.”
“I’m sure.”
“No, I swear. She said this was a craze on campus in the sixties.”
“This was something they did at college?”
“And look at this one. This is Bill pretending he’s going to work. Look at it!”
“I’ve seen these things a dozen times already. Put those disgusting things away,” his friend says.
“I’ll put them away, but you’ve got to see the expression on her face in this one.”
“I’m not likely to see her face in this series.”
The spaceman’s friend has just made a witty remark. Bobby appreciates it and starts laughing uncontrollably. He’d be doing that even if his friend weren’t there, though. These pictures really kill him.
*
“Now the Air Force is even admitting that it’s tied up with them,” Big Bear says from his La-Z-Boy reclining chair.
“What do they say?”
“I just told you. All those sightings over Nebraska. The Air Force is coming out and admitting it.”
“What do they say, Bear?”
“You love this subject, don’t you? You love to talk about the spacemen.”
“Who brought it up?” Estelle says.
“I did. I know you love the subject,” Big Bear says.
*
“These bluebirds sing a happy tune. They say that you are mine …”
She is convulsed with laughter, that crazy, wiped-out laughter with no tears accompanying it. The eyes get wider and wider-wide enough to pour tears, but the laughter is all that comes.
“Why don’t you stop memorizing the cards? Just take your shoes off and relax.”
“It had velvet bluebirds on the front with a blue ribbon and a blue background, and it said ‘These bluebirds sing …’”
“You’re going to lose your job the first time you do a wiped-out thing like this with a customer.”
“The bluebirds! The fucking bluebirds!”
*
“What the hell was that?”
“Probably hit ducks again. Remember the time we took off through a whole flock of them?” Bobby says.
“Disgusting,” Donald says, but he is looking at Fred and not thinking about possible dead ducks.
*
“What are you mad at me for?” the little boy asks. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything. You got your soft drink. Drink it.”
“You couldn’t make the machine work either,” the little boy says.
“It was broken,” his mother says.
“Then what are you mad about?”
“I’m mad because you just add to the confusion. I want to get the groceries and go home and put them away. All right? Sit back and finish your drink.”
It is just another day in Big Bear City, California.
Victor Blue
Monday
Took monthly leaf cuttings to send to her friends in the violet association. Other than that, all routine: turning on fluorescent light, usual watering from dish beneath the pot. Store delivered decorative pots. Now the inside pots must be carefully lifted so that none of the delicate leaves snap. A tricky business. My fingers must not touch the leaves. The clay pots must be centered exactly in the decorative pots, then misted from a distance of two feet. Mrs. Edway has inspected them carefully to be certain there are no bruised leaves. After unjust complaint yesterday, put ice water on the violets today to get even. Wilted a little. Shook my head with her as she called the violets “temperamental.” Annoyed me by talking about too many articles she’d read in the violet association publication. Made note to discard next issue of the magazine in post office when I pick up the mail. She calls the mails “unreliable.” She has been crankier than usual. I suspect her pain is worse, but after years of marriage I know better than to ask. Mrs. Edway has always had her secrets.
Yesterday I began reading Confessions of Z. Next to be read are The Red and the Black and The Charterhouse of Parma. It sounds as though we are literate people. Also in the pile are The Silver Chalice, French Science-fiction Stories, and Man Meets Dog. Every time I read to her she reminds me how lucky we are that the librarian’s mother is her personal friend, so the librarian sends us books by messenger every Saturday at noon, when the library closes. I am not sure whether the books are selected by the librarian or by the messenger, who is a young schoolgirl of racially mixed parentage. Sometimes, as Mrs. Edway called to my attention, we receive a selection of books from authors whose names follow alphabetically: Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Flaubert. Other times there seems to be little method in the selection. Mrs. Edway and I agree, however, that we should be grateful for the service, which began when Mrs. Edway (who had donated half a dozen specimen violets to the reading room of the library) wrote a note to the librarian saying that she would no longer be able to make a weekly inspection of the violets because of her poor health; in fact, she would no longer be able to use the library at all. Our service began the week the note was delivered. On that occasion the librarian came herself, dropping off several anthologies of English and American literature. She declined to stay, although she did wait long enough to be given several Food’N’Bloom pellets.
Something interesting happened: after careful consideration as to whether we wanted a dog or a cat or nothing, we voted secretly, on separate pieces of paper, which we held up at the same time, so that one couldn’t change his mind after seeing what the other had written. Each of us had written “cat.” Next Saturday I will ask the messenger if any of her schoolmates have kittens they want to give away.
Mrs. Edway sees me writing and asks who I think is going to read all this. She is jealous for two reasons: I am using Xerox paper that Bernie brings me (he brings his father Xerox paper, while he brings his mother nothing), and because I have not begun the afternoon reading yet. I am not much interested in Confessions of Z and may call for a vote as to whether we should continue with it. She is cranky today because she did not have a good night, and if she suspects that I am not calling for the vote just out of routine, she is sure to answer, “Yes.”
She is looking through a magazine now, holding it close to her face. I suspect she is studying ads for cat food. The pictures show so clearly which brand contains more liver that it will not be necessary to vote when it comes time. What a coincidence that she received a free coupon for creamy liver dinner in the mail this morning. Is it the same brand pictured in the magazine?
Bernie just called to check on things. Xerox has developed an improved reproduction-machine paper. He is going to a convention to describe the new product to clients. He tells me his mind will be at rest if I persuade her to see a doctor before he leaves town.
The messenger has come and gone. Romeo and Juliet was not accounted for when she returned the books we had finished to the library today. She told me the book had to be in this house, because it was not in her house. She descr
ibed putting the pile on her bureau and removing the pile this morning to return on her way to school. She carried them in a book bag, so she could not have dropped the book. I tried to treat the subject lightly and asked, “Wherefore art thou, book?” as she sprawled to look under the bed. Wanted to ask about the kitten, but she seemed very agitated. Decided to wait until Saturday. She made a thorough search of all but one room, and did not have time to do that because it was her lunch hour, and she had to return to school.
I raised what I thought might be a touchy subject: a charcoal filter for the spigot. She agreed.
Abandoned Confessions of Z for The Red and the Black. Listened to Brahms. Dinner of crab-stuffed flounder, lima beans and corn. She went to bed an hour earlier than usual, not feeling well again.
Tuesday
Arose early, prepared pancake batter for breakfast. Wrote two notes: one to the mail-order house for a charcoal filter, the other to Dr. Yeusa. The messenger arrived just as I finished writing. She was distraught and said she must find Romeo and Juliet. The search ended in vain at eight-thirty when she had to leave for school.
Must call Mrs. Edway’s attention to “High Hopes”—two withering leaves.
She slept through the phone call from Bernie, allowing me to tell him that I had contacted the doctor, asking him to stop by unannounced. He thanked me, promised a supply of the new Xerox paper.
When she awakens we will have breakfast and take the Tuesday stroll.
Radio bulletin about a missing two-engine plane.
Walked by the frozen pond, where children were ice-skating. One child recognized us, a girl about eleven, and asked if she could stop by with a selection of Girl Scout cookies. A nice little girl—remembered her from last year. Mrs. Edway knew her name, I think, but wouldn’t say it in front of me. She points up my deficiencies, such as forgetting names, by not helping out. She knows the messenger’s name, too, but won’t use it. Am waiting to ask the favor about the kitten because things are still strained between us. Looked for Romeo and Juliet myself. No luck. Told the messenger it had to be either here or there. She is convinced it is here and has arranged to stop by with a friend after school. I think her job may be in jeopardy and will suggest to Mrs. Edway that she offer to repay the library for the loss and to assume responsibility.
