What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

by Raymond Carver

  “Just shut up for once in your life,” Mel said very quietly. “Will you do me a favor and do that for a minute? So as I was saying, there’s this old couple who had this car wreck out on the interstate. A kid hit them and they were all torn to shit and nobody was giving them much chance to pull through.”

  Terri looked at us and then back at Mel. She seemed anxious, or maybe that’s too strong a word.

  Mel was handing the bottle around the table.

  “I was on call that night,” Mel said. “It was May or maybe it was June. Terri and I had just sat down to dinner when the hospital called. There’d been this thing out on the interstate. Drunk kid, teenager, plowed his dad’s pickup into this camper with this old couple in it. They were up in their mid-seventies, that couple. The kid—eighteen, nineteen, something—he was DOA. Taken the steering wheel through his sternum. The old couple, they were alive, you understand. I mean, just barely. But they had everything. Multiple fractures, internal injuries, hemorrhaging, contusions, lacerations, the works, and they each of them had themselves concussions. They were in a bad way, believe me. And, of course, their age was two strikes against them. I’d say she was worse off than he was. Ruptured spleen along with everything else. Both kneecaps broken. But they’d been wearing their seatbelts and, God knows, that’s what saved them for the time being.”

  “Folks, this is an advertisement for the National Safety Council,” Terri said. “This is your spokesman, Dr. Melvin R. McGinnis, talking.” Terri laughed. “Mel,” she said, “sometimes you’re just too much. But I love you, hon,” she said.

  “Honey, I love you,” Mel said.

  He leaned across the table. Terri met him halfway. They kissed.

  “Terri’s right,” Mel said as he settled himself again. “Get those seatbelts on. But seriously, they were in some shape, those oldsters. By the time I got down there, the kid was dead, as I said. He was off in a corner, laid out on a gurney. I took one look at the old couple and told the ER nurse to get me a neurologist and an orthopedic man and a couple of surgeons down there right away.”

  He drank from his glass. “I’ll try to keep this short,” he said. “So we took the two of them up to the OR and worked like fuck on them most of the night. They had these incredible reserves, those two. You see that once in a while. So we did everything that could be done, and toward morning we’re giving them a fifty-fifty chance, maybe less than that for her. So here they are, still alive the next morning. So, okay, we move them into the ICU, which is where they both kept plugging away at it for two weeks, hitting it better and better on all the scopes. So we transfer them out to their own room.”

  Mel stopped talking. “Here,” he said, “let’s drink this cheapo gin the hell up. Then we’re going to dinner, right? Terri and I know a new place. That’s where we’ll go, to this new place we know about. But we’re not going until we finish up this cut-rate, lousy gin.”

  Terri said, “We haven’t actually eaten there yet. But it looks good. From the outside, you know.”

  “I like food,” Mel said. “If I had it to do all over again, I’d be a chef, you know? Right, Terri?” Mel said.

  He laughed. He fingered the ice in his glass.

  “Terri knows,” he said. “Terri can tell you. But let me say this. If I could come back again in a different life, a different time and all, you know what? I’d like to come back as a knight. You were pretty safe wearing all that armor. It was all right being a knight until gunpowder and muskets and pistols came along.”

  “Mel would like to ride a horse and carry a lance,” Terri said.

  “Carry a woman’s scarf with you everywhere,” Laura said.

  “Or just a woman,” Mel said.

  “Shame on you,” Laura said.

  Terri said, “Suppose you came back as a serf. The serfs didn’t have it so good in those days,” Terri said.

  “The serfs never had it good,” Mel said. “But I guess even the knights were vessels to someone. Isn’t that the way it worked? But then everyone is always a vessel to someone. Isn’t that right? Terri? But what I liked about knights, besides their ladies, was that they had that suit of armor, you know, and they couldn’t get hurt very easy. No cars in those days, you know? No drunk teenagers to tear into your ass.”

  “VASSALS,” Terri said.

  “What?” Mel said.

  “Vassals,” Terri said. “They were called vassals, not vessels.”

  “Vassals, vessels,” Mel said, “what the fuck’s the difference? You knew what I meant anyway. All right,” Mel said. “So I’m not educated. I learned my stuff. I’m a heart surgeon, sure, but I’m just a mechanic. I go in and I fuck around and I fix things. Shit,” Mel said.

  “Modesty doesn’t become you,” Terri said.

  “He’s just a humble sawbones,” I said. “But sometimes they suffocated in all that armor, Mel. They’d even have heart attacks if it got too hot and they were too tired and worn out. I read somewhere that they’d fall off their horses and not be able to get up because they were too tired to stand with all that armor on them. They got trampled by their own horses sometimes.”

  “That’s terrible,” Mel said. “That’s a terrible thing, Nicky. I guess they’d just lay there and wait until somebody came along and made a shish kebab out of them.”

  “Some other vessel,” Terri said.

  “That’s right,” Mel said. “Some vassal would come along and spear the bastard in the name of love. Or whatever the fuck it was they fought over in those days.”

  “Same things we fight over these days,” Terri said.

  Laura said, “Nothing’s changed.”

  The color was still high in Laura’s cheeks. Her eyes were bright. She brought her glass to her lips.

  Mel poured himself another drink. He looked at the label closely as if studying a long row of numbers. Then he slowly put the bottle down on the table and slowly reached for the tonic water.

  “WHAT about the old couple?” Laura said. “You didn’t finish that story you started.”

  Laura was having a hard time lighting her cigarette. Her matches kept going out.

  The sunshine inside the room was different now, changing, getting thinner. But the leaves outside the window were still shimmering, and I stared at the pattern they made on the panes and on the Formica counter. They weren’t the same patterns, of course.

  “What about the old couple?” I said.

  “Older but wiser,” Terri said.

  Mel stared at her.

  Terri said, “Go on with your story, hon. I was only kidding. Then what happened?”

  “Terri, sometimes,” Mel said.

  “Please, Mel,” Terri said. “Don’t always be so serious, sweetie. Can’t you take a joke?”

  “Where’s the joke?” Mel said.

  He held his glass and gazed steadily at his wife.

  “What happened?” Laura said.

  Mel fastened his eyes on Laura. He said, “Laura, if I didn’t have Terri and if I didn’t love her so much, and if Nick wasn’t my best friend, I’d fall in love with you. I’d carry you off, honey,” he said.

  “Tell your story,” Terri said. “Then we’ll go to that new place, okay?”

  “Okay,” Mel said. “Where was I?” he said. He stared at the table and then he began again.

  “I dropped in to see each of them every day, sometimes twice a day if I was up doing other calls anyway. Casts and bandages, head to foot, the both of them. You know, you’ve seen it in the movies. That’s just the way they looked, just like in the movies. Little eye-holes and nose-holes and mouth-holes. And she had to have her legs slung up on top of it. Well, the husband was very depressed for the longest while. Even after he found out that his wife was going to pull through, he was still very depressed. Not about the accident, though. I mean, the accident was one thing, but it wasn’t everything. I’d get up to his mouth-hole, you know, and he’d say no, it wasn’t the accident exactly but it was because he couldn’t see her through his
eye-holes. He said that was what was making him feel so bad. Can you imagine? I’m telling you, the man’s heart was breaking because he couldn’t turn his goddamn head and see his goddamn wife.”

  Mel looked around the table and shook his head at what he was going to say.

  “I mean, it was killing the old fart just because he couldn’t look at the fucking woman.”

  We all looked at Mel.

  “Do you see what I’m saying?” he said.

  MAYBE we were a little drunk by then. I know it was hard keeping things in focus. The light was draining out of the room, going back through the window where it had come from. Yet nobody made a move to get up from the table to turn on the overhead light.

  “Listen,” Mel said. “Let’s finish this fucking gin. There’s about enough left here for one shooter all around. Then let’s go eat. Let’s go to the new place.”

  “He’s depressed,” Terri said. “Mel, why don’t you take a pill?”

  Mel shook his head. “I’ve taken everything there is.”

  “We all need a pill now and then,” I said.

  “Some people are born needing them,” Terri said.

  She was using her finger to rub at something on the table. Then she stopped rubbing.

  “I think I want to call my kids,” Mel said. “Is that all right with everybody? I’ll call my kids,” he said.

  Terri said, “What if Marjorie answers the phone? You guys, you’ve heard us on the subject of Marjorie? Honey, you know you don’t want to talk to Marjorie. It’ll make you feel even worse.”

  “I don’t want to talk to Marjorie,” Mel said. “But I want to talk to my kids.”

  “There isn’t a day goes by that Mel doesn’t say he wishes she’d get married again. Or else die,” Terri said. “For one thing,” Terri said, “she’s bankrupting us. Mel says it’s just to spite him that she won’t get married again. She has a boyfriend who lives with her and the kids, so Mel is supporting the boyfriend too.”

  “She’s allergic to bees,” Mel said. “If I’m not praying she’ll get married again, I’m praying she’ll get herself stung to death by a swarm of fucking bees.”

  “Shame on you,” Laura said.

  “Bzzzzzzz,” Mel said, turning his fingers into bees and buzzing them at Terri’s throat. Then he let his hands drop all the way to his sides.

  “She’s vicious,” Mel said. “Sometimes I think I’ll go up there dressed like a beekeeper. You know, that hat that’s like a helmet with the plate that comes down over your face, the big gloves, and the padded coat? I’ll knock on the door and let loose a hive of bees in the house. But first I’d make sure the kids were out, of course.”

  He crossed one leg over the other. It seemed to take him a lot of time to do it. Then he put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin cupped in his hands.

  “Maybe I won’t call the kids, after all. Maybe it isn’t such a hot idea. Maybe we’ll just go eat. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds fine to me,” I said. “Eat or not eat. Or keep drinking. I could head right on out into the sunset.”

  “What does that mean, honey?” Laura said.

  “It just means what I said,” I said. “It means I could just keep going. That’s all it means.”

  “I could eat something myself,” Laura said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my life. Is there something to nibble on?”

  “I’ll put out some cheese and crackers,” Terri said.

  But Terri just sat there. She did not get up to get anything.

  Mel turned his glass over. He spilled it out on the table.

  “Gin’s gone,” Mel said.

  Terri said, “Now what?”

  I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

  One More Thing

  L.D.’S wife, Maxine, told him to get out the night she came home from work and found L.D. drunk again and being abusive to Rae, their fifteen-year-old. L.D. and Rae were at the kitchen table, arguing. Maxine didn’t have time to put her purse away or take off her coat.

  Rae said, “Tell him, Mom. Tell him what we talked about.”

  L.D. turned the glass in his hand, but he didn’t drink from it. Maxine had him in a fierce and disquieting gaze.

  “Keep your nose out of things you don’t know anything about,” L.D. said. L.D. said, “I can’t take anybody seriously who sits around all day reading astrology magazines.”

  “This has nothing to do with astrology,” Rae said. “You don’t have to insult me.”

  As for Rae, she hadn’t been to school for weeks. She said no one could make her go. Maxine said it was another tragedy in a long line of low-rent tragedies.

  “Why don’t you both shut up!” Maxine said. “My God, I already have a headache.”

  “Tell him, Mom,” Rae said. “Tell him it’s all in his head. Anybody who knows anything about it will tell you that’s where it is!”

  “How about sugar diabetes?” L.D. said. “What about epilepsy? Can the brain control that?”

  He raised the glass right under Maxine’s eyes and finished his drink.

  “Diabetes, too,” Rae said. “Epilepsy. Anything! The brain is the most powerful organ in the body, for your information.”

  She picked up his cigarettes and lit one for herself.

  “Cancer. What about cancer?” L.D. said.

  He thought he might have her there. He looked at Maxine.

  “I don’t know how we got started on this,” L.D. said to Maxine.

  “Cancer,” Rae said, and shook her head at his simplicity. “Cancer, too. Cancer starts in the brain.”

  “That’s crazy!” L.D. said. He hit the table with the flat of his hand. The ashtray jumped. His glass fell on its side and rolled off. “You’re crazy, Rae! Do you know that?”

  “Shut up!” Maxine said.

  She unbuttoned her coat and put her purse down on the counter. She looked at L.D. and said, “L.D., I’ve had it. So has Rae. So has everyone who knows you. I’ve been thinking it over. I want you out of here. Tonight. This minute. Now. Get the hell out of here right now.”

  L.D. had no intention of going anywhere. He looked from Maxine to the jar of pickles that had been on the table since lunch. He picked up the jar and pitched it through the kitchen window.

  Rae jumped away from her chair. “God! He’s crazy!”

  She went to stand next to her mother. She took in little breaths through her mouth.

  “Call the police,” Maxine said. “He’s violent. Get out of the kitchen before he hurts you. Call the police,” Maxine said.

  They started backing out of the kitchen.

  “I’m going,” L.D. said. “All right, I’m going right now,” he said. “It suits me to a tee. You’re nuts here, anyway. This is a nuthouse. There’s another life out there. Believe me, this is no picnic, this nuthouse.”

  He could feel air from the hole in the window on his face.

  “That’s where I’m going,” he said. “Out there,” he said and pointed.

  “Good,” Maxine said.

  “All right, I’m going,” L.D. said.

  He slammed down his hand on the table. He kicked back his chair. He stood up.

  “You won’t ever see me again,” L.D. said.

  “You’ve given me plenty to remember you by,” Maxine said.

  “Okay,” L.D. said.

  “Go on, get out,” Maxine said. “I’m paying the rent here, and I’m saying go. Now.”

  “I’m going,” he said. “Don’t push me,” he said. “I’m going.”

  “Just go,” Maxine said.

  “I’m leaving this nuthouse,” L.D. said.

  He made his way into the bedroom and took one of her suitcases from the closet. It was an old white Naugahyde suitcase with a broken clasp. She’d used to pack it full of sweater sets and carry it with her to college. He had gone
to college too. He threw the suitcase onto the bed and began putting in his underwear, his trousers, his shirts, his sweaters, his old leather belt with the brass buckle, his socks, and everything else he had. From, the nightstand he took magazines for reading material. He took the ashtray. He put everything he could into the suitcase, everything it could hold. He fastened the one good side, secured the strap, and then he remembered his bathroom things. He found the vinyl shaving bag up on the closet shelf behind her hats. Into it went his razor and his shaving cream, his talcum powder and his stick deodorant and his toothbrush. He took the toothpaste, too. And then he got the dental floss.

  HE could hear them in the living room talking in their low voices.

  He washed his face. He put the soap and towel into the shaving bag. Then he put in the soap dish and the glass from over the sink and the fingernail clippers and her eyelash curlers.

  He couldn’t get the shaving bag closed, but that was okay. He put on his coat and picked up the suitcase. He went into the living room.

  When she saw him, Maxine put her arm around Rae’s shoulders.

  “This is it,” L.D. said. “This is good-bye,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say except I guess I’ll never see you again. You too,” L.D. said to Rae. “You and your crackpot ideas.”

  “Go,” Maxine said. She took Rae’s hand. “Haven’t you done enough damage in this house already? Go on, L.D. Get out of here and leave us in peace.”

  “Just remember,” Rae said. “It’s in your head.”

  “I’m going, that’s all I can say,” L.D. said. “Anyplace. Away from this nuthouse,” he said. “That’s the main thing.”

  He took a last look around the living room and then he moved the suitcase from one hand to the other and put the shaving bag under his arm. “I’ll be in touch, Rae. Maxine, you’re better off out of this nuthouse yourself.”

  “You made it into a nuthouse,” Maxine said. “If it’s a nuthouse, then that’s what you made it.”

  He put the suitcase down and the shaving bag on top of the suitcase. He drew himself up and faced them.

  They moved back.