by Lydia Davis
A few days later I realized that there might have been another reason why the rooster had wandered over to the far side of the road. He was the only bird that Safwan owned. He might have gone across the road to visit the neighbors’ chicken coop with its little crowd of hens and roosters. He was probably interested in them and liked to watch them through their fence, maybe even try to challenge the other roosters. I realized this when I was studying a book about raising poultry: hens and roosters are sociable creatures and prefer to be part of a flock, it said. When you are ready to buy your chicks, be sure to buy at least five.
Sitting with My Little Friend
Sitting with my little friend in the sunshine on the front step:
I am reading a book by Blanchot
and she is licking her leg.
The Old Soldier
story from Flaubert
I saw something the other day that moved me, though I had nothing to do with it. We were three miles from here, at the ruins of the Château de Lassay (built in six weeks for Madame Du Barry, who had the idea of coming to take sea baths in the area). There’s nothing left but a staircase, a large Louis XV staircase, a few windows without panes, a wall, and wind … wind! It’s on a plateau within sight of the sea. Next to it is a peasant hut. We went in to get a drink of milk for Liline, who was thirsty. The little garden had lovely hollyhocks as high as the eaves, a few rows of beans, a cauldron full of dirty water. Nearby a pig was grunting, and farther off, beyond the enclosure, unfenced foals grazed and whinnied, their full, flowing manes moving in the wind from the sea.
Inside the hut, on the wall, was a picture of the Emperor and another of Badinguet! I was probably about to make some joke, when I saw, sitting in a corner by the fireplace, half paralyzed, a thin old man with a two-week-old beard. Above his armchair, hanging on the wall, were two gold epaulettes! The poor old man was so infirm that he had trouble holding his spoon. No one was paying any attention to him. He sat there ruminating, groaning, eating from a platter of beans. The sun shone in the window onto the iron bands around the buckets, making him squint. The cat lapped milk from a pan on the floor. And that was all. In the distance, the vague sound of the sea.
I thought about how, in this perpetual half-sleep of old age (which precedes the other sleep, and is a sort of transition from life to nothingness), the fellow no doubt was seeing once again the snows of Russia or the sands of Egypt. What visions were floating before those cloudy eyes? And what clothes he wore! What a jacket—patched and clean! The woman who served us (his daughter, I imagine) was a fifty-year-old gossip in a short skirt, with calves like the balusters in the Place Louis XV and a cotton cap on her head. She came and went in her blue stockings and coarse skirt, and splendid Badinguet was there in the midst of it all, mounted on a yellow horse, three-cornered hat in hand, saluting a cohort of war wounded, their wooden legs all precisely aligned.
The last time I visited the Château de Lassay was with Alfred. I can still remember the conversation we had, the verses we recited, the plans we made …
Two Sligo Lads
Two Sligo lads are on their way to work at an immense factory that looms up ahead of them on the horizon. Abruptly, then, they are whirled up into a fairground ride consisting of spinning cars moving in elliptical arcs, so far above me that they are mere specks in the sky. As they revolve, crossing over and over, they cry out to me “Hello, hello,” again and again, at irregular intervals. Then the ride is gone, but they are still there, circling. They might now be seagulls.
dream
The Woman in Red
Standing near me is a tall woman in a dark red dress. She has a dazed, rather blank expression on her face. She might be drugged, or this is simply her habitual expression. I am a little afraid of her. A red snake in front of me rears up and threatens me, at the same time changing form once or twice, acquiring tentacles like a squid, etc. Behind it is a large puddle of water in the middle of a broad path. To protect me from the snake, the woman in the red dress lays three broad-brimmed red hats down on the surface of the puddle of water.
dream
If at the Wedding (at the Zoo)
If we hadn’t stopped on our way to the ceremony to look at the pen of black pigs, we wouldn’t have seen the very large pig lunge at the smaller one, to force him away from the feeding trough.
If we hadn’t come early and seated ourselves on a bench in the sunlight under the pavilion roof to await the start of the ceremony, we wouldn’t have seen the runaway pony trot past trailing its rope.
If we hadn’t heard the sudden murmur of our neighbors on the benches in the cold sunlight under the pavilion before the start of the ceremony, we wouldn’t have looked up to see the bride coming in her bright green dress from a distance walking briskly with long strides hand in hand with her mother.
If we hadn’t craned our necks to look around the people standing in front of us prepared to officiate and take part in the ceremony, we wouldn’t have seen how the bride came, her head bowed, her mother’s head bowed, her mother talking seriously to her, the two of them never looking up, as though there were no one else present, towards the pavilion, the guests, the poised cameras, the ceremony, and her future husband, who stood waiting for her.
If we hadn’t looked away from the ceremony in which the couple getting married stood before their officiating Buddhist friend while their other assembled friends and family chanted Indian and other chants, we wouldn’t have seen the Hasidic and Asian families walk past the pavilion gazing curiously at us on their way to and from the Corn Maze.
If we hadn’t walked across the room in which the reception was beginning, past the two accordionists, man and woman, to look out the back windows at the wedding party being photographed in the cold October sunlight late in the day to the sound of klezmer music, we wouldn’t have seen the two families of pheasants run along the crest of the pumpkin field towards the shelter of the woods.
If we hadn’t walked across the reception room to stand next to strangers at the back windows, we wouldn’t have seen the wedding party being photographed with their faces towards the setting sun, holding one another in the cold, laughing and stumbling as they changed positions and poses between shots, with accordion music behind us in our background so that the scene we were watching was suddenly like the end of a happy Italian movie.
If we hadn’t returned to look out the back windows later during the reception, after the speeches in the far corner of the room and after the dinner sitting close to people we knew but across from strangers, we wouldn’t have seen the brown cow raise her nose and toss her head, standing under a tree, and chew her cud looking up at the sky.
If we hadn’t left the reception hall for a moment after dark, before coming back in to the light and music and dancing, we wouldn’t have seen the black round shapes in the branches of the trees, which were the chickens roosting.
The Gold Digger of Goldfields
It was called Goldfields, it was a ghost town—boarded-up saloons, population 100. The wells were poisoned with arsenic, still are. We found that out later. Jim’s stepmother had cancer, maybe from the arsenic in the wells. Jim’s father was selling off his coin collection a little at a time to pay for her treatment. She got worse and he flew her back to the cancer hospital, but it was too late. She died.
Two weeks later, they sent Jim a message about his father—there’s a medical emergency, come out right away. We drove thirty-six hours straight. But he was dead, too, by the time we got there.
We didn’t know about whatever it’s called—compassionate airfare. We’d already driven through five states by the time someone told us about that. Jim said, We’ve already driven this far—we’re driving.
Jim got sleepy after twenty-four hours and let me drive. But he can’t sleep in the car, so after three hours he took over again. Alyce kept texting us to come home. I told her to do her homework and stop worrying. She had no idea how far away we were.
Where are you? she kept saying
. She thought we were in New Jersey. Where? Nevada? she kept asking.
Go get a map, I said.
We didn’t know what we’d find when we got there.
Jim’s sister Lisa, the one I call the gold digger, had looked all over for what was left of the coins, she wanted more money for caring for him. She said she had no money to bury him. She said they had to take their tax money to have him cremated.
When we got there, we kept finding coins all over the house. Piles of coins. Lisa, the gold digger, didn’t find them. She didn’t know where to look. She took all the guns out, though, before we got there.
Jim’s other sister, the executor, told us (from New Jersey) to get all his papers together. Jim couldn’t do it, he wasn’t up to it. He would go into his father’s bedroom and just sit there. That’s all he could do. I did it. I knew him, but I wasn’t that close to him. I went through all the papers, sorted them, put them in files by year.
I said to Lisa, You should see a psychiatrist—after being so close to him, all you want is his coin collection? Why didn’t you take it before he died?
She thought she should have gotten more because she took care of him. That’s not what was in the will.
We drove thirty-six hours straight going back, too. Hitting the deer on the way home was the last straw for Jim. He used some language about that.
The other sister, the executor, wanted us to come to New Jersey. Jim kept saying no, we want to get home. She kept asking us to come. Finally he said we would. It was when we were in Pennsylvania forking off towards New Jersey that we hit the deer. It was a rental car, so we had to wait there for the police so we could file a report. One headlight was broken. It cost $1,000 to repair. The insurance didn’t pay for it because there was a $1,000 deductible.
All Jim wanted was something like a belt buckle to remember him by. A silver belt buckle. I said to his sister the gold digger, You should see a psychiatrist.
Jim’s father had a water cooler in his house. I always wondered why he had a water cooler. Now I know.
The Old Vacuum Cleaner Keeps Dying on Her
The old vacuum cleaner keeps dying on her
over and over
until at last the cleaning woman
scares it by yelling:
“Motherfucker!”
Flaubert and Point of View
At the Blessing of the Hounds, on the opening day of fox-hunting season, a Saturday (large horses sleekly groomed, men and women in red riding costumes seated on them or holding them by the bridle, a little girl less interested in the horses than in her friend across the road, as small as she is, almost small enough to walk right under the bellies of these tall horses, the duck or goose that can be heard in the occasional silence squawking in the brook down below the country store, the car that now and then approaches this congested small country square and then turns around as best it can, the two pug dogs held on a leash by an elderly woman who says that she has brought them to see the Blessing of the Hounds, the onlookers holding their coffee cups steaming in the cool early-morning air, the pack of hunting dogs milling about loose in the road, tightly controlled by the handler with her long whip, the speech of the Master of the Hounds and the silences as he pauses with bowed head between remarks, when the duck or goose can be heard squawking), I am reminded, at last, of Flaubert’s lesson concerning the singular point of view, not by the little girl interested mainly in her friend, the other little girl, or by the duck or goose interested only in whatever it is that is making it squawk down below in the brook, but by the two pug dogs, as they strain at their leashes to reach one particular spot on the ground, intent not on the horses, the riders, the speech of the Master of the Hounds, the hunting dogs, or the squawking duck or goose, but only on the yellowish-white dollops of foam that have dropped from the mouth of a high-spirited horse nearby onto the dark pavement and that are so strange to them and so fragrant.
Family Shopping
The plump, pretty younger sister is running out of the store. The thin, older sister is running after her. The pretty younger sister is carrying a bag of cheese twists. She had left the thin older sister behind in the store to pay for them.
“Give that to me!” says the older sister. “I’ll wring your neck!”
Local Obits
Helen loved long walks, gardening, and her grandchildren.
Richard founded his own business.
Anna later helped on the family farm.
Robert enjoyed his home.
Alfred enjoyed his best friends, which were his two cats.
Henry enjoyed woodworking.
Ed loved life and lived it to the fullest.
John enjoyed fishing and woodworking.
“Tootles” enjoyed puzzles of all kinds, painting items her husband built, and keeping in touch with family and friends via the computer.
Tammy enjoyed reading and bowling. She bowled in the Mixed League at the Barbecue Recreation Lanes.
Margaret enjoyed watching NASCAR, doing crossword puzzles, and spending time with her grandchildren.
Eva was an avid gardener, bird watcher, and also enjoyed reading and writing poetry. She loved entertaining.
Madeleine traveled extensively. She enjoyed painting, ceramics, bridge, golf, any card game, word search puzzles, gardening, coin and stamp collecting, and flower arranging. She loved visiting with friends both at camp and at the family home on Main Street.
Albert was an animal lover.
Jean, a special-ed aide, liked to crochet and knit.
Harold enjoyed hunting, fishing, camping, and time spent with family.
Charlotte was an avid quilter, and also loved picking blueberries on her farm in Taborton.
Alvin was a skilled craftsman and gardener. He was also an avid sportsman, enjoying trout fishing, ice fishing, grouse and deer hunting. He was a member of the Ruffed Grouse Society.
Richard enjoyed his favorite hobbies of fishing and boating, and was a thirty-year member of the Hook Boat Club.
Sven, 80, a builder, was a member of the Free and Accepted Masons, the Nordic Glee Club, and the American Union of Swedish Singers. He liked to travel, hunt, golf, and throw parties. He was most often found in his workshop building something.
Spencer poured his remaining years into milking cows and tilling the land. He always liked the smell of fresh-cut hay on a hot summer day. He loved the animals and seemed like he could live in the barn. He always spoke of the old days when the neighborhood was all farmers and how they would always lend a helping hand. Sons and nephews who worked with him found it hard to keep pace even though they were twenty to thirty years younger. He lived a full life, continuing to do tractor work on the farm even after it was sold.
He also enjoyed watching football in the fall, and always said Joe Montana was the best QB to play the game.
In later years, he liked to visit Stewart’s regularly with his brother Harold and watch the people. He had the gift of gab; with anyone who knew him or even didn’t know him, he would strike up an hour-long conversation.
Helena, 70, liked long walks.
Mrs. Brown was a registered nurse for thirty-two years. She was very fond of the nursing field.
Roxanna was an avid golfer and bowler, and loved crocheting and oil and watercolor painting.
Frederick was the owner of Half Moon Saloon for ten years and was a member of the Elks Lodge, where he served as past exalted ruler for a year.
Benjamin, 91, was a WWII vet and a brick mason.
Jessie, 93, worked at area factories in her younger years. She enjoyed gardening and bowling.
Anne, 51, enjoyed fishing and gardening.
Eleanor worked for Dandy Laundry and Cleaners for twenty-seven years and for local families in a domestic capacity.
Dick was meticulous in the care he gave to his home, yard, and automobiles.
Earlier in her career, Elizabeth, known as “Betty,” spent her free time with soldiers returning from the war—dancing, playing Ping-Pong, and t
alking. She sang in the church choir and served briefly as church treasurer.
Laura enjoyed playing cards, doing puzzles, and traveling.
Jeffrey enjoyed golfing and working on the family farm.
Stella was known for her love of cats.
Marion, 100, was a homemaker her entire life. She enjoyed playing cards at the Senior Center and going on her many trips to Colorado. She always looked for the good in people.
Nellie, 79, was employed at the former Snow White Laundry. She enjoyed playing bingo, doing jigsaw puzzles, and spending time with family. She is predeceased by a brother, eight sisters, and one boy she helped to raise.
John, 73, died suddenly after being stricken while driving in Grafton. He was an avid hunter who enjoyed farming.
Clyde, 90, served in the Navy during WWII and was a meat cutter by trade. He was a member of the American Legion, the Stephentown Fire Company, the Tamarac Twirlers, the Quadrille Square Dance Club, and the Albany Camera Club.
With regrets, Mary Ellen leaves behind her son James, her sister Theresa, her companion Rich, and her brother Harold. Anyone who knew her, knew her love for Tigger.
Elva, 81, attended the two-room schoolhouse in North Petersburgh.
Evelyn, 87, worked at Montgomery Ward in Menands and was also a waitress at the Crooked Lake Hotel. She enjoyed the horses at Saratoga and loved to sing and dance. Throughout the early part of her life, she often partnered with Billy Nassau at the Cat in the Fiddle Restaurant.
