Pilgrims

by Elizabeth Gilbert

  roe County public schools without ever having learned that his

  town was named after an American president, James Mon-

  roe. Denny Brown thought that “Monroe” was just a word.

  Denny did not know, therefore, what “Monroe” was referring

  to, when used in the very central contexts of his life, like Mon-

  roe Memorial Hospital or Monroe High School or Monroe

  Country Club. Denny Brown did not know that James Monroe

  was a wounded Revolutionary War veteran and a two-term

  president. Denny certainly did not know that, during his 1820

  re-election bid, James Monroe had received every single vote in

  the electoral college except one — that of a New Hampshire

  delegate named William Plumber. William Plumber had with-

  held his vote intentionally, taking it on himself to ensure that no

  man would ever share with George Washington the honor of a

  unanimous election to the United States presidency. William

  Plumber (who was notable in his life for nothing else) believed

  that stripping George Washington of that singular achievement

  would have been a national shame, remembered and regretted

  by every citizen throughout American history.

  And yet Denny Brown (at age fifteen) did not even know

  that the word “Monroe” was a person’s name.

  Denny Brown knew nothing about where he lived. He did

  not know that his water came from a reservoir twenty-five miles

  north of Monroe, or that his electricity came from one of the

  state’s first nuclear plants. He’d spent his life in a suburban

  housing development called Greenwood Fields, never knowing

  that the area had once been a dairy farm. He did not know that

  the land had once belonged to a family of Swedish immigrants

  named Martinsson, whose only son died in 1917, killed in the

  trenches of France. Actually, Denny Brown did not yet know

  what trenches were. That was eleventh-grade history. He did not yet know very much about World War I. He knew nothing (and

  would never really learn) about more obscure wars, like the

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  Spanish-American War and the Korean War. He did not know

  that his mother had served for a year as a nurse in the Korean

  War. She’d never mentioned it.

  Denny Brown did not know that his parents had fallen in

  love literally at first sight, or that his mother was pregnant on

  her wedding day. He did not know that his Grandmother

  Brown had objected strongly to the marriage because Denny’s

  mother was older than his father and had a wise mouth. Grand-

  mother Brown thought that Denny’s mother was a “whore,”

  and said as much to her son. (That would be her only use of

  dirty language in ninety years on earth, and Denny’s father wept

  at the word.)

  Denny Brown did not know that his mother had wept only

  once in her married life. He could not imagine her ever crying.

  It was over Denny himself, actually. It happened when Denny

  was two years old. He had reached up to the stove and pulled a

  frying pan full of simmering gravy down on top of him. His

  mother was right there. She grabbed him and threw him into

  the bathtub, where she ran cold water over him. She tore off his

  clothing. His mother (the burn unit nurse, the war hospital

  nurse) became hysterical, screaming for her husband. The baby

  screamed; the mother screamed. She would not let Denny out

  from under the stream of cold water, even when he was shiver-

  ing and his lips were turning blue.

  “He’s burned!” she screamed. “He’s burned! He’s burned!”

  In fact, Denny turned out to be fine. Mrs. Brown had acted

  quickly enough, and Denny had received only first-degree

  burns on his face and hands. But his mother cried for a full day.

  She thought, “I am not worthy to be a mother.”

  What’s more, up until the day that Denny was burned, his

  mother had wanted to have a second child, but she did not ever

  consider this again. Never again. Denny Brown did not know

  that he had ever been burned or that his mother had ever cried

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  The Many Things That Denny Brown Did Not Know

  or that his mother had ever wanted another baby. He did not

  know anything about any of this.

  He did know, however, where babies came from. At age

  fifteen, he did know that. His mother had taught him that, at

  the proper age and in the proper manner.

  But there was so much else that he did not yet know. He was

  ignorant on so very many subjects. At age fifteen, for instance,

  Denny Brown still happened to believe that the Twin Towers

  were located in the Twin Cities.

  On the morning of August 17, during Denny Brown’s sixteenth

  summer, Russell Kalesky came over to the Browns’ house, ask-

  ing for Denny. As usual. Everything that morning was just as

  usual.

  “Want to work on the car today, man?” Russell asked.

  “Excellent,” Denny said.

  But Russell looked different. His face and arms were covered

  with ugly red spots.

  “Are you okay?” Denny asked.

  “Check it out,” Russell said. “I got the chicken pox, man.”

  Denny Brown did not know that anybody except little kids

  could get the chicken pox.

  “Mom!” Denny cried, laughing. “Mom! Help!”

  Denny’s mother, the nurse, came to the door and looked at

  Russell. She made him lift up his shirt so that she could exam-

  ine the spots on his chest. This made Russell Kalesky laugh so

  hard out of embarrassment that a bubble of snot popped out of

  his nostril, and that made Denny laugh so hard that he had to sit down on the front step. Denny and Russell were both laughing

  like fools.

  “You definitely have the chicken pox, Russell,” Denny’s

  mother diagnosed.

  For some reason, this made Russell and Denny laugh so hard

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  that they had to fall into each other’s arms and then hold on to

  their stomachs and stamp their feet.

  “Although it doesn’t seem to be interfering with morale . . .”

  Denny’s mother observed.

  Because he had already had the chicken pox, Denny was

  allowed to go over to the Kaleskys’ house. Russell and Denny

  worked on the Ford for a while. Their job for the day was to

  take the mirrors off the sides of the car, soak them in a bucket of

  soapy water, then polish them and return them to their places.

  Russell kept stepping out of the driveway and into the garage

  because he said the sun hurt his chicken pox. Every time Russell

  mentioned the words chicken pox, Denny would start laughing

  again.

  “Who gets the chicken pox, man?” Denny asked. “That’s

  crazy, getting the chicken pox.”

  “My whole goddamn family got it, man,” Russell said. “No-

  body ever had it before, and the whole family got it. Even my

  mom got it, man.”

  Denny laughed. Then he stopped laughing.

  “Even Paulette?” he asked. “Did Paulette get it?”

  It w
as the first time Denny Brown had ever said the name

  Paulette around her brother Russell Kalesky.

  “Paulette?” Russell said. “Paulette? Paulette’s the one that

  brought it home, man. Shit! She got it the worst. She got it

  from one of her stupid kids, man.”

  “Is she . . . um . . . okay?”

  Russell was not hearing or recognizing Denny’s tone. Russell

  was not asking himself why Denny Brown would care about his

  sister, Paulette.

  Russell said, “Paulette’s a freak, man. She won’t come out of

  her room, man. She’s just up there crying all day. ‘Wahhh! It

  itches! Help me!’”

  Denny stood there in the Kaleskys’ driveway. He stood there

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  The Many Things That Denny Brown Did Not Know

  in the sun, holding a sideview mirror. Stood there and stood

  there.

  “Hey, man,” Russell said.

  “Hey, man,” Russell said again.

  Denny Brown looked up at him.

  “Hey, man,” Russell said.

  “I have to go inside now,” Denny said.

  Denny set the sideview mirror down on the driveway and

  went into the Kaleskys’ house. Mrs. Kalesky was lying on the

  couch. The shades were drawn in the living room, and the

  television was on. Mrs. Kalesky was pink with calomine lotion.

  “Are you okay?” Denny asked her.

  She was smoking a cigarette, and she looked up at him. She

  was usually a friendly lady, but she didn’t smile. She shook her

  head, in fact, and looked miserable. Her face was covered with

  lumps and swellings, worse than Russell’s.

  “I’ll be back, Mrs. Kalesky,” Denny said. “I’m just going

  upstairs. I’m just going upstairs for a minute.”

  Denny went up the stairs of the Kaleskys’ house and down

  the hall to the room he knew was Paulette’s. He knocked on the

  door.

  “It’s Denny,” he said. “It’s me.”

  He went inside. Paulette was on her bed, lying on top of her

  sheets and blankets. She saw Denny and started to cry. She was

  worse than Russell and worse than her mother. She put her

  hands over her face.

  “It itches,” she said. “It itches so much.”

  “Okay,” Denny said. “Hold on, okay?”

  The thing was, Denny had indeed had the chicken pox be-

  fore. He wasn’t that young when he’d had it, either. Almost

  eleven years old. His mother had been working a lot during that

  time, and Denny’s father had nursed him. Denny’s father had

  done a very good job nursing him, Denny remembered.

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  Denny went downstairs and into the Kaleskys’ kitchen.

  Russell was inside now, too.

  “What the fuck, man?” Russell asked.

  “Russell,” Mrs. Kalesky said. “No.” She was too weak to

  protest the dirty mouth further.

  “Russell,” Denny said, “I just need to get some oatmeal.”

  Denny started looking through the kitchen cabinets.

  “What the fuck, man?” Russell demanded. No protest this

  time from Mrs. Kalesky. She was really sick.

  Denny found a large container of oatmeal, and said to

  Russell, “It’s for the itching. Paulette needs it, okay?”

  He went back upstairs. Russell followed him, silent. Denny

  ran some water in the upstairs bathtub of the Kaleskys’ house.

  He poured the full container of oatmeal into the bath and tested

  the water temperature, rolling one sleeve up and dipping his

  arm into the tub. He swirled the oatmeal around and left the

  water running.

  Denny went back into Paulette’s bedroom. He passed Russell

  without speaking.

  “Paulette,” Denny said, “you’re going to sit in the bathtub for

  a little while, okay? That helps. It helps the itching. I’m going to

  sit with you, okay?”

  He helped her sit up in bed, and then he led her into the

  bathroom. She was still crying, although not as much. He was

  holding her hand as they passed by the astonished former bully,

  Russell Kalesky, who was still standing in the hallway.

  “Excuse me,” Denny said politely to Russell. “Sorry.”

  Denny took Paulette into the bathroom and shut and locked

  the door behind them.

  “Okay,” he said to her. “Here we go, okay?”

  Paulette was wearing her pajamas. They were damp with

  perspiration. She was very, very sick.

  “Okay,” Denny said. “You’re going to have to get undressed,

  okay?”

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  Paulette put her hand on the sink, to steady herself. She took

  off her socks, one at a time. She stepped out of her pajama

  bottoms. Then she stepped out of her underwear. She stood

  there.

  “Okay,” Denny said. “I’m going to help you out of this shirt,

  and then we’re going to put you in the bathtub, okay? You’re go-

  ing to feel a lot better, okay? Okay? Lift up your arms, Paulette.”

  Paulette stood there.

  “Here we go,” Denny said. “Lift up your arms.”

  Paulette lifted her arms up, like a little girl who needs help

  getting out of a nightgown. Denny pulled her pajama top over

  her head.

  “Okay,” Denny said. “Looks like you have the worst of it on

  your stomach.”

  “Look at my skin!” Paulette said, and started to cry again.

  “Your skin is going to be fine, okay?” Denny said.

  He tested the water again, which was lukewarm. Cool and

  reassuring tones of water temperature. He swirled the oatmeal

  once more in the bath and helped Paulette step in.

  “That feels better, right?” Denny Brown (age fifteen) said.

  “That helps, doesn’t it?”

  She sat in the bath, knees up to her chest. She put her head

  on her knees, still crying.

  “Here we go,” Denny Brown said. He scooped up handfuls of

  wet, cool oatmeal and pressed them on her back, against the

  patches of mean, swollen pox. “Here we go. Here we go.”

  Denny packed the cool oatmeal against her neck and shoul-

  ders and arms. He took a cup from the sink and ran water over

  her head to calm the itching under her hair. He ran warmer

  water into the tub when its temperature began to drop.

  Denny Brown knelt on the floor beside Paulette. Downstairs

  on the couch, Mrs. Kalesky wondered what was going on up

  there. Upstairs in the hallway, the former bully Russell Kalesky

  sat down on the floor, directly across from the locked bathroom

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  door. Russell stared at the door. He tried to hear what was going

  on in there, but he could hear nothing.

  Inside the bathroom, Denny was tending Paulette. “You can

  lean back now,” he told her.

  He helped ease her from the sitting position until she lay

  back in the bathtub. He put a folded towel under her head as a

  pillow. The water was cool and high all around her, reaching just

  below her chin. Her breasts floated up. They were lightened by

  the water.


  “You’re going to feel better in exactly five minutes,” Denny

  Brown said, and smiled at her. Then he said, “Do you want a

  glass of water?”

  “No, thank you,” Paulette said.

  Maybe five minutes passed. Five minutes probably did pass.

  Mrs. Kalesky waited downstairs, still wondering what was go-

  ing on. A few houses away, Denny Brown’s mother got ready to

  go to work at the burn unit. Denny Brown’s father helped a

  dying patient across town eat some lunch. Monroe High School

  sat empty. Russell Kalesky’s Ford sat in the driveway, still as

  ever. It was August. All things were as they always are in Au-

  gust.

  And then Paulette Kalesky said to Denny Brown, “You’re

  doing a good job.”

  Just outside the bathroom, Russell Kalesky sat very still indeed.

  He did not know what his friend was doing in there. He did not

  know what his sister was doing in there. Russell did not know

  what he was watching for, but he watched that bathroom door

  as closely as any person can watch anything. He did not know

  what he was listening for, either. But Russell Kalesky listened,

  and his head was cocked sharply.

  128 ✦

  The Names of

  Flowers and Girls

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  At the time of Babette, my grandfather was not yet

  twenty. Although today, and perhaps even then, such

  youth is not necessarily married to innocence, in his case

  it was. There were boys his age who had already served in the

  war and returned, but he was not among them, for the unro-

  mantic reason that one of his feet was several sizes larger than

  the other. Outfitting him with boots would have inconven-

  ienced the United States Army enough that he was not selected,

  and he passed the war years, as before, in the company of his

  elderly great-aunt.

  On this particular Wednesday night, he chose not to tell his

  aunt where he was going. This was not out of deviousness, for

  he was not by nature a liar. Rather, he believed that she would

  not have understood or even heard him in the advanced stage of

  her senility. He did ask the neighbor, a widow with bad knees,

  to look in on his aunt throughout the evening, and she agreed

  to. He had already been to a boxing match the month before,

  and had briefly, late one Saturday, stood in the doorway of a

  loud and dangerous local bar, so this was not his first attempt to