by Lily Tuck
I said, “Molly, this reminds me of—who was it? Oh, Inez. Of course, it was Inez who could see out her window—did she tell you this? She told me. Inez told me how she could see right into the bedroom window of the couple who lived opposite her, and like clockwork, Inez said, the couple always made love every Sunday at nine o’clock in the morning. Inez also said how it always took the same exact amount of time for the couple to reach an orgasm—the woman first, the man four minutes afterwards. Oh—and, Molly, this, too. Inez said how sometimes she ran into this same couple in the street or in the deli around the corner from where they both lived, and whenever Inez said she did, Inez said she always automatically looked down at her watch. She could not help it, Inez said, like one of those Pavlovian responses.”
Molly said, “Oh—I haven’t thought of this in years—I told you how Charlie Gibson was pre-med. Charlie Gibson wanted to become a vet and he had to conduct all these weird experiments—and what was it Charlie Gibson talked about all the time? Oh, anthropomorphism.”
I said, “Anthropo—what? Molly, you have to speak into the receiver. I can’t hear you.”
Molly said, “I said—to Charlie Gibson animals were just like human beings.”
I said, “Molly, I know, you should have seen Jason. Jason was like a child to me.”
Molly said, “Charlie Gibson, too, owned about a dozen dogs, Lily—little dogs, big dogs, coon dogs, rabbit-hunting dogs, all kinds of dogs. As a matter of fact, Charlie Gibson almost killed me once because of two dogs, Lily. Have I told you this story? You may want to laugh, but it was not funny at the time—no, not a bit. The two dogs were stuck doing you-know-what to each other right on the road to Monticello, on the way up to Thomas Jefferson’s house—those two darn dogs, Lily, could have been the death of us. Charlie Gibson was driving, and Charlie Gibson tried to avoid the two dogs, and the car went off the road and turned over. A brand-new car, too, Lily. A sports car that did not belong to Charlie Gibson. A car he had borrowed without asking from the Foreign Sports Motors Car Garage where he worked part-time as a mechanic. Poor Charlie Gibson, he nearly lost his job over that one. Charlie Gibson, Lily, was the type of person who was always in trouble. The Edgar Allan Poe episode was nothing by comparison, and no wonder, I say, Charlie Gibson is in jail now for embezzling pension funds.”
I said, “But, Molly, were you all right?”
Molly said, “Not a scratch. Like a miracle was what I said to Charlie Gibson. The dogs, too, Lily. We managed to avoid them. But the car, Lily. The car was demolished. Charlie Gibson had to telephone the garage for a tow truck and his boss, when he answered the phone, did not know what Charlie Gibson was talking about. A tow truck for what? was what Charlie Gibson’s boss shouted—I can hear him to this day, Lily. I could hear him then, he was yelling so loud. I’ll never forget it, he sounded apoplectic. When Charlie Gibson tried to explain, his boss would not let him. His boss kept right on shouting—shouting: Call the fucking S.P.C.A. then.”
I said, “I know men like this—men who shout, Molly. You should have heard Sam, Molly. His voice, I swear, could shatter glass. I remember one time we were at the theater and Sam did not return to his seat in time after the intermission—I don’t know where he was—in the bathroom or, more likely, getting a drink or outside smoking a cigarette. The curtain went up and Sam just stood there in the middle of the aisle shouting: Lily! Some people went: Ssh. Others laughed. I was so mortified I could have killed him.”
Molly said, “I know what you mean—people are so inconsiderate. Oh—here are a whole bunch of letters from Bibi when she was little.”
I said, “Speaking of shouting, you should have heard Kevin. This was in the middle of the day, Molly, Kevin was still in bed in the bedroom. Kevin was shouting at us—at me and Inez and at her friend the playwright from downstairs and from Sri Lanka—that if we didn’t stop the damn clack-clacking right this minute, he, Kevin was going to throw the mahjong set out the window. The mahjong set was real ivory, Molly, the mahjong set was expensive, and what I told Inez then was: If ever I get to Hong Kong, I am going to buy myself one just like it.”
Molly said, “These letters from Bibi, Lily—I am rereading them and I can’t decide whether I should keep them.”
I said, “You know me, Molly, I throw everything out. I never save anything. My apartment is too small, there is no room, and this too, was one of the things I kept saying to Inez: Inez, you are so lucky, I said. Inez, you have plenty of room. Inez, you have plenty of space. The only problem, as far as I am concerned, is the location.”
Molly said, “Don’t forget—the elevator. The elevator, Lily, was a problem.”
I said, “If I took a taxi to Inez’s house, the taxi, Molly, would end up costing me over ten dollars. Ten dollars is a lot of money was what I used to say to Inez, and this does not include the tip. The tip was extra, Molly.”
Molly said, “That’s right, that’s what I said, and remember I told you Inez could have taken the subway. Yuri did, Lily. Yuri took the subway to Fifty-second Street and I told Yuri to walk the two blocks to the restaurant—to the Italian restaurant, the same restaurant I had lunch at with Inez—and, oh, my God, Lily, you should have seen how much Yuri ate. I have never seen anyone eat as much as Yuri in my whole life. Thank God, too, was what I said to him—thank God, I am not paying for this lunch. Don’t forget, Lily, Yuri still owes me two hundred and fifty dollars for my Leica. Hello, hello? Lily, can you hear me?”
I said, “Yes, hello, I can hear you—I was just thinking—Sam had a huge appetite. Sam said he always wanted to try everything at least once, which was why we ate the iguana, Molly.”
Molly said, “I am still looking, Lily, looking for the interview and the picture I took. I told you, I was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt and Matisse was wearing a long sleeved white shirt and gray checked hound’s tooth cotton slacks. And Matisse, I also remember, was wearing a sweater. On ne sait jamais— one never knows—it can turn cold was what Matisse said to me, and Matisse was right, Lily—it did. That night the thermometer dropped thirty degrees.”
I said, “With all this rain, it’s chilly here, too, Molly. I’m glad I made myself a cup of cocoa—I have terrible circulation, Molly. My hands and feet get freezing cold. The other day—I don’t remember why now—I said to Leonard: Cold hands, warm heart, and Leonard told me about how his mother has different kinds of teas—a tea to make her sleep, a tea to keep her awake, a tea so she won’t get constipated. Leonard also told me about the special iced tea his mother makes. His mother, Leonard said, makes it with orange juice and I said: Leonard what—orange juice?”
Molly said, “It’s funny how you can never find anything when you are looking for it. I know the interview is here somewhere. I told Havier I would find it for him—and speaking of drinking, I tell you, Lily, not drinking has made all the difference to Havier.”
I said, “Yes, but I was right, I think, to tell Leonard that Maryland is too hot in the summer. I told Leonard I would visit his mother in September. You’ve never met Leonard, have you, Molly? Inez did not get to meet Leonard, either. Roberta did. Roberta met Leonard the day she dyed her hair red. I remember, I almost did not recognize her.”
Molly said, “Who? Leonard? No. Oh, here’s a postcard. A picture postcard from Alicia Thomas I got a few weeks ago—a picture postcard of a bunch of kittens.”
I said, “Let me see, I met Leonard right after Victor came back from Nicaragua and right after Victor asked Leslie to marry him. I met Leonard at the party Michelle gave for them. The funny thing was, Molly, Michelle said she used to go out with Leonard, and what Leonard said was he only decided to go to the party at the very last minute and against his better judgment, which was lucky.”
Molly said, “Here, Alicia Thomas writes that Marine World cannot compare to Old Saybrook.”
I said, “Lucky for me, Molly. I nearly did not go to Michelle’s party either. Leslie convinced me. Leslie said it was good for me to go out and meet other peopl
e—you’ve met Leslie, Molly—Leslie is the one who is getting married to Victor, and Leslie is the one to whom I said: Leslie, you are crazy to get tattooed in a place like Managua—what if the needle is not clean? Hello—Molly?”
Molly said, “Charlie Gibson got tattoed while he was in the Navy and while he was drunk. He got a dragon tattooed on his cheek and the cheek I am talking about, Lily, is his other cheek, his you-know-what—ha, ha, ha—and the last time I saw Charlie Gibson, Lily, was the time my father died—oh, I told you the story of how I left the cremains of my father in his white linen suit in a dressing room at Miller and Rhoads, the department store, and how Amy and I only realized that I forgot him when we were halfway back to Charlottesville. We made a U-turn and we drove back to Richmond at one hundred miles an hour, and wouldn’t you know it a policeman stopped us for speeding, and when Amy tried to explain to him what had happened, the policeman told Amy that she must be crazy and if ever he caught her again he would revoke her license, but what was I saying? Oh, my father’s funeral. You should have seen the church, Lily—the church in Crozet—the church was packed. Everyone was there. The whole Gibson family—they are one of the oldest families in the area—and the Miss Marys. Of course, Amy was there. A whole lot of other people too—people I had completely forgotten about and people I no longer remembered, like the boy with the speech impediment about whom Amy said—I should hear him now, his speech is much improved. What did I say his name was? Gordon?”
I said, “Like Carlos—the simultaneous translator Nora is always talking about. Nora says Carlos only stutters when he is talking and not when he is translating, which, Nora says, has something to do with his concentration. Did I tell you I met Carlos once? Nora had me and Carlos for supper, and you should have heard him, Molly. Carlos asked me to pa-pa-ppp-pa-ss-ss th-th-e p-pp-pp-pe-pe-pep-pep-pepper pp-pp-pl-ppl-ee-e-ppleea-ss-se. I didn’t know what to do, Molly. I didn’t know whether to wait until he had finished or to just go ahead and pass him the pepper anyway. I decided to wait. I thought it was more polite. You never know, do you? With Michelle, too, Molly. I never know whether to mention her book. I only got as far as the middle. I only got as far as when she came to America. I got bogged down when she and her family moved to a town in upstate New York. The only thing I really remember about Michelle’s book, Molly, was about her little brother. Michelle’s little brother got sick with diphtheria and they had to bury him at sea. Only you know what, Molly? Michelle made this up. Michelle made up the whole part about her little brother. Michelle admitted this. Michelle admitted it on “Good Morning, America” or on one of those talk shows. I never watch them, do you, Molly? A lot of people do—while they are getting dressed, or while they are eating breakfast. But Michelle said this was not her fault. Michelle said her editor told her to. Amazing really to what lengths people will go—what they will invent for the sake of a good story, for the sake of publicity—invent a little brother. And the other funny thing—Molly, are you there? Are you listening?
Molly said, “Hmm, yes, I am here. I am listening, Lily. Do you know what time it is? My watch is in the kitchen.”
I said, “The funny thing is the made-up part was the part I remember the best—the part that was the most vivid to me, Molly—the part about the brother dying of diphtheria. I remember how Michelle wrote he was so small he could have fit into one of those boxes florists use to put long-stemmed flowers—roses—in. That small. He was only five years old, and Michelle wrote how all the passengers, all of them immigrants like herself and her family, were pressed up together against the ship’s railing listening to the captain recite the burial service— ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’ —and although most of the people on board the ship did not understand a word of English, there was not a sound to be heard. Only the sound of the captain’s voice and the sound of the waves breaking until her little brother’s body slid into the ocean. Then the ship blew its whistle and there was not a single dry eye—including the sailors’ —left on board the ship. Me too, Molly, I was crying while I read this. And her little brother’s name, Michelle said, was Lech. Little Lech with blond curly hair who could have fit into a box for long-stemmed roses. Now that I think of this too, Lech isn’t even a Jewish name, is it, Molly? So none of this was true. Molly?”
Molly said, “Yes. No. I don’t know. I threw away Alicia Thomas’s postcard and it must be after four o’clock in the morning, Lily.”
I said, “Half past, and Michelle, too, is a lot older than Leonard. How old, I asked Leonard, was Michelle when she first came to America?”
Molly said, “People’s relationships never cease to amaze me. People’s relationships are a complete mystery to me. Just look at Inez and Kevin, Lily.”
I said, “You’re right, Molly. Take Leonard. In bed, Leonard is different. You would never know, either, by just talking to him. When I first met Leonard, I did not know what to say to him. I tried everything, Molly. I talked about the ballet, the book I was reading, I even told Leonard about the apartment in Paris with no hot water that we lived in and how I started the pottery lessons.”
Molly said, “I know, Lily, time goes by so quickly. I was photocopying Notre Dame then.”
I said, “The woman who gave me the pottery lessons, I’ll never forget her. Her name was Fiona, and she said she had lived alone in a monastery.”
Molly said, “Now I want to photocopy I. M. Pei’s pyramid, Lily, only I am sure they won’t let me.”
I said, “Whose pyramid? Oh, let me think—where was it I read this? I read this recently—an article that said you could live a lot longer if you lived in a pyramid. The article also claimed that if milk was sold in a conical container, the milk, too, would not sour so quickly.”
Molly said, “Oh, I must have read the same article, which also said how inside a pyramid a razor blade would stay sharper, which was why the article caught my eye and made me think: Oh, if only Charles, the French count, was here. Oh, if only Charles could read this article. Funny too, what catches your eye—just look at Inez, for instance. Poor Inez.”
I said, “Molly, you are so right, everyone is different, but have I told you already how I used to have the same kind of galoshes—the boots with the buckles? I remember how when I was a child, half the time I could not be bothered to buckle up the buckles. I would walk around with them flapping open and my father would stop me and he would say something to me like: Lily, the one thing I cannot tolerate in a person is carelessness. He would say the same thing to me about being messy or if I was late—whenever he could catch me at something. My father was very critical. I wonder sometimes how my mother put up with him. My mother, Molly, was completely different. My mother—bless her heart—was a free spirit. I told you how she used to go swimming? But what was I saying? Oh, Inez. Yes, Inez.”
Molly said, “Poor Inez, and Fiddle made a—oh, I wish I knew what Fiddle stands for—this could drive me crazy, Lily. Probably, Fiddle stands for a name like Lois or Doris, a name I would never think of, which reminds me—don’t ask me why—of the day Inez’s mother came by and of the day Inez’s mother was smoking cigarettes and Inez was opening the window. Inez’s mother was talking about this article she had read—an article on plant experiments. Inez’s mother told Inez that by piping in different kinds of music to a cornfield in the Midwest, some scientists proved that the corn that had listened to rock-and-roll did not grow as quickly or as tall as the corn that had listened to Mozart.”
I said, “When I go to the dentist, Molly, the dentist gives me a set of earphones. I can choose what kind of music to listen to. He also has books on tape, and the last time I had a filling, I listened to a novel by John Le Carré.”
Molly said, “Oh, God, Lily, please don’t talk to me about drilling. I have to go to the dentist on Thursday and today is Wednesday already.”
I said, “Afterwards, I had to go out and buy the book to see how the story ended, Molly.”
Molly said, “The book I am reading now is about a woman in Afr
ica who might or might not have killed her best friend. I thought of lending the book to Malcolm, only the book is not so much about Africa as it is about the woman’s coming to terms with her own criminal personality.”
I said, “I couldn’t put down the John Le Carré, Molly. I couldn’t go to sleep until I had finished it.”
Molly said, “I am still sitting here at my desk. I am still sorting through all my papers. I won’t go to sleep until I have finished and until I find the interview with Matisse, Lily.”
I said, “I know what you mean, Molly. I am wide awake now myself. My God, I’ll never go back to sleep again just thinking about Inez and the last time I saw her—when was this exactly? The last time I saw Inez was the time we played mahjong and the time Kevin was shouting at us, which must have been right after I had met Leonard.”
Molly said, “The last day, the day I had lunch with Inez—the day I told you about, the day it was raining and Inez kept me waiting—was the day we put the house on the market. I know, I called Bibi that morning to tell her about it.”
I said, “The first time I went out with Leonard we went to the seafood restaurant Nora is always talking about, the one she said the United Nations Ambassador from Bolivia always goes to. Molly, are you listening to me? Molly?”
Molly said, “Yes—which seafood restaurant, Lily? The one Claude-Marie said he won’t eat at any more? The one Claude-Marie said the last time he ate there he got food poisoning and the one Nora said the only reason she still goes there is it’s convenient?”
