by Zadie Smith
Please do not touch anything, please do not touch, she said to Josh and Abbie, but just in her head, wanting to give the children a chance to observe her being democratic and accepting, and afterward they could all wash up at the half-remodeled McDonald’s, as long as they just please please kept their hands out of their mouths, and God forbid they should rub their eyes.
The phone rang, and the lady of the house plodded into the kitchen, placing the daintily held, paper-towel-wrapped turds on the counter.
‘Mommy, I want it,’ Abbie said.
‘I will definitely walk him like twice a day,’ Josh said.
‘Don’t say “like”,’ Marie said.
‘I will definitely walk him twice a day,’ Josh said.
OK, then, all right, they would adopt a white-trash dog. Ha ha. They could name it Zeke, buy it a little corncob pipe and a straw hat. She imagined the puppy, having crapped on the rug, looking up at her, going, Cain’t hep it. But no. Had she come from a perfect place? Everything was transmutable. She imagined the puppy grown up, entertaining some friends, speaking to them in a British accent: My family of origin was, um, rather not, shall we say, of the most respectable . . .
Ha ha, wow, the mind was amazing, always cranking out these -
Marie stepped to the window and, anthropologically pulling the blind aside, was shocked, so shocked that she dropped the blind and shook her head, as if trying to wake herself, shocked to see a young boy, just a few years younger than Josh, harnessed and chained to a tree, via some sort of doohickey by which - she pulled the blind back again, sure she could not have seen what she thought she had -
When the boy ran, the chain spooled out. He was running now, looking back at her, showing off. When he reached the end of the chain, it jerked and he dropped as if shot.
He rose to a sitting position, railed against the chain, whipped it back and forth, crawled to a bowl of water, and, lifting it to his lips, took a drink: a drink from a dog’s bowl.
Josh joined her at the window. She let him look. He should know that the world was not all lessons and iguanas and Nintendo. It was also this muddy simple boy tethered like an animal.
She remembered coming out of the closet to find her mother’s scattered lingerie and the ditchdigger’s metal hanger full of orange flags. She remembered waiting outside the junior high in the bitter cold, the snow falling harder, as she counted over and over to two hundred, promising herself each time that when she reached two hundred she would begin the long walk back -
God, she would have killed for just one righteous adult to confront her mother, shake her, and say, ‘You idiot, this is your child, your child you’re - ’
‘So what were you guys thinking of naming him?’ the woman said, coming out of the kitchen.
The cruelty and ignorance just radiated from her fat face, with its little smear of lipstick.
‘I’m afraid we won’t be taking him after all,’ Marie said coldly.
Such an uproar from Abbie! But Josh - she would have to praise him later, maybe buy him the Italian Loaves Expansion Pak - hissed something to Abbie, and then they were moving out through the trashed kitchen (past some kind of crankshaft on a cookie sheet, past a partial red pepper afloat in a can of green paint) while the lady of the house scuttled after them, saying, wait, wait, they could have it for free, please take it - she really wanted them to have it.
No, Marie said, it would not be possible for them to take it at this time, her feeling being that one really shouldn’t possess something if one wasn’t up to properly caring for it.
‘Oh,’ the woman said, slumping in the doorway, the scrambling pup on one shoulder.
Out in the Lexus, Abbie began to cry softly, saying, ‘Really, that was the perfect pup for me.’
And it was a nice pup, but Marie was not going to contribute to a situation like this in even the smallest way.
Simply was not going to do it.
The boy came to the fence. If only she could have said to him, with a single look, Life will not necessarily always be like this. Your life could suddenly blossom into something wonderful. It can happen. It happened to me.
But secret looks, looks that conveyed a world of meaning with their subtle blah blah blah - that was all bullshit. What was not bullshit was a call to Child Welfare, where she knew Linda Berling, a very no-nonsense lady who would snatch this poor kid away so fast it would make that fat mother’s thick head spin.
Callie shouted, ‘Bo, back in a sec!’, and, swiping the corn out of the way with her non-pup arm, walked until there was nothing but corn and sky.
It was so small it didn’t move when she set it down, just sniffed and tumped over.
Well, what did it matter, drowned in a bag or starved in the corn? This way Jimmy wouldn’t have to do it. He had enough to worry about. The boy she’d first met with hair to his waist was now this old man shrunk with worry. As far as the money, she had sixty hidden away. She’d give him twenty of that and go, ‘The people who bought the pup were super-nice.’
Don’t look back, don’t look back, she said in her head as she raced away through the corn.
Then she was walking along Teallback Road like a sportwalker, like some lady who walked every night to get slim, except that she was nowhere near slim, she knew that, and she also knew that when sportwalking you did not wear jeans and unlaced hiking boots. Ha ha! She wasn’t stupid. She just made bad choices. She remembered Sister Carol saying, ‘Callie, you are bright enough but you incline toward that which does not benefit you.’ Yep, well, Sister, you got that right, she said to the nun in her mind. But what the hell. What the heck. When things got easier moneywise, she’d get some decent tennis shoes and start walking and get slim. And start night school. Slimmer. Maybe medical technology. She was never going to be really slim. But Jimmy liked her the way she was, and she liked him the way he was, which maybe that’s what love was, liking someone how he was and doing things to help him get even better.
Like right now she was helping Jimmy by making his life easier by killing something so he - no. All she was doing was walking, walking away from -
Pushing the words killing puppy out of her head, she put in her head the words beautiful sunny day wow I’m loving this beautiful sunny day so much -
What had she just said? That had been good. Love was liking someone how he was and doing things to help him get better.
Like Bo wasn’t perfect, but she loved him how he was and tried to help him get better. If they could keep him safe, maybe he’d mellow out as he got older. If he mellowed out, maybe he could someday have a family. Like there he was now in the yard, sitting quietly, looking at flowers. Tapping with his bat, happy enough. He looked up, waved the bat at her, gave her that smile. Yesterday he’d been stuck in the house, all miserable. He’d ended the day screaming in bed, so frustrated. Today he was looking at flowers. Who was it that thought up that idea, the idea that had made today better than yesterday? Who loved him enough to think that up? Who loved him more than anyone else in the world loved him?
Her.
She did.
Rhoda
Jonathan Safran Foer
Have a cookie. It’s good for you. You know what your problem is? The problem with you is that your wife is a little too, let me put it this way, she’s intelligent. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. I’m not telling you you should be married to someone ignorant, which has been my experience. I’m only telling you it’s better to have a life partner who is somewhat unintelligent. I know things. She doesn’t feed you because she’s too intelligent. It’s none of my business.
It’s good to see you, from what my eyes can make out. You could be a super-model! It brings a smile to my heart. Your brother is growing a bosom, but you still have all of your hair. Lemme touch it. That beautiful, thick hair. You’re so handsome! So gorgeous! My joy! It doesn’t matter. You should be healthy. That beautiful, Kennedy hair. Enjoy your hair in good health.
Have a drink. Lemme get you a soda from
the basement. Go get a soda from the basement. Drink something. Please. For me. I have some orange juice in the freezer. I could warm it up for you. A slice of bread? What would make you happy? You’re gorgeous, I’m telling you. Gorgeous! Just looking at you, I’m forgetting everything. I got a tea bag I used last night that’s still good.
I don’t want to take your time, but I’ll tell you about my heart scan, and then we’ll do your business. I’ll tell you about your cousin Daniel. The machine is recording? Your cousin Daniel called from Brown University last night. The machine heard that? He’s making A’s in all of his classes, and two B’s, and he’s going with a girl, not a schwartze. She’s studying - how do you call it? I can’t remember the American word. Anyway, I don’t know what are her grades, but her family lives in Philadelphia and belongs to Congregation Beth David, which is Reform, but that’s none of my business. Her father is a lawyer, and I don’t know what is her mother. This girl, she’s a little overweight, but otherwise very nice. They’ve been on four dates. Over there there’s a picture of her on the refrigerator.
I’ll tell you about the first schwartze I ever saw. Because I was thinking about Daniel, I was thinking about schwartzes, from the one he went with briefly. Remember that one? It was his life, and that’s why I didn’t say anything, but it was my death. I told him, You can fall in love with anyone if you have to, so why mix blood?
When we came over, in 1950, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a schwartze. Nobody told me. Nobody sat me down and said, By the way, there’s schwartzes. I got off the boat, and I’m holding your mother, and your grandfather, your real grandfather, was looking for our bags, and the first person I saw was a schwartze. I thought maybe he had a disease. What did I know from schwartzes? And then I saw another schwartze, and then another schwartze. It was like seeing green people to me, only with longer arms and bigger lips and, you know, the schwartze-hair. Then, when we opened the grocery store on K Street, that was in a neighborhood that was full of schwartzes. Only schwartzes, I’m telling you, because that was all we could afford at the time. If there had been coins smaller than pennies we would have saved those, too. Money can’t buy you happiness, but happiness isn’t everything. My only point is I don’t have any problem with schwartzes, but I’m happy for Daniel that he found a nice girl, even Reform. Lemme give you a piece of free advice: if you have to wash your hands after going to the bathroom, you did something wrong. I’m talking about number one only.
We knew all the schwartzes that robbed us, and this will be the last thing that I say about schwartzes. They would come in with masks on, and once I said, ‘Jimmy, if you need money, just ask. You don’t have to make a scene.’ And so he asked, ‘Can I have some money, Rhoda?’ I told him not over my dead body. He made to put the gun at my head. I told him I had to refrigerate some cold items, so if he was gonna shoot me he should do it already. He said, ‘I’m not messing around, Rhoda.’ I said, ‘Who’s messing around?’ The schwartzes loved us, to tell you the truth.
I’ll tell you about my heart scan. Have a cookie. I’m not gonna take your time. I got a popsicle in the basement. Your father told me they didn’t find anything. I’m begging you, drink a little Coke for me. I’m not gonna push. I didn’t ask him to double-check. Not even a sip for your grandmother? When the news is that your heart scan is OK, you believe it. I hope you don’t mind me saying that. You’re perfect, but I know things. I told Dr Horowitz that I’ve had the kind of life that Spielberg could make a pretty good movie about. He said he was honored to know me. I’m gonna make to send him a card. I wonder when he’ll be fifty, ’cause I got one of those cards around. Can you drive me to the bank when we’re done with this? And then to the supermarket? And then to the other supermarket? And then to the bakery? There’s a nice Oriental girl there who gives me a discount. She has an ugly face, but that’s her business. Your father would put me in a taxi. He thinks I’m cheap, but he’s the cheap one, because he won’t come out here to get me. It’s good to hold your money in a fist. If you don’t believe me, no one will.
And anyway - you wanna fresh sliced tomato? - some mornings I don’t feel any pain. I’m not complaining. There are worse things than pain. How could I be unhappy with that hair of yours! You probably didn’t appreciate this, but when you were a baby I used to sing you to sleep with the American alphabet. By the time you were two you could speak better than me. That was my Nobel Prize! You were my diamonds and pearls! My revenge!
But then I have pains, I gotta tell you. They start at the ends of my fingernails, almost like little animals biting me. Eventually they spread somewhat. And in the chest. The scan said nothing is wrong, but you think that makes any difference to my chest? Who do you trust? My body isn’t good anymore. What did I expect? With my hemorrhoids it’s OK to be sitting or standing. But even sitting is difficult when I’m making a number two. Can I ask you a personal question? Do you have a list of the serial numbers of your savings bonds? I know it’s none of my business.
How’s your brother? He’s doing great. I think he’s great. I think he’s somewhat lonely. He calls me every day. He thinks I’m lonely. When’s he gonna get married? He needs to meet a nice girl. Such a brain! There’s nothing he can’t do. He’s losing his hair, but that doesn’t matter. Everyone gets older. Whenever I think about you I go crazy. You’re so gorgeous! I’m somewhat lonely in this house. I’ve taken your time. The machine’s working? You think I’m dying. It’s OK. You don’t have to say anything. I know. I know you all have been lying to me. When they bring out the tape recorder, it’s either because of a school project or because you’re dying. And you graduated from Princeton University nine years ago.
So I need you to promise me something. Come close. Somewhat closer. You know that your grandmother never asks anything of you, but this is one thing. I beg you, no matter what happens, no matter where you go in life or how many millions you make, no matter anything, I beg you: never buy a German car.
So wha’d’ya wanna talk about?
Soleil
Vendela Vida
‘Well, looks like Soleil is coming to visit,’ Gabrielle’s mother announced, hanging up the phone. Gabrielle was setting the kitchen table while her father concocted a dressing for the salad.
‘You mean S-s-s-soleil,’ Gabrielle’s father said.
‘Stop it,’ her mother said, but laughed. The orange lipstick she’d worn all day at the bank had faded, leaving only a few vertical stripes in the dry creases of her lips.
‘S-s-s-s-stop it,’ her father said.
Gabrielle’s mother turned to her. ‘Soleil stutters.’
The name Soleil began to collect random anecdotes and attributes from the corners of Gabrielle’s memory. Wasn’t Soleil her mother’s college roommate in Hawaii? Gabrielle had seen a photo of this woman waterskiing while wearing a top hat - it made her look six feet tall and, Gabrielle thought, like a magician.
‘Is she still a hand model?’ Gabrielle’s father asked.
Gabrielle suddenly remembered something else. ‘Didn’t she used to go through your garbage?’
‘No, she’s not a hand model. And it was just one time with the garbage,’ her mother said dismissively. ‘She said it was work-related. ’ Gabrielle’s mom shared a smile with her husband. ‘I think, if anything, she had a little crush on your dad.’
Gabrielle didn’t look at her father - his reaction, she was sure, would embarrass or upset her, though she couldn’t say why. She hoped he wouldn’t stutter again; Gabrielle felt sorry for Soleil, and for anyone with any sort of impediment. Her best friend at school, Melanie, had only four toes on her right foot, and Gabrielle had recently been successful at convincing her she could wear sandals.
‘Where’s Soleil living now?’ Gabrielle’s father asked.
‘You know, I don’t know,’ her mother said slowly. ‘Maybe Texas? A part of me thinks she’s still going from friend to friend, man to man.’
‘Huh,’ her father said, sounding impressed
.
Soleil arrived at the house on a Tuesday evening in July. Gabrielle’s parents were both at work, but they had instructed her to let Soleil in and to give her fresh towels and a snack.
‘Hi, beauty,’ Soleil said when she stepped inside the door. ‘You look just like Jack.’
Jack was Gabrielle’s father. She didn’t know how Soleil had reached such a verdict so quickly.
‘Thank you,’ Gabrielle said, and studied Soleil’s face. Her eyes were the color of nutmeg, and her wide cheeks were so flat they seemed pressed up against glass. Her hair was brown and straight, except at the bangs, where it hung in a series of ‘S’s.
‘Wow, there are more mirrors here than at Versailles,’ Soleil said, looking around her. ‘Your parents are rich.’
It felt like a judgment. ‘Not really,’ Gabrielle said.
‘What do you mean, not really?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘Well, the fact that you’ve never thought about it means you’re rich.’
Gabrielle knew they weren’t rich and she knew they weren’t poor. She wanted her parents to come home so Soleil wouldn’t talk about money. ‘The only place it’s appropriate to talk about money is at the bank,’ Gabrielle’s mother often said. Maybe that’s why she worked at one; she was senior teller.
‘There’s food in the kitchen,’ Gabrielle offered. ‘My parents won’t be home for another couple hours.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Soleil said.
Gabrielle didn’t know what she would be kidding about.
‘I’m not going to waste a night in Santa Cruz waiting in a kitchen. Let’s go and get a drink. Is there an Italian restaurant nearby?’
They sat at the bar. Gabrielle had never been so aware of her posture and her age. She was eleven. She wore a lavender corduroy dress with a long-ribboned bow at the collar. Soleil wore a camisole under a burgundy velvet blazer, a small electronic heart pinned to her left lapel. The heart blinked its red light twice in rapid succession, and then paused before blinking twice again.