Late Stories

by Stephen Dixon

  He bought a recording of Sibelius’s Fifth when they got back to New York, brought it to Baltimore with about fifty other LP’s and his old record player, and listened to it a couple of times. They got married a year and a half later, had a baby eight months after that, kept their apartment in New York but lived most of the time in a much larger apartment in Baltimore. The baby slept in a pram in their bedroom her first few months—four or five; six, maybe; he forgets how long. She awoke one night and started crying very loud and, unlike previous times, they couldn’t get her to stop. She didn’t need to be changed or fed, and he checked and both diaper pins were fully clasped. He thought maybe some music and the motion of the pram being wheeled about the apartment will get her back to sleep. Whenever she was in the car seat in the car and they drove off, she fell asleep almost immediately. He wheeled her into the living room, wanted to put on Rubenstein playing Chopin’s Nocturnes, but couldn’t find the record in the milk crate he thought it was in. Mahler’s Fifth Symphony was still on the turntable. He’d played it when he and his wife were having dinner that night. He put on the slow movement, turned off the lights and wheeled her around the apartment in the dark. She continued to cry. He took the Mahler off, put on the second side of Sibelius’s Fifth and pushed the pram around. The baby fell asleep in about ten minutes. He lifted the needle off the record, which he was going to do before those final chords came if she hadn’t fallen back to sleep by then, and wheeled her back to the bedroom. “Good job,” his wife whispered.

  A week or so later the baby woke up around 2 a.m. and started crying loudly again without letup. He got out of bed and checked her and everything seemed all right: double diapers dry, safety pins closed, and his wife said she fed her just an hour ago while he was asleep. “We’ve got to do something,” he said. “The neighbors.” “Want me to handle it this time?” and he said “No, I like doing it, and you should sleep.” He wheeled the baby into the living room, put on side two of Sibelius’s Fifth Symphony, adjusted the volume till he could only faintly hear it, and pushed the pram around the room, staying pretty close to the speakers. She continued to cry. He picked her up, held her against his chest, her blanket still covering her, and walked around the room with her in the dark, kissing the top of her head every now and then. She fell asleep in a few minutes. He sat on the couch, still holding her close to his chest and kissing the top of her head and her fingers till the record was over and the needle returned to the holder automatically. The volume was set so low that the final chords didn’t disturb her. He put her in the pram, felt her diapers—they were dry—and wheeled her to the bedroom. “Everything okay?” his wife said, and he said “Fine, wonderful, couldn’t be better. What a doll we got,” and he got back into bed and held her from behind and soon fell asleep.

  Acknowledgments

  Stories in this collection appeared in the following magazines, to which the author and publisher extend their thanks: “Wife in Reverse” in Matchbook Literary Magazine; “Another Sad Story,” “Vera” and “Therapy” in Idaho Review; “Two Women” in Per Contra; “The Dead,” “The Girl” and “What They’ll Find” in Boulevard; “On or Along the Way” and “Alone” in Berlin Quarterly; “Cape May” and “Talk” in The American Reader; “Go to Sleep” in Unsaid; “Cochran,” “That First Time” and “Just What is Not” in New England Review; “Crazy” in Okey-Panky; “One Thing to Another” in Apology; “Remember” and “The Dream and the Photograph” in The Hopkins Review; “The Vestry” and “Intermezzo” in Fifth Wednesday; “Two Parts” in Harper’s; “Haven’t a Clue” in AGNI; “Feel Good” in The Southern Review; “Flowers” in Glimmer Train; “A Different End” in Story Magazine, and “Holding On” in Story Quarterly.

  “Wife in Reverse” also appeared in Matchbook New And Selected (Matchbook). “The Dead” also appeared in Pushcart Prize 38, 2014 (Pushcart Press) and The Best of Boulevard (Boulevard). “Talk” also appeared in The O. Henry Prize Stories, 2014 (Anchor Books).