The Misfortunes of Others

by Gloria Dank

  “Not really. A little. Why?”

  “Well, I remember when Janey was born.” Janey was Weezy’s youngest sister in a family of four girls. “I was ten. I remember it well. It was horrible. Horrible! My mom was exhausted all the time. Of course, she had the other three of us to worry about. But I was old enough to help her, and I helped a lot with Janey, even more than I had with the others. Well, I’ll never forget it. Janey was this whiny little blob of a thing that cried nonstop for months and nursed my mother’s breasts off and never, ever slept. It was a nightmare. Oh, not to discourage you, sweetie, I’m sure yours will be an angel. But sometimes I think having to help with my younger sisters turned me off of babies entirely. It’s not the way they tell you it’s going to be.”

  Maya sat down next to her on the bed. “I know. At least … I think I do. I remember a bit with Snooky. I was only five when he was born, but I remember him when he was little, and he was a real pain. Of course, Snooky’s always been a real pain. Oh, no offense.”

  “And it would be hard for me to get any work done with a baby. They don’t need you just occasionally, you know, it’s all the time.”

  “I know.”

  “And the diapers. I’ve never forgiven Janey for the diapers. That was my job when she was little. I can still barely talk about it, it was a nightmare. It ruined my relationship with her forever.”

  “You had to do too much,” Maya protested.

  “Well, maybe, but at least I got a glimpse of what it’s like. Think of all the people who have babies and have never even held one before. At least you helped raise Snooky, you know what it’s all about.”

  “I know, but … Bernard is afraid it’s going to change everything. We have so much freedom now. We’re not tied down at all.”

  “Well, I’m sure it does change everything. The only thing is, there must be some rewards, or nobody would have more than one kid. Look at my parents, they had four, even though it was so hard.”

  “And are they glad?”

  “Well, no,” Weezy said. “I don’t think so. I mean, Janey’s a real pill—even my mom can’t stand her—and Mattie’s so wild, they’re constantly fretting over her. It’s only recently that I’ve been able to make any money from my work, so they were bailing me out financially for years. Only Rose has a real job and a real husband and family and everything. Of course she always did suck up to them, even when she was little, that little do-gooder.” She subsided, brooding. “Not to discourage you from having a large family.”

  “Well, do you think I don’t know? Snooky and William have always been at each other’s throats. They’re complete opposites. Family get-togethers are ordeals from hell, as Bernard calls them.”

  “This isn’t the right conversation to be having while you’re pregnant. Bad vibes for the baby. Remember that Snooky and I are dying to baby-sit, so you’ll get out sometimes. Think of us as extended family. Well, I guess Snooky already is.”

  “And so are you,” said Maya, giving her an affectionate hug.

  Alice let out a gasp of horror. “Oh, no … Weezy … look … look at this!”

  She had opened up the wooden case in which she kept her paints and her brushes. Now she stood staring into it, her eyes wide with shock.

  Weezy came to stand at her side. She nodded grimly. The tubes of paint had been opened and their contents squeezed all over the inside of the case. Colorful swirls of blue and gold and pink and green lay intertwined like snakes. The brushes had been taken out and smeared in the paint. The bottle of thinner had been emptied over everything. A rank smell arose from the soaked wood.

  Alice’s lips were trembling. “I don’t believe this.”

  Weezy turned to look at her face. She felt some pity stir in her as she saw the shock and disbelief. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “This is supposed to be an art class,” said Weezy, raising her voice for the benefit of the other students, who were watching them silently. “Not an invitation to destruction and mayhem. When’s the last time you saw your case, Alice?”

  “Last week. I left it here. I always leave it here. I have another one at home.”

  Weezy calculated rapidly in her head. Last week … but nobody had come in, as they so often did, during the week. Nobody, that is, except Mrs. Castor, who had dropped by a few days ago to ask for some help with a drawing she was struggling with. And she was damned if it was Mrs. Castor who had done this. It must have been one of the others, at the end of last week’s class. She tried to remember who had lingered behind, but it was impossible; one class blurred into the next, week after week after week. She rubbed her cheek wearily. She had been doing this too long already.

  “All right,” she said. “There’s one thing I’d like all of you to know. Any more episodes like this, and the class is over—for good. I can’t teach under these circumstances, and you sure as hell can’t learn. Is that understood?”

  Everyone nodded. Snooky, in the back of the room, stood with his arms folded, watching their faces closely.

  “Alice, let’s get this mess cleaned up. I’ll help you. Everyone else, back to work.”

  Alice sullenly began to clean the inside of the paintbox with a cloth. The other four turned back to their work. Mrs. Castor, Snooky noted, looked very upset. She stood silently in front of the easel, her hands clasped together, her brushes lying unused on a chair by her side. Elmo resumed work as if nothing at all had happened, and soon was painting furiously. Nikki looked anxious, but then Nikki always did look anxious. She was fiddling with her paints and making tiny, nervous strokes on the paper. Jennifer, when she turned to steal a glance at Alice, had a wooden, immobile expression on her face. Her gaze met Snooky’s, faintly mocking him, challenging him to know what she was thinking behind the dark curtain of her eyes.

  “More destruction,” he said to Weezy later, as they were preparing dinner together.

  “Yes.”

  “Not a coincidence, perhaps?”

  “No.” She sounded dispirited.

  “Somebody has a penchant for wrecking things.”

  “Yes. What have you done with my olive oil?”

  He indicated with a knife. “Over there. On the counter.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “None of them seemed terribly upset by what happened, except for Mrs. Castor.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Castor’s an angel. I love Mrs. Castor. I’m going to ask her to come live with us. Do you think Mr. Castor would mind?” She poured some olive oil into a frying pan.

  “Is there a Mr. Castor?”

  “Oh, my goodness, yes. They’ve been married for about a million years. He drops her off in the car and picks her up at the end of class. When she gets in the car he opens the door and hands her in like she’s a treasure. Which she is, if you ask me.”

  “So who do you think did it? I assume you’re not including Mrs. Castor, after those paeans to her character.”

  She turned the burner on and rolled the pan from side to side. She was frowning. “I honestly don’t know. It could have been any of the other three. God knows they hate Alice enough. And after the stink she made about her brush being used, well …”

  “She deserved it.”

  “Oh, nobody deserves that, Snooky. It’s so spiteful, so childish. God, they can’t even think of mature ways of taking revenge on somebody. It’s like running a nursery school.”

  “How long have they all known each other?”

  She shrugged. “For a couple of years now, I guess. I taught them in New York before I came here. All except Mrs. Castor. She joined the class when I moved.”

  “What do you know about them personally? What about Elmo and Jennifer?”

  She poured a bowlful of chopped vegetables into the pan and stirred them with a wooden spoon. “They’ve lived together for maybe three years now, and known each other much longer. She’s not as good an artist as he is, and she knows it. I think it bothers her sometimes, but she loves him. He li
kes his work better than he likes her, but at least she’s second best.”

  “How do they support themselves? I assume they’re not making a living from their artwork?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just telling your sister how I leeched off my parents for years. No, Elmo’s rich. His father’s an international businessman or something like that. You know the type. He hates what Elmo’s doing, but he supports him anyway. And Elmo supports Jennifer.”

  “How about Nikki?”

  “Nikki tries hard,” Weezy said briefly. “I don’t know much about her. She lives by herself in some dump that she’s been in for years. She has dreams of making it in the art world.”

  “And will she?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s not as talented as the others. Of course, you never know. It’s hard to tell what’s going to catch on. Meanwhile, she works as a waitress to support herself and does her painting in her off hours.”

  “And Alice?”

  “Alice does set design for the theater. And makes a pretty penny off it, too. Sometimes she works for the movies or TV and makes an absolute fortune.”

  “Do you think she’ll try to take revenge on the class for what happened today?”

  She spooned the cooked vegetables into a serving bowl and carried it out to the dining room table. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a vindictive person, certainly. But she also likes to play the poor injured victim, poor Alice who’s always being ripped off and misunderstood, so she may simply enjoy sulking for a while. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Does she enjoy playing the victim enough to do it to herself?”

  “What do you mean? Mess up her paints like that herself? Why?”

  “I’m just saying that the person with the easiest access to that paintbox was Alice.”

  “What a mind you have,” she said, amused. “I don’t know. It hadn’t occurred to me. She seemed so upset by what happened.”

  Snooky opened the oven door to check on the roast chicken. “It’s done.” He put it on a platter, carried it to the table and began to carve it. “White meat? Dark meat?”

  “Both.”

  Over dinner they chatted about other things, carefully avoiding any discussion about art, paintings, or Weezy’s class. They argued over the merit of an action-adventure movie they had seen on TV the night before (“Did everybody have to die except Schwarzenegger and his girlfriend? I mean, everybody?” asked Weezy), and gossiped about Maya and Bernard.

  “I think she’s getting really nervous,” said Weezy.

  “Oh, yes. When I went over there the other day she held onto me and asked with tears in her eyes whether I thought it would change everything once the baby’s born.”

  “Really? What did you say?”

  “I said I thought so, yes. Well, what did you want me to say?” he said, seeing the disapproval on her face. “Obviously the baby’s going to change their lifestyle. No more leisurely Sunday brunches, no more picking up and going whenever they feel like it. I told her that Bernard could use more responsibility, he’s too lighthearted as it is.”

  “And what did she say to that?”

  “She said I wouldn’t know about responsibility since I’ve never had any. She said she didn’t want to talk about it any more.”

  “Well, at least you made her feel better.”

  “There’s no use cushioning the blow, Weezy. She’ll find out soon enough. What have you been telling her?”

  “Oh, the same sort of thing, but in a much nicer way. I’m a kinder person than you are, you know.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And the two of them are dying to have this baby, you know that, they’ve been talking about it for years.”

  “Really? No, I didn’t know that. Nobody talked to me about it.”

  “They were probably too busy trying to figure out how to ask you to leave,” said Weezy, patting his hand.

  Snooky did not take offense. “Oh, they love my visits. Well, Maya does, anyway. Bernard is a misanthrope, he can’t be expected to enjoy company.”

  “Bernard is a wonderful, decent, kind, warmhearted human being. I won’t hear him maligned like that.”

  “He may be decent,” said Snooky. “He is not kind. I do not find him wonderful, and he is not warmhearted in the least. You are seriously deluded about him, believe me. I speak as someone who knows.”

  She shook her head and laughed.

  At that moment, Bernard was sitting in his study, staring at a page in the typewriter. Sophie and Sylvie were going off together to find the path of the lobster migration. Since Sophie could travel faster, she was carrying her friend in one large claw. Every so often Sylvie would open her shell and hiss instructions at her.

  “This way!”

  “That way!”

  “Over here!”

  “Over there!”

  Sophie was weary. She had been traveling for a long time, and she doubted that she could find her friends. She had been lost for so very long. Bernard rested his chin on one fist. He was weary, too. It was difficult, moving around on the bottom of the sea. It required a great deal of concentration. Right now he had just eaten dinner, and his digestive system was signaling for more blood from his brain. He closed his eyes as his brain complied and his thoughts shut down.

  As he sat there, eyes closed, in a state of dreamy lassitude, Weezy’s face swam into his mind’s eye. She had called Maya after class with the latest news, and Maya had told him. So somebody had wrecked Alice’s paintbox now. Served her right, thought Bernard. She was practically begging for trouble, that girl. Like Snooky, he was wondering if she had done it herself, to keep herself in the limelight. Maybe things had gotten too boring in class for her taste. There was no telling what people would do. Bernard, who preferred the safe and familiar, preferred not to meet any new people, since they were inherently unpredictable. However, he thought … he just thought that it was time to find out more about these art students. Not him, of course—no, no, he shuddered at the idea. Snooky would do it. Somebody had a taste for violence, and Bernard felt it was important to find out who that was. Snooky would do it, he thought. That was Snooky’s kind of thing.

  He put his head down on the desk and began to snore.

  The next time Snooky dropped by the house to bring Maya some food (“I just want to make sure you’re not starving, Missy, trapped here alone with Bernard”), Bernard cornered him in the kitchen.

  “I want you to find out more about Weezy’s students.”

  “I’m already spying on them as much as I possibly can. What more do you want?”

  “You have to talk to them more. You haven’t talked to them enough.”

  Snooky stared at him. “This from the man who never talks to anybody if he can help it?”

  “Be more sociable,” urged Bernard. “Turn on your charm. According to Maya, you have some. Use it. Be chatty. Hang around after class and talk to them.”

  “And what should I talk about, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to see as you go along. Be inventive. You’re good at that type of thing. You do want to help Weezy, don’t you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “So there you are,” said Bernard. “This’ll never stop until we find out who’s doing it.”

  “Whoever it is has covered their tracks pretty damn well.”

  “But a pattern is emerging, don’t you think? The same kind of thing. The same rather childish way of getting back at somebody.”

  “I guess so.”

  “A pattern,” said Bernard, his eyes glowing. “A pattern of destruction. Somebody who’s been taking every opportunity they can find. Maybe that girl Alice, except … except that it’s too obvious. Maybe somebody who’s doing everything they can to make it look like it’s her.”

  Snooky regarded him doubtfully. “Do you get any work at all done up there in your study? Or do you spend your whole time thinking about Weezy’s problems? I’m not judging you, you u
nderstand, I’m just asking.”

  “Try to find out more,” said Bernard, moving away. “We need to know more.” He left the room.

  “Easy for you to say!” Snooky yelled after him.

  “What’s easy?” Maya said, coming into the kitchen with an empty teacup in her hand.

  “Oh, nothing, Missy. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Just Bernard being himself.”

  His sister looked at him inquiringly, but said no more.

  After the next class, Snooky put down his paintbrush and edged up to Elmo.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Elmo did not respond. His arms were crossed and he was staring at the canvas in front of him.

  “Good work,” said Snooky. He kept his voice low, so as not to be overheard.

  “Do you mind?” Elmo said irritably. “I’m working here.” He picked up his brush and made a small stroke at the edge of the painting.

  “I was wondering if you had any idea who messed up Alice’s stuff last week. It’s really upsetting Weezy, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

  Elmo turned away from the painting and looked at him for a long, seemingly endless moment. Snooky tried an affable smile, but was frozen by that look until the smile slipped away and he was sure he resembled nothing more than a deer trapped in the headlights.

  Then Elmo surprised him. “I have a very good idea who did it.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  Elmo shook his head.

  “Would you tell Weezy if she asked you nicely?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look, stop pestering me, okay? I don’t know what Weezy thinks she’s doing, planting you like a spy in the back of the room, but we’re not idiots here. We know what’s going on. And if you don’t know who’s causing all the trouble here, then you’re the only one. I can’t believe Weezy doesn’t know who slashed her paintings. I sure as hell do.” Elmo’s face was flushed. He clamped his lips firmly together, as if he had said too much, and turned away. “Leave me alone,” he said fiercely.