The Misfortunes of Others

by Gloria Dank

  “No.”

  “You could come visit us, both of you. Snooky said you could. He said our hosts wouldn’t mind, and believe me, Maya, this house is so big I nearly got lost once. I ended up in a third-floor bathroom and thought I’d never see the beach again.”

  “No, no, you’re having your own vacation, we don’t want to intrude. Besides, Bernard hates the sun and the heat, he’s like a bear, he can’t take the sun.”

  “But you would love it, sweetie.”

  “What difference does that make?” Maya asked bitterly. “Since when do my wishes count for anything? All I am is a giant incubating machine. My own genes aren’t concerned with me anymore, they’ve turned their attention to the next generation, so why should anyone else care about me? I’m obsolete … outmoded. Every day I feel calcium leaching out of my spine to make the baby.”

  Weezy shuddered. “How … horrible.”

  “Exactly.”

  Later, lying on the beach drinking papaya juice and watching the sunset, Weezy remarked, “Your sister sounds depressed.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes. She was talking about the baby sucking calcium out of her spine to make its own bones.”

  “What a disgusting idea.”

  “I can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over. Are all pregnant women this way?”

  “No. Maya’s always been high-strung. Everything is always a cause for alarm.”

  “She’s getting ready to take Lamaze classes. Should I tell her what my mother used to tell me, that anyone who refers to childbirth pain as ‘discomfort’ should be hit over the head with a large ice pick?”

  Snooky was busy trying to train one of the lizards to respond to his commands. “Go,” he said imperiously. “Come. Come back here. Go. Sit. Sit! Oh, damn.”

  “Never had a dog, did you?”

  “No, and frankly, I’ve never gotten over it. Come here. Sit. Sit down. Stop. Go. That’s right, go! Hey, Weezy, I think it’s getting the hang of it.”

  Weezy watched him for a while barking orders at the sand lizards as they swarmed around him, intent on their own errands. Finally she stretched luxuriously and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back at the house when you’re ready to go out for dinner.”

  Bernard, alone in his office, with the windows pulled all the way up and the pungent smell of the pine tree outside his window drifting in, was having trouble concentrating. He had followed Sophie and Sylvie along on their adventures, in their quest for the lost path of the lobster migration, but now he had come to a standstill. He chewed on one fingernail, typed a few words, crossed them out with a large red pencil, then typed a few more. At last, with a heavy sigh, he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the two letters Weezy had received.

  He had found that these letters, even shut away in a drawer, had a way of disturbing him when his attention was supposed to be elsewhere. For the hundredth time since Weezy had gone away, he perused the envelopes carefully, then took the letters out and re-read them. By now he knew their messages by heart.

  I DESTROYED YOUR PAINTINGS BECAUSE YOU DONT DESERVE TO HAVE AN EXHIBIT YOU HAVE NO TALENT YOU ARE NO GOOD DO YOU HEAR ME YOU ARE NO GOOD

  YOU THINK YOU ARE SUCH A BIG DEAL YOU THINK YOU ARE SUCH A GREAT ARTIST IM JUST AS GOOD AS YOU IM BETTER I DONT KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE TRYING TO IMPRESS EVERYBODY

  Again he frowned over them. The vicious messages stood out in stark contrast to the cheerful golden letters. He was puzzled, and angry at himself. There was something Weezy had said in his company … something she had mentioned, that had not made much of an impression at the time, but now was sitting in the back of his consciousness, scrabbling away at him, trying to get his attention. It was almost a physical pain to try to remember it, it was such a tiny thing, almost a throw-away line, and yet … and yet …

  Bernard frowned, willing himself to remember. He closed his eyes, searching the black vault of his brain. It was useless. The memory would not reveal itself. He opened his eyes and put the letters down on the desk. It was maddening not to know who had sent them. In the hothouse environment of Weezy’s art world, who was sufficiently driven by hate and jealousy to laboriously put these poison-pen messages together and mail them?

  The door opened and Maya came in. He shoved the letters hastily back into the drawer. She perched on the edge of his leather armchair and kissed the top of his head.

  “Reading those letters again?”

  Bernard nodded guiltily.

  “I imagine you must have them memorized by now, sweetheart.”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’ll take my advice, you’ll stop torturing yourself. You don’t even know these people, Bernard. How can you possibly guess who sent it?”

  “Snooky described them to me.”

  Maya met this with a contemptuous snort. “Snooky! All right, I agree he has a good eye and a way with people, but whoever wrote those letters must be very good at camouflaging themselves. Not even Snooky could pick it up. And who knows what’s really going on? All artists are nuts … except Weezy, of course.”

  This was very much in line with what Bernard had been thinking. He nodded again.

  “I just came back from watering Weezy’s plants. I stopped off on the way back from the store. The house seems so deserted. I wish they would come back home.”

  “They can’t, Maya. They’re far too busy drinking rum and dancing in the moonlight.”

  “It’s been over a month already.”

  “I’m sure it’s good for Weezy. You’ve said how happy she sounds on the phone.”

  “That’s true.” Maya played with the button on the oversized shirt she was wearing, one of Bernard’s. “Do you think we should go away, too?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Where should we go?”

  He put an arm around her. “Wherever you want.”

  “Oh, what’s the use, anyway? What am I going to do, drag my massive bulk around the Berkshires or something? What kind of a vacation can you take when you weigh a ton?”

  “You don’t weigh a ton.” He patted her stomach. “The doctor said your weight gain is fine. You look wonderful.”

  “I’m so hot all the time, Bernard, my body temperature is way up. I always used to be cold. Oh, look, the baby’s kicking.”

  They sat for a moment in pleased silence, watching the shirt jump as the baby did underwater somersaults.

  “How are things going with Sophie?” Maya asked.

  “Not good.”

  “Are you still planning to call your lobster Sophie?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve decided I like Rebecca better. Don’t you?”

  “I like Rebecca.”

  “Or Rachel. And if it’s a boy, I’m thinking Justin.”

  “Justin?”

  “Justin. What’s wrong with Justin?”

  “Nothing. How about Leo?”

  “Leo? Why Leo?”

  “I had a friend named Leo. I like the name Leo. It’s a strong name for a boy.”

  “Hmmmm,” said Maya. “Okay. Justin or Leo. Or Jared.”

  “Jared?”

  “Yes, Jared. Remember my friend from college, Suzie? She named her little boy Jared. I thought it was a nice name.”

  Bernard shuddered. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Well, I’m just saying. I’m just trying to have a discussion.”

  “Can we discuss names over dinner?”

  “What, and spoil our appetite?” said Maya, heaving herself off the armchair and closing the door gently behind her.

  SEVEN

  WEEZY AND SNOOKY stayed away all summer long. “We should go,” Weezy would say at least once every few days, but they didn’t go, they stayed in their island paradise. They outstayed their hosts, who flew to their home in Scotland in the middle of August. Nancy gave them the keys to the house, left them with instructions to enjoy themselves, and thanked them (as Snooky had predicted) for helping to look a
fter the place.

  “She must be kidding,” Weezy said. “The housekeeper looks after this place. We just abuse it.”

  “No, no, I told you. They’re grateful to us.”

  Meanwhile, in Connecticut, the summer days dragged by. The cold spell had passed and now the weather was unbearably hot and humid. Maya’s body temperature rocketed when she went outside, so she spent more and more time in her bedroom, lying with five or six pillows strategically arrayed around her swollen body, watching TV for hours. Her apathy worried Bernard.

  “We have to get away,” he said one day. “I know you don’t want to fly and you couldn’t stand a long car ride. How about the Berkshires, after all?”

  “I don’t know,” said Maya, lying in darkness with the reflected TV image flickering over her face. “I’m sort of enjoying it here.”

  “We have to get away. The Berkshires are only a couple of hours. Remember the Ivanhoe.”

  The Ivanhoe was a beautiful little inn surrounded by mountains.

  “I don’t know,” said Maya again. “Maybe. What would we do with Misty?”

  “What did we do last time we went there?”

  “We left her with Paul.”

  Paul Sanders was their next-door neighbor. He lived in a geodesic dome which had almost frightened Bernard away from the whole neighborhood.

  Bernard’s forehead crinkled. “We did?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, Bernard. The Ivanhoe doesn’t take dogs, remember?”

  Bernard sat down on the bed. “I’m worried about Paul. He’s ninety years old if he’s a day.”

  “Eighty-seven.”

  “No way.”

  “Eighty-seven, sweetheart. He told me so.”

  “Then he’s a liar as well as being old,” said Bernard with energy. “He could die tomorrow and Misty would starve to death.”

  “He’s in perfect health. He’s more energetic than I am.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Then we don’t have to go.”

  Bernard cocked a worried eye at her. “No. No. We have to go. We have to get away from here. We have to breathe the clean mountain air. We have to walk on unspoiled paths. We have to commune with Nature.”

  “Oh, God,” said Maya, stuffing another pillow under her knees. “It sounds exhausting. Leave me at home. I’ll take care of Misty, and you can go.”

  In the end, they surrendered the dog to the tender care of their next-door neighbor and spent a week at the Ivanhoe. They walked on unspoiled paths, breathed the clean mountain air and explored the local antique stores. Maya grew happier and more relaxed as the days went by. Their visit was marred only by the fact that the double bed was much too small for two adults and the number of pillows Maya required in order to get to sleep at night.

  “I can’t help it,” she snarled at him one night, “I need these pillows. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to have a stomach this large?”

  “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

  “No, no. Here. There’s a space over here that’s almost big enough for you. Just don’t move around a lot in the night. And don’t snore, I get so little sleep as it is.”

  “I do not snore.”

  “Bernard, I regret to inform you that you snore all night long. I never noticed before, but now that I have to get up to go to the bathroom four hundred times a night, it’s struck me how much you snore. I lie awake listening to it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Just don’t snore. Is there room enough for you now?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Bernard said heavily. “Two or three inches at the edge of the bed are all I need for a good night’s sleep.”

  Despite his complaints, Bernard would fall asleep almost at once, exhausted from the long walks, leaving Maya to lie awake and watch the moonlight creep across the floor and spill onto the Victorian chaise. She would turn and twist, rearranging pillows, cursing under her breath, trying desperately to get comfortable. Lying on her stomach, her favorite sleeping position, was an impossibility. When she lay on her back, she felt as if she were drowning; as if a large hand had come down on her chest and firmly clamped off her supply of air. So she twisted from side to side, heaving her stomach back and forth, cursing her slumbering husband, far away in his dreams. At last she fell into a fitful doze, to awaken with a start, her mind filled with images of the baby: so solid and real, moving inside of her, and yet somehow not real at all.

  One day in early September, when the weather was still sultry and hot, Bernard opened his front door to find Snooky and Weezy standing there.

  “Weezy,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

  “I’m back, too, Bernard,” said Snooky.

  “Yes, so I see.”

  “We’re sorry we stayed away so long,” said Weezy. “Where’s Maya?”

  “Upstairs.” His gaze swept over them. They looked relaxed and happy. They were dressed in island white, which showed off their tans to advantage, and Weezy’s hair had turned the most astonishing amber color in the sun. Her skin was golden and her hair was aflame in yellow and red.

  “Weezy,” he said, “you look like a torch.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you. Are you going to move aside, sweetie, and let us come in?”

  Bernard moved aside obediently. “I don’t think you should let Maya see you. It’s too depressing. It’ll just set her off.”

  “Why?”

  “You look … well, relaxed.”

  “She’s not relaxed? How is she doing?”

  “Does the phrase ‘third trimester’ mean anything to you?” Bernard went upstairs ahead of them. He knocked softly on the bedroom door. “Maya? There are some people here who I think you might want to see.”

  Maya looked up from a pile of pillows. Her face lit up as they came into the room. She stretched out her arms.

  “Snooky,” she said with a half-sob. “Weezy. You didn’t … you didn’t tell me—”

  “We didn’t have a chance,” said Weezy, laughing and hugging her. She pushed the pillows aside and curled up on the bed. “We decided this morning. All of a sudden I said, ‘Let’s go,’ and Snooky agreed, and so we packed up and went to the airport. It was time, anyway, with the baby coming so soon. I’m sorry we stayed away so long.”

  “You look wonderful, Missy,” said her brother, surveying her with approval. “Fecund is the word, I think.”

  “I’m enormous,” said Maya in despair, patting her stomach. “I never thought I’d be this big, honestly I didn’t. The doctor says the baby is going to be over eight pounds. Eight pounds! How do they explain the other seventy-two?”

  “Now, now, get a grip on yourself, Missy. You don’t look like you’ve gained that much.”

  “No, no, not quite, but you know what I mean. In that league.”

  “And you’re taking Lamaze classes? You and Bernard?”

  “Yes, yes, they’re wonderful. We do all this breathing together. It seems that if you breathe right, it doesn’t really hurt at all. Not at all!”

  “Amazing,” said Weezy. “How amazing.”

  “Yes, and we’ve been practicing the breathing together at night. Breathing and pushing. I think we’re almost ready. The nursery is all set up—you should see it, Weeze, with the little white crib and everything—and I even bought my first toy for the baby, a little white bear.” Maya scrabbled among the pillows and lifted up the bear, which regarded them solemnly from its button eyes. “I keep it here, next to me.”

  She cradled the bear and burst into helpless sobs.

  “Jesus,” said Snooky later, after they had calmed Maya down and he and Bernard had retreated to the kitchen for a restorative cup of coffee. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

  “Eighth month,” said Bernard, pouring two big mugs. “Thirty-fourth week. Only six more weeks to go.” He handed Snooky one, and added cream and sugar to his own. He sat down at the table and leaned his
head against his hand. The dog came wandering in, her toenails clicking against the tile floor, and lay down on his feet.

  “Has it been this way all summer? She didn’t sound this bad on the phone.”

  “No, no, it comes and goes. She felt pretty good during the middle trimester, but now she’s uncomfortable most of the time. She can’t wait for the whole thing to be over.”

  “Well, frankly, neither can anyone else.”

  “Really? The two of you don’t look like you’ve been losing sleep over it.”

  Snooky grinned at him serenely. “No, we had a wonderful time.”

  Bernard grunted. He drank his coffee.

  “Have you taken care of Weezy’s place?”

  “Maya watered all the plants once a week, even, may I add, when she wasn’t feeling well, and—”

  “Hold on. Why didn’t you take over for her?”

  Bernard threw him a contemptuous glance. “Do you think she’d let me take care of the plants? She knows I’m not a plant person. Naturally I offered, but she said she wanted to do it. She was convinced that without her loving touch all the plants would keel over and die. I spent quite a lot of time trying to disabuse her of that notion, but she didn’t want to listen to me.”

  “Oh. That’s true, I remember what happened when she gave you that little cactus. She told me you were the only person she ever knew who could kill a plant that didn’t even need to be watered for half the year.”

  “Well, it damn well needed to be watered the other half of the year,” said Bernard with asperity.

  “Every living thing needs water sometime, you know. I mean, it’s a fact of life. The universal solvent. Why don’t you set up a Japanese stone garden or something? That sounds like it might be more in your line.”

  Bernard shrugged. “I followed all your long-distance instructions. I called Weezy’s cleaning lady last week, and opened the front door so she could get in. We went by later and locked up. Anything else on your list?”

  “Yes. I have to pick up Weezy’s mail for the whole summer.”

  “She has to do that, they won’t give it to you.”

  “I don’t want her to do it. I was wondering if you would come with me. They know you down at the post office, and if Weezy called they might let you pick up her mail. Don’t you think so?”