by Gloria Dank
Gretchen and Albert had returned from their honeymoon and were sitting around the breakfast table on Sunday morning, reading The New York Times. Gretchen had the Arts and Leisure section and was going through it avidly, reading out loud.
“There’s a sculpture exhibit on at the Museum of Modern Art.… I’m afraid I’ve never understood these sculptures of headless torsos and things. When it happens to Greek statues it’s sad enough, but to do it deliberately … hmmmmm … Oh, Albert, here’s that opera we’ve heard so much about, Don Pasquale.… They’re putting it on in the park, isn’t that nice? Oh, it has that new singer, Emma Kornblut. I’m sure it’s going to be supercrowded, I’ve heard so much about her. Let’s see now. It’s so hot out, perhaps we’d better go to something indoors, with airconditioning. There’s a show of African art.… Hmmm … perhaps just a movie … hmmm … Oh, here, here’s something nice. How about a concert? There’s a new string quartet that’s playing next Friday, and it sounds simply wonderful. Listen to this: Beethoven, Dvorak, Françaix—”
Albert put down his section of the newspaper and said firmly, “No string quartets.”
Gretchen glanced up, and their eyes met. He leaned forward to adjust the collar of her shirt, which was sticking up. His fingers lingered thoughtfully on her neck. There was no mark left now, but the long thin red cut had bruised spectacularly and taken nearly two months to heal.
Gretchen said hastily, “Oh, yes, of course you’re right, Albert. No string quartets. No string ensembles at all, this summer at least. Well, let’s see then.… There’s that scuplture show, as I said … Hmmmmm … twentieth-century voodoo art, I wonder what that is?… Oh, Albert, here’s something you might really enjoy.…”
Snooky, Maya and Bernard were also sitting over the remains of their Sunday brunch. Bernard was deep into the crossword puzzle. Maya was reading one of her articles and frowning to herself.
“What’s that one on, My?”
“Lizard droppings.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lizard droppings. You know, spoor.”
Snooky shook his head. “Who exactly buys this magazine you write for?”
“Many intelligent people, Snooky. Now shut up, I have to concentrate.”
“If you wanted to concentrate, you could go to your study.”
“I like working here, if you don’t mind too much. It’s friendlier.”
“Suit yourself.”
“You’re just cranky because you hated to give back that kitten of yours.”
“I did hate to give her back, My. I had grown very attached to Snuffles. It hurt me to give her back, especially to that subhuman vermin Harold.”
“You said Harold was good with her.”
“He was good with her. It was surprising. Susan says he may actually grow up to be a human being one of these days.”
There was a silence.
“Snooky.”
“Bernard?”
“Some help, if you don’t mind. Tall flightless bird, three letters, blank M blank.”
“Emu. E-M-U, Bernard.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Silence.
“Chinese lake, six letters, blank O blank A blank blank.”
“Poyang. P-O-Y-A-N-G.”
“I can never get those geographical ones,” said Bernard in irritation. “One more, Snooky, if you don’t mind. Fourteen across, oracle, eight letters, blank blank N blank blank G blank T.”
There was a silence.
“Oracle,” mused Snooky. “Eight letters, blank blank N blank G blank blank T?”
“No. Blank blank N blank blank G blank T.”
“Oracle … blank blank N … hmmmm.… Wait a minute, I think I have it … no … hmmmm.… That’s a hard one, Bernard. I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. Are you sure about those letters?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmmm … all right. Let me think. No, don’t look it up. Blank blank N blank blank G blank T … hmmmm …”
Snooky wandered from the room.
Maya glanced over at her husband. “That’s a hard one, sweetheart. You’ve made Snooky happy. That’ll keep him busy for hours and hours.”
“It should,” said Bernard. “I made it up.”
Maya smiled. “You boys,” she said.
To Jacob
Bantam Crime Line Books offer the finest in classic and modern American mysteries Ask your bookseller for the books you have missed
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