The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg

by Deborah Eisenberg

  Noah pined and clamored for his friends the dogs. Shh, she told him, and took him where he could play without disturbing Eli.

  Once in a while a car would pull up, and some man or other would get out and Eli would take him around back to the sheds. She stayed upstairs then with Noah.

  While Noah played with the blocks Eli had made him, she watched out the window as the men returned to their trucks or cars and headed off to the hills, or the hills beyond them, or the hills and cities beyond those—glinting pins springing up on the map.

  And she watched Noah as he concerned himself with the blocks or with his crayons. Playing, it was called—the deep, sweet concentration, the massive effort to familiarize himself with the things of the world. Can she remember that, being so little herself, being so lost? Probably Alma had already been around, looking out for her, but she can’t find a trace of that time in her mind. It was her basis, and yet it was gone.

  Want me to carry you? she’d ask, and he’d raise up his little arms to her. She held him as he woke from his naps, and felt the damp heat coming off his gold skin and little ringlets. He snuggled against her, and in an attic dark area of her sleeping thoughts, things clarified for a moment, and aligned.

  He never fussed anymore. He had made his choice; he had forgotten.

  Sometimes Kristina felt Zoe hovering nearby, drawn by her need, watching along with her as Noah played. But Noah never even looked up.

  Yes, he had surely forgotten. Poor little thing—he was a prisoner.

  Are you not talking to me? Eli said one day.

  Not talking to you? she said. She looked up. He was sitting across the room, looking at her. The book he’d been reading was closed, resting on his lap.

  You don’t seem to be talking to me.

  You were reading, she said.

  Now I’m not reading, he said.

  She looked at him for a clue. Is there something you want me to talk about?

  He sighed and opened his book again, but a moment later he looked up at her again. You’re happy, he said.

  Yes, she said. He seemed to be gazing back at her sadly from some time in the future. I’m happy.

  Well, good, then. He walked over to her and stroked the back of her neck, looking at her thoughtfully. He kissed her temple and then he returned to his book.

  He picked up some yeast for her in town. She baked bread the way Nonie had showed her to, and the companionable aroma brought Nonie to visit.

  She remembers the way she imagined showing Nonie around the cabin. It was as if she were unfolding it and spreading it out flat, like a map, so she could see all of it at once herself.

  How’s Eli these days? Liz said.

  Fine, she’d said.

  Well, I’m glad one of them is keeping it together, Liz said. Hollis is fried. But everything always happens all at once, doesn’t it.

  I guess, Kristina had said.

  Well, but I mean what kind of dickhead doesn’t back up the files? Liz said. I guess that genius they found, I hate to think where, is still saying he can resurrect the hard drive, but who believes that’s going to happen? And anyhow, who cares, it’s the thing with that Coffield lunatic, obviously, that’s really putting him around the bend.

  Yes? Kristina said. The room darkened for a moment, and she’d sat down.

  Well, it’s sure getting enough attention. Eli must have told you. You literally can’t turn on the TV for one second without seeing the pictures. God, those kids must have been cute! With that red hair?

  Kristina had let out a little sound.

  But they don’t usually go after the source, Liz said. Unless like it’s a kid putting holes in his parents or at school, something like that. And anyhow, according to Hollis for whatever that’s worth, he did check the guy out, and there was no history.

  Sleet coated the trees and power lines, and froze. For a day or two the woods were shining glass, and the branches snapped and fell under the weight of the ice. Nights were mostly bundled up in silence; you could hear the world breathing in its sleep. When she closed her eyes, she’d see the animals outside in the stark, brilliant moonlight, huddled, or wandering for food—the foxes and the deer, the badgers and the possums and the pretty black bear. The stars overhead contracted in the cold. From bed she could watch them oscillating with intensified light, as if they were about to burst into sharp, glittering fragments.

  Is everything all right? she asked him.

  Fine, he said.

  Can I help with anything?

  Can you help? he said. Can you do a conversion with a broken drill press on a 1911 automatic while some drooling trog breathes down your neck?

  She went into town with him, and when they passed the old house, both cars were out front. Would you like to drop by? he asked.

  I don’t really care, she said.

  It might be nice for you, he said. You probably miss your friends.

  She reached over and stroked his beautiful hair. He could drop her and Noah off, she suggested, while he did errands.

  We’re in no rush, he said. I’ll go in with you.

  Nonie was practically a sphere. She greeted Kristina with a little shriek of joy, and cried a bit.

  How fussy the kitchen looked to Kristina now, with its shiny appliances and painted walls.

  Nonie cut up pieces of her bread with homemade jam for everyone, and Munsen took a couple of beers from the fridge. Eli? he said.

  No, thanks, Eli said.

  Kristina?

  Not for me, either, Munsen—thanks.

  Munsen put one bottle back and opened the other for himself. Well, better a full bottle in front of me than a prefrontal lobotomy, he said, ruefully. Then he set Noah on his lap, and while Nonie recounted goings on at The White Rabbit, which were exactly the same old thing, it seemed, Munsen told Noah the true-life adventures of a lonely bottle of beer.

  What a fuss Nonie made over Noah! He’s going to have a friend, soon, she said.

  Kristina had glanced at Eli. He was standing, leaning against the door with his head bowed.

  Nonie gave Noah one of the soft little rag dolls she’d made for her own baby, with a little plastic ring in its navel. Noah looked at it with great seriousness, and then rubbed it against his cheek. He looked up at Nonie, who laughed happily and knelt down to give him a squeeze.

  So little real time had passed, but she might as well have spent it living at the bottom of the sea with its creaturely landscape, or on the white polar tundras. And all the while Nonie and Munsen had been confined to the little painted town. Goodbye, she thought. Goodbye.

  They had almost reached the cabin when Eli finally spoke. That is one inane guy, he said. I wonder how your friend can stand having him around.

  The next morning, Kristina couldn’t find Noah’s new rag doll anywhere.

  She was searching through a heap of laundry for it when she realized Eli was in the doorway, watching her. Everything okay? he said.

  She turned and they looked at one another. Fine, she said.

  Look, I’ve got to go away tomorrow for a few days, Eli said. But Liz will come over during the days and help.

  Eli, she said.

  What?

  Eli, she said again.

  What? he said. Speak to me.

  Do you have to go?

  Yes, he said. Obviously. Yes, I have to go.

  Eli, can’t I come with you?

  And do what with him?

  Bring him along. Can’t we come?

  No, you cannot come.

  Why not?

  Why not? It goes without saying why not.

  She was twisting one of Noah’s little T-shirts in her hands, she realized. But maybe I could be helpful.

  Maybe you could, he said. Maybe you could bring a little sunshine into the lives of some lonely gun collectors.

  She looked at him, but he was sealed up tight. But don’t send Liz at least, please.

  Fine, he said. No Liz. And you’ll do what for food? You’ll do what
if you need something? You don’t have a phone. You don’t have a car.

  If you’re worried about us, we could go stay with Nonie and Munsen.

  With Nonie and Munsen, he said. Would you be happier there?

  It’s just—she was saying, and then all she really remembers is her surprise, as if his fists were a brand-new part of his body.

  A little blood was coming from somewhere; she’d felt something on her face, then checked her hand. There was some blood in her mouth, too. Was that tooth going to come out? she’d wondered idly.

  She heard the bare branches clacking together outside in a slight breeze. Then he picked her up from where she’d fallen back.

  She remembers Noah’s eyes, enormous and blurry-looking. He was sucking at his blanket as Eli carried her upstairs.

  He postponed his trip for a few days and stayed with her, curled up next to her in the loft, holding her hands, looking through his books with her. He taught her the names of all the little birds that lived in the leaves around them. He brought her meals on a tray. Noah played quietly downstairs, and sometimes Eli brought him up to be with her. He’d wake her urgently in the night, and after they made love, he kissed her ankles, her toes, her fingertips. whatever barrier had been between them was gone now, completely.

  She stroked his thick, coarse hair. She can feel it under her hand now—almost feel it. Sometimes as he slept she ran her hands over his beautiful face. Poor Eli. He lived with danger all the time.

  It wasn’t long before the swelling went way down, and she could get around pretty comfortably, as well. The day he left, she found a tube of makeup out on the bureau. Evidently he’d picked it up in town, for the bruises.

  She’s sure there were marks but nothing too conspicuous by the time she’d finished applying it. She watched carefully for Liz’s expression when she opened the door in her sunglasses.

  She’s reviewed it so often she’s worn away the original, but she knows perfectly well what it was.

  She saw Liz register the sunglasses, the masked bruises. She saw Liz politely covering her surprise. And then she saw the thing that she had hoped so fervently that she would not see: she saw that Liz was not very surprised at all.

  What did they talk about that morning? Not Eli, that’s for sure. Or Hollis, or themselves. They did not, of course, allude to Zoe, though Kristina felt Zoe’s volatile essence, as a slight trembling in the air. Eventually, she remembers, Liz began leafing through some trashy magazine she’d brought in with her and paused to study the picture of two pretty faces, empty of anything except a pitiful falseness. They broke up! she exclaimed, looking up at Kristina. Can you believe it? How sad is that!

  It was the next day—the second of the three he was to be gone—that Zoe’s sorrowing angel spirit passed her hand across Liz’s brow, and Liz winced, pressing her hand to her eyes.

  And there it was. The opportunity that was as clear as a command. For a moment Kristina had just stood there.

  Migraine? she had asked then quietly. Want to go home and lie down?

  It was a hard trip into town, and of course you always had to worry about who it was who would stop. But thank heavens it wasn’t raining, at least. Feel better, she’d called to Liz, waving from the door as the pickup pulled out, and then as fast as humanly possible, she’d thrown a few necessities for Noah and a change of clothing for herself into her satchel. It wasn’t heavy, but progress down the muddy road out to the highway was arduous; something in her side still hurt a lot when she tried to carry Noah.

  Hey, it’s you, Nonie said when she opened the door. And then her smile was gone. Wuh! Take off those sunglasses for a moment, girl.

  Noah let himself be transferred over, and clung to Nonie as she put juice into a bottle for him. Come see the baby, she said.

  The baby was red and gummy. Could Noah ever have looked like that? That’s incredible, Kristina said.

  So, could Nonie and Munsen manage with one car, she’d asked? She could give them over a thousand dollars for Nonie’s. She hadn’t spent so much as a dime the whole time she’d been with Eli, she realized; he’d taken care of her completely.

  Well, you could pay me down the line somewhere, Nonie said. But I’m not really sure I want to know you’ve got it, if you see what I mean.

  That was a good point.

  I guess you could report it stolen, Kristina had said. But maybe not for a while? And I guess I’ll have to figure out about changing the plates…

  They’d looked at each other, frowning. Damn, Nonie said. You’d think a person would know how to steal her own car.

  And for just a moment, Kristina remembered the way she’d felt sitting around that kitchen in the old days.

  Dull moonlight sloshes around like rainwater in the plastic over the window. Alma hasn’t come in yet. But Kristina’s just as glad to have had this time with Eli.

  This afternoon, when Alma answered the door she looked silently for a moment at Kristina, with her bruises and the beautiful, dark child. Then she stood aside to let them in. Heaven knows what she thinks—she didn’t ask questions.

  When Kristina was young she idolized Alma. It was Alma who looked out for her, and she never doubted for a moment that Alma would gladly take her in if the time came. It hardly matters now that it seems not to be the case. She looks around at Alma’s cheap, carelessly ugly place—home for nobody, really. Oh, those shining floors, that quiet, the breathing shadows! Will she ever see it again?

  Noah coughs raspily in his sleep. She puts her hand to his hot forehead, and he opens his eyes, just for a moment.

  Stolen car! Kidnapped child! How can those words mean her? The deer come crashing through the woods, Zoe holds her breath, Eli’s rage is all around them, the red net casting wide. What’s right outside? Keys hanging from the warden’s belt? The men with the guns? Just guns, or guns and badges…

  No one looks at anyone—really completely looks—the way he looked at her. She never imagined, or even dared hope, that she would meet such a man or have such a time in her life. Better keep moving. New names, new histories, a nondescript room in a busy city where she’ll be able to lose herself and Noah. Watching, hiding, running—that way at least she’ll be with Eli for good.

  Revenge of the Dinosaurs

  Hi, Barbara, I said. You’re Barbara?

  Eileen, said the nurse who answered the door. Nights.

  I’m the granddaughter, I said.

  I figured, Eileen said. Barbara told me you’d be showing up. So where’s that handsome brother of yours?

  Bill? I said, I beat Bill? That’s a first.

  Traffic must be bad, she said.

  Traffic, traffic…I was goggling past Eileen at Nana’s apartment—the black-and-white tile, the heavy gold-framed mirror, the enormous vases or whatever they are, the painting I’d loved so much from the time I was a child of a mysterious, leafy glade, the old silver-dust light of Nana’s past. I was always shocked into sleepiness when I saw the place, as if a little mallet had bonked me on the head, sending me far away.

  Or in Connecticut, Eileen said. I looked at her. Isn’t that where they drive in from? she said. He’s a wonderful man, your brother. So kind and thoughtful. And his wife, too. They always know just how to cheer your grandmother up. And that’s one cute little girl they’ve got.

  How’s Nana doing? I asked.

  A while since you’ve seen her, Eileen commented.

  I live on the other side of the country! I said.

  I know that, dear, Eileen said. I’ve seen your picture. With the trees. Before the second stroke she liked me to sit with her and go over the pictures.

  I stared. Nana? Bill had told me to prepare myself, but still—family souvenirs with the nurse? It’s supposed to mean something to be one person rather than another.

  Eileen accompanied me into the living room. Nana was dozing in one of the velvet chairs. I sneezed. Soldiers were marching silently toward us across the black-and-white desert of an old television screen. An a
ttractively standardized smiling blond woman in a suit replaced them. Does Nana watch this? I asked. She seems to like having it on, Eileen said. I keep the sound off, though. She can’t really hear it, and I’d rather not. Wake up, dear, your granddaughter’s here to see you. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t recognize you right off, Eileen told me. Dear, it’s your granddaughter.

  It’s Lulu, Nana, I said, loudly. Nana surveyed me, then Eileen. Neither Bill nor I had inherited those famous blue eyes that can put holes right through you, though our father had, exactly, and so had our brother, Peter. Where does all that beauty go when someone finishes with it? If something exists how can it stop existing, I mused aloud to Jeff recently. Things take their course, Jeff said (kind of irritably, frankly). Well, what does that mean, really—things take their course? Jeff always used to be (his word) charmed that I wasn’t a (his word) sucker for received (his phrase) structures of logic. Anyhow, if something exists, it exists, is what I think, but when Nana turned back to the TV she did actually look like just any sweet old lady, all shrunk into her little blanket. I bent and kissed her cheek.

  She winced. It’s Lulu, dear, Eileen shouted. One of Nana’s hands lifted from the pale cashmere blanket across her lap in a little wave, as if there were a gnat. I’ll be in the kitchen, Eileen said. Call me if you need me. I sat down near Nana on the sofa. I was not the gnat. Nana, I said, you look fabulous.

  Did she hear anything at all? Well, anyhow, she’d never gone in for verbal expressions of affection. Someone sighed loudly. I looked around. The person who had sighed was me.

  The last time I’d seen Nana, her hearing was perfect and she was going out all the time, looking if not still stunning, still seriously good, with the excellent clothes and hair and so on. She was older, obviously, than she had been, but that was all: older. It’s too drastic to take in—a stroke! One teensy moment, total eclipse. In my opinion, all moments ought to contain uniform amounts of change: X many moments equal strictly X much increase in age equal strictly X much change. Of course, it would be better if it were X much decrease in age.