Mandy thanked the waiter. After a little while we got the check and then went to our locker rooms. Outside in the lobby I noticed that as people emerged from the locker rooms and waited for their companions they smiled and nodded to one another knowingly. I sat there and smiled and nodded in case anybody was looking at me. Mandy showed up and we stepped outside. The night air was bracing in contrast to the room we had just been in. I felt like I had been boiled and rung out.
“Listen, Noah, do you want to come over to my house and watch TV or something?”
“I don’t know, I feel a little nauseous.”
“Oh, you should go back in! They have buckets for that.”
“Forget it.”
“Look, come over to my house and I’ll make you some tea.”
“All right, but no more heat.”
We strolled down Church in the direction of Dolores Park. People were driving around looking for parking or else already on foot, headed for places where they could flee into noise, smoke, and each other. The night closed in. Steam rose from grates and a few cats crept around.
Her house was a small apartment in the Mission district. You went through a gate and then there was a driveway leading to a flat which was a converted basement. A white pit bull dogged around in the little enclosed driveway area. It followed us into the house shaking his tail violently so that his whole midsection swayed back and forth. That was the first night we spent together, and after that I ended up seeing her pretty regularly. She was wild, but kind of funny and not too hard on the eyes. I wasn’t trying to find a wife or anything. To tell you the truth, I liked her.
Two weeks later we went to this Eritrean bar called Lazlo’s over on Fillmore. The place was attached to a restaurant and wasn’t even a freestanding bar of its own so there was never much excitement in there. We liked it for that reason. We got drinks. She drank gin and I drank Scotch. The jukebox played looping, repetitive African music.
“Hey, by the way, what do you think of those In-N-Out hamburgers?” Mandy asked.
“No good,” I said.
“What’s wrong with you? Do you have to be different from everything?”
“I’d rather eat garbage.”
“Go ahead! You’ll never get along with anybody if you always feel you have to be different from everybody!”
“My therapist says I people-please too much.”
“Who said that, Belmick?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“That reminds me, I think you should stop seeing that guy.”
“What? Why?”
“I mean, it can have a negative effect. You sit there talking and talking and it’s like being a baby in a stroller. And he’s just pushing it around and around…”—she made a circling motion with her finger, and I noticed that her fingernail polish matched the lipstick—“…feeding you little pieces of fruit once in a while. That’s why I quit seeing Pellman.”
“Who is Pellman?”
“Oh, Pellman was my guy. He’s in the adjoining office to your guy. That day I met you was supposed to be my last session with him but he didn’t even show up. That shows you how much these people really give a shit.”
“That’s a really aggressive logical jump,” I said.
“Huh?”
“You go from your therapist not showing up to all therapists not giving a shit. What the fuck is that?”
“Whatever,” she said.
“Well, it just so happens that I am going to stop seeing Belmick. But not because you say I should.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve already cancelled my next appointment.”
“Why?”
“Well, I went in there because I was having a lot of trouble with the basic actions. You know, the basic moves. But now they seem to be coming to me.”
“They are?”
“Yeah—I can make breakfast, form plans, return phone calls—you know, I’m back in the world of action.”
“I’m so happy for you!”
She leaned over to me and threw her leg over mine and gave me a lurid hug. We were both getting drunk. We spent another hour in there and then took a cab back to her house where we drank and acted foolishly until late at night. Then she fell asleep. I stayed awake for a while with my arms around her. I felt lucky.
It was about four days after that night at Lazlo’s (the bar). I hadn’t seen Mandy for a couple of days. She hadn’t returned my phone calls. One tries not to worry about the little slights in the beginning but one always fails.
Things were looking up in general. I had started taking a couple of classes. It can change that quickly sometimes. I mean your mood. I guess that even though I liked to think of myself as some kind of lone wolf, Mandy helped my morale considerably. That day I was arriving home from City College. I got my mail out of the box and went upstairs to my little egg of an apartment. There was a letter with no return address on it. I opened it.
Noah—It’s Mandy. Identity confirmation: I met you in a waiting room at the therapist’s office. I will be gone for a few das [sic]. Maybe more. Could you please feed the dog, Bubbles, for a couple of days? You know where the extra key is. The food is under the sink. Don’t worry or get weird about this. Think of Bubbles and do it. Please confirm the feeding of the dog by putting the fern that you have in your kitchen in front of the living room window. I will see the fern from outside and know that you have accepted this arrangement. Move the piece of fern around each time because I will be coming by every day to check. Important.
The “identity confirmation” in the letter was unnecessary because Mandy’s handwriting was unmistakable. It consisted of large, wildly written characters and was littered with smudges and red thumbprints. The thumbprints were caused by the fact that she pressed her left thumb against her lower lip while she was writing, blotting it with lipstick, and then clutched the page with both hands to read her work back. I had seen her writing things down before, it was a violent process.
I put the letter down and made coffee. I added milk and dropped a couple ice cubes in it and drank it quickly. Then I put a jacket on and walked out the door. I thought I may as well go and feed Bubbles while I had energy. She was a bit strange; who knew what was going on? I didn’t understand the fern-in-the-window signal or why she didn’t just call instead of sending a letter, but she probably had some reason for it.
Bubbles was thrilled to see me. I fed him. He had a little fenced-in enclosure to run around in but I took him for a walk anyway. The dog loped along in that intrepid way they have, sniffing everything. He was very strong but also aware of the tandem so that he never dragged me. A sensitive soul. We finished up the walk and I left Bubbles inside the fenced area. When I got home I moved the fern from my kitchen over to the living room window. I looked up and down the street to see if I could spot her hiding behind a mailbox or something.
A couple of days later another letter arrived from Mandy. I was beginning to miss her and to wonder about her feelings for me. The letter was written in her usual thrashing script.
Noah,
Please continue to feed and walk the dog Bubbles. I am surprised that you haven’t tried to find me. I guess that our relationship means or doesn’t mean something different from what I thought it meant. If you think about it, how I went to Berkeley last Friday to the Relaxation Synthesis workshop, it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out that that was the last time you spoke to me. I mean if it mattered to you. I suppose it’s beyond you to ask around or anything. Have you tried to figure it out (where I am)? If you have, DON’T. I am doing something pretty important (maybe it wouldn’t be important to YOU, I don’t really know at this point). Anyway, don’t think about any of this. I will look for the fern at four o’clock.
Sincerely,
Amanda Percival
I threw the letter away. I had already walked and fed the d
og that day as I had done twice every day since I received her first letter. I had also been moving the fern around the window back at my house after each feeding, like an idiot. Her formal closing hurt my feelings. What had happened to the warmth I felt that night we hung out at Lazlo’s? Had it just been a fuzzy illusion created by African guitar and Scotch? I decided that I would wait by the window and confront her when she came by to look for the signal. She had been gone for a week now. I had to put a stop to this. At around ten of four I started looking for her. I set my chair up so that I had a view of the street but I was more or less out of sight.
Time passed. I lived on a fairly inactive street. Like all of San Francisco, there was not a single parking space and yet few people seemed to be walking to or from the hundreds of cars. The light reflected off the windshields of the parked vehicles abrasively. One person walked by drinking from a cup with a straw. A cat looked up at the birds on the telephone wires and a man in a building across the street talked on a phone. A couple of cars went by. Then at around 4:15 or so a car drove by slowly. It was a beat-up red Sedan of some kind. Sure enough, there was Mandy, in one of the passenger seats. The car had other people in it. I could only make one of them out clearly—the young woman in the driver’s seat. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t expected Mandy to be in a car. She had very few friends and she always walked everywhere. All the people in the car, including Mandy, were wearing sunglasses. I threw open the window quickly.
“Mandy!”
The car sped up. She must have seen me, or at least heard me, but she didn’t indicate it. She just turned away nonchalantly as the car went to the end of the block and around a corner. I paced around the room. Had she been kidnapped? The people in the car looked fairly normal as far as I could tell or at least not like kidnappers, whatever kidnappers looked like. No, it was a voluntary situation. I retrieved the letter from the garbage. If you think about it, how I went to Berkeley last Friday to the Relaxation Synthesis Workshop, it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out that that was the last time you saw me. It was Friday that day. She seemed to be hinting in the letter that I should retrace her steps. It was a strange little game. I supposed that I could just blow her off but I didn’t want to. I remembered that the place she went to was a spa on College Avenue over in Berkeley. I knew where the place was.
At the BART train station in Berkeley a saxophone player blew improvisations under the enormous overpass. The tracks above formed a cavernous enclosure of gray cement and people bustled around below. The place reminded me of what I imagined Eastern Europe to look like—a lot of concrete and bustling around and aggressive jazz. As I walked by the horn player I winced. When he saw my expression he took a few steps toward me and looked at me dolefully, pretending that he was going to serenade me down the street. Not bad, I thought.
The workshop was in the back of the spa. There was a hallway which had doors to the right and left. Each door had some kind of symbol on it—a half moon, a seashell, a winged woman emerging from an egg—these were the treatment rooms. At the end of the hall there was a small conference room with about twenty chairs in it arranged in a circle. I chose a chair and watched as people showed up, looking for Mandy. She wasn’t there. The words “Relaxation Synthesis” were written on a dry-erase board.
The facilitator was a curly-haired woman with jangling earrings and a sonorous voice. Once the room was filled she addressed the group.
“The difference between relaxation and Relaxation Synthesis is that relaxation is like drinking a glass of water while Relaxation Synthesis is like going so deeply into the well that we have enough water for the whole week.” Many of the people in the room laughed knowingly. It was an easy crowd. I didn’t understand what the joke was. “For some of us, it’s easier than for others,” the instructor continued. This really got a big laugh and also some empathetic humming noises.
“This lady is really bringing down the house,” I said to the man next to me. He smiled at me blankly.
After the preamble the woman led us into a guided trance state.
“Mmmmm…” somebody next to me moaned.
“…Now find your spirit guide. It could be a beloved teacher, a religious figure, or even a just a feeling-tone.”
My eyes were lead balls sinking into the clay of the inner skull. I saw my (ex-) therapist, Steve Belmick. The strange thing was that, in my imagination, he was in a sauna and completely naked. I tried to get a towel on him mentally but it seemed like the harder I tried the more detailed his nakedness became. Now he was shining with sweat.
This can’t be right, I thought.
“Whatever you see, go with it, even if it surprises you.”
In my mind, Belmick nodded and waved. He had an erection.
When the lights came on, people milled around and chatted. I asked the teacher if she had seen Mandy but she told me that it had been a different facilitator the previous week. I was tempted to ask people in the class but I realized it would look like I was stalking somebody.
In the hallway on the way out a young woman with red hair came up to me. She was wearing a long dress and had a middle-American look, like she had just wandered in from the prairie or something.
“Did you like it?”
“It was great.”
“I’m Heliotrope,” she said.
“Noah.”
“This kind of relaxation is a wonderful start, isn’t it?”
“A start?”
“Yes—a way to get going. You know, kind of like turning the key to get the motor started.”
“Oh yeah, I suppose so.”
“Listen, do you need a ride somewhere?”
“Well, I’m going over to catch the BART train, actually.”
“I would be happy to give you a ride!”
“Thanks, are you sure? I mean, I could easily just walk over there.”
“Oh absolutely! I would love to do it.”
We walked outside and got in her car. The station was only a few blocks away but I was feeling a little groggy from all the relaxation and I was glad for the ride.
“Do you mind if I stop somewhere on the way?” she asked.
“No, go ahead.”
She turned off of College Avenue and onto a side street that wove upwards towards the Berkeley Hills.
“So, what do you do in your misery-life Noah?”
“My what?”
“Yes, you know, your misery-life. Your life in the outside world.”
“Outside world? Outside of what?”
In response to my question she let out a peel of shrill laughter that verged on screaming.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing! I forget sometimes that people are so caught up in the big shred-mill!”
“What?”
She smiled stiffly. She was driving up into the hills, making no sign of stopping anywhere.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Where are you going?”
“What?”
I let it go. I was getting a little bit scared. I kept my eyes on her while I felt around in the door compartment for a pen or something that I could fashion a weapon out of if I had to.
“So you’re a student?” she asked.
“Uhh…yes. Well, I mean I’m taking a couple of English classes. How did you guess that?”
“Oh, English! I totally have hands for that!”
“Oh.”
“Language is so important for getting past language!”
“Yes, that’s my goal.” I found a discarded popsicle stick in the crack of the car-seat. Useless, unless I could find some way to sharpen it.
Conversation ceased as she drove farther and farther into the hills. Finally she pulled up outside a large Victorian house. The yard was overgrown and the paint on the house was peeling off.
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“We’re here!” she shouted.
“Where?”
“Would you like to come in?”
“No, thanks.”
“Listen, Noah, I don’t mean to be forward. But I know you enjoyed that relaxation class. And this…well this could be what you are really looking for. Also, your friend is here!”
I stared at her in shock in the darkness of the parked car. This lady with the dress knew who I was all along. Mandy was obviously involved with this kooky woman and her big dilapidated house and now I seemed to be getting drawn in. It irritated me that all that Mandy had to do was write a vague letter and here I was. Was I that easy to manipulate? Obviously, yes. I sighed and opened the car door. In spite of everything, I was looking forward to seeing Mandy. As we walked up the steps to the porch, I realized that Nancy’s car was the same red sedan I had seen cruising outside of my apartment with Mandy in it.
“Don’t worry, Noah!” Nancy reassured. “You are exactly the kind of guy who is ready for the transmission!
We walked into the house. She led me into the living room. There was a group of about twenty people in there. The room was filled with collapsible chairs, all facing an open area on one side. The group of people consisted of men and women between the ages of twenty-five and fifty or so. I spotted Mandy quickly. She was wearing a long dress like Nancy. I walked over to her.
“Mandy, what is this shit? What’s going on?”
“Noah, I have arrived at a transmission space. You have chosen to become part of this.”
“A transmission space?”
“Yes. We have a leader now and some important purposes. I have come here tonight to get you to remember your true identity.”
“What do you mean ‘I have come here’? You were already here!”
“Noah, I’m talking in terms of your world picture, your misery-world event.”
“I know, but even in my world-picture you were already here. I came here and found you.”
“Your old analytical approach won’t help you to get the transmission, friend.”
“‘Friend?’ What the fuck? Have these people drugged you?”
Sophisticated Devices/Make No Mistake Page 4