Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?

by Raymond Carver

  RAYMOND CARVER

  WILL YOU PLEASE BE QUIET, PLEASE?

  STORIES

  Vintage Contemporaries Vintage Books A Division of Random House, Inc. New York

  RAYMOND CARVER

  Raymond Carver was born in Clatskanie, Oregon, in 1939, and lived in Port Angeles, Washington, until his death on August 2, 1988. He was a Guggenheim Fellow in 1979 and was twice awarded grants from the National Endowment for the Arts. In 1983 Carver received the prestigious Mildred and Harold Strauss Living Award, and in 1985 Poetry magazine’s Levinson Prize. In 1988 he was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters and was awarded a Doctorate of Letters from Hartford University. He received a Brandeis Citation for fiction in 1988. His work has been translated into more than twenty languages.

  BOOKS BY RAYMOND CARVER

  FICTION

  Where I'm Calling From

  Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?

  Furious Seasons What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

  Cathedral

  POETRY

  A New Path to the Waterfall

  Winter Insomnia

  At Night the Salmon Move

  Where Water Comes Together with Other Water

  Ultramarine

  PROSE AND POETRY

  No Heroics, Please Fires

  FIRST VINTAGE CONTEMPORARIES EDITION, JUNE 1992

  Copyright © 1963,1964,1965,1966,1967,1968,1969,1970,1971, 1972,1973,1974,1975,1976 by Tess Gallagher Copyright renewed 1991 by Tess Gallagher

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published by McGraw-Hill, New York, in 1976.

  The stories in this volume originally appeared, some in somewhat different form and under different titles, in the following publications: Esquire, December, Iowa Review, Discourse, Seneca Review, Carolina Quarterly, Colorado State Review (now called Colorado Review), Harper’s Bazaar, Kansas Quarterly, North American Review, Perspective, Sou’wester Magazine, Southern Illinois University.

  “How About This?” first appeared in Western Humanities Review, Autumn 1970.

  “The Idea” first appeared in Northwest Review.

  “Are You a Doctor?” first appeared in Fiction, Vol. 1, #4. “They’re Not Your Husband” first appeared in Chicago Review 24:4 (Spring 1973).

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Carver, Raymond.

  Will you please be quiet, please? : the stories of Raymond Carver / Raymond Carver. — 1st Vintage contemporaries ed. p. cm. — (Vintage contemporaries)

  ISBN 0-679-73569-0 (pbk.)

  I. Title.

  PS3553.A7894W53 1992 813'.54—dc20 91-50224 CIP

  Manufactured in the United States of America 10 9876543

  THIS BOOK IS FOR MARYANN

  Table of Contents

  FAT

  NEIGHBORS

  THE IDEA

  THEY’RE NOT YOUR HUSBAND

  ARE YOU A DOCTOR?

  THE FATHER

  NOBODY SAID ANYTHING

  SIXTY ACRES

  WHAT’S IN ALASKA?

  NIGHT SCHOOL

  COLLECTORS

  WHAT DO YOU DO IN SAN FRANCISCO?

  THE STUDENT’S WIFE

  PUT YOURSELF IN MY SHOES

  JERRY AND MOLLY AND SAM

  WHY, HONEY?

  THE DUCKS

  HOW ABOUT THIS?

  BICYCLES, MUSCLES, CIGARETS

  WHAT IS IT?

  SIGNALS

  WILL YOU PLEASE BE QUIET, PLEASE?

  FAT

  I am sitting over coffee and cigarets at my friend Rita’s and I am telling her about it.

  Here is what I tell her.

  It is late of a slow Wednesday when Herb seats the fat man at my station.

  This fat man is the fattest person I have ever seen, though he is neat-appearing and well dressed enough. Everything about him is big. But it is the fingers I remember best. When I stop at the table near his to see to the old couple, I first notice the fingers. They look three times the size of a normal person’s fingers—long, thick, creamy fingers.

  I see to my other tables, a party of four businessmen, very demanding, another party of four, three men and a woman, and this old couple. Leander has poured the fat man’s water, and I give the fat man plenty of time to make up his mind before going over.

  Good evening, I say. May I serve you? I say.

  Rita, he was big, I mean big.

  Good evening, he says. Hello. Yes, he says. I think we’re ready to order now, he says.

  He has this way of speaking—strange, don’t you know. And he makes a little puffing sound every so often.

  I think we will begin with a Caesar salad, he says. And then a bowl of soup with some extra bread and butter, if you please. The lamb chops, I believe, he says. And baked potato with sour cream. We’ll see about dessert later. Thank you very much, he says, and hands me the menu.

  God, Rita, but those were fingers.

  I hurry away to the kitchen and turn in the order to Rudy, who takes it with a face. You know Rudy. Rudy is that way when he works.

  As I come out of the kitchen, Margo—I’ve told you about Margo? The one who chases Rudy? Margo says to me, Who’s your fat friend? He’s really a fatty.

  Now that’s part of it. I think that is really part of it.

  I make the Caesar salad there at his table, him watching my every move, meanwhile buttering pieces of bread and laying them off to one side, all the time making this puffing noise. Anyway, I am so keyed up or something, I knock over his glass of water.

  I’m so sorry, I say. It always happens when you get into a hurry. I’m very sorry, I say. Are you all right? I say. I’ll get the boy to clean up right away, I say.

  It’s nothing, he says. It’s all right, he says, and he puffs. Don’t worry about it, we don’t mind, he says. He smiles and waves as I go off to get Leander, and when I come back to serve the salad, I see the fat man has eaten all his bread and butter.

  A little later, when I bring him more bread, he has finished his salad. You know the size of those Caesar salads?

  You’re very kind, he says. This bread is marvelous, he says.

  Thank you, I say.

  Well, it is very good, he says, and we mean that. We don’t often enjoy bread like this, he says.

  Where are you from? I ask him. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, I say.

  He's not the kind of person you'd forget, Rita puts in with a snicker.

  Denver, he says.

  I don’t say anything more on the subject, though I am curious.

  Your soup will be along in a few minutes, sir, I say, and I go off to put the finishing touches to my party of four businessmen, very demanding.

  When I serve his soup, I see the bread has disappeared again. He is just putting the last piece of bread into his mouth.

  Believe me, he says, we don’t eat like this all the time, he says. And puffs. You'll have to excuse us, he says.

  Don’t think a thing about it, please, I say. I like to see a man eat and enjoy himself, I say.

  I don’t know, he says. I guess that’s what you’d call it. And puffs. He arranges the napkin. Then he picks up his spoon.

  God, he’s fat! says Leander.

  He can’t help it, I say, so shut up.

  I put down another basket of bread and more butter. How was the soup? I say.

  Thank you. Good, he says. Very good, he says. He wipes his lips and dabs his chin. Do you think it’s warm in here, or is it just me? he says.


  No, it is warm in here, I say.

  Maybe we’ll take off our coat, he says.

  Go right ahead, I say. A person has to be comfortable, I say.

  That's true, he says, that is very, very true, he says.

  But I see a little later that he is still wearing his coat.

  My large parties are gone now and also the old couple. The place is emptying out. By the time I serve the fat man his chops and baked potato, along with more bread and butter, he is the only one left.

  I drop lots of sour cream onto his potato. I sprinkle bacon and chives over his sour cream. I bring him more bread and butter.

  Is everything all right? I say.

  Fine, he says, and he puffs. Excellent, thank you, he says, and puffs again.

  Enjoy your dinner, I say. I raise the lid of his sugar bowl and look in. He nods and keeps looking at me until I move away.

  I know now I was after something. But I don’t know what.

  How is old tub-of-guts doing? He’s going to run your legs off, says Harriet. You know Harriet.

  For dessert, I say to the fat man, there is the Green Lantern Special, which is a pudding cake with sauce, or there is cheesecake or vanilla ice cream or pineapple sherbet.

  We’re not making you late, are we? he says, puffing and looking concerned.

  Not at all, I say. Of course not, I say. Take your time, I say. I’ll bring you more coffee while you make up your mind.

  We’ll be honest with you, he says. And he moves in the seat. We would like the Special, but we may have a dish of vanilla ice cream as well. With just a drop of chocolate syrup, if you please. We told you we were hungry, he says.

  I go off to the kitchen to see after his dessert myself, and Rudy says, Harriet says you got a fat man from the circus out there. That true?

  Rudy has his apron and hat off now, if you see what I mean.

  Rudy, he is fat, I say, but that is not the whole story.

  Rudy just laughs.

  Sounds to me like she’s sweet on fat-stuff, he says.

  Better watch out, Rudy, says Joanne, who just that minute comes into the kitchen.

  I’m getting jealous, Rudy says to Joanne.

  I put the Special in front of the fat man and a big bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup to the side.

  Thank you, he says.

  You are very welcome, I say—and a feeling comes over me.

  Believe it or not, he says, we have not always eaten like this.

  Me, I eat and I eat and I can’t gain, I say. I’d like to gain, I say.

  No, he says. If we had our choice, no. But there is no choice.

  Then he picks up his spoon and eats.

  What else? Rita says, lighting one of my cigarets and pulling her chair closer to the table. This story’s getting interesting now, Rita says.

  That’s it. Nothing else. He eats his desserts, and then he leaves and then we go home, Rudy and me.

  Some fatty, Rudy says, stretching like he does when he’s tired. Then he just laughs and goes back to watching the TV.

  I put the water on to boil for tea and take a shower. I put my hand on my middle and wonder what would

  happen if I had children and one of them turned out to look like that, so fat.

  I pour the water in the pot, arrange the cups, the sugar bowl, carton of half and half, and take the tray in to Rudy. As if he’s been thinking about it, Rudy says, I knew a fat guy once, a couple of fat guys, really fat guys, when I was a kid. They were tubbies, my God. I don’t remember their names. Fat, that’s the only name this one kid had. We called him Fat, the kid who lived next door to me. He was a neighbor. The other kid came along later. His name was Wobbly. Everybody called him Wobbly except the teachers. Wobbly and Fat. Wish I had their pictures, Rudy says.

  I can’t think of anything to say, so we drink our tea and pretty soon I get up to go to bed. Rudy gets up too, turns off the TV, locks the front door, and begins his unbuttoning.

  I get into bed and move clear over to the edge and lie there on my stomach. But right away, as soon as he turns off the light and gets into bed, Rudy begins. I turn on my back and relax some, though it is against my will. But here is the thing. When he gets on me, I suddenly feel I am fat. I feel I am terrifically fat, so fat that Rudy is a tiny thing and hardly there at all.

  That’s a funny story, Rita says, but I can see she doesn’t know what to make of it.

  I feel depressed. But I won’t go into it with her. I’ve already told her too much.

  She sits there waiting, her dainty fingers poking her hair.

  Waiting for what? I’d like to know.

  It is August.

  My life is going to change. I feel it.

  NEIGHBORS

  Bill and Arlene Miller were a happy couple. But now and then they felt they alone among their circle had been passed by somehow, leaving Bill to attend to his bookkeeping duties and Arlene occupied with secretarial chores. They talked about it sometimes, mostly in comparison with the lives of their neighbors, Harriet and Jim Stone. It seemed to the Millers that the Stones lived a fuller and brighter life. The Stones were always going out for dinner, or entertaining at home, or traveling about the country somewhere in connection with Jim’s work.

  The Stones lived across the hall from the Millers. Jim was a salesman for a machine-parts firm and often managed to combine business with pleasure trips, and on this occasion the Stones would be away for ten days, first to Cheyenne, then on to St. Louis to visit relatives. In their absence, the Millers would look after the Stones* apartment, feed Kitty, and water the plants.

  Bill and Jim shook hands beside the car. Harriet and Arlene held each other by the elbows and kissed lightly on the lips.

  “Have fun,” Bill said to Harriet.

  “We will,” said Harriet. “You kids have fun too.”

  Arlene nodded.

  Jim winked at her. “Bye, Arlene. Take good care of the old man.”

  “I will,” Arlene said.

  “Have fun,” Bill said.

  “You bet,” Jim said, clipping Bill lightly on the arm. “And thanks again, you guys.”

  The Stones waved as they drove away, and the Millers waved too.

  “Well, I wish it was us,” Bill said.

  “God knows, we could use a vacation,” Arlene said. She took his arm and put it around her waist as they climbed the stairs to their apartment.

  After dinner Arlene said, “Don’t forget. Kitty gets liver flavor the first night.” She stood in the kitchen doorway folding the handmade tablecloth that Harriet had bought for her last year in Santa Fe,

  Bill took a deep breath as he entered the Stones’ apartment. The air was already heavy and it was vaguely sweet. The sunburst clock over the television said half past eight. He remembered when Harriet had come home with the clock, how she had crossed the hall to show it to Arlene, cradling the brass case in her arms and talking to it through the tissue paper as if it were an infant.

  Kitty rubbed her face against his slippers and then turned onto her side, but jumped up quickly as Bill moved to the kitchen and selected one of the stacked cans from the gleaming drainboard. Leaving the cat to pick at her food, he headed for the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and then closed his eyes and then looked again. He opened the medicine chest. He found a container of pills and read the label— Harriet Stone. One each day as directed—and slipped it into his pocket. He went back to the kitchen, drew a pitcher of water, and returned to the living room. He finished watering, set the pitcher on the rug, and opened the liquor cabinet. He reached in back for the bottle of Chivas Regal. He took two drinks from the bottle, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and replaced the bottle in the cabinet.

  Kitty was on the couch sleeping. He switched off the lights, slowly closing and checking the door. He had the feeling he had left something.

  “What kept you?” Arlene said. She sat with her legs turned under her, watching television.

  “Nothing. Playing with Kit
ty,” he said, and went over to her and touched her breasts.

  “Let’s go to bed, honey,” he said.

  The next day Bill took only ten minutes of the twenty-minute break allotted for the afternoon and left at fifteen minutes before five. He parked the car in the lot just as Arlene hopped down from the bus. He waited until she entered the building, then ran up the stairs to catch her as she stepped out of the elevator.

  “Bill! God, you scared me. You’re early,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Nothing to do at work,” he said.

  She let him use her key to open the door. He looked at the door across the hall before following her inside.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

  “Now?” She laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing. Take your dress off.” He grabbed for her awkwardly, and she said, “Good God, Bill.”

  He unfastened his belt.

  Later they sent out for Chinese food, and when it arrived they ate hungrily, without speaking, and listened to records.

  “Let’s not forget to feed Kitty,” she said.

  “I was just thinking about that,” he said. “I’ll go right over.”

  He selected a can of fish flavor for the cat, then filled the pitcher and went to water. When he returned to the kitchen, the cat was scratching in her box. She looked at him steadily before she turned back to the litter. He opened all the cupboards and examined the canned goods, the cereals, the packaged foods, the cocktail and wine glasses, the china, the pots and pans. He opened the refrigerator. He sniffed some celery, took two bites of cheddar cheese, and chewed on an apple as he walked into the bedroom. The bed seemed enormous, with a fluffy white bedspread draped to the floor. He pulled out a nightstand drawer, found a half-empty package of cigarets and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he stepped to the closet and was opening it when the knock sounded at the front door.

  He stopped by the bathroom and flushed the toilet on his way.