Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?

by Raymond Carver

  Paula picked up a handful of snow and threw it at the dog. The porch light came on, the door opened, and a man called, “Buzzy” Myers got to his feet and brushed himself off.

  “What’s going on?” the man in the doorway said. “Who is it? Buzzy, come here, fellow. Come here!” “We’re the Myerses,” Paula said. “We came to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

  “The Myerses?” the man in the doorway said. “Get out! Get in the garage, Buzzy. Get, get! It’s the Myerses,” the man said to the woman who stood behind him trying to look past his shoulder.

  “The Myerses,” she said. “Well, ask them in, ask them in, for heaven’s sake.” She stepped onto the porch and said, “Come in, please, it’s freezing. I’m Hilda Morgan and this is Edgar. We’re happy to meet you. Please come in.”

  They all shook hands quickly on the front porch. Myers and Paula stepped inside and Edgar Morgan shut the door.

  “Let me have your coats. Take off your coats,” Edgar Morgan said. “You’re all right?” he said to Myers, observing him closely, and Myers nodded. “I knew that dog was crazy, but he’s never pulled anything like this. I saw it. I was looking out the window when it happened.”

  This remark seemed odd to Myers, and he looked at the man. Edgar Morgan was in his forties, nearly bald, and was dressed in slacks and a sweater and was wearing leather slippers.

  “His name is Buzzy.” Hilda Morgan announced and made a face. “It’s Edgar’s dog. I can’t have an animal in the house myself, but Edgar bought this dog and promised to keep him outside.”

  “He sleeps in the garage,” Edgar Morgan said. “He begs to come in the house, but we can’t allow it, you know.” Morgan chuckled. “But sit down, sit down, if you can find a place with this clutter. Hilda, dear, move some of those things off the couch so Mr. and Mrs. Myers can sit down.”

  Hilda Morgan cleared the couch of packages, wrapping paper, scissors, a box of ribbons, bows. She put everything on the floor.

  Myers noticed Morgan staring at him again, not smiling now.

  Paula said, “Myers, there’s something in your hair, dearest.”

  Myers put a hand up to the back of his head and found a twig and put it in his pocket.

  “That dog,” Morgan said and chuckled again. “We were just having a hot drink and wrapping some last-minute gifts. Will you join us in a cup of holiday cheer? What would you like?”

  “Anything is fine,” Paula said.

  “Anything,” Myers said. “We wouldn’t have interrupted.”

  “Nonsense,” Morgan said. “We’ve been .. . very curious about the Myerses. You’ll have a hot drink, sir?”

  “That’s fine,” Myers said.

  “Mrs. Myers?” Morgan said.

  Paula nodded.

  “Two hot drinks coming up,” Morgan said. “Dear, I think we’re ready too, aren’t we?” he said to his wife. “This is certainly an occasion.”

  He took her cup and went out to the kitchen. Myers heard the cupboard door bang and heard a muffled word that sounded like a curse. Myers blinked. He looked at Hilda Morgan, who was settling herself into a chair at the end of the couch.

  “Sit down over here, you two,” Hilda Morgan said. She patted the arm of the couch. “Over here, by the fire. We’ll have Mr. Morgan build it up again when he returns.” They sat. Hilda Morgan clasped her hands in her lap and leaned forward slightly, examining Myers’ face.

  The living room was as he remembered it, except that on the wall behind Hilda Morgan’s chair he saw three small framed prints. In one print a man in a vest and frock coat was tipping his hat to two ladies who held parasols. All this was happening on a broad concourse with horses and carriages.

  “How was Germany?” Paula said. She sat on the edge of the cushion and held her purse on her knees.

  “We loved Germany,” Edgar Morgan said, coming in from the kitchen with a tray and four large cups. Myers recognized the cups.

  “Have you been to Germany, Mrs. Myers?” Morgan asked.

  “We want to go,” Paula said. “Don’t we, Myers? Maybe next year, next summer. Or else the year after. As soon as we can afford it. Maybe as soon as Myers sells something. Myers writes.”

  “I should think a trip to Europe would be very beneficial to a writer,” Edgar Morgan said. He put the cups into coasters. “Please help yourselves.” He sat down in a chair across from his wife and gazed at Myers. “You said in your letter you were taking off work to write.”

  “That’s true,” Myers said and sipped his drink.

  “He writes something almost every day,” Paula said.

  “Is that a fact?” Morgan said. “That’s impressive. What did you write today, may I ask?”

  “Nothing,” Myers said.

  “It’s the holidays,” Paula said.

  “You must be proud of him, Mrs. Myers,” Hilda Morgan said.

  “I am,” Paula said.

  “I’m happy for you,” Hilda Morgan said.

  “I heard something the other day that might interest you,” Edgar Morgan said. He took out some tobacco and began to fill a pipe. Myers lighted a cigaret and looked around for an ashtray, then dropped the match behind the couch.

  “It’s a horrible story, really. But maybe you could use it, Mr. Myers.” Morgan struck a flame and drew on the pipe. “Grist for the mill, you know, and all that,” Morgan said and laughed and shook the match. “This fellow was about my age or so. He was a colleague for a couple of years. We knew each other a little, and we had good friends in common. Then he moved out, accepted a position at the university down the way. Well, you know how these things go sometimes—the fellow had an affair with one his students.”

  Mrs. Morgan made a disapproving noise with her tongue. She reached down for a small package that was wrapped in green paper and began to affix a red bow to the paper.

  “According to all accounts, it was a torrid affair that lasted for some months,” Morgan continued. “Right up until a short time ago, in fact. A week ago, to be exact. On that day—it was in the evening—he announced to his wife—they’d been married for twenty years—he announced to his wife that he wanted a divorce. You can imagine how the fool woman took it, coming out of the blue like that, so to speak. There was quite a row. The whole family got into it. She ordered him out of the house then and there. But just as the fellow was leaving, his son threw a can of tomato soup at him and hit him in the forehead. It caused a concussion that sent the man to the hospital. His condition is quite serious.”

  Morgan drew on his pipe and gazed at Myers.

  “I’ve never heard such a story,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Edgar, that’s disgusting.”

  “Horrible,” Paula said.

  Myers grinned.

  “Now there's a tale for you, Mr. Myers,” Morgan said, catching the grin and narrowing his eyes. “Think of the story you’d have if you could get inside that man’s head.”

  “Or her head,” Mrs. Morgan said. “The wife’s. Think of her story. To be betrayed in such fashion after twenty years. Think how she must feel.”

  “But imagine what the poor boy must be going through,” Paula said. “Imagine, having almost killed his father.”

  “Yes, that’s all true,” Morgan said. “But here’s something I don’t think any of you has thought about. Think about this for a moment. Mr. Myers, are you listening? Tell me what you think of this. Put yourself in the shoes of that eighteen-year-old coed who fell in love with a married man. Think about her for a moment, and then you see the possibilities for your story.”

  Morgan nodded and leaned back in the chair with a satisfied expression.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any sympathy for her,” Mrs.

  Morgan said. “I can imagine the sort she is. We all know what she’s like, that kind preys on older men. I don’t have any sympathy for him, either—the man, the chaser, no, I don’t. I’m afraid my sympathies in this case are entirely with the wife and son.”

  “It would take a Tolstoy to tell it and tell i
t right,'’Morgan said. “No less than a Tolstoy. Mr. Myers, the water is still hot.”

  “Time to go,” Myers said.

  He stood up and threw his cigaret into the fire. “Stay,” Mrs. Morgan said. “We haven’t gotten acquainted yet. You don’t know how we have.. . speculated about you. Now that we’re together at last, stay a little while. It’s such a pleasant surprise.”

  “We appreciated the card and your note,” Paula said. “The card?” Mrs. Morgan said.

  Myers sat down.

  “We decided not to mail any cards this year,” Paula said. “I didn’t get around to it when I should have, and it seemed futile to do it at the last minute.”

  “You’ll have another one, Mrs. Myers?” Morgan said, standing in front of her now with his hand on her cup. “You’ll set an example for your husband.”

  “It was good,” Paula said. “It warms you.”

  “Right,” Morgan said. “It warms you. That’s right. Dear, did you hear Mrs. Myers? It warms you. That’s very good. “Mr. Myers?” Morgan said and waited. “You’ll join us?”

  “All right,” Myers said and let Morgan take the cup.

  The dog began to whine and scratch at the door.

  “That dog. I don’t know what’s gotten into that dog,” Morgan said. He went to the kitchen and this time Myers distinctly heard Morgan curse as he slammed the kettle onto a burner.

  Mrs. Morgan began to hum. She picked up a half-wrapped package, cut a piece of tape, and began sealing the paper.

  Myers lighted a cigaret. He dropped the match in his coaster. He looked at his watch.

  Mrs. Morgan raised her head. “I believe I hear singing,” she said. She listened. She rose from her chair and went to the front window. “It is singing. Edgar!” she called.

  Myers and Paula went to the window.

  “I haven’t seen carolers in years,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “What is it?” Morgan said. He had the tray and cups. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, dear. It’s carolers. There they are over there, across the street,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “Mrs. Myers,” Morgan said, extending the tray. “Mr. Myers. Dear.”

  Thank you,” Paula said.

  “Muchas gracias,” Myers said.

  Morgan put the tray down and came back to the window with his cup. Young people were gathered on the walk in front of the house across the street, boys and girls with an older, taller boy who wore a muffler and a topcoat. Myers could see the faces at the window across the way—the Ardreys—and when the carolers had finished, Jack Ardrey came to the door and gave something to the older boy. The group moved on down the walk, flashlights bobbing, and stopped in front of another house.

  “They won’t come here,” Mrs. Morgan said after a time.

  “What? Why won’t they come here?” Morgan said and turned to his wife. “What a goddamned silly thing to say! Why won’t they come here?”

  “I just know they won’t,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “And I say they will,” Morgan said. “Mrs. Myers, are those carolers going to come here or not? What do you think? Will they return to bless this house? We’ll leave it up to you.”

  Paula pressed closer to the window. But the carolers were far down the street now. She did not answer.

  “Well, now that all the excitement is over,” Morgan said and went over to his chair. He sat down, frowned, and began to fill his pipe.

  Myers and Paula went back to the couch. Mrs. Morgan moved away from the window at last. She sat down. She smiled and gazed into her cup. Then she put the cup down and began to weep.

  Morgan gave his handkerchief to his wife. He looked at Myers. Presently Morgan began to drum on the arm of his chair. Myers moved his feet. Paula looked into her purse for a cigaret. “See what you’ve caused?” Morgan said as he stared at something on the carpet near Myers’ shoes.

  Myers gathered himself to stand.

  “Edgar, get them another drink,” Mrs. Morgan said as she dabbed at her eyes. She used the handkerchief on her nose. “I want them to hear about Mrs. Attenborough. Mr. Myers writes. I think he might appreciate this. We’ll wait until you come back before we begin the story.”

  Morgan collected the cups. He carried them into the kitchen. Myers heard dishes clatter, cupboard doors bang. Mrs. Morgan looked at Myers and smiled faintly.

  “We have to go,” Myers said. “We have to go. Paula, get your coat.”

  “No, no, we insist, Mr. Myers,” Mrs. Morgan said. “We want you to hear about Mrs. Attenborough, poor Mrs. Attenborough. You might appreciate this story, too, Mrs. Myers. This is your chance to see how your husband’s mind goes to work on raw material.”

  Morgan came back and passed out the hot drinks. He sat down quickly.

  “Tell them about Mrs. Attenborough, dear,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “That dog almost tore my leg off,” Myers said and was at once surprised at his words. He put his cup down. “Oh, come, it wasn’t that bad,” Morgan said. “I saw it.” “You know writers,” Mrs. Morgan said to Paula. “They like to exaggerate.”

  “The power of the pen and all that,” Morgan said. “That’s it,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Bend your pen into a plowshare, Mr. Myers.”

  “We’ll let Mrs. Morgan tell the story of Mrs. Attenborough,” Morgan said, ignoring Myers, who stood up at that moment. “Mrs. Morgan was intimately connected with the affair. I’ve already told you of the fellow who was knocked for a loop by a can of soup.” Morgan chuckled. “We’ll let Mrs. Morgan tell this one.”

  “You tell it, dear. And Mr. Myers, you listen closely,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “We have to go,” Myers said. “Paula, let’s go.”

  “Talk about honesty,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “Let’s talk about it,” Myers said. Then he said, “Paula, are you coming?”

  “I want you to hear this story,” Morgan said, raising his voice. “You will insult Mrs. Morgan, you will insult us both, if you don’t listen to this story.” Morgan clenched his pipe.

  “Myers, please,” Paula said anxiously. “I want to hear it. Then we’ll go. Myers? Please, honey, sit down for another minute.”

  Myers looked at her. She moved her fingers, as if signaling him. He hesitated, and then he sat next to her.

  Mrs. Morgan began. “One afternoon in Munich, Edgar and I went to the Dortmunder Museum. There was a Bauhaus exhibit that fall, and Edgar said the heck with it, let’s take a day off—he was doing his research, you see—the heck with it, let’s take a day off. We caught a tram and rode across Munich to the museum. We spent several hours viewing the exhibit and revisiting some of the galleries to pay homage to a few of our favorites amongst the old masters. Just as we were to leave, I stepped into the ladies’ room. I left my purse. In the purse was Edgar’s monthly check from home that had come the day before and a hundred and twenty dollars cash that I was going to deposit along with the check. I also had my identification cards in the purse. I did not miss my purse until we arrived home. Edgar immediately telephoned the museum authorities. But while he was talking I saw a taxi out front. A well-dressed woman with white hair got out. She was a stout woman and she was carrying two purses. I called for Edgar and went to the door. The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Attenborough, gave me my purse, and explained that she too had visited the museum that afternoon and while in the ladies’ room had noticed a purse in the trash can. She of course had opened the purse in an effort to trace the owner. There were the identification cards and such giving our local address. She immediately left the museum and took a taxi in order to deliver the purse herself. Edgar’s check was there, but the money, the one hundred twenty dollars, was gone. Nevertheless, I was grateful the other things were intact. It was nearly four o’clock and we asked the woman to stay for tea. She sat down, and after a little while she began to tell us about herself. She had been born and reared in Australia, had married young, had had three children, all sons, been widowed, and still lived in Au
stralia with two of her sons. They raised sheep and had more than twenty thousand acres of land for the sheep to run in, and many drovers and shearers and such who worked for them at certain times of the year. When she came to our home in Munich, she was then on her way to Australia from England, where she had been to visit her youngest son, who was a barrister. She was returning to Australia when we met her,” Mrs. Morgan said. “She was seeing some of the world in the process. She had many places yet to visit on her itinerary.”

  “Come to the point, dear,” Morgan said.

  “Yes. Here is what happened, then. Mr. Myers, I’ll go right to the climax, as you writers say. Suddenly, after

  we had had a very pleasant conversation for an hour, after this woman had told about herself and her adventurous life Down Under, she stood up to go. As she started to pass me her cup, her mouth flew open, the cup dropped, and she fell across our couch and died. Died. Right in our living room. It was the most shocking moment in our lives.”

  Morgan nodded solemnly.

  “God,” Paula said.

  “Fate sent her to die on the couch in our living room in Germany,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  Myers began to laugh. “Fate . . . sent. . . her ... to ... die ... in ... your ... living. .. room?” he said between gasps.

  “Is that funny, sir?” Morgan said. “Do you find that amusing?”

  Myers nodded. He kept laughing. He wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I can’t help it. That line 'Fate sent her to die on the couch in our living room in Germany’. I’m sorry. Then what happened?” he managed to say. “I’d like to know what happened then.”

  “Mr. Myers, we didn’t know what to do,” Mrs. Morgan said. “The shock was terrible. Edgar felt for her pulse, but there was no sign of life. And she had begun to change color. Her face and hands were turning gray. Edgar went to the phone to call someone. Then he said, ‘Open her purse, see if you can find where she’s staying.’ All the time averting my eyes from the poor thing there on the couch, I took up her purse. Imagine my complete surprise and bewilderment, my utter bewilderment, when the first thing I saw inside was my hundred twenty dollars, still fastened with the paper clip. I was never so astonished.”