Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?

by Raymond Carver

  “Good luck,” he says and touches her elbow.

  She nods. He sees she is already gone, already negotiating.

  “Things are going to be different!” he calls to her as she reaches the driveway. “We start over Monday. I mean it.”

  Ernest Williams looks at them and turns his head and spits. She gets into the car and lights a cigaret.

  “This time next week!” Leo calls again. “Ancient history! ”

  He waves as she backs into the street. She changes gear and starts ahead. She accelerates and the tires give a little scream.

  In the kitchen Leo pours Scotch and carries the drink to the backyard. The kids are at his mother’s. There was a letter three days ago, his name penciled on the outside of the dirty envelope, the only letter all summer not demanding payment in full. We are having fun, the letter said. We like Grandma. We have a new dog called Mr. Six. He is nice. We love him. Goodbye.

  He goes for another drink. He adds ice and sees that his hand trembles. He holds the hand over the sink. He looks at the hand for a while, sets down the glass, and holds out the other hand. Then he picks up the glass and goes back outside to sit on the steps. He recalls when he was a kid his dad pointing at a fine house, a tall white house surrounded by apple trees and a high white rail fence. “That’s Finch,” his dad said admiringly. “He’s been in bankruptcy at least twice. Look at that house." But bankruptcy is a company collapsing utterly, executives cutting their wrists and throwing themselves from windows, thousands of men on the street.

  Leo and Toni still had furniture. Leo and Toni had furniture and Toni and the kids had clothes. Those things were exempt. What else? Bicycles for the kids, but these he had sent to his mother’s for safekeeping. The portable air-conditioner and the appliances, new washer and dryer, trucks came for those things weeks ago. What else did they have? This and that, nothing mainly, stuff that wore out or fell to pieces long ago. But there were some big parties back there, some fine travel. To Reno and Tahoe, at eighty with the top down and the radio playing. Food, that was one of the big items. They gorged on food. He figures thousands on luxury items alone. Toni would go to the grocery and put in everything she saw. “I had to do without when I was a kid,” she says. “These kids are not going to do without,” as if he’d been insisting they should. She joins all the book clubs. “We never had books around when I was a kid,” she says as she tears open the heavy packages. They enroll in the record clubs for something to play on the new stereo. They sign up for it all. Even a pedigreed terrier named Ginger. He paid two hundred and found her run over in the street a week later. They buy what they want. If they can’t pay, they charge. They sign up.

  His undershirt is wet; he can feel the sweat rolling from his underarms. He sits on the step with the empty glass in his hand and watches the shadows fill up the yard. He stretches, wipes his face. He listens to the traffic on the highway and considers whether he should go to the basement, stand on the utility sink, and hang himself with his belt. He understands he is willing to be dead.

  Inside he makes a large drink and he turns the TV on and he fixes something to eat. He sits at the table with chili and crackers and watches something about a blind detective. He clears the table. He washes the pan and the bowl, dries these things and puts them away, then allows himself a look at the clock.

  It’s after nine. She’s been gone nearly five hours.

  He pours Scotch, adds water, carries the drink to the living room. He sits on the couch but finds his shoulders so stiff they won’t let him lean back. He stares at the screen and sips, and soon he goes for another drink. He sits again. A news program begins—it’s ten o’clock— and he says, “God, what in God’s name has gone wrong?” and goes to the kitchen to return with more Scotch. He sits, he closes his eyes, and opens them when he hears the telephone ringing.

  “I wanted to call,” she says.

  “Where are you?” he says. He hears piano music, and his heart moves.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Someplace. We’re having a drink, then we’re going someplace else for dinner. I’m with the sales manager. He’s crude, but he’s all right. He bought the car. I have to go now. I was on my way to the ladies and saw the phone.”

  “Did somebody buy the car?” Leo says. He looks out the kitchen window to the place in the drive where she always parks.

  “I told you,” she says. “I have to go now.”

  “Wait, wait a minute, for Christ’s sake,” he says. “Did somebody buy the car or not?”

  “He had his checkbook out when I left,” she says. “I have to go now. I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Wait!” he yells. The line goes dead. He listens to the dial tone. “Jesus Christ,” he says as he stands with the receiver in his hand.

  He circles the kitchen and goes back to the living room. He sits. He gets up. In the bathroom he brushes his teeth very carefully. Then he uses dental floss. He washes his face and goes back to the kitchen. He looks at the clock and takes a clean glass from a set that has a hand of playing cards painted on each glass. He fills the glass with ice. He stares for a while at the glass he left in the sink.

  He sits against one end of the couch and puts his legs up at the other end. He looks at the screen, realizes he can’t make out what the people are saying. He turns the empty glass in his hand and considers biting off the rim. He shivers for a time and thinks of going to bed, though he knows he will dream of a large woman with gray hair. In the dream he is always leaning over tying his shoelaces. When he straightens up, she looks at him, and he bends to tie again. He looks at his hand. It makes a fist as he watches. The telephone is ringing.

  “Where are you, honey?” he says slowly, gently.

  “We’re at this restaurant,” she says, her voice strong, bright.

  “Honey, which restaurant?” he says. He puts the heel of his hand against his eye and pushes.

  “Downtown someplace,” she says. “I think it’s New

  Jimmy’s. Excuse me,” she says to someone off the line, “is this place New Jimmy’s? This is New Jimmy’s, Leo, ” she says to him. “Everything is all right, we’re almost finished, then he’s going to bring me home.”

  “Honey?” he says. He holds the receiver against his ear and rocks back and forth, eyes closed. “Honey?”

  “I have to go,” she says. “I wanted to call. Anyway, guess how much?”

  “Honey,” he says.

  “Six and a quarter,” she says. “I have it in my purse. He said there’s no market for convertibles. I guess we’re born lucky,” she says and laughs. “I told him everything. I think I had to.”

  “Honey,” Leo says.

  “What?” she says.

  “Please, honey,” Leo says.

  “He said he sympathizes,” she says. “But he would have said anything.” She laughs again. “He said personally he’d rather be classified a robber or a rapist than a bankrupt. He’s nice enough, though,” she says.

  “Come home,” Leo says. “Take a cab and come home.”

  “I can’t,” she says. “I told you, we’re halfway through dinner.”

  “I’ll come for you,” he says.

  “No,” she says. “I said we’re just finishing. I told you, it’s part of the deal. They’re out for all they can get. But don’t worry, we’re about to leave. I’ll be home in a little while.” She hangs up.

  In a few minutes he calls New Jimmy’s. A man answers. “New Jimmy’s has closed for the evening,” the man says.

  “I’d like to talk to my wife,” Leo says.

  “Does she work here?” the man asks. “Who is she?”

  “She’s a customer,” Leo says. “She’s with someone. A business person.”

  “Would I know her?” the man says. “What is her name?”

  “I don’t think you know her,” Leo says.

  “That’s all right,” Leo says. “That’s all right. I see her now.”

  “Thank you for calling New Jimmy’s,” the ma
n says.

  Leo hurries to the window. A car he doesn’t recognize slows in front of the house, then picks up speed. He waits. Two, three hours later, the telephone rings again. There is no one at the other end when he picks up the receiver. There is only a dial tone.

  “I’m right here!” Leo screams into the receiver.

  Near dawn he hears footsteps on the porch. He gets up from the couch. The set hums, the screen glows. He opens the door. She bumps the wall coming in. She grins. Her face is puffy, as if she’s been sleeping under sedation. She works her lips, ducks heavily and sways as he cocks his fist.

  “Go ahead,” she says thickly. She stands there swaying. Then she makes a noise and lunges, catches his shirt, tears it down the front. “Bankrupt!” she screams. She twists loose, grabs and tears his undershirt at the neck. “You son of a bitch,” she says, clawing.

  He squeezes her wrists, then lets go, steps back, looking for something heavy. She stumbles as she heads for the bedroom. “Bankrupt,” she mutters. He hears her fall on the bed and groan.

  He waits awhile, then splashes water on his face and goes to the bedroom. He turns the lights on, looks at her, and begins to take her clothes off. He pulls and pushes her from side to side undressing her. She says something in her sleep and moves her hand. He takes off her underpants, looks at them closely under the light, and throws them into a corner. He turns back the covers and rolls her in, naked. Then he opens her purse. He is reading the check when he hears the car come into the drive.

  He looks through the front curtain and sees the convertible in the drive, its motor running smoothly, the headlamps burning, and he closes and opens his eyes. He sees a tall man come around in front of the car and up to the front porch. The man lays something on the porch and starts back to the car. He wears a white linen suit.

  Leo turns on the porch light and opens the door cautiously. Her makeup pouch lies on the top step. The man looks at Leo across the front of the car, and then gets back inside and releases the handbrake.

  “Wait!” Leo calls and starts down the steps. The man brakes the car as Leo walks in front of the lights. The car creaks against the brake. Leo tries to pull the two pieces of his shirt together, tries to bunch it all into his trousers.

  “What is it you want?” the man says. “Look,” the man says, “I have to go. No offense. I buy and sell cars, right? The lady left her makeup. She’s a fine lady, very refined. What is it?”

  Leo leans against the door and looks at the man. The man takes his hands off the wheel and puts them back. He drops the gear into reverse and the car moves backward a little

  “I want to tell you,” Leo says and wets his lips.

  The light in Ernest Williams’ bedroom goes on. The shade rolls up.

  Leo shakes his head, tucks in his shirt again. He steps back from the car. “Monday,” he says.

  “Monday,” the man says and watches for sudden movement.

  Leo nods slowly.

  “Well, goodnight,” the man says and coughs. “Take it easy, hear? Monday, that’s right. Okay, then.” He takes his foot off the brake, puts it on again after he has rolled back two or three feet. “Hey, one question. Between friends, are these actual miles?” The man waits, then clears his throat. “Okay, look, it doesn’t matter either way,” the man says. “I have to go. Take it easy.” He backs into the street, pulls away quickly, and turns the corner without stopping.

  Leo tucks at his shirt and goes back in the house. He locks the front door and checks it. Then he goes to the bedroom and locks that door and turns back the covers. He looks at her before he flicks the light. He takes off his clothes, folds them carefully on the floor, and gets in beside her. He lies on his back for a time and pulls the hair on his stomach, considering. He looks at the bedroom door, outlined now in the faint outside light. Presently he reaches out his hand and touches her hip. She does not move. He turns on his side and puts his hand on her hip. He runs his fingers over her hip and feels the stretch marks there. They are like roads, and he traces them in her flesh. He runs his fingers back and forth, first one, then another. They run everywhere in her flesh, dozens, perhaps hundreds of them. He remembers waking up the morning after they bought the car, seeing it, there in the drive, in the sun, gleaming.

  SIGNALS

  As their first of the extravagances they had planned for that evening, Wayne and Caroline went to Aldo’s, an elegant new restaurant north a good distance. They passed through a tiny walled garden with small pieces of statuary and were met by a tall graying man in a dark suit who said, “Good evening, sir. Madam,” and who swung open the heavy door for them.

  Inside, Aldo himself showed them the aviary—a peacock, a pair of Golden pheasants, a Chinese ringnecked pheasant, and a number of unannounced birds that flew around or sat perched. Aldo personally conducted them to a table, seated Caroline, and then turned to Wayne and said, “A lovely lady,” before moving off—a dark, small, impeccable man with a soft accent.

  They were pleased with his attention.

  “I read in the paper,” Wayne said, “that he has an uncle who has some kind of position in the Vatican. That’s how he was able to get copies of some of these paintings.” Wayne nodded at a Velasquez reproduction on the nearest wall. “His uncle in the Vatican,” Wayne said.

  “He used to be maitre d’ at the Copacabana in Rio,” Caroline said. “He knew Frank Sinatra, and Lana Turner was a good friend of his.”

  “Is that so?” Wayne said. “I didn’t know that. I read that he was at the Victoria Hotel in Switzerland and at some big hotel in Paris. I didn’t know he was at the Copacabana in Rio.”

  Caroline moved her handbag slightly as the waiter set down the heavy goblets. He poured water and then moved to Wayne’s side of the table.

  “Did you see the suit he was wearing?” Wayne said. “You seldom see a suit like that. That’s a three-hundred-dollar suit.” He picked up his menu. In a while, he said, “Well, what are you going to have?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t decided. What are you going to have?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t decided, either.” “What about one of these French dishes, Wayne? Or else this? Over here on this side.” She placed her finger in instruction, and then she narrowed her eyes at him as he located the language, pursed his lips, frowned, and shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’d kind of like to know what I’m getting. I just don’t really know.”

  The waiter returned with card and pencil and said something Wayne couldn’t quite catch.

  “We haven’t decided yet,” Wayne said. He shook his head as the waiter continued to stand beside the table. “I’ll signal you when we’re ready.”

  “I think I’ll just have a sirloin. You order what you want,” he said to Caroline when the waiter had moved off. He closed the menu and raised his goblet. Over the muted voices coming from the other tables Wayne could hear a warbling call from the aviary. He saw Aldo greet a party of four, chat with them as he smiled and nodded and led them to a table.

  “We could have had a better table,” Wayne said. “Instead of right here in the center where everyone can walk by and watch you eat. We could have had a table against the wall. Or over there by the fountain.”

  “I think I'll have the beef Tournedos,” Caroline said.

  She kept looking at her menu. He tapped out a cigaret, lighted it, and then glanced around at the other diners. Caroline still stared at her menu.

  “Well, for God's sake, if that’s what you’re going to have, close your menu so he can take our order.” Wayne raised his arm for the waiter, who lingered near the back talking with another waiter.

  “Nothing else to do but gas around with the other waiters,” Wayne said.

  “He’s coming,” Caroline said.

  “Sir?” The waiter was a thin pock-faced man in a loose black suit and a black bow tie.

  “... And we’ll have a bottle of champagne, I believe A small bottle.
Something, you know, domestic,” Wayne said.

  “Yes, sir,” the waiter said.

  “And we’ll have that right away. Before the salad or the relish plate,” Wayne said.

  “Oh, bring the relish tray, anyway,” Caroline said. “Please.”

  “Yes, madam,*’ the waiter said.

  “They’re a slippery bunch,” Wayne said. “Do you remember that guy named Bruno who used to work at the office during the week and wait tables on weekends? Fred caught him stealing out of the petty-cash box. We fired him.”

  “Let’s talk about something pleasant,” Caroline said.

  “All right, sure,” Wayne said.

  The waiter poured a little champagne into Wayne’s glass, and Wayne took the glass, tasted, and said, “Fine, that will do nicely.” Then he said, “Here’s to you, baby,” and raised his glass high. “Happy birthday.”

  They clinked glasses.

  “I like champagne,” Caroline said.

  “I like champagne,” Wayne said.

  “We could have had a bottle of Lancer’s,” Caroline said.

  “Well, why didn’t you say something, if that’s what you wanted?” Wayne said.

  “I don’t know,” Caroline said. “I just didn’t think about it. This is fine, though.”

  “I don’t know too much about champagnes. I don’t mind admitting I’m not much of a ... connoisseur. I don’t mind admitting I’m just a lowbrow.” He laughed and tried to catch her eye, but she was busy selecting an olive from the relish dish. “Not like the group you’ve been keeping company with lately. But if you wanted Lancer’s,” he went on, “you should have ordered Lancer’s.”

  “Oh, shut up!” she said. “Can’t you talk about something else?” She looked up at him then and he had to look away. He moved his feet under the table.

  He said, “Would you care for some more champagne, dear?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Here’s to us,” he said.