Asunder Read online

  Given such an ill-conceived union between someone in particular and the kind of woman who sits in the backseat of cars because the front passenger side is the death seat, two things happen, both unfortunate. One is it makes the kind of woman who believes everything she is told more important than she actually is. And secondly, there is never an appropriate ending to end with, such a story as this and such a woman as she.

  MONKEY IN THE MIDDLE

  * * *

  I LOOKED AROUND TO SEE IF ANYONE WAS WATCHING. Later I made the mistake of socialization.

  For the most part there was Mother and Sister and I. They both would call me the man of the house, although everyone knew better.

  When I say everyone I mean Mother and Sister and me.

  Growing up I was not entirely friendless.

  Certainly an array of people, relationships fostered, dissolved. Weaknesses discovered and exploited. Action sometimes brought consequence.

  As youths we would stick an unfortunate in between two of us and toss a ball back and forth just over his head. Monkey in the middle, we’d taunt.

  Mother would often accuse Sister and me of wrong-doing. Mother’d say, Who broke the needle on Grandmother’s Victrola? Sister’d say, Not I said the blind man to the deaf mute.

  Sister’d also say, This is not a dress rehearsal.

  Those are the two things I remember her saying. Sister wasn’t much of a talker. I think she may have spoken some with Mother, though. They always seemed to be in cahoots with each other, like it was them against the world.

  I believe the second thing she said was intended as motivation to tackle some obstacle I had successfully been avoiding.

  But that must have been years later.

  I was mistaken when I said Mother would accuse Sister and me of wrong-doing. It was Mother and Sister who would accuse me of wrong-doing.

  I’m not certain if Sister didn’t talk to me because I’d done something to her. I don’t remember having done anything that would have prompted her to not speak to me but women are peculiar that way. She may have been shy, too.

  There was never any discussion as to why things were the way they were. Why didn’t Sister talk to Brother, for instance?

  And how exactly did Father die? If he did, in fact, die.

  Mother didn’t encourage us to play together. Go play with your friends, she’d often say. Leave Sister alone, was another thing she said quite a bit. I’d spend most of the time in my room doing I don’t remember what. What went on in Sister’s room I don’t know either. Although I am assuming when I was in my room doing I don’t remember what she was in her room doing likewise.

  And when I say the mistake of socialization I mean it in the broadest sense imaginable.

  The time when a kid named Brian got hit in the head with a rock thrown by a kid named Benny. It got him just above his left eye, which ballooned up three or four inches. We all thought he’d die, but he didn’t.

  Mother’d also say, You’ll see how they turn out.

  Mother was present in the house most of the time. I’d smell the cigarette smoke and hear the television going from my room.

  I’d stick my head out into the hallway. I’d listen. I wanted to know what went on when I wasn’t around. There were few phone calls, fewer visitors. No family to speak of, only Grandmother, who’d stay with us from time to time and whose Victrola I broke playing a Fats Domino record.

  Otherwise there were occasions and events. Happenstances. Balls flying overhead, out of reach.

  I’m not sure specificity is necessary.

  This one did this, that one did that, this happened then that happened and where the hell are you?

  Another thing is I’m not someone who looks for reasons or excuses or the causal relationships between experience and behavior.

  Does the fact that no one’s watching change what is not being watched?

  I’ve come to learn that Sister was unexpected but I was planned on. What that means exactly is unknown.

  As a child I was rarely seen and seldom heard.

  And I’m sure the memories of childhood would be pleasant ones if I had them.

  The blind man and the deaf mute didn’t have to be dragged into this, after all.

  What I think I remember is that my bedroom was situated between Mother’s and Sister’s and I smelled smoke and heard the television going.

  I’ve come to realize that what goes on when I’m not around is none of my business.

  Mostly.

  DISAPPEARING RAILROAD BLUES

  * * *

  I'M CALLING HER FROM THE CAR. It is her phone and her car and I’m calling to tell her that when she goes to the driveway there will be nothing there for her to drive. I imagine she will be confused. I have never called in the middle of the night and have never called from her car. I don’t think I’ve called more than four times this year.

  Whenever the phone rings she knows it’s probably not me on the other end is what I think I’m saying.

  There is something wrong with the language. She said this out loud in front of other people. I can’t remember who the other people were. They were men and women, no doubt, children maybe, strangers, kinfolk, acquaintances. It didn’t matter. I looked good in my suit. A gathering replete with servants and uncooked meats and women in dresses and shoes and without the free drunk and new suit I would’ve stayed home. She bought the suit I looked good in. I don’t even go with her to buy the suits. She comes home and hangs them in the closet. That was my job we’d decided. I declared twelve kinds of bankruptcy last year so it was good I had this to fall back on. There were others who looked good in their suits. None of us acknowledged each other.

  I am in the car and not sure where it is I should go. The windows are open and the radio is on and I’m trying to remember what it is I have to do with myself. I need to vacuum, which is an odd thing to recall or note. I always forget to do things like vacuuming. People say this. They say, When was the last time you vacuumed?

  Only certain people are scrutinized this way.

  There is almost nothing to say about these kinds of people.

  I maneuvered between groups of suits and shoes and found an unoccupied place at the bar. Everyone was glassy-eyed and cordial, drinking unnaturally-colored drinks. I leaned against a wall. I shifted weight. I changed expressions. I fashioned a Chinese star out of a beverage napkin. I compiled a list of partygoers I’d have sex with and under what circumstances. Finally, I snubbed the waiters. Chopin or Handl or Listz or Mozart was coming in from speakers I couldn’t locate. This is when I discovered the balcony on the other side of twin French doors. One of the waiters I’d snubbed opened and closed a door behind him while toting a tray of cold duck meat. I followed him out. The balcony had an ornate copper railing, although I’m just guessing it was copper. The color resembled that of a penny, which I think is made from copper. I don’t know anything about metals—heavy metals, alkaline metals, any of them. I don’t know anything about anything. People scoff when they hear me say this, they call it modesty or hyperbole or whatever it is they say.

  I don’t even know what people say about what I say.

  There’s a light bulb somewhere that needs changing, too. I don’t remember which light bulb, or which lamp, let alone the wattage.

  I made friends with two European drinkers out there, Gerald and Patrick. They were guilty of poor diction and gesticulating like they were on stage. I ridiculed them to their faces. They didn’t take umbrage. They knew better or they didn’t understand me. Still, the way I carry myself is see me coming better step aside a lot of men didn’t a lot of men died. I’ve always been this way. Meanwhile the cold night went all the way up to the sky and was dark everywhere else. It was all over everyone at the party and between everything. Good weather for a consultation. We were the only ones who stayed on the balcony for more than a few minutes. Others came and went, some to smoke cigarettes, others for I don’t know what. It was too cold for all of them. They said so
. They asked,

  Cold enough for you?

  Not nearly enough, no, I answered.

  They didn’t say anything after that. I knew it wasn’t an honest question.

  The balcony overlooked a public park, the way balconies do in this city. This balcony wasn’t one you could plummet off of; there were other balconies and an awning over the entranceway. One would have to dive, one would have to take a flying leap. No one at the party looked capable of any athletic maneuver. In the park were joggers, homeless chess players, riff-raff. Gerald and Patrick asked which park it was. I said it was the Ish Kabbible Memorial Park. They laughed like idiots. We took turns throwing ice cubes at what we thought were squirrels, but what were probably rats. I would’ve proposed a wager but the Europeans were especially good at this. Regardless, she was right. Sometimes it takes me all day to read the newspaper.

  When put to it I try to answer questions is the problem.

  Almost anyone would know better.

  Her phone is always ringing but I don’t know who it is that calls. She won’t say. Still, the phone never rings in the middle of the night. She was sleeping when I left. It is late and she has been asleep for hours.

  She is beautiful when she sleeps.

  The exterminator came over last week and dropped heavy on the kitchen counter. Susan was in the upstairs bathroom. She pretended to be sick but I heard her puffing on cigarettes and talking on the telephone. Best guess she was talking to Gerald or Patrick. She thought Gerald was charming and Patrick had savoir-faire.

  On the ride home—

  What did you think of Lane?

  Who?

  Lane from the balcony.

  I didn’t talk to any Lane.

  I saw you talking and drinking with him and Gustave. Lane was the tall one, with the hair and eyebrows and Gustave was wearing the alpaca sweater.

  Sorry.

  On the balcony.

  Oh, Gerald Fitzpatrick and Patrick Fitzgerald.

  You’re beneath contempt.

  I didn’t know any of them. Gerald or Lane or Ish Kabbible. I heard someone say the name once and laughed like an idiot. I didn’t think it was a real name, a real person. There is no accounting for what went on before I was born, I’ve decided.

  I don’t think the exterminator was at the party. He looked unfamiliar. I like unfamiliar people best. If I had my way I would only associate with people I didn’t know. The exterminator plugged himself in and worked the crevices. Grim, he said. Dim, he said. I was eating a sandwich. The Brothers Sum, I said. In my head it was a joke. The exterminator had his name embroidered on the left breast of his jumpsuit. I wanted to ask if he picked the jumpsuit out himself or found it hanging in his locker. The overhead lights were on and the cabinets were open. The exterminator squirted a foul liquid behind the counter. There were two more bites left. I considered offering him the rest but left it there on the plate. You can’t offer an exterminator half a sandwich.

  They don’t want me to drink anymore. No one ever says so out loud. It’s the way they look at you, the gestures, expressions. The exterminator looked at me like I was part of the infestation, like I was responsible. Susan says it’s the way I carry myself. When I’m not see me coming better step aside I carry myself in a knapsack, or else in a leather briefcase. Mostly it’s Susan upstairs in the bathroom that doesn’t want me to drink anymore. She said when I drink I lose boundaries. I don’t know what this means, though sometimes I pretend otherwise. Sometimes I tell her I’m not a cartographer.

  We have tiny ants coming up from the dishwasher. They come in battalions of ten to twenty. Susan noticed them first. She is always filling up the dishwasher or emptying it. We run the dishwasher twice a day. Everything goes on its own plate or bowl in this house. In the morning there are plates for the waffles and butter and a bowl for the syrup. I don’t ask Susan certain questions, why the syrup can’t stay in the bottle, for instance. Or why I’m not allowed to eat sugar anymore. She knows things I don’t.

  I was supposed to call an exterminator weeks ago. I forgot to do it when I was supposed to. I’m always forgetting what I’m supposed to do when I’m supposed to do it. Susan says this is indicative of something, but I’ve forgotten what. Doubtless, this proves her point.

  An hour before the party—

  Who called last night?

  When?

  I don’t know, late.

  I don’t remember.

  The phone doesn’t usually ring at that hour.

  I don’t have to explain myself in my own house.

  The car is low on gas. Whenever I take her car I always have to put gas in it. This is why she likes it when I take the car. This is the first time I’ve taken the car without her knowing it, though. This is the first time I’ve taken the car and maybe won’t return it. Which is the reason I’m calling. Otherwise, she’ll be confused when she finds her car missing and perhaps upset.

  Susan and I live in the same house. It is her house. I also maintain an apartment on the other side of town but I do most of my living at the house. That was her suggestion and the word she used. She said, Perhaps you should maintain your own apartment. This was when she invited me to live with her at some party. She said it out loud in front of a group of people I didn’t know. She knew I couldn’t maintain my own apartment but I figured she would maintain it for me. I said yes, I think. I don’t remember if I said yes exactly but I did find myself living in her house after we got back from the party.

  Sometimes I stay at the apartment for a week or two at a time. Susan doesn’t like when I do this. She says so. She says I could at least call. I almost never call.

  I go to parties with her. Sometimes I will put on clothes and Susan will tell me they are the wrong clothes. That the pants are dress pants and the shirt is casual and that I look like an idiot. She will tell me to put on one of the suits she bought for me. This is when I’ll say, What suit? And she’ll say, The brown one hanging in the closet. Then I’ll go in there and find three new suits to wear.

  After one of the parties at home—

  Fantasies are one thing, perversions another, she says.

  Lines should be clearly drawn, I say.

  I am not closed-minded, she says.

  I say, There but for the grace of God.

  You are only after one thing, she says.

  And it’s a shame I don’t know what that is, I say.

  Can we please have a normal exchange, she says.

  I say, Quid pro quo, quid pro quo, two times fast.

  You’re doing it again, she says.

  I beg to differ, I say.

  We never spent an entire night together before I’d moved into her house. This was her idea and something she was adamant about. I never asked for an explanation nor had I ever seen her sleep at that point. I liked to watch her smoke cigarettes then. That was enough for me. She would draw on a cigarette indifferent to the smoke, like she didn’t care where it went or what it did to her. Then she’d blow the vapor up and out of the corner of her mouth, smoke rising from a chimney. I’m lying about not having watched her sleep. One night I was in the easy chair adjacent to her bed, waiting for a taxi to pick me up. It was late and her husband was somewhere else. She didn’t have a car then so taking her car wasn’t an option, let alone calling her from the car. She was beautiful in that bed with one of her legs protruding from the top sheet. The leg looked like it was poised to take a step. It looked like a scene from a movie, something that required a smart ad-lib from a seasoned actor. I thought maybe I should cover her.

  I didn’t know anything about the husband. She never said anything about him and by the time I found out I’d already seen her smoke a cigarette.

  On the radio a singer is bidding America good morning and asking how we are. I don’t think he expects an answer.

  I’m responsible for maintaining the car. Taking it for oil changes and new tires and the rest. None such was ever said out loud, but it was understood. My other responsibilities ar
e also domestic. I’m to vacuum and do laundry and look good in suits. Sometimes I’m given a list in the morning. The list is prioritized, meaning I go to the first store first and so on. I buy something. Sometimes I buy two things. Sometimes the first thing I buy is contingent on buying the second thing. Sometimes the first thing is useless without the second thing. I take the thing or things home and wait for Susan. Susan comes home and says it’s the wrong thing or things. That I misunderstood what I was supposed to buy. Otherwise I misjudged something, instead of buying X amount of the thing or things I bought Y. I have to go back and return the things. I have to remember the receipt, which we keep on a tray near the oven or in a folder marked receipts.

  One night a year before I moved into her house—

  Does any of this bother you?

  I think it does, yes.

  In what way?

  I’m not sure yet.

  Thought I’d ask.

  I think you drink too much.

  I imagine that’s true.

  Does it you?

  Does what me?

  Once it was a bathroom-ceiling fan. It was third on the list. (Sometimes the list isn’t composed by priority, it turns out.) The upstairs bathroom was being redone. After I’d moved into the house Susan decided to make some aesthetic changes. She hired a contractor to demolish the bathroom. It was my job to make sure the rooms were taped off to keep the dust out. Every morning during the demolition I took off the previous day’s tape and re-taped the bottoms and tops of the doors. I was good at this. After that I was to be home for when the various workmen showed up to do work. These included an electrician, a plumber, a carpenter, someone to put up the drywall because the carpenter had a bad back, and a painter. During this time I had to buy or pick up certain things for the workmen to be able to do their work. This included a bathroom-ceiling fan for the electrician to install. I went to the store and bought a ceiling fan. Turns out I was to buy the sort of ceiling fan that sucks air out of the bathroom, an exhaust fan. I’d purchased the sort of ceiling fan that has blades and revolves at various speeds blowing air around the room.