Distortions (8 page)

The voice is soft. She can hardly hear. It’s the old man’s sister. She’s tired of the old man and his sister, tired of work. She had already dismissed the old man from her mind, like last week’s dreams, but now the old man’s sister has called. His sister is upset. She’s talking about the snow. Apparently she’s snowed in, the snow is deeper than her boots, she’s been trying to reach her husband to tell him. The planes from Florida won’t land. No planes are landing. The old lady is thanking her for taking care of her brother. Why is she whispering?

“I come every day. I have my umbrella and my high boots so I can do my duty. I always try to bring him things that will please him so he won’t think I only do it because I have to. My niece
has to get away. He’s so demanding. He wants her attention all day and night.”

She’s still half asleep, squinting against the glare, straining to hear. His sister is at the phone outside his bedroom in the hallway. The plane is still in Florida; it hasn’t left because it can’t land. His sister is asking if there’s any way she can come back.

As she talks, the runway is buried deeper in snow. They’re trying to clear it, but the snow is heavy, the planes can’t land. The planes from Greece won’t land. Now no one is on the beach in Greece, or at home in the United States; they’re up in the air, up above the snow. She’s sitting in a chair by the table. The table is clear. What was on the table when she came in? David has cleaned the room.

“You’re so lucky,” the woman whispers. “You can come and go. You don’t know what it’s like to be caught.”

W
hat an amazing life David has had: born in the Sierras, completely unexpected, his mother in labor only two hours, two and a half months premature, weighing four pounds even. Not much larger than two trout in a pan, his father was fond of saying, staring at his extended flat palm. Given up for dead in India at age ten, he then gained weight, his heart beat normally again, the fever vanished overnight. Married at sixteen—an elopement—in Reno, Nevada, to a thirty-year-old ballerina. But these are facts, and the trivia is more interesting: he can find a mosquito in a room even when it’s not humming, go straight to its hiding place and catch it. Once he lifted his car by the back bumper—not in a moment of terror, nothing pinned under it, just to see … and he did it! He has memorized pages of Fitzgerald’s notebooks: descriptions of pretty girls, F’s thoughts on poetry, things F. will write etc. But he has read no F. novels! A lot of men cook, but David has published a cookbook that was translated into Japanese. The dedication is to the doctor who pronounced him doomed in India. David once played the oboe on a Scott Silver record, and before that time he had only played the violin. He practiced for a couple of days, and bleup bleuuuu buhloo. His wife, Sheila, is interesting too. There aren’t many forty-five-year-old ballerinas who are still with it. She still flies from the floor like a bouncer on a trampoline. She proposed to her husband on impulse, in a place called The Silver Slipper Café in Reno, telling him that he might spend years looking and she might spend years looking, and that they could end all the looking, what the hell. He insisted that they wait twenty-four hours, secretly suspecting that she was drunk. She was a little insulted, and the wait just gave her more time to look, but when he realized that she was and had been sober he took her to The Wedding Chapel by the Pool. After a brief ceremony, witnessed by a drunken fat woman and a weeping thin woman with a Doberman held on a leash that wrapped around her legs, Sheila and David exited the chapel swinging their arms and smiling. Sheila did a dance that ended with her diving into the pool and splashing another couple on their way into the chapel. So graceful! He didn’t know until then that she danced. They became servants for rich people on Long Island, and after five years—timed perfectly because Sheila was
pregnant—the daughter of the rich people died, leaving a lot of money to her secret love, David. They left Long Island and went to Vermont, where they opened a restaurant. David wrote his cookbook and Sheila danced through their basement with paper flowers in her hair, followed by young children who looked like they were limping. The restaurant was a success, sushi being then very hard to find in that part of Vermont. He told the patrons about F’s ideas. Her class gave after-dinner performances, throwing their paper flowers to the customers at the end of the show. They made rhubarb wine. He sewed his own shirts, from material shipped to him from Hong Kong. She shaved her eyebrows and penciled thin arcs above her blue-gray eyes when it was
outré
. They had lawn furniture in their house, covered by fur rugs of nonendangered species during the winter. It was suspected that they were serious dopers. Not so. They drank the rhubarb wine, lounged on the fur, and tried to contend with their baby, Wally. At first it wasn’t bad—a small, pinkish, naked thing that lay on its back on a fur rug and played with wine-bottle corks laced together on a string by David. Wally liked the way they smelled. His mother’s pirouettes, the regular creaking of the floor, lulled him to sleep. He learned to speak at an early age, calling the mess he made in his pants “poopy”—which he also called the puppy. They meant to think of a name for the puppy, but nothing seemed appropriate. Wally was named for a male nurse who took care of Sheila after the baby’s birth. “Not really!” the nurse kept saying. Apparently it is untrue that babies are often named for doctors and nurses. The male nurse was extremely flattered and gave Sheila two bed baths a day when other women went to the showers. When Wally was a year old he got a strange look in his eye; he looked pissed off, to tell the truth. He and the puppy would be lying on their backs side by side, and Wally would straighten up and look very pissed off. Heredity? His mother was a bit cynical, but should this influence a one-year-old? Did he somehow sense that Sheila pounded her calves at night, telling them not to bulge? Did he sense an air of dissatisfaction in the house? They took him to a young doctor whom they felt they could speak frankly to, about vibrations … that the baby might be picking up bad vibrations. The doctor was shocked. They found
an older man who was indifferent to the idea of vibrations, and stuck with him. David liked the way the doctor shrugged when he asked if bad vibrations could be getting to Wally. The first doctor had said, “You don’t beat this child, do you?”

When he was two, Wally began to wander off. A free spirit, Sheila felt. David thought he would fall off a cliff or drown. He
was
more practical; after all, he hadn’t proposed to her in The Silver Slipper Café. “You hold my love against me!” Sheila said, aghast. Wally took the aghast facial expression from his mother and combined it with a very distressed downturned mouth and ran away. You might also say that his eyes were very large and he pouted. It is a little difficult to describe his expression, but it was strange, and Sheila thought so too, although she didn’t say that to David. When he was three, Wally jumped off a table and broke his leg. While he was laid up, he colored to pass the time. Wally’s doctor paid a house call—amazing things happened to these amazing people—and pronounced Wally “just fine.”

“But his expression,” David said to the doctor as the doctor was leaving. “You wouldn’t look so happy if you were a three-year-old with a broken leg,” the doctor assured him.

A vacationing photographer and his wife, who had stopped to eat at the restaurant, noticed Wally’s pictures hung in back of the cash register and wanted to buy them. David wouldn’t part with them, but he let the photographer take pictures. David didn’t think much of it. About a month later, though, the photographer was back, this time with another man. They wanted to write an article about Wally for a magazine; Wally’s art would appear with it. Sheila was delighted. She told the men that her son was artistic, like her. David felt that they should think about it; what if he developed a terrific ego? “He’s already strange,” Sheila said. The photographer took pictures of Wally at his fourth birthday party. There was also a birthday interview, during which Wally echoed everything the interviewer asked:

“Do you like to draw a lot, Wally?”

“Do you like to draw a lot, Wally?”

“Ha! You’re a nice kid. And a good artist.”

“Ha! You’re a nice kid. And a good artist.”

“Do you know any famous artists, Wally?”

“Do you know any famous artists, Wally?”

“Have you ever heard of the Mona Lisa?”

“Have you ever heard of the Mona Lisa?”

“Sure, I have. Have you ever seen it?”

“Sure, I have. Have you ever seen it?”

“You don’t feel like talking today, do you?” the photographer asked.

Wally pulled up his top lip, showing his two big front teeth. “You don’t feel like talking today, do you?” he repeated.

“Nope. I’ll just take some pictures,” the photographer said.

A little girl from Wally’s party stood on her head for the photographer. The photographer noted with interest that Carters still manufactured white pants with yellow roses on them.

Wally’s fourth birthday party was immortalized on a magazine cover. There was a picture of Wally’s head, and above it, in little balloons as if he were imagining them, reproductions of his drawings. The magazine sold a lot of copies, tourists came to the restaurant, Sheila agreed to part with a few drawings—to museums only—and Wally jumped off the roof of David’s station wagon and broke his right arm five days after the cast was removed from his left leg.

Sheila consulted a child psychologist, who had written them to say how interested he was in Wally. She wrote that Wally jumped off of cars and tables and broke his bones. What was she to do? The psychologist appeared in person! Perhaps it was related in some way to her being a ballerina. After that, she beat her legs much harder at night, danced in private, locked the basement door to Wally when she gave lessons. The psychologist, in answer to David’s question about why Wally repeated what was said to him, suggested that it might be related to David’s memorization and quotation of F. Aha! From then on he thought F. He said nothing. Wally didn’t break any more bones. During the year he gave up repeating things. He also gave up art. In fact, when he had to color maps in the first grade, he did it sloppily. “What is your new interest?” David asked Wally optimistically. “Nothing,” Wally said.

In the second grade Wally had a girlfriend, who was in the fifth grade: Susan Leigh. They played the harmonica to each other.
When his romance with Susan Leigh ended he took a leap—again from the car top—crashing the harmonica with his fall. Sheila wrote to the child psychologist, saying that Wally was no longer interested in doing anything. After a long time she got a letter. The doctor had retired and was living in the Bahamas. There was a check for eight dollars with the letter. The doctor asked her if she would buy a best-seller he had read about and send it to him, as it was unavailable on his island. She had trouble finding
Murderous Midnight
, and about a month later she received an angry note from the doctor, asking why she had failed him.

In the fifth grade, Wally was expelled from school, along with another boy; the two had forced a younger boy to pick up a stick and peel off the bark and eat it. Two years later, when he began junior high school, he told his father he wanted permission to marry another thirteen-year-old. “Where would you live?” David asked. “In a tent,” Wally said. “Where would you live in the winter?” David asked. David won his point, but Wally did not speak to him for two months. Then he asked again for David to sign the necessary papers, and for David to give him enough money to live in an apartment during the winter with his bride. “You owe it to me for exploiting me,” Wally said. “I never exploited you,” David told him. Again, Wally did not speak for a long time. His silence was now as predictable as his mimicry when he was younger. Apparently he also refused to speak in school, and a new teacher thought that he was deaf. They would not allow him to continue school until a doctor had tested his hearing. This made Sheila and David angry, and they told Wally that he was being ridiculous. He ran away. He lived in a tent not far from home. He was dirty. He said he wanted to take a trip to New York when David went to the tent to talk to him. “Here, take it,” David said, giving him the money. “I’m sick of all this.” Wally went to New York, then returned to the tent. He never returned to school.