Part 23 (1/2)

'Schweinsdreck,' Frank would say.

'Show off,' Franny would say back to him.

'Pig s.h.i.+t to you, Frank,' I'd say.

'What?' Egg would shout.

And one morning Lilly asked Father, 'Will we leave before the circus called Fritz's Act moves in, or will we get to see them?'

'I hope to miss miss seeing them,' Franny said. seeing them,' Franny said.

'Won't we overlap, at least a day?' Frank asked. 'I mean for the pa.s.sing of the keys, or something?'

'What keys?' Max Urick asked. keys?' Max Urick asked.

'What locks locks?' said Ronda Ray, whose door was shut to me.

'Perhaps we'll coincide for about ten or fifteen minutes,' Father said.

'I want to see them,' Lilly said, seriously. And I looked at Mother, who looked tired - but nice: she was a soft, rumpled woman, whom Father clearly loved to touch. He was always burrowing his face in her neck, and cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and hugging her from behind - which she only pretended to resent (in front of us children). When he was around Mother, Father was remindful of those dogs whose heads are always thrust in your lap, whose snouts take comfort in armpits and crotches - I don't mean, at all, that Father was crude with her, but he was always making contact: hugging and hanging on tight.

Of course, Egg did this with Mother, too, and Lilly - to a degree - though Lilly was more dignified, and holding back of herself, since her smallness had become such an item. It was as if she didn't want to appear any smaller than she was by acting too young.

'The average Austrian is three to four inches shorter than the average American, Lilly,' Frank informed her, but Lilly appeared not to care - she shrugged; it was Mother's move, independent and pretty. In their different ways both Franny and Lilly had inherited the motion.

Sometime that spring I saw Franny use it: just a single deft shrug, with a hint of some involuntary ache behind it - when Junior Jones told us that he would be accepting the football scholars.h.i.+p from Penn State in the fall.

'I'll write you,' Franny told him.

'Sure, and I'll I'll write write you you,' he told her.

'I'll write you more,' said Franny. Junior Jones tried to shrug, but it didn't come off.

's.h.i.+t,' he told me, when we were throwing rocks at a tree in Elliot Park. 'What does Franny want to do do, anyway? What does she think is going to happen to her over there?'

'Over there' was what we all called it. Except Frank: he now spoke of Vienna the German way.' Wien Wien,' he said.

'Veen,' Lilly said, shuddering. 'It sounds like something a lizard would say.' And we all stared at her, waiting for Egg to say his 'What?'

Then the gra.s.s came out in Elliot Park, and one warm night, when I was sure Egg was asleep, I opened the window and looked at the moon and the stars and listened to the crickets and the frogs, and Egg said, 'Keep pa.s.sing the open windows.'

'You awake?' I said.

'I can't sleep,' Egg said. 'I can't see where I'm going,' he said. 'I don't know what it'll be like.'

He sounded ready to cry, so I said, 'Come on, Egg. It will be great great. You've never lived in a city city,' I said.

'I know,' he said, sniffling a little.

'Well, there's more to do than there is to do here,' I promised him.

'I have a lot to do here,' he said.

'But this will be so different different,' I told him. I told him.

'Why do the people jump out of windows?' he asked me.

And I explained to him that it was just a story, although the sense of a metaphor might have been lost on him.

'There are spies in the hotel,' he said. 'That's what Lilly said: ”Spies and low women.'”

I imagined Lilly thinking that 'low women' were short, like her, and I tried to rea.s.sure Egg that there was nothing frightening about the occupants of Freud's hotel; I said that Father would take care of everything - and heard the silence with which both Egg and I accepted that that promise. promise.

'How will we get there?' Egg asked. 'It's so far.'

'An airplane,' I said.

'I don't know what that's like, either,' he said.

(There would be two airplanes, actually, because Father and Mother would never fly on the same plane; many parents are like that. I explained that to Egg, too, but he kept repeating. 'I don't know what it'll be like.') Then Mother came into our room to comfort Egg and I fell back to sleep with them talking together, and woke up again as Mother was leaving; Egg was asleep. Mother came over to my bed and sat down beside me; her hair was loose and she looked very young; in fact, in the half-dark, she looked a lot like Franny.

'He's only seven,' she said, about Egg. 'You should talk to him more.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Do you want to go to Vienna?'

And of course, she shrugged - and smiled - and said, 'Your father is a good, good man.' For the first time, really, I could see them in the summer of 1939, with Father promising Freud that he would would get married, and he get married, and he would would go to Harvard - and Freud asking Mother one thing: to forgive Father. Was this what she had to forgive him for? And was rooting us out of the terrible town of Dairy, and the wretched Dairy School - and the first Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, which wasn't so hot a hotel (though n.o.body said so) - was that so bad a thing that Father was doing, really? go to Harvard - and Freud asking Mother one thing: to forgive Father. Was this what she had to forgive him for? And was rooting us out of the terrible town of Dairy, and the wretched Dairy School - and the first Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, which wasn't so hot a hotel (though n.o.body said so) - was that so bad a thing that Father was doing, really?

'Do you like like Freud?' I asked her. Freud?' I asked her.

'I don't really know know Freud,' Mother said. Freud,' Mother said.

'But Father likes him,' I said.

'Your father likes him,' Mother said, 'but he doesn't really know him, either.'

'What do you think the bear will be like?' I asked her.

'I don't know what the bear is for,' for,' Mother whispered, 'so I couldn't guess what it could be Mother whispered, 'so I couldn't guess what it could be like.' like.'

'What could could it be for?' I asked, but she shrugged again - perhaps remembering what Earl had been like, and trying to remember what Earl could have been it be for?' I asked, but she shrugged again - perhaps remembering what Earl had been like, and trying to remember what Earl could have been for. for.

'We'll all find out,' she said, and kissed me. It was an Iowa Bob thing to say.

'Good night,' I said to Mother, and kissed her.

'Keep pa.s.sing the open windows,' she whispered, and I was asleep.

Then I had a dream that Mother died.

'No more bears,' she said to Father, but he misunderstood her; he thought she was asking him a question.