Part 46 (1/2)

And that's how you should treat a rape victim, Susie says; they are holy, and you treat them as a great hotel treats every guest. Every guest at a great hotel is an honored guest, and every rape victim at the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re is an honored guest - and holy.

'It's actually a good name for a rape crisis center,' Susie agrees. 'The Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re - that's got a little cla.s.s to it.'

And with the support of the county authorities, and a wonderful organization of women doctors called the Kennebec Women's Medical a.s.sociates, we run a real rape crisis center in our unreal hotel. Susie sometimes tells me that Father is the best counselor she's got.

'When someone's really f.u.c.ked up,' Susie confides to me, 'I send them down to the docks to see the blind man and Seeing Eye Dog Number Four. Whatever he tells them must be working,' Susie concludes. 'At least, so far, n.o.body's jumped off.'

'Keep pa.s.sing the open windows, my dear,' my father will tell just about anyone. 'That's the important thing, dear,' he adds. No doubt it is Lilly who lends such authority to my father's advice. He was always good at advising us children - even when he knew absolutely nothing about what was wrong. 'Maybe especially especially when he knows absolutely nothing,' Frank says. 'I mean, he when he knows absolutely nothing,' Frank says. 'I mean, he still still doesn't know I'm queer and he gives me good advice all the time.' What a knack! doesn't know I'm queer and he gives me good advice all the time.' What a knack!

'Okay, okay,' Franny said to me on the phone, just last winter, just after the big snow. 'I didn't call you to hear the ins and outs of every rape in Maine - not this this time, kid,' Franny told me. 'Do you still want a baby?' time, kid,' Franny told me. 'Do you still want a baby?'

'Of course course I do,' I told her. 'I'm trying to convince Susie of it, every day.' I do,' I told her. 'I'm trying to convince Susie of it, every day.'

'Well,' Franny said, 'how'd you like a baby of mine?'

'But you you don't want a baby, Franny,' I reminded her. 'What do you mean?' don't want a baby, Franny,' I reminded her. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean Junior and I got a little sloppy,' Franny said. 'And rather than do the modern thing, we thought we knew the perfect mother and father for a baby.'

'Especially these days, man,' Junior said, on his end of the phone. 'I mean, Maine may be the last hideout.'

'Every kid should grow up in a weird hotel, don't you agree?' Franny asked.

'What I thought, man,' said Junior Jones, 'was that every kid should have at least one parent who does nothing nothing. I don't mean to insult you, man,' Junior said to me, 'but you're just a perfect sort of caretaker caretaker. You know what I mean?'

'He means, you look after everybody,' Franny said, sweetly. 'He means, it's kind of like your role role. You're a perfect father.'

'Or a mother, man,' Junior added.

'And when Susie's got a baby around, perhaps she'll see the light,' Franny said.

'Maybe she'll get brave enough to give it a shot, man,' said Junior Jones. 'So to speak,' he added, and Franny howled on her end of the phone. They'd obviously been cooking this phone call up together, for quite some time.

'Hey!' Franny said on the phone. 'Cat got your tongue? Are you there? h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo!'

'Hey, man,' said Junior Jones. 'You pa.s.sed out or something?'

'Has a bear got your b.a.l.l.s?' Franny asked me. 'I'm asking you, do you want my baby?'

'That's not a frivolous question, man,' said Junior Jones.

'Yes or no, kid?' Franny said. 'I love you, you know,' she added. 'I wouldn't have a baby for just anybody anybody, you know, kid.' But I couldn't speak, I was so happy.

'I'm offering you nine f.u.c.king months of my life! I'm offering you nine months of my beautiful body body, kid!' Franny teased me. 'Take it or leave it!'

'Man!' cried Junior Jones. 'Your sister, whose body is desired by millions, is offering to change her shape shape for you. She's willing to look like a f.u.c.king c.o.ke bottle just to give you a baby, man. I don't know exactly how I'm going to put up with it,' he added, 'but we for you. She's willing to look like a f.u.c.king c.o.ke bottle just to give you a baby, man. I don't know exactly how I'm going to put up with it,' he added, 'but we both both love you, you know. What do you say? Take it or leave it.' love you, you know. What do you say? Take it or leave it.'

'I love love you!' Franny added to me, fiercely. 'I'm trying to give you what you you!' Franny added to me, fiercely. 'I'm trying to give you what you need need, John,' she told me.

But Susie the bear took the phone from me. 'For Christ's sake,' she said to Franny and Junior, 'you wake us up with what I'm sure is another f.u.c.king rape and now you've got him all red in the face and unable to speak speak! What the f.u.c.k is going on this morning, anyway?'

'If Junior and I have a baby,' Franny asked Susie, 'will you and John take care of it?'

'You bet your sweet a.s.s, honey,' said my good Susie the bear.

And so the matter was decided. We're still waiting. Leave it to Franny to take longer than anybody else. 'Leave it to me me, man,' says Junior Jones. 'This baby's going to be so big it needs a little more time in the cooker than most.'

He must be right, because Franny's been carrying my baby for almost ten months now. 'She's big enough to play for the Browns,' Junior Jones complains; I call him every night for a progress report.

'Jesus G.o.d,' Franny says to me. 'I just lie in bed all day, waiting to explode explode. I'm so bored. The things I suffer for you, my love,' she tells me - and we share a private laugh over that.

Susie goes around singing 'Any Day Now,' and Father is lifting more and more weight; Father is weight lifting with a frenzy these days. He is convinced the baby will be born born a weight lifter, and Father says he's got to get in shape to handle it. And all the rape crisis women are being very patient with me - about the way I lunge for the phone when it rings (toward a weight lifter, and Father says he's got to get in shape to handle it. And all the rape crisis women are being very patient with me - about the way I lunge for the phone when it rings (toward either either phone). 'It's just the hot line,' they tell me. 'Relax.' phone). 'It's just the hot line,' they tell me. 'Relax.'

'It's probably just another rape, honey,' Susie rea.s.sures me. 'It's not your baby. Calm down.'

It's not at all that I'm anxious to discover if it will be a boy or a girl. For once I agree with Frank. It doesn't matter. Nowadays, of course, with the precautionary tests they take - especially with a woman Franny's age - they already know know the s.e.x of the child; or the s.e.x of the child; or someone someone knows. Not Franny - she didn't want to know. Who wants to know such things in advance? Who doesn't know that half of pleasure lies in the wonder of antic.i.p.ation? knows. Not Franny - she didn't want to know. Who wants to know such things in advance? Who doesn't know that half of pleasure lies in the wonder of antic.i.p.ation?

'Whatever it is, it's going to be bored,' Frank says.

'Bored, Frank!' Franny howls. 'How dare dare you say my baby will be bored?' you say my baby will be bored?'

But Frank is just expressing a typical New York City opinion of growing up in Maine. 'If the baby grows up in Maine,' Frank insists, 'it will have have to be bored.' to be bored.'

But I point out to Frank that life is never boring in the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re. Not in the lighthearted first Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, not in the darkness of the dream that was the second Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, and not in our third Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, either - not in the great great hotel we have at last become. No one is bored. And Frank finally agrees; he is a frequent and ever-welcome guest here, after all. He takes over the library on the second floor the way Junior Jones dominates the barbells in the ballroom when hotel we have at last become. No one is bored. And Frank finally agrees; he is a frequent and ever-welcome guest here, after all. He takes over the library on the second floor the way Junior Jones dominates the barbells in the ballroom when he he is visiting, the way Franny's beauty graces every room when is visiting, the way Franny's beauty graces every room when she she is here - the good Maine air and the cold Maine sea: Franny graces it all. I fully expect that Franny's child will have a similar good influence. is here - the good Maine air and the cold Maine sea: Franny graces it all. I fully expect that Franny's child will have a similar good influence.

To comfort her, I tried to read Franny a Donald Justice poem over the phone, the one called 'To a Ten-Months' Child.'

Late arrival, no Late arrival, no One would think of blaming you For hesitating so.

Who, setting his hand to knock At a door so strange as this one, Might not draw back?

'Hold it right there,' Franny interrupted me. 'No more f.u.c.king Donald Justice, please. I've heard enough Donald Justice poems to get pregnant pregnant from them, or at least sick to my stomach.' from them, or at least sick to my stomach.'

But Donald Justice is right, as usual. Who wouldn't wouldn't hesitate to come into this world? Who wouldn't put off this fairy tale as long as possible? Already, you see, Franny's child is indicating a remarkable insight, a rare sensitivity. hesitate to come into this world? Who wouldn't put off this fairy tale as long as possible? Already, you see, Franny's child is indicating a remarkable insight, a rare sensitivity.

And yesterday it snowed; in Maine we learn to take weather personally. Susie was investigating the alleged rape of a waitress in Bath, and I was worried about her driving back in the storm, but Susie was safely home before dark and we both said how this storm reminded us of the big snow of last winter, of the day Franny called to tell us about her coming gift.

Father plays like a child in the snow. 'Snow is quite a wonder to the blind,' he said just yesterday, coming into the kitchen all covered with it; he'd been out in the drifts, literally rolling around with Seeing Eye Dog Number Four - they were both covered with it. It was a wild storm; by three-thirty in the afternoon we had to turn all the lights on. I stoked up the fires in two of the woodstoves. A bird, blinded by the snow, had flown through a windowpane in the ballroom and broken its neck. Four found it lying by the barbells and carried it all around the hotel before Susie could get it away from the dog. The snow melted off Father's boots and made the kitchen slippery. Father slipped in a puddle and whacked me in the ribs with the Louisville Slugger - which he always waves wildly whenever he is thrown off balance. We had a little argument about that. Just like a child, he won't knock the snow off his boots before before he comes inside. he comes inside.

'I can't see see the snow!' he complains, childishly. 'How the f.u.c.k do I knock it off if I can't see it?' the snow!' he complains, childishly. 'How the f.u.c.k do I knock it off if I can't see it?'

'Shut up, both of you,' Susie the bear told us. 'When there's a child in the house, you'll both have to stop yelling yelling.'

I made some fresh pasta with a neat machine Frank brought from New York; it flattens the dough in sheets and cuts the pasta into any shape you want. It's important to have toys like that, if you live in Maine. Susie made a mussel sauce for the pasta. Father chopped up the onion for her; an onion never seems to bother Father's eyes. When we heard Four bark, we thought he'd found another poor bird. We saw a Volkswagen bus trying to make its way up our driveway in the storm; the bus was slithering and sliding. Whoever was driving the bus was either excited ('Another f.u.c.king rape,' said Susie, instinctively), or else it was someone from out of state. No Maine driver would have so much trouble driving in the snow, I thought, but it was hardly the tourist time of year at the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re. The bus couldn't make it all the way to the parking lot, but it got close enough for me to see the Arizona license plate.

'No wonder they can't drive,' I said - which is a typical Maine point of view toward out-of-staters.

'Yeah, well,' Susie said. 'You'd probably look like an idiot in an Arizona desert.'

'What's a desert?' Father asked, and Susie laughed.