Part 43 (1/2)
”Good G.o.d no,” he mumbled from inside his atlas. ”Would kill the tone. Here's a town named Cheatyourboss. Believe it or not.”
”What country?”
”California.”
”Oh you.”
”Word of honor. Population two-hundred-and-sixty-three.”
”Two-hundred-and-sixty-four,” I suggested, ”now that McGovern's out there.”
”That's what Enoch meant. Don't abet the man,” she admonished me, pleased that I was trying to: but Enoch was oblivious. ”Anyhow I was telling you-early this evening I sent out to this shop for some hats and well, they brought a pile of them and I picked this Mother Mary one and just then who should walk in with the milliners walking out but this same Western Union boy! Not a third one I said-”
”Not a third one,” I interrupted, and took it from her: IN FRISCO IN THE FALL.
THEY HAVE NO RATS AT ALL.
EXCEPT ON TWO LEGS.
”This one is really very good,” my mother said. ”I may decide to let him go ahead and print it when he gets back. If there's room. Of course that business about counting the syllables is such a bother it's hardly worth it.”
”Then don't count them,” Enoch said, momentarily emerging.
”Silly! If you don't count them how can you tell it's a haiku?-What have you got there?” she demanded out of the middle of her triumph: she was watching me dip into the pocket of my skirt.
”Do you have room for this? It's a present from Mrs. Karp.”
”Mrs. Karp? Euphoria Karp? What a coincidence! I mean here we are talking about verse forms, and in you march with, with a-”
”Placebo,” I said, surrendering it.
”Imagine.” She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the page and marveled. ”How in the world did you get mixed up with her?”
”Her husband's going to Russia to see about getting you royalties,” I provided, ”with a delegation. The humor's for Bushelbasket, none of the harpies would have it, so she's giving it to you. It's supposed to be humor.”
”Those gangsters,” my mother muttered, but this was merely automatic; having made her obeisance to justice, she was free to resume her astonishment. ”Certainly her verse is humorous, it's known to be humorous. What is it,” she said, examining the placebo's contours, ”a suppository?”
I recited: ”William says not to worry, Karp will do what he can.”
”You met her at William's place? Karp too? What were you doing over there in the middle of a business conference?” Under the eyelid of her cowl my mother's eyelids blinked suspiciousness.
”It wasn't business, it was a party.”
”What was Karp doing at that boy's party?”
”He came a day early,” I said, not very diligently searching after Mrs. Karp's story. ”No, a day late I think it was.”
”A day late for what?” my mother said sharply.
”That Russian thing. Making them give in on your royalties. William asked him to come yesterday and he couldn't. They had to stay over in Cambridge for Mrs. Karp's play.”
”I know that type. They pretend to be your closest friends when they know you need them for something, and then they impose. William should have made him cool his heels,” she said. ”It's rude to show up when you're not wanted.”
”I bet that'll be the Kremlin's view of it exactly,” I agreed.
”Smarty, you know perfectly well what I'm talking about, I'm talking about you. You shouldn't go where you haven't been invited. Were you invited?” she probed again, not out of forgetfulness; she distrusted.
”No.”
”No,” she echoed with the satisfaction of bitterness. ”So?”
”I was expected,” I said, which shocked me: not for its peculiar sidewise truth, but for the tremor which, for the second time that day, my voice was unfurling like a signal in my back.
”You were expected all right. You were expected to stay home and not go where you weren't asked. How many chances do you think those boys-”
But Enoch's speculative eye had joined us. He brushed his book from his thighs and came to stand beside my mother, his thumb stabbed into the thick core of his cheek. ”You were expected?”
”Yes. Sort of.”
”William's boy expected you?”
”The whole thing was a surprise,” my mother broke in, insisting. ”Weren't you listening? William's boy wasn't expecting anyone.”
”Then William,” Enoch pursued. ”William expected you.” He was soft and quick, concentrating, like a man pulling away the skin of a delicate scaleless fish.
”He wasn't surprised to see me,” I said. ”He told me that.”
”Not the same thing,” my mother drew out of herself, slow with scorn. ”Bad manners from her wouldn't surprise a demon out of h.e.l.l.”
”So you were expected,” Enoch concluded. ”Let it stand at that. But not necessarily today?”
”Not necessarily.”
”And not necessarily this month?”
”No.”
”And not necessarily this year?”
”No,” I said.
”What is this?” my mother leaped in. ”Cabbalah? A Zen catechism?” She was viewing me disgustedly. ”As if it wasn't enough to embarra.s.s yourself in front of those boys by running after them, you had to go break up a very important, possibly valuable, legal conference that might decide my entire future with the Soviet Union!-You can't deny you injected yourself right into the middle of it? You know how polite William is, if he saw you there he'd take you right over to him no matter what he was dealing with at the moment, he'd simply break it up then and there-”
I defended myself: ”But they were halfway through when I got there-”