Coping
She was dreaming. They were marching up Amsterdam Avenue, she and Lanny and others from school. They were carrying the four coffins; she was one of those holding Alison Kraus's. Suddenly Amsterdam Avenue disappeared, and they were marching through a field. Helene gave up her spot holding the coffin aloft to another girl, a slim redhead in her sociology class. She bent down to pluck a few blades of grass; she needed to smell the grass. But she couldn't pluck it. It wasn't grass, it was Astroturf. She became so engrossed by her discovery that the demonstration with its coffins passed her by. They were far away now, heading up a towering stairway that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle. Helene called out to Lanny but he couldn't hear her because the chanting was too loud. Then she realized she was in Morningside Park, that she was along, that she was in danger. Lanny woke her. He was already dressed although she knew it was very early. It felt like it was going to be another hot day. Lanny kissed her on the lips. He had been smoking. "Good morning," Lanny said. Helene smiled as big as she could without it hurting. "What time is it?" she asked. The alarm clock was on Lanny's side of the bed, beyond her vision. "Almost five thirty," he said. He had on a chambray work shirt, the one with the dove she had embroidered on the back. I'm not going to stop you," Helene said abruptly, and right away she knew it was a stupid thing to say. "I'm glad," he told her. "Do you wanna have something to eat with me?" Last night's stubble was gone; he had already shaved. But he never shaved the hairs at the base of his neck. Why didn't he do that? She got up. There was phlegm in her mouth, but because there were no tissues handy, she swallowed it. "How much time do you have?" she asked him. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. They were always falling down, making him look like some kind of bird. Like Heckle and Jeckle from the cartoons, maybe. "An hour, actually less. The buses leave at 6:45, but I'm a marshal, remember?" "I remember," she said. Getting out of bed, Helene realized that her nightgown had worn so thin, it was almost transparent. Her breasts were too big, they practically hung down to her waist. "Field Marshal Montgomery," she said. "Montgomery Ward," he said, though from the tone he was already impatient with the game. She put on her robe even though it was hot. "Ward Donovan," she said. Lanny smiled. "Donovan Ward," he announced triumphantly. "Who?" Helene said. She examined her tongue in the mirror. Just furrows, no coating. She was trying to be casual. "Donovan Ward. Past president of the American Medical Association." "You fucking pre-med students," she told him. "You think you know so much." He gave her his innocent look, the one that must have wowed Mom back in Great Neck. "I beat you fair and square, Crane. If you're going to be a sore loser..." At that moment she hated him. But she went over to him and hugged and kissed him. Her uncoated but furrowed tongue touched his. "Is that better?" she said. He fingered her hair. "You're a good girl." In the kitchen, drinking Sanka, he told her he might not be back that night. "Jerry and a few of the other people think maybe we should stay in D.C. for a while. Do some lobbying with them, you know." She scowled. "It won't do any good." Again the innocent look. His hands were outstretched like some kind of weird papal blessing. "You never can tell," he said. "I don't know, this Cooper-Church thing on Cambodia might be passed. The Senate'll do it, it's the House that's the problem." She stared at his high-school ring as she bit into a half-stale Danish-Go-Round. "How will I know if you're coming back tonight?" she asked. "I'll call Avis and have her tell you." They didn't have a phone. They had been living in the apartment together for only six weeks. "Swell," Helene said. "Look, you could come along." "I told you, Lanny, I'm sick of these things. I was on the Moratorium March in November, and that didn't do anything. It's been crazy here, it's so hot, the construction workers are beating people up at City Hall, I've got my period, and I just don't give a fuck anymore." "Okay, okay," he said. "That's cool. But listen, if I want to go to Washington, if I think I can accomplish something, that I'm needed, you have to grant me that right." "I'm not denying you." "All right then," he said. "You're not my prisoner," she said. "You're free, free as a bird." "Okay." He was trying to quiet her. "Listen," Helene said. "I'm sorry if I'm acting like a clinging housewife, but this week has been so hairy with everything happening and all. This week seems like a month long. We've been running all over the place -- Low, Uris, down to Central Park, up to CCNY. It's happening too fast for me. I like to sit back and think about things for a while. It's the kind of person I am." "I know," Lanny said. "I'm glad you're open with me. We should be up-front about everything." "Where will you stay? If you stay, I mean." "Student Mobe should find us a place. Church basement or something." His glasses were slipping down his nose again. "Lane, you are so transparent. 'Or something' means the dorm at American University, and don't think I don't know it." He stood up, brushing the crumbs from his lap onto the floor. In Great Neck his mother would have killed him for that. "Is that what this is all about? Mara? Is she the reason you're having a tantrum?" "That's right," Helene said. "Turn everything around to me. To my neurotic and unreasonable jealousy. That way you never have to answer for anything." "I don't have to answer to you, Helene." She became calm, talking to him as if he were a child. As if? "Fine...fine. Nobody has to answer to anybody for anything. I just would like you to be honest with me. If you're going to stay at Mara's dorm, just say so. It won't upset me." "Listen, I don't know yet," Lanny said. "I have no idea what's gonna come off today. For all I know I could get my head busted today and be in some D.C. jail tonight." That got to her. She felt she were about to cry. His beautiful head. Schoene kupf. She loved him so much. It was hot and airless in the elevator. She had taken an air-conditioned M-5 bus on Riverside Drive. That was pleasant. She wanted to avoid the campus today, the liberation classes, the posters, the people milling about. Or perhaps they were all in Washington with Lanny. Or at the beach. She had heard on the radio that the White House had backed down, that they were allowing the rally to take place on the Ellipse after all. The elevator came to abrupt halt on the sixth floor, and a buzzer sounded as the elevator door opened. Helene looked out tentatively, and when she saw Ike on the other side of the factory talking to two men, she waved to him. "Hello, stranger," her step-grandfather shouted. "This is a surprise. Be with you in a minute." Helene smiled. "That's okay. I'll just take a look around." She walked past the swinging doors into Ike's office, which seemed like something out of the 1890s. An antique typewriter sat on Ike's metal desk. Dust had accumulated everywhere. It was ten times worse than their apartment. Lanny should see this, she thought. She had a hard time getting a window open, but finally she managed to do it. Staring down at lower Fifth Avenue, she felt the air hot and stale against her cheeks. And just last Wednesday she had been wearing her down winter jacket. She sat down at Ike's creaky wooden swivel chair. On his desk, next to the typewriter, were old photographs: Ike and Bess at their wedding; Ike and Bess with her stepmother as a little girl; her uncle Stanley as a boy, riding a pony; her cousin Kevin at the beach; her stepbrother at his wedding; her sister Missy at high school graduation; Helene herself as a pudgy flower girl, all in pink, holding a basket of rose petals, looking vaguely terrified. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror on Ike's door, she saw more chubbiness behind the grime and the stains. Her hair was a mess, all in strands from the heat. She lifted her arms and found perspiration stains on her white dirndl top. Lanny had reminded her that they had run out of deodorant, but there had been no time to buy it this week. She wondered if Lanny had already arrived in Washington. Helen stared at a plaque on the wall: GEM PANTS. Manufacturers of Men's and Young Men's Fashion Slacks. Kevin Michael Creations. Kevin and Michael were her step-cousins. She closed her eyes, feeling a slight pressure from the humidity. She thought about Jeffrey Miller's funeral on Thursday. There had been so many people milling outside the chapel. The public address system hadn't been working right so she couldn't make out what the speakers were saying. Senator Goodell and Doctor Spock had both spoken in what sounded to Helene like a foreign language. The girl next to Helene had been crying; she said that Kent State had "radicalized" her. But no one could hear the words being spoken. "Hello, stranger," Ike said again. He was standing at the doorway of his office, a burned-out cigar in his mouth. His tie was loosened and his pale blue shirt was wet with perspiration. "So, it's been months, Helene," her step-grandfather said. "It's good to see you. You look good." "Oh, Grandpa," she said. "Thanks, but I'm a mess. I feel like a hippopotamus in heat." Ike took the cigar out of his mouth. "Whattaya want, to be a skinny merrink like me? Listen, Helene, it's not so terrible to have a little...extra..in places, not for a girl. On you it looks good." She grinned convincingly. "So how's Bernard?" he asked. Helene was puzzled. "Bernard who?" "Bernard your school. Don't you still go there? All the way uptown?" She suppressed a laugh. "Oh, it's fine. This week has been pretty hectic." "For me, too," Ike said. "These fall orders are coming in so fast you wouldn't believe. Not that I'm complaining. But your Uncle Stanley and Aunt Freida picked just this week to go away. Saint Maarten. But look, Stan works hard, he's a good boy, he deserves the rest. I wouldn't deny him. After all, Grandma and I were in Miami a month already." Helene nodded. Ike pulled up the other chair and sat down next to her grandfather. "So tell me about school. What are you taking up?" "I'm majoring in anthropology." "Very nice...You know, the other day a buyer comes up here, Leo Marmelstein from Klein's, a nice guy. I ask him, 'Leo, what's that son of yours learning at college?' He says to me, 'Oh, he's studying to be an astronaut.' 'An astronaut?' 'Yeah,' Leo says, "he's taking up space.'" They both laughed at the joke. Ike had told it to Helene at least twice before. He lit his cigar. "This Kent business, it's not so good, huh?" "No," she said. "Not very." "Did you see the Times today?" he asked, picking up the folded newspaper. "Look at that picture. Terrible thing." The caption under the photograph read, "BATTLE ON BROADWAY: A construction worker aims blow at a youth near Fulton Street." Helene wondered what it must have felt like when it connected. She thought of Lanny. "This is gonna be bad for the Jews," Ike said. Helene put the paper down. "Why the Jews in particular?" "Because," he said, "it always comes down to us in the end. The Jews are the scapegoats. Look at your history." "It seems like it's aimed at students more than Jews." Ike coughed. "Yeah, so how come of the four that were killed, three were Jewish? And the Gentile one had a Jewish name. Nice, regular kids from Long Island, Philly. You gotta admit it's more than a coincidence." She watched the progress of a fly which had come in through the open window. The fly was on Missy's graduation picture now. "A lot of Jewish kids go to Kent State, Grandpa. I remember, I once considered going there myself." "Yeah," Ike said. "But you're better off in town, near your family. How's the neighborhood up there, anyway? A lot of Schvartzes?" "Some," she said, looking down at the fly. "You room with nice girls?" he asked. "Oh yes, very nice." "You don't get involved in this, do you?" he said, pointing to the Times. "Well, a little." Ike shook his head, drummed on the desk with his fingers. "It's not good, Helene. I mean, what does the whole thing prove, after all is said and done? That innocent bystanders can get hurt. That's the lesson you should learn." "I think it proves that there are no innocent bystanders anymore." She wished she had worn a bra. But she hadn't known she'd be coming down here when she first went out. "Ah," Ike said. "So listen, you still didn't tell me. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? You need pants for a boyfriend maybe?" Helene smiled. "No, Grandpa." "You don't have to be ashamed to ask. I got some very nice double-knits just cut this week, all different styles..." "No," she said, "I was riding to the Village on the Fifth Avenue bus and I saw your car parked outside. I figured I'd come up and see if you're still as industrious a capitalist as ever. Still getting up at six on Saturday mornings and coming into the place, huh?" "Why not?" Ike said. "And I hope I can go on doing it for another couple years, kinnahora, I should live and be well." "Look," Helene said, shifting in the chair. "I don't want to keep you from your work." "Ah, I think it's time to call it a day. It's too damn hot today. It's gonna be ninety later, I can feel it." He took out a handkerchief and wiped his glasses. "Say, why don't you come out to Rockaway with me? It's so much cooler by the beach, and Grandma would love to see you." "I don't think so, that's all right." "She made carrot cake yesterday." Helene touched her left eyebrow; it was moist. "No, I thought I'd go over to see Missy." The idea had just occurred to her. Ike nodded. "That's nice. Sisters should be close." "I want to see the baby, too." "Send them all my regards." Ike got up, yawned, and slowly stretched. He looked like an underfed alley cat. "And say hello to Grandma for me," Helene said, getting up. "How is she these days?" He waved his hand. "You know Bessie. About the same, always kvetching about something. But the arthritis, I know, it hurts her bad." She kissed him on the cheek. He hadn't shaved, and there was white stubble on his face. "Tell me, Helene," he asked, "honestly: are you a radical?" Helene's tongue ran over her lips. They were dry. "Well, I guess I am a Marxist," she said, smiling. "That fella?" Ike exclaimed. "And what are you, twenty? Listen, Helene, it all sounds good on paper, but it don't work out in real life." "Yeah, well..." He gathered up his suit jacket and newspaper. "Tonight Grandma and I are going out with Mrs. Kirsch and her new doctor friend. We're going to the movies, the one behind the house. Sam Kirsch, may he rest in peace, he didn't like the movies. He didn't have the patience. I hope this doctor has patience." Helene laughed. Her grandfather looked at her quizzically. "You just made a pun, Grandpa," she told him. "You said you hoped this doctor has patience. You know, patients. Get it?" Ike grinned. "I'm a poet and I don't know it." They walked out to the elevator. After locked up the factory, they rode down together. He pressed something into her hand as they went into the lobby. It was a ten-dollar bill. "Thank you," she said, "but I can't take it." "Take it," Ike told her firmly. "Okay." Helene smiled. It was useless to resist, and besides, she'd now have another ten dollars towards the guitar she wanted to buy for Lanny's birthday. On the street, Ike got into his white Cadillac and offered Helene a lift to the train. She said she wanted to walk. As she moved away and waved goodbye, Ike rolled down the car's window. "Listen, Helene," he said. "Don't be such a stranger." Helene nodded and watched him smile and drive away. On the train to Queens, she tried to read one of her anthropology books, a case study on Java. The pizza she had grabbed for lunch in the Village lay like a lead weight in her stomach, and she kept thinking of Lanny in Washington. He must be at the Ellipse by now, listening to the speakers. Helene tried to guess who might be speaking at the moment, Coretta King or Senator McGovern or Reverend Coffin. Would there be violence? It must be even hotter in Washington than in New York. Lanny would get sunburned. She thought of rubbing Solarcaine on his body at night, and she smiled to herself. But he might not come home. In the Post she had read about a "festival" in the capital tonight, with Joan Baez and Phil Ochs and others. Lanny would want to stay for that at least. She was imagining him spending the night in Mara's room when she heard her name being called. She looked up. It was Brian Sycamore, a friend of Lanny's; they had been counselors at a camp in the Poconos together. Brian was tall and mustached and good-looking. He was standing in front of Helene, holding hands with a girl. She was blonde and pale and gave an impression of smoothness. They looked like a toothpaste ad. "Hi, Brian," she said, trying to sound pleasantly surprised. "How are you?" he asked. "Fine." "How's Lanny?" "Okay. He's in Washington today for the rally." "Yeah?" Brian said. "That's great." Lanny always said that Brian was the most self-involved young person he knew. He probably didn't care about the war, at least not the way she and Lanny did. "This is Ronna," Brian said. "We're going to Shea Stadium." "Hi," Ronna said. She didn't seem to be sweating at all, despite the heat. Neither did Brian. "Hi," said Helene. There was an uncomfortable silence. Everyone smiled at everyone else. "Well," Brian said. "We were just going to the back of the train. Be seeing you. Tell Lanny I'll give him a buzz one of these days." "Sure. Fine. Nice seeing you," Helene said. They walked out of the subway car, still hand in hand. Lanny wouldn't hold her hand in public. He said it was a sign of immaturity, the need to cling to another person. Brian didn't know she and Lanny were living together in the new apartment or that they had no telephone. Helene opened her book with determination. She liked the idea of being an anthropologist; she really did. Professor Murphy said that all the study of anthropology required was a nimble and flexible mind and an infinite curiosity. Helene felt she had that. Lanny sarcastically said that anthropology was only an excuse for not specializing and that the trouble with the discipline was that it treated American society as if it were a primitive tribe. Helene had replied, "Well, maybe it is." Of course Lanny would not listen. He would not accept the notion of cultural relativity. He could never understand how anyone could take a different position on an issue, a position at odds with his own. He tolerated Helene's interest in cultural anthropology as a perverse whim she would outgrow. Secretly she dreamed of becoming a famous anthropologist, a Radcliffe-Brown, a Ruth Benedict, a Levi-Straus. Perhaps she could hyphenate her name, too, adding Lanny's name to hers. She would be Helene Crane-Tanzer. But Lanny would think that was silly. He was going to be a doctor, and he'd want his wife to help him through medical school, not run all over the world doing field studies in other cultures. Not that he ever mentioned marriage. But anthropology was a liberating discipline to her because it freed her from the tyranny of everyday life. She reread the part of the Java book on "tjotjog"; it was what interested her most. "Tjotjog" was a Javanese term, difficult to translate into English, but basically it meant to fit, as a specific key did in a specific lock, as an efficacious medicine did with a disease, as a solution did to a mathematical problem. Good food was tjotjog. So was good music. Brian and Ronna were tjotjog; Helene could see that with one glance. They meshed together perfectly as they stood hand in hand. Helene was distressed by her increasing awareness that she and Lanny were not tjotjog. She felt herself wanting to believe in the Javanese idea that the ultimately correct relationships were fixed, determinate and knowable. To the Javanese, their religion ultimately became a kind of hard science, like Lanny's biochemistry, producing value out of fact the way life was produced out of carbon atoms. She thought about the Javanese and about Lanny until the train reached the stop for Missy's house. She rang and rang the doorbell. She should have called first, but she wanted to feel she could just drop in on her sister at any time. Missy always told her that she could. Helene stared at the name "Saracino" on the apartment door. When she had just about decided to leave, Missy opened the door. She looked deliciously cool wearing a dark blue body danskin. Her long black hair was in a ponytail. "Helene! This is a surprise," Missy said. "Where did you come from?" "You mean you don't know about the birds and bees?" As Missy closed the door behind them, she said, "Were you waiting long? I'm sorry, I was in dhanurasana." "Oh," said Helene, putting down her pocketbook. "I thought you were in the bathroom." Missy laughed and hugged her. "My god, you're wringing wet. Come and cool off." The air conditioner was going full blast. They went into the living room, which was devoid of furniture. At first the Saracinos could not afford to buy anything but the blue-green shag carpeting. Now that Phil was doing better, they could afford more things but they had not yet gotten around to living room furniture. Missy always said it was one thing or another, and the baby took up a lot of her time. "So you're still doing yoga," Helene said as they sat down on the carpet in the otherwise empty room. "Show me something." "Well, this is dhanurasana, what I was just doing when you rang the bell. It's the Bow posture." Missy lay on her stomach, bent her knees, reached back and captured a firm hold on her ankles. Helene heard a slight crack in her sister's back as Missy raised her head and knees; with a deep breath, Missy's body became a bow trying to straighten and her arms a taut bowstring. "Does this bring you peace of mind?" Helene asked. "But of course," Missy giggled, returning to a normal position. "It takes a lot of concentration, though, and I'm afraid I'm not up do that." "How long have you been doing this now?" "Well, this is hatha yoga, the physical thing. It's a couple of months now. Phil says in another two weeks I'll be into something else. I guess he's right. It's like what what's-his-name said, the psychologist, I'm a bit of a dilettante. I'm convinced it's the Gemini in me." Helene flashed a smile. "Where is Phil? And the baby?" "Oh," Missy said, with a wave of her hand. Grandpa Ike had used the same dismissive gesture when he talked about Grandma Bess. "He's out being a father to her. That's very important, you know. Jennifer is usually asleep by the time Phil gets home from the store. Never marry a guy in retail." Helene felt cooler now. The rally should be ending soon. Perhaps Lanny had already called Avis to say he wouldn't be coming home. "Look at this one," Missy said, abruptly lying on her back. She lifted her legs, first vertically and then horizontally towards her head, then over her head until her toes touched the floor. "Can you get out of that one?" Helene asked. "Oh, sure," Missy said, still in the position. "This one's called the plough posture. It's supposed to be terrific for a hangover. Of course, I don't drink." "Well, I do. But I'd feel a little leery about getting myself into that with a hangover." Missy returned once more to an upright position. "How are you doing, baby? Which reminds me, I've been wanting to talk to you about tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" Helene asked. "It's Mother's Day. Do you think we should send Ethel something? I thought flowers would be nice." "Oh, sure...whatever you say." Missy exhaled deeply. "Look, she certainly doesn't need candy. And the gesture, well, she'll appreciate it. Besides, Dad would kill us if we didn't send her anything." "I saw her father this morning. At the place." "Oh? Grandpa Ike?" Missy said. "I haven't seen him in a year. But you don't have to tell me, he's still the same. Some people just go on forever." "He's a nice old man," Helene said. "He gave me ten dollars." "Which reminds me...can you fork over some money for Ethel's flowers? I'll order it later." Missy didn't forget some things, Helene noted. She took a five-dollar bill from her bag. "That enough?" "That's plenty," Missy told her. "After all, we don't have to overdo it." Missy suggested they have some tea, and Helene agreed. She was offered a choice of Darjeeling, Oolong, Gunpowder, Mint and Mandarin. Helene opted for the Mint. While Missy was in the kitchen, Helene thought of the time she bought jasmine tea for Lanny. He made fun of her because she took all the little yellow things out before she steeped it. How was she to know that those things were what made it jasmine? "It's been a pretty exciting week at school, huh?" Missy called from the kitchen. "Yeah," Helene said. Missy returned to the living room. "Boy, I wish I was in college now. I sure muffed it the first time." "Didn't you like Post?" "I was so miserable. I had no friends or anything." Missy started brushing her long hair, first one side, then the other. "I just kept wandering around the campus in a daze until luckily I got mono and dropped out. Then I met Phil, and da-da, here I am." "You were a psych major, weren't you?" Helene asked. "That's right," Missy said. "Took Abnormal and developed all of the symptoms. I was a manic depressive, a hysteric, a latent homosexual. For a week I was schizophrenic." "And here you are, the perfect wife and mother." "Yeah. Mrs. Saracino...Which reminds me, the real Mrs. Saracino is coming to dinner tonight -- Phil's mother. You'll stay, won't you? I need moral support." "I don't know, I wanted to get home," Helene said. "Of course," Missy said. "To your man. Oh, Helene, I'm dying to meet him. Why don't you call him up and tell him to get his ass over here? That way I'll have even more support in my continuing struggle with the Sicilian Dragon Lady." "Missy," Helene said, "she's not that bad. Besides, Lanny's in Washington today, at the demonstration." "Oh, yeah," Missy said. "Did you hear that Nixon met with some kids at the Lincoln Memorial at dawn? Maybe he's finally getting some sense. That letter from what's-his-name, Hickel, telling him to listen to young people. I think he's gonna come around." Helene stared at Missy's legs. At one point Missy had wanted to be a ballet dancer. "So Lanny's really one of those committed types," Helene heard Missy saying. "That's sexy. And pre-med, too. Helene, somehow you've stumbled onto a treasure. Lanny's such a cute name, too. Is it short for something?" Helene sniffed. She was developing a headache. "It's long for Lane," she said. She wondered about confiding in Missy. Missy made a mock-Italian gesture with her hand. "Classy. Real classy...I tell you, Helene, you don't know how lucky you are. Listen, one thing, just don't have a kid right away." "But you're glad you had Jennifer?" Helene asked, interested. She decided Missy was not the person to share her doubts with. "It's not that," Missy said. "Of course I love her, I mean, I'm her mother. It's just that they never tell you what a pain in the ass a baby can be. It's so much work, night and day. Like last week she had a stomach virus. Puked night and day." "Yeah, stomach viruses are the worst. It's the little things like that that drive me crazy. The sore throats. The fights about not taking out the garbage. It's not the cancer or the heart attacks or the strokes that kill so much, it's an accumulation of little things. The busy signals. The parking tickets. The missed trains, the sorry-we-have-temporarily-lost-our-pictures, the insomnia, the cigarette burns on the rug..." The teapot whistled, and Helene followed Missy into the kitchen. "You're right, baby," Missy said. "That's very deep. I know some mornings I just don't think I can make it another day. So I cry for a while. I feel better eventually. It seems to work." Helene watched Missy put the Darjeeling tea into the kettle. She had asked for Mint, but so what? "You're lucky," she told Missy. "I can't cry. I want to sometimes, especially lately, and I will it to happen, but the tears won't come. So I end up gnashing my teeth. My thousand-dollars-worth-of-braces teeth." Missy gave Helene her cup, and Helene sat down at the counter. The kitchen was done in a too-cheerful orange, with flocked wallpaper. "You know, once, in junior high, I caught my braces on this boy's sweater. It was during lunchtime, out on the playground. He started walking away and didn't realize my mouth was in his mohair sweater, so I had to move along with him. I was so embarrassed. Ugh, I can't even think about it now, I'm so embarrassed..." "I can imagine," said Missy absent-mindedly. "Do you have that trouble?" Helene asked her sister. "I find it impossible to talk about my...quote...most embarrassing moments...unquote. They come to me in the middle of the night and all I can do is shout 'Fuck.' Lanny says I shout 'Fuck' in my sleep about ten times a night." "It's great sleeping with someone every night, isn't it?" "Uh-huh," Helene nodded. She sipped her tea, which was still piping hot. Missy offered her sugar. Helene declined. "I'm trying to diet," Helene said. "I've got Sweet 'n' Low." "No, I hate the taste. Missy, you do think I need to be dieting, don't you?" "It couldn't hurt." For a second Helene hated her sister. Missy had always been thin. Like Lanny. Like Grandpa Ike. "Are classes through at school?" Missy asked. "Well, the faculty senate voted that we have the option of pass/fail grades. Classes end on Wednesday anyway." "Have you made plans for the summer?" Helene grimaced. "Mmm, not really. Lanny kept talking all winter about us going cross-country, but he hasn't said a word about it for weeks. Not since we moved in together, in fact. Which means it was probably just something to get me through cold winter nights." "So what will you do?" "I don't know," Helene said. "I really don't. I guess we'll both get jobs or something. I could use the money. Dad gives me a lot but I don't want to keep bothering him." Missy sipped her tea. Touching her sister's hand, she said, "You're such a good girl, baby. You never gave them trouble like I did." Helene accepted the compliment. "I give myself trouble." "Listen," Missy told her. "Just keep remembering that's it's all a joke." "A joke on who?" Helene wondered. "Yeah, sometimes I think that life is one big goof, one elaborate elephant joke, you know? Other times I think it's all a lie. We all wear masks and the one with the best mask and costume wins the prize, le grand prix..." She pronounced the word pricks, hoping Missy would laugh. "A great husband, a fantastic job, money, fame, respect, what the hell ever. But you know, Missy, I spent about ninety per cent of my life just coping. Or trying to cope. Day in, day out. Coping with everything. It never ends, like Sisyphus...." Missy nodded, but Helene wasn't sure Missy knew who Sisyphus was. "I feel like things are constantly getting thrown at me," Helene continued. "I wish I could do something about it besides trying to cope." "Yeah," Missy said. "How's your tea?" "All right." For some reason, Missy looked annoyed. She excused herself and went into the bedroom. People were so stupid, Helene thought. Everyone was so sure that his way was right. Lanny. Those idiot hardhats beating up people. At Trinity Church they ripped down the Episcopal flag because they thought it was a Viet Cong flag. The Third World Coalition at school was no smarter. They wanted to expand the protest, not just focus on the war. They had these demands, freeing the Panther 21 and so forth. Still, Helene realized that she was racist enough not be able to feel for the kids who were killed at Jackson State the way she felt for the ones at Kent State. Should she be ashamed of that? She could have been at Kent State. The phone had rung, and Missy had picked up the bedroom extension. Something was wrong. Helene heard Missy yelling, "Oh, no!" And then: "You stupid bastard! Not the big swings! You knew she's not supposed to go on the big swings!... All right... Don't tell me it's nothing!... What were you doing when she fell, watching some piece of ass?... Listen, I'll be right down.... Yeah.... Don't keep telling me that!' Helene didn't move at all. An accident. These things can happen at any time. She thought of Lanny in Washington. Missy came back to the kitchen, half-crying, half-angry. "Jennifer fell off a swing at the playground," she said. "I'm going to the hospital. That stupid Phil!" Helene was afraid to ask, but she did. "Is it serious?" "Phil says no. Just a couple of stitches, he said. In her head, though! Oh God, I hope she looks all right..." "I'll go with you," Helene offered. "No, baby," Missy said, hugging her. "You stay here. I need someone to be here when Phil's parents come. They'll be here soon. And they like you, for some reason." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Look, Helene, don't tell them anything! Not a word.... Everything will be all right, don't worry." Missy put on shoes and a raincoat over the danskin, kissed Helene, and then ran out. Helene thought how hot she'd be in the raincoat. She finished her tea, trying not to think about the ice cream that Missy always kept in the freezer. She turned on the radio at the hour to hear the news. Everything had gone peacefully at the rally in Washington. Helene called Avis to find out if Lanny had left a message for her, but there was no answer. Wandering around the apartment, she found herself looking through the drawers in Missy and Phil's bedroom set. She found a lot of pennies lying loose, and Phil's business cards and Missy's diaphragm. Helene put one of Missy's albums on the living room stereo, an album of Indian music, Hare Krishna stuff. She put it on so loud it made her temples pound, but she didn't mind; the pounding even made her feel clean and carefree. On the living room floor, she attempted to get into the plough posture, but she couldn't bring her knees above her head. She wanted to scream, and the music was so loud she realized she probably could. But then she heard a foreign noise, something other than the insistent beat of the sitar and that screechy woodwind instrument from the album. It was the doorbell. Helene opened the door, expecting Missy's in-laws. Instead, there was a small, thin old man -- older than Grandpa Ike -- standing in front of her. He had a grey beard and was wearing a rumpled black mohair suit. He was speaking over the raga music, which seemed to mock him. Helene couldn't understand what he was saying because of his heavy accent. "Excuse me," the old man began again, talking louder. "I'm your neighbor from next door." "Well, I don't really..." Helene started to say. He interrupted her. "I was in Dachau," he said. "You're making too much noise." She nodded. "Sorry. I'll turn it down." The old man gave her a weak smile. Helene closed the door as he walked away, then took the needle off the record. It had almost been one sentence. "I was in Dachau and you're making too much noise." Helene thought about it for a long time. She wondered how things were going at the hospital. How things were going in Washington, too. She put on another album, one of Joni Mitchell's, making sure to play it softly. Sitting on the floor, she opened her anthropology book again, then shut it after reading a couple of pages. Helene decided she would try to meditate. But not like Missy, not the Indian way. Helene would try the Javanese way. Her book quoted a Javanese shaman as saying something about it. She found the quote: "Tranquility is not to be gained by a retreat from the world but must be achieved within it." Helene shut the book once more. She would try to achieve tranquility, she decided. Again the doorbell rang.
Copyright � 1999 Richard
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