— Paul?
— Does this coffee table have to be right in the middle of the God damn room here? Bang my leg every time I walk past it.
— Where else can it go? There's no place to…
— Got to get this toilet fixed.
— Well what shall I do! I told you I called the plumber and they have to get in that room to reach some trap in the drain.
— Tell them to break the lock. Just tell them to break the God damn padlock. This McCandless, Argentina Zaire wherever the hell he is, look at these smoked up windows he's probably in a cancer ward someplace what are we supposed to do. He rents us the house with that room locked off and a lease that says he reserves access to his papers in there, what do we do? Sit here waiting for him to show up looking for an old laundry ticket while your brother stands here pissing all over the floor? You know where that list is? Just call and tell them to break that padlock and get in there and fix the God damn drain… He was back standing over the bottle, — they can put on a new lock and give the key to the agent, if McCandless ever shows up she can hand it over.
— You'll have to leave me cash.
— Let them send the bill to the agent.
— For the cleaning woman, she…
— You sure this is all the mail? He sat down again, sweeping it toward him, — my VA check, where the hell is it… Instead he found the newspaper. — What about supper.
— There's that ham, what's left of it.
— See this thing in the paper? these gooks adopting dogs and eating them?
— Please, put it out Paul. I'm having trouble breathing.
— We spend five dollars a week here feeding somebody else's cat while these slopes walk into the ASPCA and go home to a dachshund barbecue. See this gook in there patting a Saint Bernard on the…
— Paul, put it out.
— All right! He jammed the cigarette into her teacup, — takes it home to the kiddies whole God damn family eats for a week, can't even…
— They can't help it! She was suddenly up, past him into the living room where she simply stood.
— What? What do you mean they can't…
— I just wish you didn't have to keep calling them slopes and gooks, it's all such a long time ago and you can't call them that, all of them gooks… She bent down for the rag on the wet floor, — the ones who were our friends the ones who…
— Liz God damn it I was there! They're all gooks all of them, every God damn one of them I was there Liz…! and his hand, in a sudden tremor reaching for the telephone, knocked over the glass. — It's probably Ude.
She came on to the trash, caught breath dangling the wet rag that moment before she dropped it in where the feathers, mottled? or just mud spattered, still shone in brownish pink at the throat. It was a dove.
2
Climbing the hill from the river, stopping for breath, an old dog fell in beside her as she started to climb again, every effort of hers caught up in its plodding step, head carried low going white down muzzle and flews, elbow and hock gone hairless and callused, its dry black coat thinned toward the tail. Almost to the top she stopped again, one hand steadied on a pale of the fence as she drew the other across her forehead, and noticed the dog's nails were done bold ruby red. They crossed the road together side by side, as though they had crossed it side by side together many times before right up the crumbled brick to the front door where the dog crowded against her knee, left staring out there as she closed the door behind her.
Somewhere, the roar of a vacuum cleaner dwindled to a whine. — Hello? she called, — hello? Madame Socrate…? At her elbow a blouse in pale green batiste rag remnant, pearl buttoned, draped the newel. A pail of water barred the kitchen doorway. — Madame Socrate? And she extended a hand to the massive floral print descending the stairs, bare feet in a clatter of vacuum cleaner accessories. — I'm, I'm Mrs. Booth, Eliz…
— Madame.
— Yes, well… her hand dropped, — bonjour… she stepped aside. — I'm glad you could come is everything, ça va?
— On a besoin d'un nouvel aspirateur.
— Yes a, a what, quoi?
— On a besoin d'un nouvel aspirateur, Madame.
— Oh yes. Oui.
— Celui-ci est foutu.
— Of course yes the, the vacuum cleaner oui yes it is quite an old one isn't it mais, mais c'est très important de, qu'on nettoyer tout les, le dust vous savez le, le dust? Farce que mon asthma…
— Madame?
— Yes well I just mean, I mean vous faites du bon travail quand même… she backed off, — I mean it's an awfully warm day and you've done a lovely job quand même…
— Oui Madame.
The equipment clattered by and she bent to catch her calf where she'd hit it against the coffee table, sank to the edge of the frayed love seat. Ash lay spilled from the fireplace in a fine grey fall on the hearth. Across the room, a delicate length of cobweb joining the alcove's draperies caught the sun striking through from the dining room. — Madame Socrate? Vous avez fini ici? cleaning in here, I mean?
— Madame? from the kitchen.
— Ici? cette salle, c'est tout…
— C'est pas sale Madame!
— No I didn't mean, not sale not dirty no, salle, I mean, I mean chambre, cette chambre? c'est fini?
— Oui Madame.
When the telephone rang she was standing at the mantel piecing together the china dog. Through the dining room, she almost went down crossing the kitchen floor awash with the woman on hands and knees dipping the green batiste in wide sweeps from the pail. — I'm sorry… she got by, and then — hello…? No, I… He's not here no, I don't know how to reach… hello? Hello? She hung up, brought her feet to the chair rung as the pail sloshed closer, — honestly! Why people are so rude!
— Madame? from the floor there.
— These people looking for, qui cherchent Monsieur McCandless. Est-ce que, est-ce qu'il y avait des, des telephones, I mean any calls this morning? ce matin?
— Oui Madame, beaucoup.
— But I mean, you mean there've been lots of calls? She stared at the blank pad beside the telephone, — but who. Who were they?
— Je sais pas Madame.
— But I mean who were they for, then. I mean, pour Monsieur McCandless you mean? Ce matin?
— Il était fâché, oui.
— What?
— Ce matin, oui. I1 était fâché.
— Who. Qui.
— Ce monsieur oui, le même qui est venu ce matin.
— What, looking for him? Somebody came here looking for him you mean? Monsieur McCandless?
— Monsieur McCandless, oui. Il était fâché.
— Yes well you said that, he was angry you said that, but I mean who. Qui.
— Monsieur McCandless, oui… The wet swath swept closer, underfoot, — cette piece la, il ne pouvait pas entrer. Il dit qu'on a change la serrure. Il était fâch…
— No now wait wait, attendez. He was, you mean Monsieur McCandless était ici? here? He was here?
— Ce matin, oui Madame.
— But he, I mean why didn't you tell me! What did he…
— La pièce lá… with a wet thrust at the door behind her, — il se fâchait parce-qu'il ne pouvait pas entrer quand il est venu ce mat…
— Yes well you said that, and he was fâché because he couldn't get in I mean why didn't he call? They put on a new lock last week when they fixed a pipe in there why didn't he call, the agent has the key he could have gone to the real estate agent couldn't he? Did he leave any message or anything? Where we could, où on peut lui téléphoner? or if, when he'll be back? S'il retourner?
— Non Madame.
— Well I don't know what he expects us to do… The pail lurched closer and she got up, got by it, — he didn't say anything? Rien? I mean where we could, où on peut lui trouver? She turned in the doorway, — where these people can call him? I mean I'm a little fâché myself… Steadied against a dining room chair she slipped off her shoes and her steps, shorn of purpose, took her back to the living room, to the mantel. — Madame? Madame Socrate…? She pressed the broken dog together, — ce chien? Qu'est-ce que arrive avec ce chien que, que c'est cassé?