Peruse. She didn’t ask him. She must feel sad now, rejected, very. Wishes he hadn’t chased her out like that. Should go to her room or wherever she is. Suggest the recordplayer again. “I’ll sit and listen with you awhile, explain what any part of the story means if you’re unsure about it. And ‘peruse.’ Don’t you want to know what it means?” Or read her a few pages from a story. A whole story. “Choose the book. Take your time, I’ll wait.” Hug her, pick her up, maneuver her legs so they straddle his waist and her head’s just under his chin, kiss it. Tell her while he’s holding her that he’s agitated, a different word than agitated, because he doesn’t know what to do with his time right now. Not that but some excuse. That he doesn’t really want to read the paper and also doesn’t want to sit at his desk and work. Some other excuse. Just say he’s sorry, he loses control sometimes, lost it with her, shouldn’t. “You know what flying off the handle means? That’s what I did. I don’t quite know where the expression comes from, but it means to suddenly get excited. People do that and your daddy’s human too, right? Don’t answer that. That was a line told by people who told jokes for a living a long time ago when I was just a few years older than you are now. Anyway, we talked, worked it out or almost, so it’s now okay I hope.” Or suggest going outside with her, taking a ball, buying a fruit bar at the deli, doing anything she likes outdoors or in.
Statesman dies, rand drops, drought, Senate near adjournment, car bomb, airline folds, dispute temporarily resolved on microchips, bottom left news briefs of what’s inside: high school basketball star signs for $7 million, aftermath of terrorist synagogue attack, parking unit aide reports corruption six years ago. Bottom right photo of the governor wearing a colonial hat. “Do I look silly? You bet I do, you big maligners, but you wanna be your party’s presidential nominee in two years, you do it, true? I’ll say.” Seal dies in Maine. For fifteen years the mascot of the watermen in the area. One lobsterman took his boat past the seal’s rocks twice a day to feed him. There’ll be a funeral and the seal will be buried at sea. What’s this doing on the front page? Olivia might like the story other than for the dying. Continues on page 8. Doesn’t turn to it. A regional treasure, someone could say. Brought in tons of tourist money, another could say. “Sidney was almost human,” someone else, “right down to his whiskers and kissing. Sometimes I thought his barking was like one of our own voices. I could make out real English words. He once told me, with the help of his flippers, the mackerel were jumping a mile from here, and was he ever right? Another time he said he saw a diamond ring in the water and I dropped a net down and got it first crack and sold it for a few hundred.” He lived about ten years longer than the average seal. “Human love and care, that’s what did it.” Mayor will deliver eulogy. Top state officials and the head of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Department will attend. It’ll be a secular service since the seal never professed belonging to any religious faith. Several local seals will play his favorite jazz numbers at the chapel. In lieu of flowers please make all donations to the Sidney Seal Foundation, a fund set up to permanently drop fish in his nesting place in the bay.
Gets up, shoves the newspaper through the lid in the kitchen trashcan, walks around the room a few times, opens the refrigerator, grabs a slice of pastrami and eats it, drinks straight from the cranberry juice jar — Denise would object, saying it set a bad example for the kids and might even be unhealthy for anyone else who drinks the juice — gets two mop buckets and some rags out, fills the buckets with warm water, adds ammonia to one of them, gets on his knees and cleans the floor, then dries it with paper towels. Looks in the freezer compartment, sees stewing veal there, cuts up celery, carrots, onions, potatoes, puts it all in a pot with some spices and herbs and water and starts a stew going. Is cleaning the kitchen counter he did the cutting on when he remembers. “Olivia, Olivia, come help Daddy in the kitchen.” Doesn’t know what he’ll ask her to do, but something. “Olivia?” Goes to her room. She’s sleeping on the covers. Recordplayer’s on. Bambi, not the Walt Disney version she has but a woman reading from the Salten book in an English accent. He sits on the floor beside her bed, puts his hand over hers, kisses her cheek, again. Stares at her. Way her long curly hair falls over her face, rests on the pillow. So beautiful. Red in her cheeks, pacific expression. So good, interesting, clever, lively, imaginative, everything. Not pacific but beatific. Overused, but nothing short of it. Should reduce the heat under the stew, must be boiling by now. Goes to the kitchen. Not boiling yet, waits, takes the paper out of the trashcan, since Denise will want to look at it, flicks some rice kernels and an oily lettuce leaf off it, flattens it till it looks not thrown away but well read over lunch.
11. Frog Acts
In bed, must be late, no car traffic outside, light coming in, been asleep, up, asleep again, hears a noise in the apartment. He’s on his side, front to his wife’s back, both no clothes, hand on her thigh. Kids in the bedrooms down the hall. Light noise again. Could be the cat. Whispers “Denise, you hear anything? Denise?” Doesn’t say anything, still asleep. He’s quiet, holds his breath, listens. Nothing. Lets out his breath, holds it again. Sound of feet. Something. Moving slowly, sliding almost. Sliding, that’s the sound. Could be the cat doing something unusual. Slight floorboard squeak. Cat’s made that too. Should get up. Scared. Cold feeling in his stomach, on his face. Has to do something, what, scream? If it’s someone then that person might get excited, frightened, start shooting, let’s say, knifing. He could be in one of the kids’ rooms, at one of their doors. Gets on his back, holds his breath. No sound. Lets it out, holds it. Shuffling. Sure of it. Down the hall’s wood floor, just a few inches. Shuffling stops, as if he picked up Howard listening. Now he doesn’t want to tell Denise. She might jump, afraid, scream, panic, man could then panic, start shooting, knifing, clubbing, something, if there is anyone there. Should get out there to see. If it’s someone, face him, but with a stick, knife, something, though without saying anything to Denise. For now let her sleep. Man sees her he might quickly shoot or knife him, feeling outnumbered, one to grab him, other to phone the police. Or just keep the gun or knife on her while he rapes her and Howard does nothing, stands there, saying to himself “Fuck it, I’ll kill him, kill him,” kids watching too. Better to surprise him, and not have Denise spoil that surprise, and try to get him out or down. If someone’s there. Concentrates on his ears, holds his breath. Nothing. Holds his breath. Nothing. Holds. Something. Shuffling. Inches. Even the sound of breathing. Almost positive. Light breath, as if trying to contain it, now no more. Lets his breath out. Stomach cold, neck sweaty, face cold, feels queasy, weak. But can’t be weak. Must think of something. Where could the man be if he’s here? Can’t tell exactly by the sounds. Somewhere in the hall. Near one of the doors? The cat? Cats don’t make that shuffling sound. Wind. Doesn’t seem possible. All the windows are closed. Did it when he made the rounds before he went to bed. Maybe he forgot a window, upper or lower part, or didn’t close one all the way. What else could it be but that? Wind blowing a paper down the hall floor. Could be. Cats can get frisky when they’re asleep. Should find out. Has to. But must be ready to come upon someone, do something, shout, kick, jump at him, hit him with something, take a wound or blow but still try to disarm him and get him down. For he’s in good shape and always was strong and as a kid a fierce fighter, so might be able to knock even a fairly big man down. Could probably knock most men down if he surprises them or in a fair fight. If he gets him down or wrestles the weapon away, if there’s one, then what? Then hit him hard. In the face. Kick him in the face, in the balls, pick up his head and bat it against the floor. Hit him with the gun butt if necessary. Just hit him in the head with it or anything around as hard as he can, several times, lots, but make sure the gun, if there’s one, doesn’t go off. Knows little about them. Just pull the trigger with the barrel aimed at him even, for what’s to know? Gun’s cocked, uncock it, pull the trigger, gun goes off. If it’s not cocked, just shoot. No bullets in the gun, bang the butt against the man’s head. Do it, if it comes to it, if the man keeps coming, if there’s a man, a gun. If it’s a knife and he gets it away and the man keeps coming, same thing, stick it in him. Or just hold one or the other to him and say “Don’t move or I’ll shoot; Don’t move or 111 stick it in you, right through you if I have to.” And have Denise call the police. If she’s screaming, shout for her to immediately shut up. Yell out the window for help and at the top of his lungs for his neighbors to come. Break the window even to yell out of it. Noise will attract some; shouting, others. Ones right above are old, very, couldn’t help, might not even hear. One below, new one with his wife, he’d come and help. He might even kick the man’s face in and maybe shoot him, if they grabbed the man and told him not to move and he did. Something about him. Makes him think he even has his own gun. An accountant, moved here from a large home, kids in college, but he’s a tough guy, he’s talked tough and half of it against crime, what partly made them sell their house and move here: burglaries, couple of neighborhood rapes. But get out of bed now. Slowly, quietly. Find something to swing with. Best move. Be senseless not to. If the man has no weapon, he’d have the advantage. If there is a man there. Holds his breath. Nothing. Holds. Moving. Shuffling. Touching, something with his body. The wall, a door, and more creaking. That’s it. Up.