SEPTEMBER 3RD
Having
just turned forty, have resolved to embark on grand project of writing
every day in this new black book just got at OfficeMax. Exciting to
think how in one year, at rate of one page/day, will have written three
hundred and sixty-five pages, and what a picture of life and times then
available for kids & grandkids, even greatgrandkids, whoever, all
are welcome (!) to see how life really was/is now. Because what do we
know of other times really? How clothes smelled and carriages sounded?
Will future people know, for example, about sound of airplanes going
over at night, since airplanes by that time passé? Will future people
know sometimes cats fought in night? Because by that time some chemical
invented to make cats not fight? Last night dreamed of two demons having
sex and found it was only two cats fighting outside window. Will future
people be aware of concept of “demons”? Will they find our belief in
“demons” quaint? Will “windows” even exist? Interesting to future
generations that even sophisticated college grad like me sometimes woke
in cold sweat, thinking of demons, believing one possibly under bed?
Anyway, what the heck, am not planning on writing encyclopedia, if any
future person is reading this, if you want to know what a “demon” was,
go look it up, in something called an encyclopedia, if you even still
have those!
Am getting off track, due to tired, due to those fighting cats.
Hereby
resolve to write in this book at least twenty minutes a night, no
matter how tired. (If discouraged, just think how much will have been
recorded for posterity after one mere year!)
SEPTEMBER 5TH
Oops.
Missed a day. Things hectic. Will summarize yesterday. Yesterday a bit
rough. While picking kids up at school, bumper fell off Park Avenue.
Note to future generations: Park Avenue = type of car. Ours not new.
Ours oldish. Bit rusty. Kids got in, Eva (middle child) asked what was
meaning of “junkorama.” At that moment, bumper fell off. Mr. Renn,
history teacher, quite helpful, retrieved bumper (note: write letter of
commendation to principal), saying he too once had car whose bumper fell
off, when poor, in college. Eva assured me it was all right bumper had
fallen off. I replied of course it was all right, why wouldn’t it be all
right, it was just something that had happened, I certainly hadn’t
caused. Image that stays in mind is of three sweet kids in back seat,
chastened expressions on little faces, timidly holding bumper across
laps. One end of bumper had to hang out Eva’s window and today she has
sniffles, plus small cut on hand from place where bumper was sharp.
Lilly
(oldest, nearly thirteen!), as always, put all in perspective, by
saying, Who cares about stupid bumper, we’re going to get a new car soon
anyway, when rich, right?
Upon arriving home, put bumper in
garage. In garage, found dead large mouse or small squirrel crawling
with maggots. Used shovel to transfer majority of squirrel/mouse to
Hefty bag. Smudge of squirrel/mouse still on garage floor, like oil
stain w/ embedded fur tufts.
Stood looking up at house, sad.
Thought: Why sad? Don’t be sad. If sad, will make everyone sad. Went in
happy, not mentioning bumper, squirrel/mouse smudge, maggots, then gave
Eva extra ice cream, due to I had spoken harshly to her.
Have to
do better! Be kinder. Start now. Soon they will be grown and how sad, if
only memory of you is testy, stressed guy in bad car.
When will I
have sufficient leisure/wealth to sit on hay bale watching moon rise,
while in luxurious mansion family sleeps? At that time, will have chance
to reflect deeply on meaning of life, etc., etc. Have a feeling and
have always had a feeling that this and other good things will happen
for us!
SEPTEMBER 6TH
Very depressing birthday party today at home of Lilly’s friend Leslie Torrini.
House
is mansion where Lafayette once stayed. Torrinis showed us Lafayette’s
room: now their “Fun Den.” Plasma TV, pinball game, foot massager.
Thirty acres, six garages (they call them “outbuildings”): one for
Ferraris (three), one for Porsches (two, plus one he is rebuilding), one
for historical merry-go-round they are restoring as family (!). Across
trout-stocked stream, red Oriental bridge flown in from China. Showed us
hoofmark from some dynasty. In front room, near Steinway, plaster cast
of hoofmark from even earlier dynasty, in wood of different bridge.
Picasso autograph, Disney autograph, dress Greta Garbo once wore, all
displayed in massive mahogany cabinet.
Vegetable garden tended by guy named Karl.
Lilly: Wow, this garden is like ten times bigger than our whole yard.
Flower garden tended by separate guy, weirdly also named Karl.
Lilly: Wouldn’t you love to live here?
Me: Lilly, ha-ha, don’t ah . . .
Pam (my wife, very sweet, love of life!): What, what is she saying wrong? Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you love to live here? I know
I would.
In
front of house, on sweeping lawn, largest SG arrangement ever seen, all
in white, white smocks blowing in breeze, and Lilly says, Can we go
closer?
Leslie Torrini: We can but we don’t, usually.
Leslie’s
mother, dressed in Indonesian sarong: We don’t, as we already have,
many times, dear, but you perhaps would like to? Perhaps this is all
very new and exciting to you?
Lilly, shyly: It is, yes.
Leslie’s mom: Please, go, enjoy.
Lilly races away.
Leslie’s mom, to Eva: And you, dear?
Eva stands timidly against my leg, shakes head no.
Just
then father (Emmett) appears, says time for dinner, hopes we like
sailfish flown in fresh from Guatemala, prepared with a rare spice found
only in one tiny region of Burma, which had to be bribed out.
The kids can eat later, in the tree house, Leslie’s mom says.
She
indicates the tree house, which is painted Victorian and has a gabled
roof and a telescope sticking out and what looks like a small solar
panel.
Thomas: Wow, that tree house is like twice the size of our actual house.
(Thomas, as usual, exaggerating: tree house is more like one-third size of our house. Still, yes: big tree house.)
Our
gift not the very worst. Although possibly the least expensive—someone
brought a mini DVD-player; someone brought a lock of hair from an actual
mummy (!)—it was, in my opinion, the most heartfelt. Because Leslie
(who appeared disappointed by the lock of mummy hair, and said so,
because she already had one (!)) was, it seemed to me, touched by the
simplicity of our paper-doll set. And although we did not view it as
kitsch at the time we bought it, when Leslie’s mom said, Les, check it
out, kitsch or what, don’t you love it?, I thought, Yes, well, maybe it
is kitsch, maybe we did intend. In any event, this eased the blow when
the next gift was a ticket to the Preakness (!), as Leslie has recently
become interested in horses, and has begun getting up early to feed
their nine horses, whereas previously she had categorically refused to
feed the six llamas.
Leslie’s mom: So guess who ended up feeding the llamas?
Leslie, sharply: Mom, don’t you remember back then I always had yoga?
Leslie’s
mom: Although actually, honestly? It was a blessing, a chance for me to
rediscover what terrific animals they are, after school, on days on
which Les had yoga.
Leslie: Like every day, yoga?
Leslie’s
mom: I guess you just have to trust your kids, trust that their innate
interest in life will win out in the end, don’t you think? Which is what
is happening now, with Les and horses. God, she loves them.
Pam: Our kids, we can’t even get them to pick up what Ferber does in the front yard.
Leslie’s mom: And Ferber is?
Me: Dog.
Leslie’s mom: Ha-ha, yes, well, everything poops, isn’t that just
it?
After
dinner, strolled grounds with Emmett, who is surgeon, does something
two days a week with brain inserts, small electronic devices? Or
possibly biotronic? They are very small. Hundreds can fit on head of
pin? Or dime? Did not totally follow. He asked about my work, I told. He
said, Well, huh, amazing the strange, arcane things our culture
requires some of us to do, degrading things, things that offer no
tangible benefit to anyone, how do they expect people to continue to
even hold their heads up?
Could not think of response. Note to self: Think of response, send on card, thus striking up friendship with Emmett?
Returned
to Torrinis’ house, sat on special star-watching platform as stars came
out. Our kids sat watching stars, fascinated. What, I said, no stars in
our neighborhood? No response. From anyone. Actually, stars there did
seem brighter. On star platform, had too much to drink, and suddenly
everything I thought of seemed stupid. So just went quiet, like in
stupor.
Pam drove home. I sat sullen and drunk in passenger seat
of Park Avenue. Kids babbling about what a great party it was, Lilly
especially. Thomas spouting all these boring llama facts, per Emmett.
Lilly: I can’t wait till my party. My party is in two weeks, right?
Pam: What do you want to do for your party, sweetie?
Long silence in car.
Lilly, finally, sadly: Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.
Pulled
up to house. Another silence as we regarded blank, empty yard. That is,
mostly crabgrass and no red Oriental bridge w/ ancient hoofprints and
no outbuildings and not a single SG, but only Ferber, who we’d kind of
forgotten about, and who, as usual, had circled round and round the tree
until nearly strangling to death on his gradually shortening leash and
was looking up at us with begging eyes in which desperation was combined
with a sort of low-boiling anger.
Let him off leash, he shot me hostile look, took dump extremely close to porch.
Watched
to see if kids would take initiative and pick up. But no. Kids only
slumped past and stood exhausted by front door. Knew I should take
initiative and pick up. But was tired and had to come in and write in
this stupid book.
Do not really like rich people, as they make us
poor people feel dopey and inadequate. Not that we are poor. I would say
we are middle. We are very, very lucky. I know that. But still, it is
not right that rich people make us middle people feel dopey and
inadequate.
Am writing this still drunk and it is getting late and tomorrow is Monday, which means work.
Work, work, work. Stupid work. Am so tired of work.
Good night.
SEPTEMBER 7TH
Just reread that last entry and should clarify.
Am
not tired of work. It is a privilege to work. I do not hate the rich. I
aspire to be rich myself. And when we finally do get our own bridge,
trout, tree house, SGs, etc., at least will know we really earned them,
unlike, say, the Torrinis, who, I feel, must have family money.
Last
night, after party, found Eva sad in her room. Asked why. She said no
reason. But in sketch pad: crayon pic of row of sad SGs. Could tell were
meant to be sad, due to frowns went down off faces like Fu Manchus and
tears were dropping in arcs, flowers springing up where tears hit
ground. Note to self: Talk to her, explain that it does not hurt, they
are not sad but actually happy, given what their prior conditions were
like: they chose, are glad, etc.
Very moving piece on NPR re
Bangladeshi SG sending money home: hence her parents able to build small
shack. (Note to self: Find online, download, play for Eva. First fix
computer. Computer super slow. Possibly delete “CircusLoser”? Acrobats
run all jerky, due to low memory + elephants do not hop = no fun.)
SEPTEMBER 12TH
Nine days to Lilly’s b-day. Kind of dread this. Too much pressure. Do not want to have bad party.
Had asked Lilly for list of b-day gift ideas. Today came home to envelope labelled “
POSSIBLE GIFT LIST.” Inside, clippings from some catalogue: “
Resting Fierceness.”
A pair of fierce porcelain jungle cats are tamed (at least for now!) on
highly detailed ornamental pillows, but their wildness is not to be
underestimated. Left-facing cheetah: $350. Right-facing tiger: $325. Then, on Post-it: “
DAD, SECOND CHOICE.” “
Girl Reading to Little Sister”
figurine: This childhood study by Nevada artist Dani will recall in porcelain the joys of “
story time”
and the tender moments shared by all. Girl and little girl reading on polished rock: $280.
Discouraging,
I felt. Because (1) why does young girl of thirteen want such old-lady
gift, and (2) where does girl of thirteen get idea that $300 =
appropriate amount for b-day gift? When I was kid, it was one shirt, one
shirt I didn’t want, usually homemade.
However, do not want to
break Lilly’s heart or harshly remind her of our limitations. God knows,
she is already reminded often enough. For “My Yard” project at school,
Leslie Torrini brought in pics of Oriental bridge, plus background info
on SGs (age, place of origin, etc.), as did “every other kid in class,”
whereas Lilly brought in nineteen-forties condom box found last year
during aborted attempt to start vegetable garden. Perhaps was bad call
re letting her bring condom box? Thought, being historical, it would be
good, plus perhaps kids would not notice it was condom box. But teacher
noticed, pointed out, kids had big hoot, teacher used opportunity to
discuss safe sex, which was good for class but maybe not so good for
Lilly.
As for party, Lilly said she would rather not have one. I
asked, Why not, sweetie? She said, Oh, no reason. I said, Is it because
of our yard, our house? Is it because you are afraid that, given our
small house and bare yard, party might be boring or embarrassing?
At which she burst into tears and said, Oh, Daddy.
Actually,
one figurine might not be excessive. Or, rather, might be excess worth
indulging in, due to sad look on her face when she came in on “My Yard”
day and dropped condom box on table with sigh.
Maybe “Girl Reading
to Little Sister,” as that is cheapest? Although maybe giving cheapest
sends bad signal? Signals frugality even in midst of attempt to be
generous? Maybe best to go big? Go for “Resting Fierceness”? Put cheetah
on Visa, hope she is happily surprised?
SEPTEMBER 14TH
Observed
Mel Redden at work today. He did fine. I did fine. He committed minor
errors, I caught them all. He made one Recycling Error: threw Tab can in
wrong bucket. When throwing Tab in wrong bucket, made Ergonomic Error,
by throwing from far away, missing, having to get up and rethrow. Then
made second Ergonomic Error: did not squat when picking up Tab to
rethrow, but bent at waist, thereby increasing risk of back injury. Mel
signed off on my Observations, then asked me to re-Observe. Very smart.
During re-Observation, Mel made no errors. Threw no cans in bucket, just
sat very still at desk. So was able to append that to his Record.
Parted friends, etc., etc.
One week until L’s birthday.
Note to self: Order cheetah.
However,
not that simple. Some recent problems with Visa. Full. Past full. Found
out at YourItalianKitchen, when Visa declined. Left Pam and kids there,
walked rapidly out with big fake smile, drove to ATM. Then scary moment
as ATM card also declined. Nearby wino said ATM was broken, directed me
to different ATM. Thanked wino with friendly wave as I drove past. Wino
gave me finger. Second ATM, thank God, not broken, did not decline.
Arrived, winded, back at YourItalianKitchen to find Pam on third cup of
coffee and kids falling off chairs and tapping aquarium with dimes, wait
staff looking peeved. Paid cash, w/ big apologetic tip. Considered
collecting dimes from kids (!). Still, over all nice night. Really fun.
Kids showed good manners, until aquarium bit.
But problem
remains: Visa full. Also AmEx full and Discover nearly full. Called
Discover: $200 avail. If we transfer $200 from checking (once paycheck
comes in), would then have $400 avail. on Discover, could get cheetah.
Although timing problematic. Currently, checking at zero. Paycheck must
come, must put paycheck in checking pronto, hope paycheck clears
quickly. And then, when doing bills, pick bills totalling $200 to not
pay. To defer paying.
Stretched a bit thin these days.
Note
to future generations: In our time are such things as credit cards.
Company loans money, you pay back at high interest rate. Is nice for
when you do not actually have money to do thing you want to do (for
example, buy extravagant cheetah). You may say, safe in your future
time, Wouldn’t it be better to simply not do thing you can’t afford to
do? Easy for you to say! You are not here, in our world, with kids, kids
you love, while other people are doing good things for their kids, such
as a Heritage Journey to Nice, if you are the Mancinis, or three weeks
wreck-diving off the Bahamas, if you are Gary Gold and his tan, sleek
son, Byron.
There is so much I want to do and experience and give
to kids. Time going by so quickly, kids growing up so fast. If not now,
when? When will we give them largesse and sense of generosity? Have
never been to Hawaii or parasailed or eaten lunch at café by ocean,
wearing floppy straw hats just purchased on whim. So I worry: Growing up
in paucity, won’t they become too cautious? Not that they are growing
up in paucity. Still, there are things we want but cannot have. If kids
raised too cautious, due to paucity, will not world chew them up and
spit out?
Still, must fight good fight! Think of Dad. When Mom
left Dad, Dad kept going to job. When laid off from job, got paper
route. When laid off from paper route, got lesser paper route. In time,
got better route back. By time Dad died, had job almost as good as
original job. And had paid off most debt incurred after demotion to
lesser route.
Note to self: Visit Dad’s grave. Bring flowers. Have
talk with Dad re certain things said by me at time of paper routes, due
to, could not afford rental tux for prom but had to wear Dad’s old tux,
which did not fit. Still, no need to be rude. Was not Dad’s fault he
was good foot taller than me and therefore pant legs dragged, hiding
Dad’s borrowed shoes, which pinched, because Dad, though tall, had tiny
feet.
SEPTEMBER 15TH
Damn it. Plan will not work. Cannot get check to Discover in time. Needs time to clear.
So no cheetah.
Must
think of something else to give to Lilly at small family-only party in
kitchen. Or may have to do what Mom sometimes did, which was, when thing
not available, wrap picture of thing with note promising thing.
However, note to self: Do not do other thing Mom did, which was, when
child tries to redeem, roll eyes, act exasperated, ask if child thinks
money grows on trees.
Note to self: Find ad with pic of cheetah,
for I.O.U. coupon. Was on desk but not anymore. Possibly used to record
phone message on? Possibly used to pick up little thing cat threw up?
Poor
Lilly. Her sweet hopeful face when toddler, wearing Burger King crown,
and now this? She did not know she was destined to be not princess but
poor girl. Poorish girl. Girl not-the-richest.
No party, no
present. Possibly no pic of cheetah in I.O.U. Could draw cheetah but
Lilly might then think she was getting camel. Or not getting camel,
rather. Am not best drawer. Ha-ha! Must keep spirits up. Laughter best
medicine, etc., etc.
Someday, I’m sure, dreams will come true. But when? Why not now? Why not?
SEPTEMBER 20TH
Sorry for silence but wow!
Was too happy/busy to write!
Friday
most incredible day ever! Do not need to even write down, as will never
forget this awesome day! But will record for future generations. Nice
for them to know that good luck and happiness real and possible! In
America of my time, want them to know, anything possible!
Wow wow
wow is all I can say! Remember how I always buy lunchtime Scratch-Off
ticket? Have I said? Maybe did not say? Well, every Friday, to reward
self for good week, I stop at store near home, treat self to
Butterfinger, plus Scratch-Off ticket. Sometimes, if hard week, two
Butterfingers. Sometimes, if very hard week, three Butterfingers. But,
if three Butterfingers, no Scratch-Off. But Friday won
TEN GRAND!!
On Scratch-Off! Dropped both Butterfingers, stood there holding dime
used to scratch, mouth hanging open. Kind of reeled into magazine rack.
Guy at register took ticket, read ticket, said, Winner! Guy righted
magazine rack, shook my hand.
Then said we would get check, check for
TEN GRAND, within week.
Raced
home on foot, forgetting car. Raced back for car. Halfway back,
thought, What the heck, raced home on foot. Pam raced out, said, Where
is car? Showed her Scratch-Off ticket. She stood stunned in yard.
Are we rich now? Thomas said, racing out, dragging Ferber by collar.
Not rich, Pam said.
Richer, I said.
Richer, Pam said. Damn.
All began dancing around yard, Ferber looking witless at sudden dancing, then doing dance of own, by chasing own tail.
Then,
of course, had to decide how to use. That night in bed, Pam said,
Partially pay off credit cards? My feeling was yes, O.K., could. But did
not seem exciting to me and also did not seem all that exciting to her.
Pam: It would be nice to do something special for Lilly’s birthday.
Me: Me, too, exactly, yes!
Pam: She could use something. She has really been down.
Me: You know what? Let’s do it.
Because Lilly our oldest, we have soft spot for her, soft spot that is also like worry spot.
So we hatched up scheme, then did.
Which
was: Went to Greenway Landscaping, had them do total new yard design,
incl. ten rosebushes + cedar pathway + pond + small hot tub + four-SG
arrangement! Big fun part was, how soon could it be done? Plus, could it
be done in secret? Greenway said, for price, could do in one day, while
kids at school. (Note to self: Write letter praising Melanie, Greenway
gal—super facilitator.)
Step two was: send out secret invites to
surprise party to be held on evening of day of yard completion, i.e.,
tomorrow, i.e., that is why so silent in terms of this book for last
week. Sorry, sorry, have just been super busy!
Pam and I worked so
well together, like in old days, so nice and close, total agreement.
That night, when arrangements all made, went to bed early (!!) (masseuse
scenario—do not ask!).
Sorry if corny.
Am just happy.
Note
to future generations: Happiness possible. And happy so much better
than opposite, i.e., sad. Hopefully you know! I knew, but forgot. Got
used to being slightly sad! Slightly sad, due to stress, due to worry
vis-à-vis limitations. But now, wow, no: happy!
SEPTEMBER 21ST! LILLY B-DAY(!)
There
are days so perfect you feel: This is what life about. When old, will
feel whole life worth it, because I got to experience this perfect day.
Today that kind of day.
In
morning, kids go off to school per usual. Greenway comes at ten. Yard
done by two (!). Roses in, fountain in, pathway in. SG truck arrives at
three. SGs exit truck, stand shyly near fence while rack installed. Rack
nice. Opted for “Lexington” (midrange in terms of price): bronze
uprights w/ Colonial caps, EzyReleese levers.
SGs already in white
smocks. Microline strung through. SGs holding microline slack in hands,
like mountain climbers holding rope. Only no mountain (!). One
squatting, others standing polite/nervous, one sniffing new roses. She
gives timid wave. Other says something to her, like, Hey, not supposed
to wave. But I wave back, like, In this household, is O.K. to wave.
Doctor
monitors installation by law. So young! Looks like should be working at
Wendy’s. Says we can watch hoist or not. Gives me meaningful look, cuts
eyes at Pam, as in, Wife squeamish? Pam somewhat squeamish. Sometimes
does not like to handle raw chicken. I say, Let’s go inside, put candles
on cake.
Soon, knock on door: doctor says hoist all done.
Me: So can we have a look?
Him: Totally.
We
step out. SGs up now, approx. three feet off ground, smiling, swaying
in slight breeze. Order, left to right: Tami (Laos), Gwen (Moldova),
Lisa (Somalia), Betty (Philippines). Effect amazing. Having so often
seen similar configuration in yards of others more affluent makes own
yard seem suddenly affluent, you feel different about self, as if at
last in step with peers and time in which living.
Pond great. Roses great. Path, hot tub great.
Everything set.
Could not believe we had pulled this off.
Picked
kids up at school. Lilly all hangdog because her b-day and no one said
Happy B-day at breakfast, and no party and no gifts so far.
Meanwhile,
at home: Pam scrambling to decorate. Food delivered (BBQ from
Snakey’s). Friends arrive. So when Lilly gets out of car what does she
see but whole new yard full of friends from school sitting at new picnic
table near new hot tub, and new line of four SGs, and Lilly literally
bursts into tears of happiness!
Then more tears as shiny pink
packages unwrapped, “Resting Fierceness” plus “Girl Reading to Little
Sister” revealed. Lilly touched I remembered exact figurines. Plus
“Summer Daze” (hobo-clown fishing ($380)), which she hadn’t even
requested (just to prove largesse). Several more waves of happy tears,
hugs, right in front of friends, as if gratitude/affection for us
greater than fear of rebuke from friends.
Party guests played
usual games, Crack the Whip, etc., etc., in beautiful new yard. Kids
joyful, thanked us for inviting. Several said they loved yard. Several
parents lingered after, saying they loved yard.
And, my God, the look on Lilly’s face as all left!
Know she will always remember today.
Only
one slight negative: After party, during cleanup, Eva stomps away,
picks up cat too roughly, the way she sometimes does when mad. Cat
scratches her, runs over to Ferber, claws Ferber. Ferber dashes away,
stumbles into table, roses bought for Lilly crash down on Ferber.
We find Eva in closet.
Pam: Sweetie, sweetie, what is it?
Eva: I don’t like it. It’s not nice.
Thomas (rushing over with cat to show he is master of cat): They want to, Eva. They like applied for it.
Pam: Where they’re from, the opportunities are not so good.
Me: It helps them take care of the people they love.
Eva facing wall, lower lip out in her pre-crying way.
Then
I get idea: Go to kitchen, page through Personal Statements. Yikes.
Worse than I thought: Laotian (Tami) applied due to two sisters already
in brothels. Moldovan (Gwen) has cousin who thought she was becoming
window-washer in Germany, but no: sex slave in Kuwait (!). Somali (Lisa)
watched father + little sister die of
AIDS,
same tiny thatch hut, same year. Filipina (Betty) has little brother
“very skilled for computer,” parents cannot afford high school, have
lived in tiny lean-to with three other families since their own tiny
lean-to slid down hillside in earthquake.
I opt for “Betty,” go back to closet, read “Betty” aloud.
Me:
Does that help? Do you understand now? Can you kind of imagine her
little brother in a good school, because of her, because of us?
Eva: If we want to help them, why can’t we just give them the money?
Me: Oh, sweetie.
Pam: Let’s go look. Let’s see do they look sad.
(Do not look sad. Are in fact quietly chatting in moonlight.)
At
window, Eva quiet. Deep well. So sensitive. Even when tiny, Eva
sensitive. Kindest kid. Biggest heart. Once, when little, found dead
bird in yard and placed on swing-set slide, so it could “see him
fambly.” Cried when we threw out old rocking chair, claiming it told her
it wanted to live out rest of life in basement.
But I worry, Pam worries: if kid too sensitive, kid goes out in world, world rips kid’s guts out, i.e., some toughness req’d?
Lilly,
on other hand, wrote all thank-you notes tonight in one sitting, mopped
kitchen without being asked, then was out in yard w/ flashlight,
picking up Ferber area with new poop-scoop she apparently rode on bike
to buy w/ own money at Fas Mart (!).
SEPTEMBER 22ND
Happy period continues.
Everyone
at work curious re Scratch-Off win. Brought pics of yard into work,
posted in cubicle, folks came by, admired. Steve Z. asked could he drop
by house sometime, see yard in person. This a first: Steve Z. has never
previously given me time of day. Even asked my advice: where did I buy
winning Scratch-Off, how many Scratch-Offs do I typically buy, Greenway =
reputable company?
Embarrassed to admit how happy this made me.
At
lunch, went to mall, bought four new shirts. Running joke in department
vis-à-vis I have only two shirts. Not so. But have three similar blue
shirts and two identical yellow shirts. Hence confusion. Do not
generally buy new clothes for self. Have always felt it more important
for kids to have new clothes, i.e., do not want other kids saying my
kids have only two shirts etc., etc. As for Pam, Pam very beautiful,
raised w/ money. Do not want former wealthy beauty wearing same clothes
over and over, feeling, When young, had so many clothes, but now, due to
him (i.e., me), badly dressed.
Correction: Pam not raised
wealthy. Pam’s father = farmer in small town. Had biggest farm on edge
of small town. So, relative to girls on smaller farms, Pam = rich girl.
If same farm near bigger town, farm only average, but no: town so small,
modest farm = estate.
Anyway, Pam deserves best.
Came
home, took detour around side of house to peek at yard: fish hovering
near lily pads, bees buzzing around roses, SGs in fresh white smocks,
shaft of sun falling across lawn, dust motes rising up w/ sleepy
late-summer feeling, LifeStyleServices team (i.e., Greenway folks who
come by 3x/day to give SGs meals/water, take SGs to SmallJon in back of
van, deal with feminine issues, etc., etc.) hard at work.
Inside,
found Leslie Torrini over (!). This = huge. Leslie never over solo
before. Says she likes the way our SGs hang close to pond, are thus
reflected in pond. Calls home, demands pond. Leslie’s mother calls
Leslie spoiled brat, says no pond. This = big score for Lilly. Not that
we are glad when someone else not glad. But Leslie so often glad when
Lilly not glad, maybe is O.K. if, just once, Leslie = little bit sad
while Lilly = riding high?
Girls go into yard, stay in yard for
long time. Pam and I peek out. Girls getting along? Girls have heads
together in shade of trees, exchanging girlish intimacies, cementing
Lilly’s status as pal of Leslie?
Leslie’s mother arrives (in BMW). Leslie, Leslie’s mother bicker briefly re pond.
Leslie’s mom: But, Les, love, you already have three streams.
Leslie (caustic): Is a stream a pond,
Maman?
Lilly gives me grateful peck on cheek, runs upstairs singing happy tune.
Note
to self: Try to extend positive feelings associated with Scratch-Off
win into all areas of life. Be bigger presence at work. Race up ladder
(joyfully, w/ smile on face), get raise. Get in best shape of life,
start dressing nicer. Learn guitar? Make point of noticing beauty of
world? Why not educate self re birds, flowers, trees, constellations,
become true citizen of natural world, walk around neighborhood w/ kids,
patiently teaching kids names of birds, flowers, etc., etc.? Why not
take kids to Europe? Kids have never been. Have never, in Alps, had hot
chocolate in mountain café, served by kindly white-haired innkeeper, who
finds them so sophisticated/friendly relative to usual snotty/rich
American kids (who always ignore his pretty but crippled daughter w/
braids) that he shows them secret hiking path to incredible glade, kids
frolic in glade, sit with crippled pretty girl on grass, later say it
was most beautiful day of their lives, keep in touch with crippled girl
via e-mail, we arrange surgery for her here, surgeon so touched he
agrees to do for free, she is on front page of our paper, we are on
front page of their paper in Alps?
Ha-ha.
(Actually have
never been to Europe myself. Dad felt portions there too small. Then Dad
lost job, got paper route, portion size = moot point.)
Have been
sleepwalking through life, future reader. Can see that now. ScratchOff
win was like wakeup call. In rush to graduate college, win Pam, get job,
make babies, move ahead in job, forgot former presentiment of special
destiny I used to have when tiny, sitting in cedar-smelling bedroom
closet, looking up at blowing trees through high windows, feeling I
would someday do something great.
Hereby resolve to live life in new and more powerful way, starting
THIS MOMENT (!).
SEPTEMBER 23RD
Eva being a pain.
As
I may have mentioned above, Eva = sensitive. This = good, Pam and I
feel. This = sign of intelligence. But Eva seems to have somehow gotten
idea that sensitivity = effective way to get attention, i.e., has
developed tendency to set herself apart from others, possibly as way of
distinguishing self, i.e., casting self as better, more refined than
others? Has, in past, refused to eat meat, sit on leather seats, use
plastic forks made in China. Is endearing enough in little kid. But Eva
getting older now, this tendency to object on principle starting to feel
a bit precious + becoming fundamental to how she views self?
Family
life in our time sometimes seems like game of Whac-a-Mole, future
reader. Future generations still have? Plastic mole emerges, you whack
with hammer, he dies, falls, another emerges, you whack, kill? Sometimes
seems that, as soon as one kid happy, another kid “pops up,” i.e.,
registers complaint, requiring parent to “whack” kid, i.e., address
complaint.
Today Eva’s teacher, Ms. Ross, sent home note: Eva
acting out. Eva grouchy. Eva stamped foot. Eva threw fish-food container
at John M. when John M. said it was his turn to feed fish. This not
like Eva, Ms. R. says: Eva sweetest kid in class.
Also, Eva’s art work has recently gone odd. Sample odd art work enclosed:
Typical
house. (Can tell is meant to be our house by mock-cherry tree = swirl
of pink.) In yard, SGs frowning. One (Betty) having thought in cartoon
balloon: “
OUCH! THIS SURE HERTS.” Second (Gwen), pointing long bony finger at house: “
THANKS LODES.” Third (Lisa), tears rolling down cheeks: “
WHAT IF I AM YOUR DAUHTER?”
Pam: Well. This doesn’t seem to be going away.
Me: No, it does not.
Took
Eva for drive. Drove through Eastridge, Lemon Hills. Pointed out houses
w/ SGs. Had Eva keep count. In end, of approx. fifty houses,
thirty-nine had.
Eva: So, just because everyone is doing it, that makes it right.
This cute. Eva parroting me, Pam.
Stopped at Fritz’s Chillhouse, had banana split. Eva had SnowMelt. We sat on big wooden crocodile, watched sun go down.
Eva: I don’t even—I don’t even get it how they’re not dead.
Suddenly
occurred to me, w/ little gust of relief: Eva resisting in part because
she does not understand basic science of thing. Asked Eva if she even
knew what Semplica Pathway was. Did not. Drew human head on napkin,
explained: Lawrence Semplica = doctor + smart cookie. Found way to route
microline through brain that does no damage, causes no pain. Technique
uses lasers to make pilot route. Microline then threaded through w/ silk
leader. Microline goes in here (touched Eva’s temple), comes out here
(touched other). Is very gentle, does not hurt, SGs asleep during whole
deal.
Then decided to level w/ Eva.
Explained: Lilly at
critical juncture. Next year, Lilly will start high school. Mommy and
Daddy want Lilly to enter high school as confident young woman, feeling
her family as good/affluent as any other family, her yard approx. in
ballpark of yards of peers, i.e., not overt source of embarrassment.
This too much to ask?
Eva quiet.
Could see wheels turning.
Eva wild about Lilly, would walk in front of train for Lilly.
Then
shared story w/ Eva re summer job I had in high school, at Señor
Tasty’s (taco place). Was hot, was greasy, boss mean, boss always
goosing us with tongs. By time I went home, hair + shirt always stank of
grease. No way I could do that job now. But back then? Actually
enjoyed: flirted with countergirls, participated in pranks with other
employees (hid tongs of mean boss, slipped magazine down own pants so
that, when mean boss tong-goosed me, did not hurt, mean boss = baffled).
Point
is, I said, everything relative. SGs have lived very different lives
from us. Their lives brutal, harsh, unpromising. What looks
scary/unpleasant to us may not be so scary/unpleasant to them, i.e.,
they have seen worse.
Eva: You flirted with girls?
Me: I did. Don’t tell Mom.
That got little smile.
Believe I somewhat broke through with Eva. Hope so.
Discussed
situation w/ Pam tonight. Pam, as usual, offered sound counsel: Go
slow, be patient, Eva bright, savvy. In another month, Eva will have
adjusted, forgotten, will once again be usual happy self.
Love Pam.
Pam my rock.
SEPTEMBER 25TH
Shit.
Fuck.
Family hit by absolute thunderclap, future reader.
Will explain.
This
morning, kids sitting sleepily at table, Pam making eggs, Ferber under
her feet, hoping scrap of food will drop. Thomas, eating bagel, drifts
to window.
Thomas: Wow. What the heck. Dad? You better get over here.
Go to window.
SGs gone.
Totally gone (!).
Race out. Rack empty. Microline gone. Gate open. Take somewhat frantic run up block, to see if any sign of them.
Is not.
Race
back inside. Call Greenway, call police. Cops arrive, scour yard. Cop
shows me microline drag mark in mud near gate. Says this actually good
news: with microline still in, will be easier to locate SGs, as
microline limits how fast they can walk, since, fleeing in group, they
are forced to take baby steps, so one does not get too far behind/ahead
of others, hence causing yank on microline, yank that could damage brain
of one yanked.
Other cop says yes, that would be case if SGs on
foot. But come on, he says, SGs not on foot, SGs off in activist van
somewhere, laughing butts off.
Me: Activists.
First cop: Yeah, you know: Women4Women, Citizens for Economic Parity, Semplica Rots in Hell.
Second cop: Fourth incident this month.
First cop: Those gals didn’t get down by themselves.
Me: Why would they do that? They chose to be here. Why would they go off with some total—
Cops laugh.
First cop: Smelling that American dream, baby.
Kids beyond freaked. Kids huddled near fence.
School bus comes and goes.
Greenway
field rep (Rob) arrives. Rob = tall, thin, bent. Looks like archery
bow, if archery bow had pierced ear + long hair like pirate, was wearing
short leather vest.
Rob immediately drops bombshell: says he is
sorry to have to be more or less a hardass in our time of trial, but is
legally obligated to inform us that, per our agreement w/ Greenway, if
SGs not located within three weeks, we will, at that time, become
responsible for full payment of the required Replacement Debit.
Pam: Wait, the what?
Per
Rob, Replacement Debit = $100/month, per individual, per each month
still remaining on their Greenway contracts at time of loss (!). Betty
(21 months remaining) = $2,100; Tami (13 months) = $1,300; Gwen (18
months) = $1,800; Lisa (34 months (!)) = $3,400.
Total: $2,100 + $1,300 + $1,800 + $3,400 = $8,600.
Pam: Fucksake.
Rob:
Believe me, I know, that’s a lot of money, right? But our take on it
is—or, you know, their take on it, Greenway’s take—is that we—or
they—made an initial investment, and, I mean, obviously, that was not
cheap, just in terms of like visas and airfares and all?
Pam: No one said anything to us about this.
Me: At all.
Rob: Huh. Who was on your account again?
Me: Melanie?
Rob:
Right, yeah, I had a feeling. With Melanie, Melanie was sometimes
rushing through things to close the deal. Especially with Package A
folks, who were going chintzy in the first place? No offense. Anyway,
which is why she’s gone. If you want to yell at her, go to Home Depot.
She’s second in charge of Paint, probably lying her butt off about which
color is which.
Feel angry, violated: someone came into our yard
in dark of night, while kids sleeping nearby, stole? Stole from us?
Stole $8,600, plus initial cost of SGs (approx. $7,400)?
Pam (to cop): How often do you find them?
First cop: Honestly? I’d have to say rarely.
Second cop: More like never.
First cop: Well, never yet.
Second cop: Right. There’s always a first time.
Cops leave.
Pam (to Rob): So what happens if we don’t pay?
Me: Can’t pay.
Rob (uncomfortable, blushing): Well, that would be more of an issue for Legal.
Pam: You’d sue us?
Rob: I wouldn’t. They would. I mean, that’s what they do. They—what’s that word? They garner your—
Pam (harshly): Garnish.
Rob:
Sorry. Sorry about all this. Melanie, wow, I am going to snap your head
back using that stupid braid of yours. Just kidding! I never even talk
to her. But the thing is: all this is in your contract. You guys read
your contract, right?
Silence.
Me: Well, we were kind of in a hurry. We were throwing a party.
Rob: Oh, sure, I remember that party. That was some party. We were all discussing that.
Rob leaves.
Pam (livid): You know what? Fuck ’em. Let ’em sue. I’m not paying. That’s obscene. They can have the stupid house.
Lilly: Are we losing the house?
Me: We’re not losing the—
Pam: You don’t think? What do you think happens if you owe someone nine grand and can’t pay?
Me: Look, let’s calm down, no need to get all—
Eva’s
lower lip out in pre-crying way. Think, Oh, great, nice parenting,
arguing + swearing + raising spectre of loss of house in front of
tightly wound kid already upset by troubling events of day.
Then Eva bursts into tears, starts mumbling, Sorry sorry sorry.
Pam: Oh, sweetie, I was just being silly. We’re not going to lose the house. Mommy and Daddy would never let that—
Light goes on in my head.
Me: Eva. You didn’t.
Look in Eva’s eyes says, I did.
Pam: Did what?
Thomas: Eva did it?
Lilly: How could Eva do it? She’s only eight. I couldn’t even—
Eva
leads us outside, shows us how she did: Dragged out stepladder, stood
on stepladder at end of microline, released left-hand EzyReleese lever,
then dragged stepladder to other end, released right-hand EzyReleese. At
that point, microline completely loose, SGs standing on ground.
SGs briefly confer.
And off they go.
Am
so mad. Eva has made huge mess here. Huge mess for us, yes, but also
for SGs. Where are SGs now? In good place? Is it good when illegal
fugitives in strange land have no money, no food, no water, are forced
to hide in woods, swamp, etc., connected via microline, like chain gang?
Note to future generations: Sometimes, in our time, families get
into dark place. Family feels: we are losers, everything we do is
wrong. Parents fight at high volume, blaming each other for disastrous
situation. Father kicks wall, puts hole in wall near fridge. Family
skips lunch. Tension too high for all to sit at same table. This
unbearable. This makes person (Father) doubt value of whole enterprise,
i.e., makes Father (me) wonder if humans would not be better off living
alone, individually, in woods, minding own beeswax, not loving anyone.
Today like that for us.
Stormed
out to garage. Stupid squirrel/mouse stain still there after all these
weeks. Used bleach + hose to eradicate. In resulting calm, sat on
wheelbarrow, had to laugh at situation. Won ScratchOff, greatest luck of
life, quickly converted greatest luck of life into greatest fiasco of
life.
Laughter turned to tears.
Pam came out, asked had I
been crying? I said no, just got dust in eyes from cleaning garage. Pam
not buying. Pam gave me little side hug + hip nudge, to say, You were
crying, is O.K., is difficult time, I know.
Pam: Come on inside. Let’s get things back to normal. We’ll get through this. The kids are dying in there, they feel so bad.
Went inside.
Kids at kitchen table.
Opened arms. Thomas and Lilly rushed over.
Eva stayed sitting.
When
Eva tiny, had big head of black curls. Would stand on couch, eating
cereal from coffee mug, dancing to song in head, flicking around cord
from window blinds.
Now this: Eva sitting w/ head in hands like heartbroken old lady mourning loss of vigorous flower of youth, etc., etc.
Went over, scooped Eva up.
Poor thing shaking in my arms.
Eva (in whisper): I didn’t know we would lose the house.
Me: We’re not—we’re not going to lose the house. Mommy and I are going to figure this out.
Sent kids off to watch TV.
Pam: So. You want me to call Dad?
Did not want Pam calling Pam’s dad.
Pam’s
dad’s first name = Rich. Actually calls self “Farmer Rich.” Is funny
because he is rich farmer. In terms of me, does not like me. Has said at
various times that I (1) am not hard worker, and (2) had better watch
self in terms of weight, and (3) had better watch self in terms of
credit cards.
Farmer Rich in very good shape, with no credit cards.
Farmer
Rich not fan of SGs. Feels having SGs = “showoffy move.” Thinks
anything fun = showoffy move. Even going to movie = showoffy move. Going
to car wash, i.e., not doing self, in driveway = showoffy move. Once,
when visiting, looked dubiously at me when I said I had to get root
canal. What, I was thinking, root canal = showoffy move? But no: just
disapproved of dentist I had chosen, due to he had seen dentist’s TV ad,
felt dentist having TV ad = showoffy move.
So did not want Pam calling Farmer Rich.
Told Pam we must try our best to handle this ourselves.
Got
out bills, did mock payment exercise: If we pay mortgage, heat bill,
AmEx, plus $200 in bills we deferred last time, would be down near zero
($12.78 remaining). If we defer AmEx + Visa, that would free up $880.
If, in addition, we skip mortgage payment, heat bill, life-insurance
premium, that would still only free up measly total of $3,100.
Me: Shit.
Pam: Maybe I’ll e-mail him. You know. Just see what he says.
Pam upstairs e-mailing Farmer Rich as I write.
SEPTEMBER 26TH
When I got home, Pam standing in doorway w/ e-mail from Farmer Rich.
Farmer Rich = bastard.
Will quote in part:
Let us now speak of what you intend to do with the requested money. Will you be putting it aside for a college fund?
You will not. Investing in real estate?
No. Given a chance to plant some seeds, you flushed those valuable seeds (dollars) away. And for what?
A display some find pretty. Well, I do not find it pretty. Since when are people on display a desirable sight?
Do-gooders in our church cite conditions of poverty. O.K., that is
fine. But it appears you will soon have a situation of poverty within
your own walls. And physician heal thyself is a motto I have oft
remembered when tempted to put my oar in relative to some social cause
or another. So am going to say no. You people have walked yourselves
into some deep water and must now walk yourselves out, teaching your
kids (and selves) a valuable lesson from which, in the long term, you
and yours will benefit.
Long silence.
Pam: Jesus. Isn’t this just like us?
Do
not know what she means. Or, rather, do know but do not agree. Or,
rather, agree but wish she would not say. Why say? Saying is negative,
makes us feel bad about selves.
I say maybe we should just confess what Eva did, hope for mercy from Greenway.
Pam
says no, no: Went online today. Releasing SGs = felony (!). Does not
feel they would prosecute eight-year-old, but still. If we confess, this
goes on Eva’s record? Eva required to get counselling? Eva feels: I am
bad kid? Starts erring on side of bad, hanging out with rough crowd,
looking askance at whole notion of achievement? Fails to live up to full
potential, all because of one mistake she made when little girl?
No.
Cannot take chance.
When
kids born, Pam and I dropped everything (youthful dreams of travel,
adventure, etc.) to be good parents. Has not been exciting life. Has
been much drudgery. Many nights, tasks undone, have stayed up late,
exhausted, doing tasks. On many occasions, dishevelled + tired, baby
poop and/or vomit on our shirt or blouse, one of us has stood smiling
wearily/angrily at camera being held by other, hair shaggy because
haircuts expensive, unfashionable glasses slipping down noses because
never was time to get glasses tightened.
And now, after all that, our youngest to start out life w/ potential black mark on record?
That not happening.
Pam
and I discuss, agree: must be like sin-eaters who, in ancient times,
ate sin. Or bodies of sinners? Ate meals off bodies of sinners who had
died? Cannot exactly recall what sin-eaters did. But Pam and I agree:
are going to be like sin-eaters in sense of, will err on side of
protecting Eva, keep cops in dark at all cost, break law as req’d (!).
Just
now went down hall to check on kids. Thomas sleeping w/ Ferber. This
not allowed. Eva in bed w/ Lilly. This not allowed. Eva, source of all
mayhem, sleeping like baby.
Felt like waking Eva, giving Eva hug,
telling Eva that, though we do not approve of what she did, she will
always be our girl, will always be apple of our eye(s).
Did not do.
Eva needs rest.
On
Lilly’s desk: poster Lilly was working on for “Favorite Things Day” at
school. Poster = photo of each SG, plus map of home country, plus
stories Lilly apparently got during interview (!) with each. Gwen
(Moldova) = very tough, due to Moldovan youth: used bloody sheets found
in trash + duct tape to make soccer ball, then, after much practice with
bloody-sheet ball, nearly made Olympic team (!). Betty (Philippines)
has daughter, who, when swimming, will sometimes hitch ride on shell of
sea turtle. Lisa (Somalia) once saw lion on roof of her uncle’s
“mini-lorry.” Tami (Laos) had pet water buffalo, water buffalo stepped
on her foot, now Tami must wear special shoe. “Fun Fact”: their names
(Betty, Tami, et al.) not their real names. These = SG names, given by
Greenway at time of arrival. “Tami” = Januka = “happy ray of sun.”
“Betty” = Nenita = “blessed-beloved.” “Gwen” = Evgenia. (Does not know
what her name means.) “Lisa” = Ayan = “happy traveller.”
SGs very much on my mind tonight, future reader.
Where are they now? Why did they leave?
Just do not get.
Letter
comes, family celebrates, girl sheds tears, stoically packs bag,
thinks, Must go, am family’s only hope. Puts on brave face, promises she
will return as soon as contract complete. Her mother feels, father
feels: We cannot let her go. But they do. They must.
Whole town
walks girl to train station/bus station/ferry stop? More tears, more
vows. As train/bus/ferry pulls away, she takes last fond look at
surrounding hills/river/quarry/shacks, whatever, i.e., all she has ever
known of world, saying to self, Be not afraid, you will return, + return
in victory, w/ big bag of gifts, etc., etc.
And now?
No
money, no papers. Who will remove microline? Who will give her job? When
going for job, must fix hair so as to hide scars at Insertion Points.
When will she ever see her home + family again? Why would she do this?
Why would she ruin all, leave our yard? Could have had nice long run w/
us. What in the world was she seeking? What could she want so much, that
would make her pull such desperate stunt?
Just now went to window.
Empty rack in yard, looking strange in moonlight.
Note to self: Call Greenway, have them take ugly thing away.
♦
This Week in Fiction: George Saunders
“The Semplica-Girl Diaries”
deals with a family in a not-too-distant future (or perhaps an
alternate present or past?) that is struggling to keep up with the
Joneses—which, in this society, means leasing some unusual garden
ornaments. How did the idea of the Semplica Girls come to you?
Well, it’s embarrassing. Somewhere around 1998, I had this incredibly
vivid dream in which I went (in my underwear) to a (non-existent)
window in the bedroom of our house in Syracuse and looked down into our
backyard. Balmy summer night, beautiful full moon, etc., etc. I was
looking at something, and it wasn’t clear what, but I was getting this
incredible feeling of happiness and well-being and deep satisfaction, as
in, Wow, I finally was able to really step up for our family. I am such
a lucky guy—to have this amazing wife and kids and now, at last, to be
able to do justice to them in this super way. Then the yard came into
focus, and what was out there was … as I describe in the story. And the
weird(er) part was that, even having seen that, the “I” in the dream
continued to be happy: “Jeez, just look at that, it’s so beautiful, and I
was able to do that—man, I have really arrived.” And so on—this lush
feeling of gratitude (which I was actually feeling, those days, in real
life) but grafted onto this strange vision.
Now, there have been lots of times when I’ve
had a dream and woken up thinking, Hey, great story idea! But most of
those fizzle out as soon as I realize that, for example, a chess-playing
penguin with the voice of Marlene Dietrich may not “signify.” This one
was different—it just lingered. So I thought, O.K., let’s start with
that image and see if we can figure out who that guy is, and what world
he’s living in. That is, what conditions pertain in his world that make
those feelings possible, natural, and reasonable? What intrigued me was
not so much the image in the yard, but his
delight about it. In all other respects, the guy in the dream was me.
I hate to be so black-and-white about your work, but it’s easy to
read the SGs as a metaphor for all the underprivileged immigrants and
refugees who come to this country and work menial jobs in order to
survive and to support families back home. Was that at least part of
what you wanted to explore here?
Sure, yes, I think anybody would have that interpretation of it. The
minute I woke up, I knew that the women in the yard were symbols for,
you know, “the oppressed,” and that the whole story, as I was imagining
it at that moment, would be “about” the way that people of means use and
abuse people without. So that was the danger—that the story might turn
out to be (merely) about that. In which case, who needs it, you know? If
the only thing the story did was say, “Hey, it’s really wrong to hang
up living women in your backyards, you capitalist-pig oppressors,” that
wasn’t going to be enough. We kind of know that already. It had to be
about that
plus something else.
I find this is often the case. Early on, a story’s meaning and
rationale seem pretty obvious, but then, as I write it, I realize that I
know the meaning/rationale too well, which means that the reader will
also know it—and so things have to be ramped up. Einstein said (or, at
least, I am always quoting him as having said), “No worthy problem is
ever solved within the plane of its original conception.” So this was an
example of that: my “original conception” (i.e., the dream and its
associated meaning) had to be outgrown—or built upon.
These sorts of thematic challenges are, for me, anyway, only
answerable via the line-by-line progress through the story. Trying to
figure out what happens next, and in what language. So, in this case, I
just started out by trying to get the guy to that window, in his
underwear, having that same feeling.
A twist in your story is that, instead of being virtually
invisible to the middle-class and the rich, these immigrants are given
pride of place as decorative elements. Is this job worse—or better—than
doing back-breaking labor harvesting crops or cleaning bathrooms? Or
even, say, reporting on one’s coworkers’ recycling and ergonomic errors?
Well, I think their job is worse. They’ve got holes in their heads,
for one thing; the surgery is risky; they’re away from their families
for years at a time; it’s incredibly boring; and all the while, they
have to watch this other family happily living right over there, in that
warm, cozy house. Although at least they’ve got health insurance, ha ha
ha.
But it was kind of interesting. As I said above, I first got the germ
of the story in 1998 and started plunking away at it. Then, in 2003, I
got sent to Dubai for a writing assignment, and it was like being
surrounded by real-life SGs. The whole city was built and run by people
who were contracted to be away from home for years at a time, were very
low-paid, and were housed in horrific conditions (or, at least, the most
poorly paid laborers were). I went into that non-fiction assignment
imagining I’d write
that story—the story of the rich crapping
down on the poor in the name of luxury—and I sort of did, but, once
there, also found that (1) yes, this was true, and yet (2) there was
another side to it, namely that a lot of the workers were wildly happy
to be there, because, even given the hardships, they (and their
families, to whom they were often sending their entire salaries) were
far better off than they had been back home.
So that made me think, Well, as weird as my story is, it isn’t
entirely without corollary in the real world. And it also suggested a
possible complication that might get me out of the too-easy-metaphor
dilemma described above: make the SGs happy to be doing this “work.”
Suddenly, anyone who was “against” it (i.e., the reader, Eva) was sort
of out of step with everyone else in the fictive world, including the
SGs themselves.
Why the microline through the brain, instead of a less invasive harness?
The honest answer is because it was that way in the dream. Part of
what moved me about the dream was the extremity of it—it was very
unreasonable. And since I was interested in writing the story because of
the lingering power of the dream, I was loathe to change the basic
terms of the dream—especially in the direction of softening them.
To look at that choice as a reader, instead of a writer: If we
imagine two cultures, one in which the residents harness poor foreign
women and hang them in their yards, and another one in which they
surgically put wires through the heads of poor foreign women in order to
hang them up—well, those are two different cultures, and the second one
is, I think, more interesting. Why? Because that second culture is more
intense. It’s more direct in enacting its desires. It has to be richer
(to afford the surgeries); its taste is more refined and strange and
perverse/decadent. It is a more demanding, narcissistic culture. It
doesn’t like the harness idea because the harnesses would look baggy,
the SGs would hang at strange angles—something like that. But another
(nastier) difference is that there is an element of complete physical
domination/subjugation in the surgical approach that this culture
(subconsciously) likes and wants; and that, in turn, says something deep
about the lengths to which this (imaginary, I assure you!) culture is
willing to go to optimize its aesthetic landscaping choice, i.e., its
“pleasure.”
But actually, I just thought all that up. The real reason is that the
“through-the-head” thing was what came to me in my dream, and I
continued to find it interesting, and whenever I thought of softening
it, I went, “Bleh.” Or, as the kids say, “Meh.”
Where do your sympathies lie here? Is Eva right to deplore the
practice? Is her father right to think of it as a potential step up for
the women and their families?
My answer is YES. “Yes” to both questions. You’ve put your finger on
the essential energy of the story. It felt like the more I could get the
reader to answer “yes” to both of those questions, the more powerful
the story would be.
The artist’s job, I think, is to be a conduit for mystery. To intuit
it, and recognize that the story-germ has some inherent mystery in it,
and sort of midwife that mystery into the story in such a way that it
isn’t damaged in the process, and may even get heightened or refined.
So the job here was to push the story in the direction of “more
mystery” (i.e., make it less reducible to a simple reading), which (it
turned out, after all those years of work) meant: make Eva’s decision
more problematic. If, in the world of the story, Eva’s decision is a
no-brainer, and she is a complete hero, then the energy goes down. The
story becomes (merely) a Demonstrative Moral Tale, which rings hollow,
because it’s been rigged. So I spent a lot of time trying to find ways
to make it more of a close call at the end. My loyalties are with Eva,
completely—I mean, I think she’s sort of a moral giant. She does this
thing with everyone against her—the culture, her family, even (at first)
the SGs themselves. And then her family’s reaction is pretty harsh:
they’ll
forgive her. But nobody says, you know, “Honey, you were
right, thanks for being so good and saving us from ourselves.” But, at
the same time, if I were her father, and I lived in this world (where
nobody I knew had an ethical problem with the SGs), I’d be worried: Why
is Eva so impulsive? Why so rash? So heedless? Is my kid delusional? Why
does she seem so unaware of, and unconcerned about, the effects of her
actions on us, her dear family? This level of disengagement and
narcissism and self-righteousness may not bode well for her future. Etc,
etc.
Through this well-intentioned, sad-sack diarist, you also get at
some crucial and universal things about aspiration and envy and the
conflicting impulses of parenthood. As a mother, I can definitely
identify with the Whac-a Mole analogy. Is there some of your own
experience in there?
Oh, sure. I think anyone who is raising kids and doesn’t have
infinite money will identify with the pressure he’s under. You love them
so much and, especially in our culture, you don’t want to come up
short. You don’t want to be
that parent—the one who dresses his
kid in a cloth sack when all the other kids are in Armani cloth
sacks—especially in a time like ours, when materialism is not only
rampant and ascendant but is fast becoming the only game in town.
When our kids were small, we were always overextended on our credit
cards and, at the same time (recognizing that the period during which
they would be small and at home and influenceable, etc. etc., was very
brief), were always trying to put together the best life possible for
them, cash on hand be damned.
I always keenly felt the fear that we might be running materially
behind other families. I knew this wasn’t ultimately important—that
morality and love and art were the most important things, of course, of
course—but, still, I sort of wanted to do all of that PLUS be able to
run with the pack, or even slightly ahead of the pack, if it could be
arranged. To be morally correct AND eternally blamelessly gleaming and
beautifully dressed, somehow.
In thinking about this guy, who was mostly but not entirely me, and
trying to understand how “I” might come to not only tolerate but even
crave having four SGs in my yard, I thought a good bit about our slavery
days here in the U.S., and also about the Holocaust, especially as
presented in that amazing book by Victor Klemperer, “I Will Bear
Witness.” When something really bad is going on in a culture, the
average guy doesn’t see it. He can’t. He’s average. And is surrounded by
and immersed in the cant and discourse of the status quo. The average
person in the U.S., in, say, 1820, assumed white superiority, and, if he
happened to be against slavery, was for a gradual solution, which
probably involved sending all the slaves back to Africa, notwithstanding
the fact that most of them had never been there and were Americans in
every respect. And this would be the nice, moderate, urbane, educated
person of that time, who fancied himself “progressive.” Likewise, even
Klemperer, a Jew who would end up losing everything to the Nazis, didn’t
seem to see it coming. He would note things about Hitler and the Nazis
very peripherally in his diary, but his main focus was on the minutiae
of his life—his wife was being difficult, he’d hit the fence with the
car, he was having panic attacks, etc. etc. (Whenever his colleagues or
his neighbors took something away from him because he was a Jew, they
would always explain it to him à la “Those dopes in Berlin are making us
do this,” and he would accept this gracefully—“I know, I know it’s not
you, it’s Berlin.”) Also, interestingly, he was a professor who wrote
about French literature, often from the perspective of “the French
personality.” So even the idea that there was some sort of Jewish
personality—i.e., an innate national or ethnic personality—seemed O.K.
to him. I’m guessing that when the Nazis started talking about “Jewish
tendencies” he objected to the mischaracterization of those “tendencies”
but not necessarily to the idea that a “race” had “tendencies.”
Anyway—it’s interesting when you realize that, whatever your (our)
culture is doing that will have future generations laughing at you, or
hating you, you are, by definition, blind to it at the moment. Or most
of us are. I’m guessing I am, for example.
So that was who I imagined the narrator to be: a loving, kind guy,
who is just like us (me) in his concerns and his basic values and his
love for his family—except he’s got this one blind spot, which I might
have, too, if I were living in his world.
Another thing the story ended up being about, at least for me, was
this notion that you can do everything right and still bring the whole
house down with just one such blind spot. Life, in other words, can be a
very harsh affair, morally. It exploits/punishes even a very small
defect in a person.
Where did the word “Semplica” come from? Does it have some special meaning for you?
That was what they were called in the dream. I think I woke up
knowing that. There’s nothing symbolic or secret about it. And I somehow
knew from the beginning that “Semplica” was the name of the guy who had
“pioneered this innovative technology.”
One thing I always feel in the midst of trying to talk coherently
about a story I’ve finished is that, you know, ninety per cent of it was
intuitive, done at-speed, for reasons I can’t quite articulate, except
in the “A felt better than B” way. All these choices add up, and make
the surface of the story, and, of course, the thematics and all that—but
I’m not usually thinking about any of that too much, or too overtly.
It’s more
feeling than
thinking—or a combination of the two, with
feeling being in charge, and
thinking sort of running around behind, making overly literal suggestions, and those
feelings being sounded out and exercised and manifested via heavy editing and rewriting (as opposed to, say,
planning and
deciding).
The important part of the writing process, for me, is trying to make
choices that push the story in the most interesting direction, by which I
mean the direction that causes the story to give off the most light.
The story’s goal is to be fascinating and stimulating and irreducible;
the writer’s job is to micromanage the text to make this happen.
Here, it felt to me that what made the light come off the story was
(1) the language (the way the truncated diary syntax produced strange
little textual moments) and (2) anything that heightened the ambiguity
of Eva’s actions.
What I realized very late in the game was that the narrator has something deeply in common with the SGs, which is
aspiration—he
can’t see it, even at the end, but it’s true. Or maybe he’s just
starting to see it, there at the end of the story. When he starts
thinking about the SGs’ families back in their home countries, I imagine
him getting a bit of a red face and not knowing (or pretending not to
know) why. Through the whole story he’s been keeping himself apart from
the SGs, physically and emotionally, but, at the end there, he might be
starting to see that he’s actually quite similar to them, in his love
for his family and in how far he’s willing to go to satisfy his family’s
needs. The only difference is that he was born here, and his job
affords him (a little) more dignity. The reason he hasn’t felt more
sympathy for the SGs, or really thought directly about them in a simple
human way, is that he’s been blocking. They remind him too much of
himself.
Dana O’Donovan
(@DanaODonovan) is the COO of Monitor Institute and is fascinated by
the border between strategy and execution, where seemingly incremental
changes in day-to-day behavior can enable individuals, organizations and
collectives to achieve breakthrough social change. Her consulting
practice at Monitor Institute focuses on identifying opportunities,
developing strategy, designing organizational and activity systems,
helping organizations learn, and facilitating groups through periods of
transition.
Noah Rimland Flower
(@MntrInstitute) works with leaders to achieve large-scale social
change through new uses of collaboration, networks, and technology. Over
close to a decade of work at Monitor he has combined consulting and
research to develop new strategies on issues including education reform,
healthy food systems, and climate change.