What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (to read list .txt) 📕

to her we could run around more. But my Dad—boy. He gave Patrick an awful crack the other evening because he sassed him. For a minute I thought Patrick was going to take him—he could, too. Patrick’s even stronger than I am. Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Patrick says if he ever hits him again, he’s going to run away. Actually, he said he’s going to move away. He can pass for a lot older than his age. I bet what he’d do is lie about his age and enlist in the Marines. He’s always been hipped on the Marines.”

“Oh wow. Nobody in my family ever hit me. Except once when I was a little kid I got my hand slapped for fooling with the gas range. But that was for my own protection. I turned on all the burners and nearly blew the house up. Or asphyxiated everybody. I don’t think Patrick would really do that, do you?”

“Yes, I do. I have a feeling though that afterwards Mom talked to Dad hard about how we’re too big to slap around. He has a bad temper, but he listens to her. She doesn’t lay down the law so much, but when she does, she means it.”

When the boys got back to the house the bridge game was just breaking up, but they managed to slip upstairs without having to mix it up with their elders. After washing, brushing their teeth and a lot of joking about the way Nick’s pajamas fitted Michael, they got into bed.

“Oh man, I could sleep for a month,” Nick said. He was soon dead asleep. The libidinous Michael pretended to fall asleep too, then tried a little gentle pressure with his knee, as though shifting. Nick pulled his legs up sharply. After a while Michael rolled over and, eventually, fell into a deep sleep himself.

Somewhat later, Norris opened Mag Carpenter’s front door, locked it behind him and stole upstairs. Mag was in bed.

“Help,” she said, “it’s an intruder.”

“Precisely what I plan to do to you,” Norris said. “Intrude.”

“Coarse. There’s your coat hanger and here’s your drink. Or would you prefer to sit over there and we can review the bridge game?”

“Just let me get out of these tight shoes,” Norris said, “and we’ll see how you are at gin rummy.”

“Sweetheart. And don’t turn your back when you take your pants off.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be turning around any year now.”

Chapter VII

1

“Do you have a piece of paper, an envelope and a stamp I could borrow?” Bertha asked of Lottie. “And a pen.”

“Certainly. Only you needn’t borrow them. Take them as a little gift.”

“No. I’ll pay you back. Sometime. It’s a matter of principle. When I get outdoor privileges I’ll go to the gift shop and get some supplies. Note paper and stuff. Then I’ll write to my so-called friends at the college and see if they’re too chicken to write back. It will be an experiment.”

“I see,” Lottie said, and went and fetched the needed articles from her room. Bertha put on the phonograph (although elsewhere in the sun room, a small group was watching TV), sat down at a card table and stared at the sheet of paper some time. Then she went over to Lottie and asked her the date. When she learned it, she returned to her table and wrote it down. Then she wrote, “Dear“, and paused again. After rejecting different terms, she made this into “Dear Family.” It took a long time, though the letter was short. When she finished she took it to Lottie.

“Like to read what I wrote?”

“If it’s nothing too personal,” Lottie said. She was crocheting afghan squares.

“Not personal at all.” Lottie took the note and read,

Dear Family,

After thinking it over a lot I decided it is alright for you to come to my evening group. Get in touch with the doctor for further details. He will tell you when.

Sincerely yours

Your Daughter Bertha

“I think,” Lottie said, “this is a wise decision. And that it shows what progress you have made.”

Bertha, who was doing her shuffling dance, said, “Dr Kearney made it pretty plain I’d better shape up and ask them. They’re holding a long term hospital over my head as a threat. The Hartford Retreat, or some place like that. No, thank you.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t do a thing like that unless they were certain it was for your ultimate good.”

“Oh, if they dish it out, I can take it. Probably there’d at least be some kids my age. Here, everybody’s practically a grandparent. No offense.”

“I suppose I could be a grandparent,” Lottie said, “but only just. And Mr Mulwin must be in his thirties—though I suppose to you that seems quite old enough.”

“Did you hear Meanie Mulwin is going to get electric shock? They can’t get through his depression pattern with the medication. He must have a will of iron, the way he absolutely won’t change at all.”

“Lately,” Lottie said, “while I wouldn’t call him Sweetness and Light, I’ve had the feeling he was silently reaching out for some kind of companionship, or sympathy. Of course if anyone responds, he tends to react in his customary way. The idea of shock frightens me. I’m glad I didn’t have it.”

“I had it in the first hospital I was in,” Bertha said. “It didn’t do any good. Not long anyhow.”

Mrs Brice, looking trim in green, got up from her chair and joined them. “I never thought,” she said, “I’d end my days watching daytime movies on TV in a psychiatric institute. Tarzan. Imagine. Lottie, do you feel up to a stroll about the grounds?”

“Why, yes, I believe I do. Just let me put away my busy work and get a jacket. I think it’s cooler out than it looks.”

“Wish I could come,” Bertha said.

“I’m sure they’ll soon give you outdoor privileges,” Mrs Brice said, as she waited for Lottie.

“Not yet awhile they won’t. They know I’d run away. Which would be dumb, because I haven’t got any