Лоуренс Блок - Catch and Release

“Animals?”

“Well, dogs and cats.”

“How many do you have?”

“I don’t know. There’s different ones, and they come and they go.”

“Like the children.”

“Except all they did was go. I wish they’d come back, but I don’t think they will.”

“Well—”

“And there was a raccoon. Besides the dogs and cats, I mean. But I ain’t seen him in I don’t know how long. They don’t belong in a house anyhow, you know. Raccoons, I mean. They’ll make a godawful mess.”

“I’m sure that’s true. Baird, are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You look like you saw a raccoon.”

“I look like what?”

“I just said—”

“Never mind. I have never seen the like.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, Rita, I don’t think you can. How anyone can live like this is quite beyond me. No children, so we can wash our hands of it, and I’ll tell you, right now mine could use washing. We’ll refer it, of course. And I don’t envy the poor bastards at APS who draw this one. Mrs. Saugerties? I think we’ll be going now. Uh, some other people may be in touch. They’ll be able to give you a good deal of assistance.”

Help? Don’t want help.

Got all I need, right here where I am. Got my stuff right where I can put my hands on it. A whole house full of my things, and the cellar and attic, too. Oh, I know this is no way to live. I’m not crazy. I’m not stupid, either. I don’t talk much. Better if you don’t. What’s it they say? A fish’d never get hisself caught if he just kept his mouth shut.

That’s unless they come with a net.

“Mrs. Saugerties? How do you do, ma’am? My name is Thelma Weider and this is my associate, John Ruddy. And may I call you Dorothy?”

“I guess.”

“Dorothy, John and I are with Adult Protective Services of Lantenango County, and we’re here to provide you with some assistance, and—”

“Don’t need it.”

“Well, I believe you’ll find—”

“Who’re them two?”

“The tall gentleman is Mark, and his partner is Clayton. They’re with the Sheriff’s Office, and they’ve come along on the chance that they might be needed, but I’m sure we’ll be able to work this out without bringing them into it. Now before we go inside—”

“Not going inside.”

“Ah. Dorothy, I believe I see bedding and a pillow on the porch glider. Is that where you’ve been sleeping?”

“Nice sleeping in the fresh air.”

“I’m sure it was comfortable this summer, but it’s autumn now, isn’t it? The trees are starting to drop their leaves. The nights are getting cold.”

“Ain’t too bad.”

“And winter’s coming, and then it will be really cold.”

“Got lots of blankets.”

“But you’ve got a big house. What do you have, four or five bedrooms?”

“About.”

“And you’re all by yourself here.”

“With my stuff.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about your stuff. Rooms filled almost to the ceiling, isn’t that what Baird and Rita told us?”

“What Thelma’s getting at, Dorothy, is that we could help you be a lot more comfortable.”

“Dolly.”

“I’m sorry, do you want a doll? I don’t—”

“What to call me. Dolly. Not Dorothy, nobody calls me Dorothy.”

“Ah, I see. Dolly, why don’t we go inside and have a look around your house? Maybe you can point out some of your most treasured things for us.”

“No.”

“I’m afraid we have a warrant, Dolly, that empowers us to enter and search the premises, and Mark and Clayton are here to guarantee your compliance. So I’m going in. Would you like to come with me, or would you prefer to stay out here with Thelma?”

It’s embarrassing, having people go through your house and look at your things. Knowing they’re judging you, feeling the thoughts they’re thinking as sure as if they were saying them out loud.

What a pig, what a slob, how could a woman let herself go this way, how could she let her house get away from her like this? Blah blah blah. All this junk, all this rubbish, why would anyone want to live with these broken dolls and old newspapers? And look at the plates, the food still encrusted on them, rotting there. Blah blah blah. And the smell, who could stay in a house with such a smell in every room? Blah blah blah.

Someday I might read the newspapers. There’s plenty of interesting articles in them, if I ever get around to it. No reason not to hang onto them for when the time comes. Same with the books and magazines. I don’t read much these days, but it’s something I might get back to, and when I do the books will be there for me, and the magazines, and the newspapers.

And yes, a lot of the dolls are broken, but they could be fixed. Why, there’s doll hospitals that do nothing but repair broken dolls, because they recognize the importance of preserving treasured memories. Even as they are, the dolls and other toys bring back memories. I bought the Raggedy Ann for Tricia, the Storybook dolls for Maxine. And there were Barbies, so many of them, that I bought for all three of the girls. And Chatty Cathy, how Little Debby loved that doll! Of course the voice is gone, and there’s no string to pull, but Cathy’s still there, and if you pick her up and look at her you can almost hear her little voice again, almost hear Little Debby parroting the phrases right back at her.

And some of my stuff is worth money. All those Jim Beam decanters, they’re scattered all over the house, but they’re here somewhere, and a few of them are genuinely rare, and worth good money to a collector. The Colorado Centennial one? You think that’s easy to find? Or cheap to buy when you do find it? Walter was a Scotch drinker, but he was a good enough sport to switch to bourbon when they came out with those decanters, and in a sense they never cost me a cent, because he had to drink something and he said it might as well be bourbon. And didn’t he say he’d got to prefer Jim Beam to the Cutty Sark he used to drink?

What’s he drinking nowadays, wherever he is? Did he go back to Scotch? Or did he stay with Jim Beam?

What’s it they say? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Just ’cause it’s trash to you don’t make it wrong for me to cherish it. But it’s all empty bottles as far as these two are concerned, John and Thelma, all empty Pepsi cans and beer bottles.

Trash and treasures. If I ever opened a shop, that’s what I’d call it. Dolly’s Trash & Treasures. Which is which? Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?

And then there’s the bottle caps, and don’t ask me how many of those I’ve got. I decided I could make earrings for the girls, they’d be cute and cost next to nothing, so I started saving bottle caps, and I bought a box of the posts you mount the caps on, and got the right kind of quick-setting glue, and no, I haven’t actually made any earrings yet, but who’s to say I won’t one of these days? With the girls run off there’s not much point in making earrings now, but who’s to say they won’t come back?

Nehi Orange, that was always Little Debby’s favorite. And somewhere I know I’ve got a pair of orange bottle caps set aside, and wouldn’t they make perfect earrings for Little Debby?

“I’m just not getting through to her. What do we have to do, throw her in the back of the Sheriff’s car and haul her off to the nuthouse?”

“John!”

“I know, I didn’t mean to use the word. I find this stressful, I admit it. I’m sorry.”

“John, let me try. Dolly, at this point you only have two choices, and—”