Siri Hustvedt - The Enchantment of Lily Dahl

Martin whispered in her ear, “Cobweb.” Lily turned sharply toward him. “What?”

“Hermia’s father is going to put her to death.”

His abrupt change of subject confused her, but she answered him. “He doesn’t do it, for heaven’s sake. It’s a comedy, Martin.” Lily gestured with her hands. “It’s funny, remember? People are supposed to laugh.”

Martin rubbed his hands and then he pressed his two index fingers together. They trembled under the pressure, and Lily took his silence as a chance for her to leave. She stood up and started walking toward her bicycle.

“Will you come and visit me, Lily, come to my house?” he said to her back.

Lily didn’t turn around. “Someday,” she said. “Sure.”

Martin was walking behind her, and suddenly she didn’t like having her back to him.

“Professor Wasley,” he said. Martin seemed to want to cover all territories at once. “She’s your friend.” He said this loudly and clearly in a voice that wasn’t quite his own.

Lily put her hand on the bicycle seat. “Yes, she’s my friend. Why?”

“She’s got the nerves of a bat.”

“What?”

Martin didn’t answer.

Lily grabbed the lock on her bicycle and began to turn the combination. To locate the numbers she had to bend very close to the tiny wheels, and again she suffered from a feeling that her back was vulnerable. She tugged at the lock. It didn’t open. Very slowly, she repeated the combination. The lock clicked, and she pulled it open. She could hear Martin breathing behind her. She turned toward him. “Bye,” she said.

His shoulders moved up toward his ears and he waved his hands in front of his chest as he began to stutter out a word that started with a Th. She felt sorry for him. But enough is enough, she thought, and she wondered where a stutter came from. It must be like wearing a muzzle.

Then he moved his lips close to her ear and whispered, “The Bodler place.”

Lily resisted the temptation to pull away from him, then released the kickstand with her foot and threw her leg over the bicycle. She could feel her heart pounding and hoped Martin wouldn’t sense her agitation.

“B-b-b.” Martin worked the B for a long time. “Before you go, say it again.”

Lily started pedaling. “No!” she said. The “no” seemed to resound in the air and then, in a matter of seconds, she felt her bicycle tires bouncing over the railroad tracks. She wanted to look back at him, wanted to see his dark form standing alone in front of the little building, but she didn’t. Why had he mentioned the Bodlers like that? It was the way he had whispered it that made her feel funny. Almost like he knows about the shoes, Lily thought. She remembered the stillness of the place, the sound of the wind, the big sky, and then the barn, its roof collapsed inward, moss growing between the stones. Had Martin been outside the garage? Had he been the one she’d heard? And then she asked herself whether she would have stripped for Edward Shapiro if she hadn’t put on the shoes. She saw the Bodler farm again, just as it had been that day. A man who looked a lot like Filthy Frank was standing on a mound of newly dug earth. Where were the boys when it happened? Lily asked herself. Were they in school? Suddenly, the story seemed wrong to Lily. The town had turned Helen Bodler’s murder into legend, but what about the details? How could a woman disappear the same day her husband digs a huge hole near his house without making the neighbors suspicious?

Lily could see Ida’s hair but not her face through the glass door of the Stuart Hotel. For almost a minute she had been telling herself to open the door, but every time she reached for the handle, she stopped. It’s now or never, Lily said to herself, and decided to count to ten, but when she got to seven, Ida Bodine looked up from the book she was reading, and Lily opened the door and walked into the lobby.

Ida cocked her head and opened her eyes wide. A spider plant was hanging above her, and its myriad offshoots framed her face like a mad wig.

“Hi, Ida,” Lily said. She heard false friendliness in her voice.

“Isn’t it a little late to come callin’?” Ida’s face stiffened into a mask of vivid makeup.

“Depends on the hours you keep,” Lily said and headed for the stairs.

Lily looked straight ahead. She held the railing as she walked, feeling she needed it for steadiness. Halfway up, she peeked at Ida, who had returned to her book, a story that must have been engrossing if it kept Ida from snooping on Lily. The woman was leaning forward in her chair, the book propped on the edge of the desk. Its pink cover, embossed with gold lettering, showed a swooning woman who had fallen over the arm of a man with a scabbard and sword around his waist. The sleeves of her gown had slipped down over her shoulders to reveal breasts that looked like they’d pop out of the dress any second.

When Lily arrived at the second floor, she stared down the long hallway. She’d never seen it before. All these years I’ve lived in Webster, and I’ve never seen the second floor of the Stuart Hotel. Well, it’s just as dumpy as I thought it’d be. What remained of a brown carpet had buckled away from the walls, and a smell that reminded her of the high school cafeteria filled the air — the smell of pallid green beans and mashed potatoes on a tan plastic tray. A single light illuminated the hall — a peculiar fixture shaped like an elk head with a weak bulb screwed into its scalp. Lily counted doors to orient herself. She stopped in front of the fourth, lifted her fist and prepared to knock, but she didn’t. I can’t, she thought. Lily breathed so loudly, she worried that the man might hear it. Stay calm. You can do it. But Lily lowered her hand to her side. Then, after a couple of seconds, she knocked. When she withdrew her hand, it felt very cold.

The door opened. Edward Shapiro looked out at her and smiled.

Lily tried to smile back but found she couldn’t. Her mouth had stiffened with anxiety.

“Hello,” he said.

Lily could smell him — paint and cigars. His eyes had long, very black lashes, two tiny ones at their inside corners, and she saw that his irises were mixed colors — green, gray and ocher. He was wearing a white T-shirt streaked with paint, and blue jeans.

“Hello,” Lily said. Her voice sounded normal.

“Would you like to come in?” He smiled again.

Lily didn’t try a second smile. Instead she swallowed loudly and stepped inside. The room was smaller than she had thought, and when she looked toward the paintings, she saw that they had been turned to the wall.

“We haven’t met formally,” he said and extended his hand. “I’m Edward Shapiro.”

Lily put her hand in his, and after his warm fingers had closed around hers, she saw a spot of blue paint on his third knuckle. “Lily Dahl.”

“Well, Lily Dahl, would you like a glass of wine?”

She nodded.

He waved at a canvas chair. Lily sat down on it, and staring at her bare legs under her cutoff jeans, she noticed a faint bruise near her kneecap. Her legs were newly shaven, however, and she felt glad that she had repaired her toenail polish that afternoon after deciding to wear sandals. She crossed her legs and watched the man bend over a tiny refrigerator. Quickly, she pinched her cheeks to redden them. He turned around, handed her a glass of white wine and said, “You like your job at the cafe?”

“You saw me there?” Lily said and felt herself blush.

“Of course I saw you.” He looked at her evenly and sat down in a chair opposite her.

Lily looked at the floor. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“It seems like a nice place — the real thing.”