Siri Hustvedt - The Enchantment of Lily Dahl

Lily rode to Martin’s house. She dreaded going, but she felt compelled to see the little house in daylight. Martin and his truck and his house and the map and the pictures all seemed worse in memory than they had when she was there, and now that Dick had told his strange story, she wanted to see the place again. She turned down the dirt road to Martin’s house and pedaled up a shallow hill that she had barely noticed when Martin was driving and stopped at its crest. She could see Martin’s truck in the driveway, and then Martin himself came running from behind the house, head down, and barreled through the door. Her bicycle bumped on the wet gravel and slid a couple of times as she coasted down the hill to the house.

What will he say when I tell him about Dick? she thought as she walked to the steps. Looking up at the door, Lily saw that it was open. Through the screen door she heard a squeaking noise and then the sound of somebody humming. She walked up the steps and looked into the living room straight at Martin. He was sitting in the rocking chair, which had been moved to the center of the room. The black fabric she had seen the night before was draped over his head as he rocked violently back and forth in the chair. And while he rocked, he hummed. Hectic, low and tuneless, the humming sounded more like an accelerated chant than real music. Lily didn’t understand what she was seeing, but she had a powerful sense that Martin’s rocking shouldn’t be interrupted, that whatever he was doing, he was doing it alone. She saw him push his feet off the floor to make the rocker go fast, heard the excited murmur of his voice and looked at the black cloth swing with his motion. Then she turned around, walked down the steps to the driveway and climbed onto her bicycle. All the way into town, Lily saw Martin rocking in that chair. Why would he do that? Did it mean something? He had run like crazy into the house to rock and hum with his head covered. By the time Lily crossed the city limits, she wished she could keep on riding her bicycle all the way to Florida.

* * *

That night Lily watched Mabel and Ed from her window. They were sitting in chairs across from each other in Ed’s room and didn’t budge from their seats for over an hour. Mabel waved her hands as she talked and Ed sketched. Lily saw his arm move in long, broad strokes, and then she saw him change the motion and shake his wrist. When he finished one drawing, he would rip it out of the large book, throw it to the floor and begin again. While he drew he leaned toward Mabel at the edge of his seat. Once he pushed back a lock of Mabel’s hair with his left hand, but Lily wasn’t able to see the woman’s expression because she was too far away. Several minutes later she watched Mabel cock her head to one side and hold her palms up. The gesture sent a small shock through Lily. She recognized it. They had practiced it together for Hermia when she speaks to Lysander early in the play: “Then let us teach our trial patience, / Because it is our customary cross, / As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, / Wishes and Tears, poor Fancy’s followers.”

After work the next day, Lily found herself standing outside Ed’s door. She couldn’t keep herself away any longer. She heard Mabel talking, but she shut her ears to the words, knocked and opened the door before either of them answered it. It looked as though neither of them had moved since the night before. It couldn’t have been true, but they were sitting where they had been sitting, heads together, with sheets of paper scattered on the floor around them. Lily shut the door behind her.

Ed turned to her. “Lily?” he said. “Where have you been?”

Mabel looked at her, too. Her sincere expression irritated Lily.

Where have I been? she said to herself and answered, “Around.”

“We’ve called you several times,” Mabel said.

So it’s “we” now, Lily thought, but the fact that they had phoned comforted her.

“I guess I was out.” She took several steps toward them. “How’s it going?”

“Well,” Ed said. “I’ve been listening to Mabel for two days.” He paused, reached out his hand for hers, and Lily gave it to him. He held it tightly in both of his, and looked up at her. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

“Are you?” she asked. Her voice had no irony. She wanted to know.

“Of course I am,” he said. The man stroked her hand, and Lily looked into his eyes. She saw nothing guarded in them, but at the same time she didn’t know what to look for. She thought about Oscar Hansen on a gurney in Swensen’s Funeral Home.

Mabel had turned her eyes away from them, and when Lily looked at her, she saw the woman’s shoulders shake for an instant. Then she moved her hand out of Ed’s grip and looked down at the drawings. In all of them, Mabel was sitting in the canvas chair, her position only slightly different in each one. Her expression, however, was never the same. One fiercely animated face after another looked up at Lily from the floor. Mabel glared in one, squinted and frowned in another, her lips were parted, her lips were closed, her hands were raised from her elbows or splayed at either side of her face. These were images of the intense, shivering Mabel she knew, and despite the fact that they were still, Lily could almost feel them move.

Lily looked at Mabel. “Don’t you get tired of talking? Isn’t it hard?”

Mabel laughed. “I’m exhausted. But I’ve remembered moments in my life I haven’t thought about for years.” She paused. “It’s almost terrifying.”

“And fun, I’ll bet,” Lily said.

Mabel’s face changed, and she stared at Lily. She lifted her hands and went suddenly pale. Lily was afraid the woman would faint again and reached out for her, but Mabel waved her off. “Sometimes,” she said, “when I look in the mirror, I’m shocked that I don’t see that young face anymore, that person I used to be. I know I’m old, near the end of my life, but I’m still surprised.”

Lily closed her eyes. She saw Martin rocking with the black cloth over his head and opened her eyes.

“Did you say something?” Mabel said loudly to Ed.

“No…” His answer came slowly.

With Ed’s “No” still in her ears, Lily heard the door hit the wall and when she looked up, she saw Dolores Wachobski standing in the doorway scowling. She was wearing the same dress she had worn in the portrait — the white one with black polka dots. When nobody spoke, Dolores seemed to grasp the advantage of a surprise entrance, and she waltzed into the room. “Hi, Eddie,” she said. “Long time, no see.”

Ed stood up and walked toward Dolores. “Not that long,” he said.

She’s tanked, Lily thought, but Ed didn’t look angry or nervous. He reached for his pocket, removed a tin of cigars, opened it and stuck one in his mouth. Lily watched the match burn for a second near the cigar. “How are you?” he said to Dolores.

The woman looked from Mabel to Lily with bleary eyes. She lit a cigarette herself and said, “Anybody want a cigarette? Let’s all smoke.” She didn’t offer her cigarettes, however, or wait for a response. She blew the smoke straight at Ed and smiled. He smiled back, but without hostility. Dolores had been in the room only seconds, and already Lily wanted to smack her. Who the hell does she think she is? Lily said to herself, and stood up. Mabel didn’t move.

“I’ve come to get my last pay,” Dolores said and flicked an ash on the floor.

Lily glanced down at the ash and then up at Dolores. She made a face, hoping the woman would see it.

But Dolores was looking at Ed.

“I paid you, remember?” he said.

“I don’t think so, sweetie.” Dolores stretched her neck, then turned suddenly to Lily and barked, “What you laughin’ at, girly?”