Siri Hustvedt - The Enchantment of Lily Dahl

Martin didn’t speak, but he took Lily’s hand. She let him do it, but she found the bandage rubbing against her palm unpleasant. As they walked through the door, Martin gripped her harder. She couldn’t understand why he would do this with an injury. She moved her fingers to signal that she wanted him to release her, but Martin only squeezed more tightly. “Your hand,” Lily said. “It’s hurting me.”

Martin let go, but he didn’t say anything. They seated themselves on the steps, and Lily spoke to the street rather than to Martin, explaining to him what Dick had told her. “You don’t think,” Lily said finally, “that Dick made it up, do you?”

“Dick doesn’t lie,” Martin said.

“Well, I mean that he imagined it?”

“No.”

Lily turned to him. “You mean you were really carrying somebody across their field the day before yesterday?”

Martin’s mouth twitched once. “Y-yes.”

Lily hadn’t expected this response. She hesitated, then said, “Who was it?”

Martin turned his face toward hers. He didn’t stutter. “You,” he said. “It was you.”

Lily studied his face to see if he was joking. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, “That’s not funny, Martin.”

He looked at her with blank eyes.

“I wasn’t there. You know that. Who was it? Dick was, well.” Lily sighed. “I think he was scared that, that the girl, was hurt, or…” Lily finally said it, “dead.”

Martin shook his head. “Th-there are lots of things w-we don’t understand, Lily.”

Lily gestured with her hands. “That’s bonkers, Martin. I sure as hell know where I am from one minute to the next. I sure as hell know I wasn’t with you in some alfalfa field outside the Bodlers’.”

Martin stared at her without blinking.

“Why are you doing this?” Lily asked him in an urgent whisper. “What good will this do?”

Martin shook his head violently, then looked down at his knees.

Lily grabbed Martin’s shoulder. “Martin, if Dick saw you, then he didn’t see me.”

Martin didn’t answer. His face looked stony.

Martin turned his head away from Lily. He stuttered something Lily couldn’t hear.

“What?” she asked loudly. Then she heard people behind her talking near the door.

Martin’s shoulders were shaking. He gasped. “Ma-mama,” he stuttered.

Lily reached out for him. “Jesus, Martin,” she said in a whisper. “What is it?”

“Everything okay?” Mrs. Wright said from the door.

Lily didn’t answer.

Martin stood up with his back to Lily. His head was lowered and his back rounded as though someone had hit him in the stomach. He grunted and Lily thought she saw saliva hit the sidewalk. Someone ran down the steps behind her. It was Mrs. Baker. She put her arm around Martin, and Lily watched him quake under the steadying arm. “Ma-ma-ma-ma,” he sputtered.

Mrs. Baker held Martin but turned to Lily. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. We, we were just talking,” Lily said. She stood up. She rubbed her face hard and shook her head. “God,” she said and walked over to Martin, who was leaning on Mrs. Baker now, his head still down. “Do you want me to go, Martin?” she said and then looked up at the doorway. A dozen people stared down at her. She turned back to Mrs. Baker.

“Maybe that’s best,” the woman said.

Lily took a last look at Martin, who remained hunched but had stopped trying to speak. He was puffing hard and then Lily saw him bring his hands to his face and cover it. The streetlamp illuminated Martin’s left hand, and she saw clearly the wrinkled Band-Aids and piece of gauze that had been wrapped around his palm. But these only partially concealed numerous long, sharp cuts that ran in all directions between his knuckles and the top of his hand.

Lily hurried away from the Arts Guild, across the railroad tracks. She paused once to turn around and look at the group of people gathered around Martin under the streetlamp and wondered what he was saying, if anything. Her knees shook as she walked. Lily looked up at the moon and thought, How the hell did all this happen? It’s like I’m involved with him now, like we’re in something together. “It was you.” A mysterious leaden guilt settled in Lily’s chest. What have I done? she thought and watched her white sneakers move forward on the pavement. She heard someone walking toward her and looked up.

A tall man wearing a cowboy hat and a gun belt came striding toward her, and for a moment Lily thought she was seeing things. Like a gunslinger in an old Western, the dark figure approached, his hands held inches from the guns on his hips, and Lily guessed it was Dolores’s ghost, or maybe Tex. The man came closer and Lily recognized Hank. He said her name.

“Hank, what are you doing in that getup?”

“I’m Charlie Younger in the reenactment, remember? Rolf gave me the costume at the meeting. There’s more to it, but I’m on my way to the station, and I thought the guys would get a kick out of my six-shooters.”

Lily looked at the pavement. “You didn’t tell me about it.”

“They thought Allan Fisk was going to do it, but he punked out.”

“Oh.” She looked at his hips. “Are the guns real?”

“Of course not.”

“They look real,” she said.

A train whistle sounded loudly behind them, and Lily heard the guardrail fall across the tracks. Hank’s black sneakers were only inches from her own.

“I miss you,” Hank said.

Lily studied the loose rubber at the front of her shoe. Why don’t I miss him? she thought.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” he said.

“Not really.” Lily rubbed a mosquito bite on the back of her leg with her sneaker. She could feel Hank’s anger, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Martin’s fit had exhausted her. She hung her head and looked down. The fact is, she thought, I’m really stupid with Hank. I’m not so stupid with other people.

Hank waved the back of his hands at her in frustration. “If you think,” he said loudly, “that that guy’s going to stick around here for you, you’re dead wrong.”

“Oh, Hank,” Lily said.

“You know I’m right. What is he, fifteen years older than you? For Christ’s sake, Lily, you’re making a fool of yourself. He’s not even divorced. Everybody in town knows he’s going to leave you high and dry. He’s got women coming out of his ears, for Christ’s sake. He’s a fucking Don Juan. You’re no different from all the others.” Hank rubbed his forehead hard. “Not to him.”

Lily raised her eyes. “I don’t care.” Her intonation was even, stubborn.

“You don’t care!”

“No.”

Hank moved toward her. He bent down and looked in her face. “Who are you?” he shouted. “What are you?”

Lily clenched her jaw shut. She kept her chin down and her mouth shut. Behind Hank she could see the grain elevator in the moonlight.

“Answer me!” His voice broke.

Lily bit her lip. “How can I answer that?” she said. She felt tears in her eyes all of a sudden, and she lifted her face to keep them from running down her cheeks.

Hank held out his arms. “Oh, Lil’,” he said and leaned toward her.

She put her arms around him tentatively. She remembered his smell and his shirt — the one that said “Minnesota Twins” on the back. She stood on tiptoe and whispered to him, “I’m sorry, Hank. I can’t. I just can’t.”

Lily pulled away from him and ran across the bridge and then past the Red Owl Grocery. She was still running when she reached Division Street. She slowed to a walk when she saw Rick’s and glanced at two men standing a few feet away outside the Corner Bar. One of them was wearing gray coveralls from Olaf’s Garage, and as she approached them she read the name tag sewn on his pocket: “Steve.” Lily noticed that his arms were too long for his short body, that he needed a shave and that he had clearly noticed her. When she walked past them, “Steve” started making panting noises, and in her peripheral vision she saw him throwing his hips back and forth. He smirked. For once Lily decided not to ignore the insult. She whirled around and started screaming, “What is it? I’d really like to know. What the hell is it that makes a shrunken little weasel like you think he’s some big stud, huh?”