Howard Norman - Next Life Might Be Kinder

Silence for a moment.

I said, “Have I told you that every day I want to strangle Alfonse Padgett all over again?”

“‘All over again’? But you’ve not killed him a first time, Sam.”

“Wrong. I strangle him every day. I’ve gotten a lot calmer about a lot of things, some thanks to you, Dr. Nissensen. But in a way, the thought of Alfonse Padgett puts more poison in my veins the more time that passes. That probably doesn’t reflect well on me, huh? But most things don’t.”

“That’s funny. I’ll miss your humor. Some of it.”

Silence.

I said, “You live with someone in a marriage and yet so much of what the other does happens out of your immediate experience.”

“Yes, that’s just normal.”

“What happened that day to Elizabeth was out of my immediate experience. But I believe that soon she’ll tell me about it. I sense it coming. And then I’ll know.”

“Well, especially considering this may well be our last conversation, I can only, for the thousandth time, suggest that you are both seeing and not seeing Elizabeth each evening. You are both hearing her and not hearing her. This bifurcated reality is sponsored by your intractable grief. And I’m quite aware you despise my use of such language. Yet I want you to at least know that I cannot subscribe, even after hearing the remarkable specificity, the stenographic detail, of your experiences on the beach at Port Medway, to your seeing Elizabeth there. I simply cannot responsibly suggest anything other than that we continue with our sessions. That we should deepen our work. I will cut my fee in half, if that is a concern. I am not interested in persuading you out of your condition, Sam, and never have been. I am only interested in lessening, to whatever extent possible, your torment. And I feel thus far I’ve failed to significantly lessen it.”

“Well, the way I see it, it’s not you who’s failed me, it’s me who has failed,” I said. “Week after week I fail to get the truth across to you. I’ve failed in that. I can’t write, I can’t sleep, I can’t stand people — well, there’s Philip and Cynthia — and I can’t get the truth across to you. You once quoted the Russian poet Akhmatova — or did I quote her? ‘Who ever said you were supposed to be happy?’ Nobody in their right mind would expect to be. Personally, I never considered happiness a given. Probably never will. But I can say that definitely, definitely I’m happy when I’m with Elizabeth on the beach at night.”

“Elizabeth’s presence keeps declaring that she is not coming back,” he said. “Bardo doesn’t return people, it eventually allows them a further passage. From my recent reading about it. From my understanding of it.”

“Stalemate all along for months. And now, truce.”

Silence.

“I drowned Peter Istvakson. I thought you should know.”

Dr. Nissensen waited for me to say more. After a minute or so, he said, “If I thought that were true, I’d be obligated to report it to the proper authorities. And while I believe you had violent feelings toward Mr. Istvakson, did you act on them — other than in thought?”

Silence.

“Naturally, you might wish to discuss this. Should I pencil you in?”

I stood up and held out my hand and he shook it. “Thank you, secret sharer,” I said. “For your kindness and intelligence. But no, don’t pencil me in.”

Outside on the street, I checked the notebook Dr. Nissensen had given me: my pickup was parked less than a block away. I was home in my cottage by one-thirty in the afternoon.

THROUGH ALL OF everything, Elizabeth had maintained her devotion to the intermediate lindy. She practiced a lot and got me to practice a lot. She even came up with a pun: “When it comes to the lindy, I’m completely unflappable.” Not bad, I thought. Half an hour before the last scheduled lesson, as she was fitting herself into the black dress again, she said, “The advanced lindy lessons start up in just two weeks. We definitely qualify now, Sam. I’m getting the final installment of my stipend, and I’m going to pop for the lessons myself, so, not to worry. What with your bonus for the radio writing, we’re in good shape money-wise, sort of. There’s one catch, though. I’d like to purchase a new dress for the advanced lessons. That way I’ll feel I’ve, you know, advanced.”

“I understand completely,” I said.

“Of course you do. And, I already bought the dress.”

Before the lesson began, Arnie Moran stood on the bandstand and announced the dates for the advanced lindy lessons. Then, in singsong, “Tell your friends, tell your cat and dog, tell the birds in the trees, it’ll be a big time! Yowza! Yowza! Yowza!”

Predictable in his routine, he punched up the Boswell Sisters on the jukebox. The lesson went well. Elizabeth was especially pleased. She said, “Sam, you’ve really caught on.” From Lizzy, a direct and simple compliment was all I needed, and not even all that often.

Most of the couples went home right after, but Elizabeth and I stayed to drink the spiked punch that Arnie Moran had provided to celebrate the end of the lessons. Moran walked over and said, “Rocky start, what with Mr. Padgett and all, but we managed, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did,” Elizabeth said. “I’m signing us up for the advanced class.”

“I wear a different suit for those,” Moran said, and Elizabeth and I fell apart laughing. “Glad I’m so entertaining.”

“No, no, you’re a sharp dresser, Arnie Moran,” Elizabeth said.

He bowed decorously, then left to talk to the other remaining students.

“Let’s go upstairs, Sam. I had a nice time tonight.”

“You’re the best lindy dancer in the history of lindy dancers.”

“You came to this determination how?”

“By believing it,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re, I’d estimate, the ninety-four-thousand-two-hundred-and-sixth-best lindy dancer in the history of lindy dancers.”

“I am just so flattered by that. I don’t know what to say.”

When we got to the apartment, Elizabeth, in the kitchen, unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. “It might be a scam, the advanced lessons,” she said. “I mean, where’s there to advance to once you have the basic steps down? Maybe we shouldn’t put out money for it.”

“It’s a night on the town, Lizzy. Even if we don’t leave the hotel, a night on the town. And you have such a great time. That’s really nice to see. You’re at your desk all day.”

“Come to bed.”

“What do you think comes after advanced?” I asked.

“Advanced advanced, I think. Maybe Arnie Moran’s lessons will go on longer than the dance craze itself lasted. After all, it’s his moonlighting, right?”

“I wonder if he’s got a day job.”

“Oh, I already found that out. I asked Derek Budnick, and Derek told me Arnie Moran works at the post office. He sorts letters. By the way, I’m in bed, darling.”

“I’m just getting a drink of water.”

“Know what? I watched an old movie the other night after you fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep. Usually with us it’s vice versa. I forgot the title. It starred Myrna Loy. You know she’s my favorite. Anyway, Myrna got all hot and heavy with somebody — they didn’t actually show anything in those old movies, except maybe the bedroom door closing, then the bedroom door opening first thing in the morning. Still, I could tell Myrna’s temperature had gone up. And the next day, when her best girlfriend asked her how the evening with Mr. Right had gone, Myrna said, ‘Oh, we went from 33⅓ up to 78, then back to 33⅓ for a long, long time.’ And the girlfriend says, ‘What about 45?’ And Myrna got that smile and said, ‘Oh, too, too in between.’”