Gordon Lish - Collected Fictions

She says, "Two seconds."

She says, "The man is inside of there all of two seconds with his instruments and his examining."

She says, "The man comes out with his white coat and with his rubber gloves and he says to the child, he says, ‘Darling, I am afraid I must inform you your pet has a mild case of rabies — you didn't get near any of its saliva, did you?'

"‘Oh, God, God!' my daughter screams, and then it dawns on my Deedee, rabies, and she shrieks, ‘No, I'm fine, I'm fine — just give me back my dog, I want to get a second opinion, I want to see another doctor!'

"So what does this one say to that?

"Mister, are you listening to me when I ask you what this one says to that? Because here is the answer the whole wide world has been waiting for. Which is that this man, this doctor, this specialist, he gives the girl a look and he says to her very calmly to her, he says, ‘ Dog? That animal in there is no dog, lady. That animal which you brought in here is a rat! "

YOU KNOW SOMETHING?

Because I am telling you the truth when this is what I sit here and tell you.

For some crazy reason, after I hear what I hear, I do not know what the next thing for me to do is. I mean, my son's clothes — I do not know if I can bear to touch them anymore — not even when I know that if I go to get them, they would be as clean and as dry as — that's right! — a bone.

IN THAT INSTANCE, THERE WERE two men and a woman. The photographer may also have been a woman, for there to be someone to go with one of the men. But I never looked to see. I only looked to notice the others — which is to say, the three persons who were readying themselves for the photograph and who, accordingly, kept their backs turned to me.

Perhaps their span hid the fourth party — which is to say, the party with the camera.

Which is to say, why did I not notice the photographer, since the persons getting themselves ready for the photograph faced away from me and, therefore, I must have faced the fourth party?

I cannot say what the three of them looked like, since I only saw them from the back — except that the men were husky by my standard, wide-waisted, one man considerably the taller of the two. And there was this: the woman had no appeal that I could see.

My attention was mainly elsewhere. It was captured by the placement of the arms of these people as they prepared themselves for the photograph, the woman between the men, the men reaching back behind the woman to rest a hand on each other's shoulder, the woman with both arms reached out behind the men, to hold each man from behind, her fingers taking the man tight by the waist — wide waists, as I remember it, in each case, the men's waists.

They all hugged like this when they were ready.

Then they dropped their arms, and you knew, without your needing to be notified, that the photograph had been completed, or don't we say taken?

I kept standing there, to see them stand there for a while, facing away from me, all three, the two men and the woman, their arms at their sides — each of the three of them with arms no longer involved in the exertion of a pose.

I remember something else now.

One of the men — the shorter, I think — wore very bright corduroy trousers, a very bright green, I would say, and a very pale yellow sweater.

Ah, but then they had their arms reached back up into place again. Or places, do we say?

They were getting themselves in readiness again.

They hugged.

I could tell they were hugging hard.

Then they let their arms fall to their sides again, or is this to say that each person lowered his arms promptly to his sides?

You could anyway see another photograph had been made — or taken — and that this was to be the last of the photograph-making or photograph-taking. Or photography, don't we say?

MY SON WAS IN MY COMPANY for the day.

It was to be a day for us in the park.

He was riding his bicycle and I was with him to see him do it. But for the time I was noticing the people with the camera, I was not seeing my son ride.

But when I resumed doing what I had been doing, I saw he was riding very well — and even doing some tricks. Or if we say acrobatics, then that.

I called to him.

I said, "Come over here a minute!" He rode up to me.

He said, "How did you like it?"

I said, "I've got a good idea."

He said, "Did you like the way I did it?"

I said, "Let's go home and get the camera and then we'll come back here and we'll take a picture of you with your bike."

He said, "What do you think of what I did?"

I said, "Let's go home. Let's get the camera."

WE DID IT.

Which is to say, my son and I went home. But we never got the camera for us to go make a photograph of him in the park with him on his bike.

Something came up.

I don't remember what.

But something did.

My plan was to produce a photograph.

My plan is to have the camera with me the next time we go. My plan is to find somebody and show him how the camera works.

My plan is to hand over the camera and then take my place behind my son.

The way I see it, the bicycle will be positioned broadside to the camera, my son situated on the seat, in an attitude of motion and of happiness perhaps. I will be standing just rearward of him, my arm arranged across the shoulders, this or some other such gesture to indicate that I am touching him and am keeping him, will always keep him, from falling over.

And then we will be like this.

MY FACTS ARE NOT UNKNOWN. This notwithstanding, mine is a history which has never been without its share of detractors. But I feel, however, that we can safely say the truth must speak for itself. For example, the period of incarceration was not excessive. As an institution, it was viewed in the highest regard. Each and every member of the staff was of a generously professional caliber. I am not claiming to the contrary, or asserting in any fashion, that there might not have been the infrequent individual incorporated here and there who would not in every respect pass muster under the harsh light of what we so fondly refer to in our thoughts as our contemporary nationalistic standards. But it goes without saying, this notwithstanding, that you cannot judge yesterday's failure by today's success. To postulate the direct negation of this would be to go too far and to currently commit a travesty against the race of mankind and, of course, speech itself, splitting, or cleaving, the complaisant infinitive. Yet speak one must, and this quite obviously means me. My statement is this — more dereliction would be more than welcome. At that time, and since, even I, at my utmost, was not privy to enough information. Therefore, I can, as is understood, speak, only without the benefit of diametric contradiction, unless more is expected of me, in which event I would not be adverse to holding myself, and the other panelists in my party, in substantial abeyance, both now and otherwise. Little, or even less, will it profit us, I think, nor the generation to come after us and to cross-index us, to offer up for ourselves various personal and sundry opinions disproportionately or needlessly. Trust, we can agree, is paramount, now as never before. It is on this account, and only on this account, that knowledge of the facilities must be tolerated if not lauded. Persons to have come before my ken, which, admittedly, is and was the limited ken of the patient, deserved every consideration as one professional to another. Nevertheless, although I was not mental in my mind, nor even under suspicion by those responsible for oversight, I was cared for. My debt is great. I would mention the name, but there are legal reasons. Suffice it to say, due reference has been made in the writings of others as well as can be expected by us as well as by our detractors, both preponderantly and paradoxically. The answer is inescapable, not only for the time being, but also for the good of the community. May God protect us. We can do no more nor do no less. Meekly, mildly, and with consciousness aforethought, neither I nor my family bears them any ill will. Speaking in summation, then, as one who has spoken the truth, let us turn our attention to Nurse Jones.