A. Homes - Things You Should Know

“I was just looking for a book,” she says.

“What book?”

She blushes as though this were a quiz. “Robinson Crusoe.” She knows it is a book her brother had, a book they used to look at as children.

He takes the book from the shelf and hands it to her.

She sneezes. “Cat,” she says.

“Bless you,” he says. “You’ll excuse me,” he says, edging her out of the room. “I want to refresh myself before dinner.”

In the downstairs bathroom, each of his personal effects is arranged in a tight row on top of a folded towel — tooth-brush, comb, nail clippers.

The cat’s litter box is in the corner. There are four little lumps in it, shit rolled in litter, dirt balls dusted in ash.

Her mother sits at the table. “I haven’t had chow mein since Aunt Lena used to make it with leftover soup chicken.”

There is the scrape of a matchstick. Ray lights two tall tapers.

“Every night we have candles,” her father says. “Ray makes the effort.”

Ray has changed his clothes, he’s wearing an orange silk shirt, he seems to radiate light. “From the Goodwill,” he says, seeming to know what she is thinking. “It must have been a costume. In the back of the neck, in black marker, it’s written—‘Lear.’”

“I’m tasting something delicious,” her mother says, working the flavors in her mouth. “Ginger, soy, oh, and baby corn. Where did you find fresh baby corn?”

She has something to say about everything. “Such sharp greens. Olives, what an idea, so Greek. The color of this pepper is fabulous. Red food is very good for you, high in something.” She gobbles. “Eating is such a pleasure when you don’t have to cook.”

“Did you take care of your errands?” her father asks Ray.

“Yes, thank you,” Ray says. “Every now and then it helps to use a car. I filled it with gas.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“And I put a quart of oil in. I also checked the tires; your right rear was down a little.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

She hates him. She absolutely hates him. He is too good. How does a person get to be so good? She wishes she could get behind it, she wishes she could think he was as wonderful as he seems. But she doesn’t trust him for a minute.

“More,” her mother says, holding her plate up for seconds. “What’s the matter — you’re not eating?”

She shakes her head. If Ray is poisoning them, putting a little bit of who knows what into the food, she wants none of it. “Not hungry.”

“I thought you said you were starving.”

She doesn’t answer.

“White rice and brown,” her mother says. “Ray is kinder than I could ever be. I would never make two rices.”

“Two rices make two people happy — that’s easy,” Ray says.

Her mother eats and then gets up from the table, letting her napkin fall into her plate. “That was wonderful — divine.” She walks out of the room.

It takes her father longer to finish. “Great, Ray, really great.” He helps clear the table.

She is left alone with Ray.

“Marriage is a difficult thing,” Ray says without warning. She wonders whom he is talking about and if he knows more. “I was married once.” He hands her a pot to dry. “Attachment to broken things is not good for the self.”

“Is that where you got to be such a good cook? You’re really something, a regular Galloping Gourmet.”

“To feed yourself well is a strong skill.” He speaks as though talking in translation.

“Where are you from, Ray?”

“Philadelphia.”

She is thinking Main Line, that would explain it. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t care about anything, maybe money means nothing to him, because he already has it, because if he needs it, there is always enough.

“And what did your family do in Philadelphia?”

“They were in business.”

“What sort of business?” she asks.

“Dresses,” he says.

Not Main Line. “Do you have many friends in the area?”

He shakes his head. “I am not so easy, I don’t like everybody.”

“Do you have a family?” she asks.

“I have myself,” he says.

“And what do you want from us?”

“You and I have only just met.”

“My parents are very generous, simple people,” she says. It sounds as though she’s making him a deal, an offer. She stops. “I noticed you on the floor with the cymbals. Are you a guru, a swami of some sort?”

“I have been sitting for many years; it does me good, just noticing what I feel.”

She is noticing that she feels like hitting him, hauling off and slugging him. The unrelenting evenness of his tone, his lack of interest in her investigation, his detachment is arrogant, infuriating. She wants to say, I’ve got your number; you think you’re something special, like you were sent here from some other place, with little cymbals on your fingers— ping . She wants to say, pretending you’re so carefree, so absent of emotion, isn’t going to get you anywhere— ping .

“Do not mistake me,” he says, as though reading her mind. “My detachment is not arrogance, it is hard won.”

If she hits him, he will not defend himself — she knows that. He will let her hit him; she will look like an idiot, it will look like proof of how crazy she is, it will look as though he did nothing to provoke her.

“This is just what you think of me,” he says, nodding knowingly. “I am not anything. I am just here. I am not trying to go anywhere.”

“I’m watching you,” she says, walking out of the kitchen.

The door to her parents’ room is closed. She knocks before entering. Her parents are sitting on the bed, reading.

“We’re spending some time alone together,” her mother says.

“Should I not bother you?”

“It’s okay — you’re not here very often,” her mother says.

“What’s Ray doing?” her father asks.

“Rearranging the shelves in the kitchen, throwing clay pots and firing them in the oven, and koshering chickens for tomorrow.”

“What makes you always think everyone else is getting more than you?” her mother asks.

“You’re hiding in your bedroom with the door closed and he’s out there — loose in the house, doing God knows what. He’s completely taken over, he’s running the show, don’t you see?”

“We’re not hiding, we’re spending time alone together.”

She sneezes four times in quick succession. “Cat,” she says.

“Did you bring anything to help yourself?”

“What the hell makes him so special that he gets to come and live here with his cat?”

“There’s no reason not to share. In fact it’s better, more economical, and he’s very considerate,” her father says. “If more people invited people in, it would solve the housing shortage, use less natural resources. We’re just two people. What do we need a whole house for? It was my idea.”

“Why don’t you just open a shelter, take in homeless people and offer them free showers, et cetera?”

“Don’t go completely crazy,” her mother says. “There are no homeless people in Chevy Chase.”

She looks around the room. “What happened to Grandma’s table? It used to be in that corner.”

“Mini-storage,” her mother says. “We put a lot of things into storage.”

“Boxes and boxes. We loaded a van and they took it all away.”

“The house feels better now, doesn’t it? Airier, almost like it’s glad to be rid of all that crap,” her mother says.

“Where is this mini-storage?” she asks.

“Somewhere in Rockville. Ray found it. Ray took care of the whole thing.”

“Have you ever been there? How do you know your stuff is really there?” She is thinking she’s figured it out, she finally has something on Ray.