William Vollmann - The Royal Family

Celia was also known as a conscientious list-keeper. Whenever he visited her, John would find beside her phone a pad of paper inscribed with such items as:

fax badge names to Ellen

taxes???

reschedule hair appointment to weekend

cancel Sandy’s access code

deposit paycheck

return address stickers

call John

present for John

Something about him always appeared on every list. He began to suspect that she wanted him to notice her lists for just that reason. This added to his uneasiness.

John had made inquiries (not through his brother) and learned that her bosses treasured her. Her personnel file contained the following encomiums: hard-working, loyal, dedicated, outgoing, pleasant, cheerful, well-dressed, friendly, warm — in short, the epitaph for a cadre, no leader of any vanguard. She was a resource, not a threat. Had his opinion been asked, John, who knew her even better than the personnel office, would not have changed a single line. Strange to say, however, now that Irene was dead he found himself almost unattracted to Celia. Could it have been anything to do with the fact that she’d dropped her paralegal studies and no longer worked late for the insurance company? She was worried about him, she said. He was too stoic. On the Monday night after the funeral he sat waiting for her with his face blue-lit by his laptop computer on which he was busily defragmenting the hard disk’s files; the closet door opened by itself, and he got up to shut it, only to be met by Irene’s dresses, which hung there so soft and colorful and helpless, pretty skins of Irene’s which Irene would never again use, shapes of Irene at which he could not get angry. The doorbell rang. He rose, and buzzed Celia in. When she came he was standing by the open door with his arms folded.

I’m sorry it took me so long, she said. It was hard parking.

John continued to regard her, saying nothing. He saw that her overnight bag was actually a very large suitcase. He saw that her face had been overlain by an oppressively determined expression. It was the first time that she had ever come to him uninvited. Furious, he sat down at the diamond-shaped table by the window where the computer had finished chirring; with half a dozen keystrokes he quit the defragmentation utility and powered down.

Would you mind if I sat next to you? said Celia a little uncertainly.

Fine, said John. Mom’s having chest pains again.

You and your mother are very close, aren’t you? said Celia. Is she helping you, I mean now?

Let’s leave her out of this.

Celia lit a cigarette. — Whatever you say. You brought her up, not me. Would you mind if I sat down?

Her suitcase was in the middle of the long narrow hallway between the living room and the bedroom. Impatiently he carried it into the bedroom and set it down beside the rumpled bed, which embarrassed him. He could not remember when he’d changed the sheets. Irene used to do that. He closed the bedroom door on bed and suitcase, shot a glance at Celia, who’d remained standing, put a pot of decaf on to warm, and seated himself upon the sofa. She came next to him and almost touched his hand.

Ashtray’s over there, he said.

I feel so… I don’t know…

You’re up to two packs a day now, aren’t you?

Do you think she — did she know about us? she said.

Who? My wife? replied John in a loud, aggrieved tone.

Yes.

I’ll never get rid of her now, he said. After what she did, she has a hold on me like some kind of parasite. Well, you were here, so you know. When you see the face of somebody who died by violence and she was somebody that you — knew…

I understand. Remember when you had to—

Yeah. I don’t know how Hank does it.

I never met him. Well, just that one time when we were…

Maybe he gets his kicks from going to the morgue. What do you think, Ceel? There must be perverts like that. Of course he’s not a real detective, just a private eye. Maybe he doesn’t see that many dead people. But her face —I—

For a while he was silent. Then the phone rang. He picked it up. — No, he said. I’m not interested. I said I’m not interested. No, I’m satisfied with my long distance company. No, thank you. No, don’t call back at another time. No. Thank you anyway. Sonofabitch.

He slammed the phone down, red in the face.

Can I get you anything? Celia said.

Whatever’s worth getting I’m out of, John said shortly.

You want me to go to the store? I can get you some groceries…

Thank you, Celia. No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you anyway.

Well, she said, looking at the floor, how’s everything at work?

Oh, they tried to overturn the fraud conviction, but we got it reinstated on appeal. And Rapp…

Again he was silent for a while. — No, I don’t think she knew, he said. And if she knows now, I think she understands.

You think she sees us right now? said Celia almost inaudibly. I feel so—

Well, I certainly see her face. If she wants me to do something, I won’t refuse. Should I call to her? he asked, observing Celia with a cruel smile.

No — please don’t—

Irene! he cried out. Irene!

Don’t—

Irene, did you know about Celia? Is that why you did it? Irene, did I make you that unhappy?

He turned to Celia. — Nobody can say I didn’t mean well, he said.

No, John. Nobody can say that.

Irene won’t answer, he laughed. She’s taking the Fifth Amendment.

Stop it, stop it!

I’m going to drive her stuff down to her parents on Saturday, he said. It’s time to clean this apartment out.

If you want I could—

Maybe Hank told her. Hey, Irene! Wake up! Did Hank tell you about Celia? He saw us that time. Friggin’ Hank… They said they want all her clothes and crap. I don’t know what they’ll do with it. Maybe they can donate it through their church…

How are they doing?

Oh, fine. Did I tell you that her charge card bills keep coming in? She’s going to send me to the poorhouse yet.

Oh, said Celia, lighting another cigarette.

That’s quite a suitcase you brought over here.

You know what? Celia said. I feel as if you don’t care whether I stay or not.

No, no, no! laughed John, holding up his hands. You’re always welcome. Can I pour you a glass of wine? And there’s coffee on… You gave me that coffee grinder. I use it all the time. I even recommended it to Hank! I told Irene to recommend it to him but she…

Celia’s mouth had tightened, and she said: Do you want me to stay or not?

I said come over, didn’t I?

I thought maybe you changed your mind. John, I—

Let me get you that wine, John said. Did you say white or red?

What are you having?

Oh, don’t play that game. That’s manipulative. It’s just the kind of thing Irene used to—

White, thanks. John, you know I care for you so much. I just wanted to—

Don’t think I don’t appreciate your being here, he said to her, leaning forward to squeeze her hand. His rage had vanished as suddenly as it had come; he didn’t know why. Gingerly he explored the place within him where it had been, and found only hollowness. He said: I guess I feel pretty lonely at times. And I know you care for me. We can talk about all that tomorrow.

John—

Do you want coffee in your wine? Guess you don’t, so I’ll turn the coffee off.

I’ll get it.

No, you’re the guest. Can’t you see I’m… Oh, balls.

I love you, John. Your sadness breaks my heart.

Well, if you love me, just sit there and… I’m not so sad actually. What time is it? Let me check my messages at the office. You go ahead and get ready for bed, okay?

So you want me to stay?