Lydia Davis: Can't and Won't: Stories

story from Flaubert

Tomorrow I will be going into Rouen for a funeral. Madame Pouchet, the wife of a doctor, died the day before yesterday in the street. She was on horseback, riding with her husband; she had a stroke and fell from the horse. I’ve been told I don’t have much compassion for other people, but in this case, I am very sad. Pouchet is a good man, though completely deaf and by nature not very cheerful. He doesn’t see patients, but works in zoology. His wife was a pretty Englishwoman with a pleasant manner who helped him a good deal in his work. She made drawings for him and read his proofs; they went on trips together; she was a real companion. He loved her very much and will be devastated by his loss. Louis lives across the street from them. He happened to see the carriage that brought her home, and her son lifting her out; there was a handkerchief over her face. Just as she was being carried like that into the house, feet first, an errand boy came up. He was delivering a large bouquet of flowers she had ordered that morning. O Shakespeare!

I am still in bed when friends of ours arrive at the house for dinner. My bed is in the kitchen. I get up to see what I can make for them. I find three or four packages of hamburger in the refrigerator, some partly used and some untouched. I think I can put all the hamburger together and make a meatloaf. This would take an hour, but nothing else occurs to me. I go back to bed for a while to think about it.

dream

We are about to leave a place that has a large flower garden and a fountain. I look out the car window and see our dog lying on a gurney in the doorway of a sort of shed. His back is to us. He is lying still. There are two cut flowers placed on his neck, one red and one white. I look away and then back — I want to see him one last time. But the doorway of the shed is empty. In that one moment he has vanished: a moment too soon, they have wheeled him away.

dream

A person has come to my house carrying a large peach tart. He has also brought with him some other people, including an old woman who complains about the gravel and is then carried into the house with great difficulty. At the table, she observes to one man, by way of conversation, that she likes his teeth. Another man keeps shouting in her face, but she is not frightened, she only looks at him balefully. Later, at home, it is discovered that while she was eating cashews from a bowl, she also ate her hearing aid. Even though she chewed on it for nearly two hours, she could not reduce it to particles small enough to swallow. At bedtime she spat it out into the hand of her caregiver and told him this nut was a bad one.

dream

They are very rigid, stubborn women from Bolivia. They resist and sabotage whenever possible.

They came with the apartment which we are subletting. They were bargains because of Adela’s low IQ. She is a scatterbrain.

In the beginning, I said to them: I’m very happy that you can stay, and I am sure that we will get along very well.

This is an example of the problems we are having. It is a typical incident that has just taken place. I needed to cut a piece of thread and could not find my six-inch scissors. I accosted Adela and told her I could not find my scissors. She protested that she had not seen them. I went with her to the kitchen and asked Luisa if she would cut my thread. She asked me why I did not simply bite it off. I said I could not thread my needle if I bit it off. I asked her please to get some scissors and cut it off — now. She told Adela to look for the scissors of la Señora Brodie, and I followed her to the study to see where they were kept. She removed them from a box. At the same time I saw a long, untidy piece of twine attached to the box and asked her why she did not trim off the frayed end of it while she had the scissors. She shouted that it was impossible. The twine might be needed to tie up the box some time. I admit that I laughed. Then I took the scissors from her and cut it off myself. Adela shrieked. Her mother appeared behind her. I laughed again and now they both shrieked. Then they were quiet.

I have told them: Please, do not make the toast until we ask for breakfast. We do not like very crisp toast the way the English do.

I have told them: Every morning, when I ring the bell, please bring us our mineral water immediately. Afterwards, make the toast and at the same time prepare fresh coffee with milk. We prefer Franja Blanca or Cinta Azul coffee from Bonafide.

I spoke pleasantly to Luisa when she came with the mineral water before breakfast. But when I reminded her about the toast, she broke into a tirade — how could I think she would ever let the toast get cold or hard? But it is almost always cold and hard.

We have told them: We prefer that you always buy Las Tres Niñas or Germa milk from Kasdorf.

Adela cannot speak without yelling. I have asked her to speak gently, and to say “Señora,” but she never does. They also speak very loudly to each other in the kitchen.

Often, before I have said three words to Adela, she yells at me: Si … si, si, si…! and leaves the room. I honestly don’t think I can stand it.

I say to Luisa: Don’t interrupt me! I say: No me interrumpe!

The problem is not that Adela does not work hard enough. But she comes to my room with a message from her mother: she tells me the meal I have asked for is impossible, and she shakes her finger back and forth, screaming at the top of her voice.

They are both, mother and daughter, such willful, brutal women. At times I think they are complete barbarians.

I have told Adela: If necessary, clean the hall, but do not use the vacuum cleaner more than twice a week.

Last week she refused point-blank to take the vacuum cleaner out of the front hall by the entrance — just when we were expecting a visit from the Rector of Patagonia.

They have such a sense of privilege and ownership.

I have asked them: First listen to what I have to say!

I took my underthings out to them to be washed. Luisa immediately said that it was too hard to wash a girdle by hand. I disagreed, but I did not argue.

Adela refuses to do any work in the morning but housecleaning.

I say to them: We are a small family. We do not have any children.

When I go to them to inquire about the tasks I have given them, I find they are usually engaged in their own occupations — washing their sweaters or telephoning.

The ironing is never done on time.

Today I reminded them both that my underthings needed to be washed. They did not respond. Finally I had to wash my slip myself.

I say to them: We have noticed that you have tried to improve, and in particular that you are doing our washing more quickly now.

I have asked Adela: Please, do not leave the dirt and the cleaning things in the hall.

I have asked her: Please, collect the trash and take it to the incinerator immediately.

Today I told Adela that I needed her there in the kitchen, but she went to her mother’s room and came back with her sweater on and went out anyway. She was buying some lettuce — for them, it turned out, not for us.

At each meal, she makes an effort to escape.

As I was passing through the dining room this morning, I tried, as usual, to chat pleasantly with Adela. Before I could say two words, however, she retorted sharply that she could not do anything else while she was setting the table.