Stanley Elkin: George Mills

“What?” George Mills said. “What?”

“It was the alphabet,” she said.

“The alphabet,” Mills repeated. “The kid’s learned the alphabet.”

“That’s just it,” she said, “he never did.”

“That’s what’s so wonderful?”

“Well yes,” she said, “in a way. I mean they didn’t know he hadn’t learned it. He sang that song when he was a little kid.”

“What song?”

“You know,” she said. Louise started to sing. “ ‘ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP.’ You know,” she said.

“Oh yeah,” George Mills said.

“I mean Cornell says that was practically his favorite song when he was a kid, so naturally they assumed …They didn’t know he didn’t understand the connection between the sounds and the letters. Now they think that when they taught it to the kids in preschool that must have been the month he had strep throat. And that when they reviewed it in kindergarten that was when he had his tonsils out.” Mills stared at her. “They just caught it,” she said. “After all those years. Can you imagine? They just caught it.”

“Was he high?” Mills asked.

“Cornell? No. I can tell.”

“You can?”

“A woman knows,” his wife said.

“I see.”

“He’s been sight reading,” Louise said. “All these years. He’s been sight reading. Do you know how hard that is? Cornell says it’s as if we were set down in Japan or Russia or anywhere else they have those peculiar alphabets, and could read only the words we’d had some experience with. Stop signs or the word for ‘bakery’ if we see cakes in the window.”

George Mills nodded.

“Once they caught it they were able to do something about it. He learned it in a day and a half. You know Cornell says he’s been through two readers this week? They’re color-coded. He finished the orange, he finished the red. He starts on the blue one, Let’s Read five, tomorrow. Cornell says it’s confidence. Isn’t it queer, George? Isn’t it queer how things work out?”

Messenger dropped in again at the house. He had phoned first to make sure that George would be home. “You don’t have to phone,” Mills told him at the door. “Just come when you feel like. I acted a little crazy is all.”

“No no,” Messenger said. “That’s all right. I want to see the both of you.”

“You want something to eat? Lulu’s fixing lunch.”

“How’s the back?”

George shrugged. “Comes and goes. Comes and comes, comes and stays. You know how it is. It acted up some today so I knocked off early.”

Messenger nodded.

“Say, that’s great news about the kid,” Mills said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

“Thanks,” Messenger said. He smiled.

Louise came into the living room carrying a tray. “Oh hi, Cornell.”

“Louise,” Cornell said.

“I thought it was you. It’s good to see you again. I opened a large can of Spaghetti-O’s.”

“You’ll love it,” George Mills said.

“No, you two go ahead. I’m not much on Italian cuisine.”

“Hey,” George Mills said, “ain’t you enhanced?”

“Me?” Messenger said. “No.” He looked embarrassed.

“I’ll fix you a sandwich,” Louise said.

“No thanks, Louise. I’m not very hungry.”

“What’s new?” George asked. “Are Max and Ruth still parked in front of the dean’s house?”

“Well, for the time being,” Messenger said. “Jenny Greener told them they’ll have to find someplace else.”

“Jenny Greener?”

“When she moves in with Sam. When they’re married next month.”

“Jenny Greener and Sam?”

“It surprised all of us,” Messenger said.

“Jesus,” Mills said, “your friend must be devastated.”

“Losey?”

“The doctor, the paste asshole. Yeah, Losey.”

“No, he’s taking it very well.”

“He is?”

“Very well.”

“I thought he loved her so much.”

“He loved her grade point, he loved her blueprints.”

“Well still,” George Mills said.

“She dropped out,” Messenger said.

“She dropped out of school? Nora?”

“Jenny Greener. Sam says she felt guilty.”

“Guilty? About the love affair.”

“Well, that too, I suppose. But mostly about Nora. Going to school, she couldn’t devote enough time to Nora.”

“Her own schoolwork came first. Even Losey said so.”

“That’s right. Losey said so. Jenny didn’t feel right about that.”

“This isn’t clear.”

“They’re best friends. She wasn’t satisfied just to get Nora off academic probation. Now she’s able to spend more time with her. Losey doesn’t mind. Already there’s been incredible improvement. She’s shown Nora certain tricks. Well, she says they’re tricks. But you know? Nora has as much to do with it as anyone. She’s making tremendous strides. Jenny’s dropping out must really have motivated her.”

“But what a sacrifice,” George Mills said, shaking his head. “A brilliant career down the drain.”

“Down the drain?” Messenger said. “No, I don’t think so. She’s, what, seven or eight years younger than Nora? When Nora graduates next semester Jenny can just pick up where she left off.”

“She’ll have been out of school a year.”

“Sure. Getting a fresh slant on things. With the pressure off she’s come up with all sorts of new ideas. Helping Nora, she’s been able to rethink basic principles. Sam says her concepts are better than ever.”

“I see,” Mills said.

“She’s never been happier,” Messenger said.

“Jenny.”

“Jenny of course. The business with Losey only confused her. She says Sam’s the only man she’s ever really loved. So Jenny, too, of course. And Sam. Sam’s a new man. With the dean thing settled and Jenny in his life he looks fifteen years younger. But Nora. Nora too. She’s quite proud of herself. You can guess how her husband must feel.”

“Losing a genius?”

“I told you. The man’s a surgeon. He fixed up his marriage. Jenny would only have been a transplant. But Nora, Nora’s a whole new scientific reconstruction. Some from-scratch Galatea.”

“It must be tough on the kids,” George Mills said, “their daddy taking a new wife so soon after their mother died.”

“Oh,” he said, “Sam’s kids. That’s a whole other story. Gee,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I’ve got to run. Nice to see you, Louise. George, I hope your back feels better.”

“That’s a kick in the ass about Ruth and Max!” Mills shouted after him. “Getting booted into traffic!”

George Mills was in bed. Again Messenger had phoned first. Louise had taken the call. “Is he high?” Louise shook her head. “Let me get dressed first,” Mills said.

Messenger rapped lightly on the closed bedroom door.

“Jesus,” Mills whispered.

“Come in, Cornell,” Louise said.

“Hello,” Cornell said. “Louise said you were indisposed. There were a couple of extra trays. I brought them over for your lunches.”

“We’ve eaten our lunches,” Mills said.

“Sure,” Messenger said. “You can warm them for dinner.”

“That’s sweet, Cornell,” Louise said.

Messenger pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. “You were right,” he said. “They were upset. At least Milly was. Mary too, I suppose, but Milly made the rumpus. She called her grandfather. She’s the one who caught them in bed together.”

“Really?” George Mills said. “At her age that sort of thing can get to you for life.”

“When Milly told him what happened, Claunch did some hard thinking.”

“This is the part that gets me,” Louise said. “Oh,” she said, “I heard some of this on the phone.”