Alison Lurie - The Nowhere City

“Looks as if nobody’s living over there,” Iz said. “All the houses look empty.”

“Oh, that’s where they’re building the new freeway,” Katherine explained. “The city’s bought all that property now, and they’re going to move the houses away, or tear them down. They’ll probably take this block too, eventually.”

“Is that so.” Iz stared across the street.

The houses across the way had been vacant for three to six weeks. Uncut, the grass around them had continued to grow; in some places now it was half a foot high. The sample Spanish villa, English cottage, and French château looked like toys forgotten on the lawn by some child who had been playing with them until, at sunset, he was called in to supper.

Stepping off the curb, Iz crossed the street; Katherine followed him.

Seen close to, it was even more apparent that the houses were deserted, though Venetian blinds still hung in many of the windows. Flowers had bloomed and fallen on to the front walks, and here and there an avocado or a bitter orange tree held its branches out over a litter of bruised fruit. Cars continued to pass at both ends of the block, but their street was empty and very quiet.

“It’s nice here,” Iz said, wading into one of the overgrown lawns.

“Um,” Katherine agreed. “A little weird, though.” Dr. Einsam wasn’t as bad as she had thought, she decided. He was crude, of course, and had absolutely no tact—imagine such a person trying to be a psychiatrist! But he wanted to be friendly, and once you knew how, it was easy to manage him. “Look at those rose bushes,” she added. “Imagine just abandoning them like that; I don’t understand people. All these beautiful flowers just going to waste. I come over here sometimes, and pick them.”

“Is this where you get those roses you’ve been bringing to the office?” Katherine nodded. Iz laughed. “What do you know.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?” she said. “Nobody else seems to want them.”

“I’m not criticizing you,” Iz said. “Don’t get hostile.” Katherine took a few steps away, feeling irritated. “Listen, Katherine,” he went on, following her. “Do you know what you said that struck me a while back? About your parents. You said: ‘They aren’t living now.’ What comes to mind is the idea that they have chosen to be in a state of suspended animation. But they might be back at any time, so they could see what you’d done with their furniture and whether you were stealing flowers from other people’s gardens.” Both of them glanced at the roses, which glowed white and velvety dark in the twilight. “Only your parents aren’t living now; and they weren’t living yesterday, and they won’t be living tomorrow. Do you understand what I mean?”

Katherine looked at Iz without speaking, stunned at this intrusion into the privacy of her feelings: she was actually trembling. She ought to snub him directly, but she doubted that she could do so calmly, and she was determined not to lose her temper again. Besides, wouldn’t that be stooping to his own level?

“I don’t know where Paul can have got to,” she said in a high rapid voice, turning aside towards the street. “But I really ought to start supper. It’s—” She looked at her watch, but it had become too dark to read the tiny gold dial. “It must be getting late,” she concluded, and began to cross the street.

Iz ignored this. “Don’t repress what I’ve just said,” he ordered, coming after Katherine and blocking her way, so that they faced each other in the middle of the street. “Even if you think I’m wrong, say something.”

“I don’t have to say anything.” For the second time that day—how awful—Katherine found herself losing control. “Don’t tell me what to think,” she said. “I’m not one of your patients: I’m your secretary! I didn’t ask you to explain my childhood.” She clenched her fists and got hold of herself, and walked around Iz towards the curb in front of her house.

“Oh, hell,” Iz exclaimed, following her. “All right. I’m sorry.” He did not sound very sorry. “That’s what my wife kept telling me,” he added to Katherine’s averted profile. “She said I always tell people more than they want to hear, and I ask them too many questions.” This was the first time Katherine had ever heard him mention his wife; she turned her head slightly back. “I’m going,” Iz went on, moving towards his car. “I know it’s late. ... So what else can I say?” He turned and held out both hands in a gesture of charming European helplessness. Katherine did not advise him. She frowned, and put her fingers to her head; the small nagging sinus headache that she had had all day was growing worse, as it usually did in the evening. “Aren’t you going to speak to me at all?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just my sinusitis.”

“That’s too bad.” Iz’s immediate sympathy had a professionally warm resonance. “Do you have it often?”

“Most of the time, since we moved out here. I think it must be the smog, or something in the atmosphere, because I never got it this much back East.” She shouldn’t have said that; now, of course, he would tell her that it was psychosomatic, due to repression or something.

“It could be,” Iz said. “That’s a shame. Have you seen a doctor about it?”

“Not yet.”

“You ought to. Maybe a doctor could clear it up for you very easily, who knows? Take a day off next week and go to a specialist.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said. “Maybe I will.”

“You sound surprised. Did you think I was the kind of boss that never gives anyone time off?”

“No,” Katherine said, though she had thought this. “I suppose I expected you to say my sinus was all a delusion, and explain it away by some psychological reason.”

“No one can ‘explain away’ a physical symptom,” Iz said. “What a stupid idea. Pain is a real event, and real events have real causes.”

“Mm,” Katherine murmured, committing these words to memory as well as she could for use against Paul later. Iz walked round his car and stepped into the driver’s seat over the side.

“So long,” he said. “Tell your husband I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him.”

“I will. But listen, don’t you think emotions have anything to do with it at all?” she added, wanting to make sure. “Is that the new view?

“How do you mean?” Iz paused with his hands on the wheel.

“Well, bad emotions. Anger or unhappiness or something; you don’t think they might make someone sick, just by themselves?”

“Possibly,” Iz said. “If they weren’t properly expressed.” He turned the ignition key, and started the engine, making a loud uneven noise in the quiet street. “But there would still have to be some physical basis.” He looked at her through the growing twilight. “I like the way you get angry,” he went on, almost shouting over the roar. “Don’t try to suppress it. It’s promising. So; see you next week.” Gunning the motor, he sped off.

13

THOUGH IT WAS MID-MORNING, all the blinds in Paul and Katherine Cattleman’s house were drawn. The sun poured against the walls and then flowed back, leaving a cube of pale shadow inside. In the bedroom the sheets and blankets had been pulled off on to the floor at the foot of the bed, a heap of darker shadows. Ceci O’Connor Wong lay on the striped mattress, naked, while Paul stroked her breasts.

“So good.” She gave a murmur of pleasure.

“What’s so good?”

“I like the way you still like me afterwards. You know some men are great beforehand: they love to lie around and kiss and make out; but as soon as it’s over they don’t even want to touch you. They get up right away and wipe themselves off like they’d been to the bathroom. I figure they really hate women.”