Diane Williams: Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine

I lit the stove top and put water on to boil and next poured in baby peas. I made parallel straight rules — incisions in the chunk of Gruyere. The water foamed in the pot and I filled a rare antique potato basket with New York rye.

“You are a wonder,” my sister said. “I am not after your food. I want to bring you bad luck.”

“No harm done!” I said.

The peas had cooked and cooled. I prepared a pea and cheese stuffed-tomato salad. Enough for two.

My visitor was nagging at me, which was hurtful to the pride I intend to take along with me into my future.

And just where am I now?

I live near a dip in the suburbs. Some would call this a ravine — which I make visible at night with floodlights.

I believe it demands cunning enterprise on my part to reveal the fancywork of bare winter poplar and oak, maple and ash. I saw a sycamore tree bent at more than fifteen degrees from vertical!

My dining table is only nominally illuminated, so that our hands and our arms and Liz’s face became quickly — sickly. Unaccountably, she had sat herself right across from me.

My sister sneezed and put her hand to her mouth in time.

“God bless you,” I said.

She sneezed again rather more sloppily and that reminded me of a joke. She underwent yet another sudden, spasmodic action — and this time she did not try to keep her bacteria back.

My harrier removed two handmade beeswax candles from their brass serpent candleholders on her way out.

She yelled my name—“Ola!”—and I turned away for relief — aiming to sit in my wingback rather than the lounge chair.

I saw the downed sycamore through the pane, the suggestion of a sky far away, and some of the sharply peaked trees straining to bend or to unbend, or at least to shed their shapes, or to be somewhat more neatly executed.

Very well. I took from my family one hundred thousand dollars — say fifty thousand. Say it was three million. It was thirty-five thousand! — forty. It was two hundred dollars.

There was aggravated tapping near the tall wraparound window.

By way of conclusion — I need to say I had divided a pack of gems between Liz and myself. In doing this, I’d forgotten my brother. The nonpareils, I wear in my ears.

There was that tapping again — a repeated and demonic phrase — and the repellent sight of animals through the glass.

They are my very own public property.

Such bollixed and blank expressions.

These flocks and herds and creeping things! Don’t you think they all go to work so wretchedly for what then never amounts to a feast for the soul ?

How to live: there are two factors to consider — my husband says there are five! — and one of them puts me into a rage.

My fingers are graceful when I lay the table. My voice is clear when I speak. For God’s sake! For the Lord’s got such style, such originality and boldness.

On the avenue, I was unavoidably stuck inside of an uproar when the wind locked itself in front of my face.

Nevertheless, I had a smeary view of a child in the whirlwind who was walking backward. He was carrying his jacket instead of wearing it. And he kicked up his feet with such aptitude.

In a luncheonette that I took cover in, I overheard, “Yes, I do mind…”—this, while I was raising and rearranging memories of many people’s personal details, tryst locales, endearments — faces, genitalia, like Jimmy T’s, or Lee’s, which I pine for.

This is regular work with regular work hours that I do.

Through the windowpane of the coffee shop, I could see clearly into a hair salon across the street where two men — both with hairbrushes and small, handheld dryers — together — downstroked the mane of a cloaked woman.

The men were performing feats of legerdemain. Streamers sprang up around her head, as if snakes or dragons were busy eating their own tails.

And then, weighing down her shoulders, there was the golden hoard — for future use — of bullshit.

The Bucky’s waitress says she is happy to have back that amorous part of her life and that this makes her less of a Plainer Jane.

And, with an old man named Humphrey, she says she’s made a pretty bargain.

Today she said, “I’ll take some of this, too!” and she took a gulp of my water.

And we enjoy laughing about the poor hot beverages she serves and about our divorced husbands. Although my partner in marriage, Ray, was nobody to laugh about — Ellie always says she’ll clear the decks to ignore that.

The surrogate judge I work for, Maxine Joe, was also run over and she was really flattened, but she is doing so much better. She is the kind of gold you see in a museum and she is extremely dedicated and she works hard.

Maxine took papers out of my hands and she said, “Can you postpone?” She meant my trip to Hot Springs.

It was a warmish day — mild. There were flies in the office. I got down on my knees to chase one.

Does a fly reminisce about a good time? — thinking, I’ll do that again tomorrow. It had been sitting on my hand for a moment. Does it plan to go into a different room and sit on a sleeve, or a desk, or a wall? Is it thinking, I’ll hook onto something and get attached there long enough to get killed?

I had noticed today a man running in the park, no shirt, no socks. He did have shorts on. Maxine had brought in hyacinths and she said she had met a new man. It strikes me how, uh, how everyone is looking for a partner, wondering, What now?

It is remarkable — every person! This woman who is married — in our office — can now approach Hugh the office manager. Even this young Australian boy is starting to have an interest in Dyana.

But life isn’t quite like that.

A server making noisy cascades was busy refilling their glasses with ice water from a tall pitcher.

That’s what it was like in there — all peppy! Wouldn’t you know it? It had not been a period of decline.

Having made up her mind, “Why — excuse me,” the woman said peremptorily. She left the café and stepped out into the rain. She was not scaled down or reversed in her views.

There was a car just outside that she stepped into. No daylight any longer.

She rode in the taxicab toward a higher order on account of the movement of her thought.

Here’s the spot!

We shall see!

Do you know how the animals got their tails? How the lesser gods came into the world?

The longer this goddess lives, the more she shakes her tail — or pulls on it with all her strength.

Why would anyone be fearful that the man might become distressed or that he might lose his temper in their bedroom?

He is a calm man by nature and not liable to break anything really nice by accident.

He had decided to disrobe in there — where they keep their Polish woman statuette and the fish dish they use for loose coins.

To be civilized, this man had asked to meet with his wife’s new husband.

The three drank tea together, impromptu, from souvenir mugs and paid mind to one another’s questions and the uninformative replies. Next, the man had stepped into their bedroom, towing his roller board, after inquiring if he could change into more comfortable clothes in preparation for his travel.

He said he’d be leaving soon enough — flying into the northeast corridor that he’d heard was an absolute quagmire.

Hard rain had been falling freely and for several days. In addition, now they were suffering occasional sleet. The pressure, the moisture, and the black clouds were progressing.

This is a humid, continental climate in turmoil.