Where I'm Calling From: New and Selected Stories

  We got up and got dressed, had coffee, and decided on this talk. Without nothing interrupting. No calls.

  No guests.

  That’s when I got the Teacher’s. We locked up and came upstairs here with ice, glasses, bottles. First off, we watched the color TV and frolicked some and let the phone ring away downstairs. For food, we went out and got cheese crisps from the machine.

  There was this funny thing of anything could happen now that we realized everything had.

  When we were just kids before we married?” Holly goes. “When we had big plans and hopes? You remember?” She was sitting on the bed, holding her knees and her drink.

  “I remember, Holly.”

  “You weren’t my first, you know. My first was Wyatt. Imagine. Wyatt. And your name’s Duane. Wyatt and Duane. Who knows what I was missing all those years? You were my everything, just like the song.”

  I go; “You’re a wonderful woman, Holly. I know you’ve had the opportunities.”

  “But I didn’t take them up on it!” she goes. “I couldn’t go outside the marriage.”

  “Holly, please,” I go. “No more now, honey. Let’s not torture ourselves. What is it we should do?”

  “Listen,” she goes. “You remember the time we drove out to that old farm place outside of Yakima, out past Terrace Heights? We were just driving around? We were on this little dirt road and it was hot and dusty? We kept going and came to that old house, and you asked if we could have a drink of water? Can you imagine us doing that now? Going up to a house and asking for a drink of water?

  “Those old people must be dead now,” she goes, “side by side out there in some cemetery. You remember they asked us in for cake? And later on they showed us around? And there was this gazebo there out back? It was out back under some trees? It had a little peaked roof and the paint was gone and there were these weeds growing up over the steps. And the woman said that years before, I mean a real long time ago, men used to come around and play music out there on a Sunday, and the people would sit and listen. I thought we’d be like that too when we got old enough. Dignified. And in a place. And people would come to our door.”

  I can’t say anything just yet. Then I go, “Holly, these things, we’ll look back on them too. We’ll go,

  ‘Remember the motel with all the crud in the pool?’” I go, “You see what I’m saying, Holly?”

  But Holly just sits there on the bed with her glass.

  I can see she doesn’t know.

  I move over to the window and look out from behind the curtain. Someone says something below and rattles the door to the office. I stay there. I pray for a sign from Holly. I pray for Holly to show me.

  I hear a car start. Then another. They turn on their lights against the building and, one after the other, they pull away and go out into the traffic.

  “Duane,” Holly goes.

  In this too, she was right.

  One More Thing

  LD’s wife, Maxine, told him to get out the night she came home from work and found L.D. drunk again and being abusive to Rae, their fifteen-year-old. L.D. and Rae were at the kitchen table, arguing. Maxine didn’t have time to put her purse away or take off her coat.

  Rae said, “Tell him, Mom. Tell him what we talked about.”

  L.D. turned the glass in his hand, but he didn’t drink from it. Maxine had him in a fierce and disquieting gaze.

  “Keep your nose out of things you don’t know anything about,” L.D. said. L.D. said, “I can’t take anybody seriously who sits around all day reading astrology magazines.” “This has nothing to do with astrology,” Rae said. “You don’t have to insult me.”

  As for Rae, she hadn’t been to school for weeks. She said no one could make her go. Maxine said it was another tragedy in a long line of low-rent tragedies.

  “Why don’t you both shut up!” Maxine said. “My God, I already have a headache.”

  “Tell him, Mom,” Rae said. “Tell him it’s all in his head. Anybody who knows anything about it will tell you that’s where it is!”

  “How about sugar diabetes?” L.D. said. “What about epilepsy? Can the brain control that?”

  He raised the glass right under Maxine’s eyes and finished his drink.

  “Diabetes, too,” Rae said. “Epilepsy. Anything! The brain is the most powerful organ in the body, for your information.”

  She picked up his cigarettes and lit one for herself. “Cancer. What about cancer?” L.D. said.

  He thought he might have her there. He looked at Maxine.

  “I don’t know how we got started on this,” L.D. said to Maxine.

  “Cancer,” Rae said, and shook her head at his simplicity. “Cancer, too. Cancer starts in the brain.”

  “That’s crazy!” L.D. said. He hit the table with the flat of his hand. The ashtray jumped. His glass fell on its side and rolled off. “You’re crazy, Rae! Do you know that?”

  “Shut up!” Maxine said.

  She unbuttoned her coat and put her purse down on the counter. She looked at L.D. and said, “L.D., I’ve had it. So has Rae. So has everyone who knows you. I’ve been thinking it over. I want you out of here.

  Tonight. This minute. Now. Get the hell out of here right now.”

  L.D. had no intention of going anywhere. He looked from Maxine to the jar of pickles that had been on the table since lunch. He picked up the jar and pitched it through the kitchen window.

  Rae jumped away from her chair. “God! He’s crazy!”

  She went to stand next to her mother. She took in little breaths through her mouth.

  “Call the police,” Maxine said. “He’s violent. Get out of the kitchen before he hurts you. Call the police,”

  Maxine said.

  They started backing out of the kitchen.

  “I’m going,” L.D. said. “All right, I’m going right now,” he said. “It suits me to a tee. You’re nuts here, anyway. This is a nuthouse. There’s another life out there. Believe me, this is no picnic, this nuthouse.”

  He could feel air from the hole in the window on his face.

  “That’s where I’m going,” he said. “Out there,” he said and pointed.

  “Good,” Maxine said.

  “All right, I’m going,” L.D. said.

  He slammed down his hand on the table. He kicked back his chair. He stood up.

  “You won’t ever see me again,” L.D. said.

  “You’ve given me plenty to remember you by,” Maxine said.

  “Okay,” L.D. said.

  “Go on, get out,” Maxine said. “I’m paying the rent here, and I’m saying go. Now.”

  “I’m going,” he said. “Don’t push me,” he said. “I’m going.”

  “Just go,” Maxine said.

  “I’m leaving this nuthouse,” L.D. said.

  He made his way into the bedroom and took one of her suitcases from the closet. It was an old white Naugahyde suitcase with a broken clasp. She’d used to pack it full of sweater sets and carry it with her to college. He had gone to college too. He threw the suitcase onto the bed and began putting in his underwear, his trousers, his shirts, his sweaters, his old leather belt with the brass buckle, his socks, and everything else he had. From, the nightstand he took magazines for reading material. He took the ashtray. He put everything he could into the suitcase, everything it could hold. He fastened the one good side, secured the strap, and then he remembered his bathroom things. He found the vinyl shaving bag up on the closet shelf behind her hats. Into it went his razor and his shaving cream, his talcum powder and his stick deodorant and his toothbrush. He took the toothpaste, too. And then he got the dental floss.

  He could hear them in the living room talking in their low voices.

  He washed his face. He put the soap and towel into the shaving bag. Then he put in the soap dish and the glass from over the sink and the fingernail clippers and her eyelash curlers.

  He couldn’t get the shaving bag closed, but that was okay. He put on his coat and
picked up the suitcase.

  He went into the living room.

  When she saw him, Maxine put her arm around Rae’s shoulders.

  “This is it,” L.D. said. “This is good-bye,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say except I guess I’ll never see you again. You too,” L.D. said to Rae. “You and your crackpot ideas.”

  “Go,” Maxine said. She took Rae’s hand. “Haven’t you done enough damage in this house already? Go on, L.D. Get out of here and leave us in peace.”

  “Just remember,” Rae said. “It’s in your head.”

  “I’m going, that’s all I can say,” L.D. said. “Anyplace. Away from this nuthouse,” he said. “That’s the main thing.”

  He took a last look around the living room and then he moved the suitcase from one hand to the other and put the shaving bag under his arm. “I’ll be in touch, Rae. Maxine, you’re better off out of this nuthouse yourself.”

  “You made it into a nuthouse,” Maxine said. “If it’s a nuthouse, then that’s what you made it.”

  He put the suitcase down and the shaving bag on top of the suitcase. He drew himself up and faced them. They moved back. “Watch it, Mom,” Rae said. “I’m not afraid of him,” Maxine said.

  L.D. put the shaving bag under his arm and picked up the suitcase. He said, “I just want to say one more thing.” But then he could not think what it could possibly be.

  Little Things

  Early that day the weather turned and the snow was melting into dirty water. Streaks of it ran down from the little shoulder-high window that faced the backyard. Cars slushed by on the street outside, where it was getting dark. But it was getting dark on the inside too.

  He was in the bedroom pushing clothes into a suitcase when she came to the door.

  I’m glad you’re leaving! I’m glad you’re leaving! she said. Do you hear?

  He kept on putting his things into the suitcase.

  Son of a bitch! I’m so glad you’re leaving! She began to cry. You can’t even look me in the face, can you?

  Then she noticed the baby’s picture on the bed and picked it up.

  He looked at her and she wiped her eyes and stared at him before turning and going back to the living room.

  Bring that back, he said.

  Just get your things and get out, she said.

  He did not answer. He fastened the suitcase, put on his coat, looked around the bedroom before turning off the light. Then he went out to the living room.

  She stood in the doorway of the little kitchen, holding the baby.

  I want the baby, he said.

  Are you crazy?

  No, but I want the baby. I’ll get someone to come by for his things.

  You’re not touching this baby, she said.

  The baby had begun to cry and she uncovered the blanket from around his head.

  Oh, oh, she said, looking at the baby.

  He moved toward her.

  For God’s sake! she said. She took a step back into the kitchen.

  I want the baby.

  Get out of here!

  She turned and tried to hold the baby over in a corner behind the stove.

  But he came up. He reached across the stove and tightened his hands on the baby.

  Let go of him, he said.

  Get away, get away! she cried.

  The baby was red-faced and screaming. In the scuffle they knocked down a flowerpot that hung behind the stove.

  He crowded her into the wall then, trying to break her grip. He held on to the baby and pushed with all his weight.

  Let go of him, he said.

  Don’t, she said. You’re hurting the baby, she said.

  I’m not hurting the baby, he said.

  The kitchen window gave no light. In the near-dark he worked on her fisted fingers with one hand and with the other hand he gripped the screaming baby up under an arm near the shoulder.

  She felt her fingers being forced open. She felt the baby going from her.

  No! she screamed just as her hands came loose.

  She would have it, this baby. She grabbed for the baby’s other arm. She caught the baby around the wrist and leaned back.

  But he would not let go. He felt the baby slipping out of his hands and he pulled back very hard.

  In this manner, the issue was decided.

  Why Don’t You Dance?

  In the kitchen, he poured another drink and looked at the bedroom suite in his front yard. The mattress was stripped and the candy-striped sheets lay beside two pillows on the chiffonier. Except for that, things looked much the way they had in the bedroom—nightstand and reading lamp on his side of the bed, nightstand and reading lamp on her side.

  His side, her side.

  He considered this as he sipped the whiskey.

  The chiffonier stood a few feet from the foot of the bed. He had emptied the drawers into cartons that morning, and the cartons were in the living room. A portable heater was next to the chiffonier. A rattan chair with a decorator pillow stood at the foot of the bed. The buffed aluminum kitchen set took up a part of the driveway. A yellow muslin cloth, much too large, a gift, covered the table and hung down over the sides. A potted fern was on the table, along with a box of silverware and a record player, also gifts. A big console-model television set rested on a coffee table, and a few feet away from this stood a sofa and chair and a floor lamp. The desk was pushed against the garage door. A few utensils were on the desk, along with a wall clock and two framed prints. There was also in the driveway a carton with cups, glasses, and plates, each object wrapped in newspaper. That morning he had cleared out the closets, and except for the three cartons in the living room, all the stuff was out of the house. He had run an extension cord on out there and everything was connected. Things worked, no different from how it was when they were inside.

  Now and then a car slowed and people stared. But no one stopped.

  It occurred to him that he wouldn’t, either.

  It must be a yard sale,” the girl said to the boy.

  This girl and this boy were furnishing a little apartment.

  “Let’s see what they want for the bed,” the girl said.

  “And for the TV,” the boy said.

  The boy pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the kitchen table.

  They got out of the car and began to examine things, the girl touching the muslin cloth, the boy plugging in the blender and turning the dial to MINCE, the girl picking up a chafing dish, the boy turning on the television set and making little adjustments.

  He sat down on the sofa to watch. He lit a cigarette, looked around, flipped the match into the grass.

  The girl sat on the bed. She pushed off her shoes and lay back. She thought she could see a star.

  “Come here, Jack. Try this bed. Bring one of those pillows,” she said.

  “How is it?” he said.

  “Try it,” she said.

  He looked around. The house was dark.

  “I feel funny,” he said. “Better see if anybody’s home.”

  She bounced on the bed.

  “Try it first,” she said.

  He lay down on the bed and put the pillow under his head.

  “How does it feel?” she said.

  “It feels firm,” he said.

  She turned on her side and put her hand to his face.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  “Let’s get up,” he said.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  She closed her eyes. She held him.

  He said, “I’ll see if anybody’s home.”

  But he just sat up and stayed where he was, making believe he was watching the television.

  Lights came on in houses up and down the street.

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if,” the girl said and grinned and didn’t finish.

  The boy laughed, but for no good reason, he switched the reading lamp on.

  The girl brushed away a mosquito, whereupon the boy stood up and tucked in his shir
t.

  “I’ll see if anybody’s home,” he said. “I don’t think anybody’s home. But if anybody is, I’ll see what things are going for.”

  “Whatever they ask, offer ten dollars less. It’s always a good idea,” she said. “And, besides, they must be desperate or something.”

  “It’s a pretty good TV,” the boy said.

  “Ask them how much,” the girl said.

  The man came down the sidewalk with a sack from the market. He had sandwiches, beer, whiskey. He saw the car in the driveway and the girl on the bed. He saw the television set going and the boy on the porch.

  “Hello,” the man said to the girl. “You found the bed. That’s good.”

  “Hello,” the girl said, and got up. “I was just trying it out.” She patted the bed. “It’s a pretty good bed.”

  “It’s a good bed,” the man said, and put down the sack and took out the beer and the whiskey.

  “We thought nobody was here,” the boy said. “We’re interested in the bed and maybe in the TV. Also maybe the desk. How much do you want for the bed?”

  “I was thinking fifty dollars for the bed,” the man said.

  “Would you take forty?” the girl asked.

  “I’ll take forty,” the man said.

  He took a glass out of the carton. He took the newspaper off the glass. He broke the seal on the whiskey.

  “How about the TV?” the boy said.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Would you take fifteen?” the girl said.

  “Fifteen’s okay. I could take fifteen,” the man said.

  The girl looked at the boy.

  “You kids, you’ll want a drink,” the man said. “Glasses in that box. I’m going to sit down. I’m going to sit down on the sofa.”

  The man sat on the sofa, leaned back, and stared at the boy and the girl.

  The boy found two glasses and poured whiskey.

  “That’s enough,” the girl said. “I think I want water in mine.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.

  “There’s water in that spigot over there,” the man said. “Turn on that spigot.”