Here in the Northwest we often set out rain barrels in order to catch some of nature’s bounty. The rain barrel insures an ample supply of soft water for washing our hair, for watering our plants. This book is like rain collected in a barrel, water gathered straight from the sky. We can dip into it at any point and find something to refresh and sustain us—to bring us close again to the life and works of Raymond Carver.
TESS GALLAGHER
Ridge House
Port Angeles, Washington
January 2000
EDITOR’S PREFACE
The impetus for issuing an expanded volume of Raymond Carver’s uncollected work (and the source of this book’s title) was the discovery in 1999 of five previously unpublished short stories. Three of these—“Kindling,” “Vandals,” and “Dreams”—were found in files at Carver’s home in Port Angeles, Washington. The remaining two—“What Would You Like to See?” and “Call If You Need Me”—were found among Carver’s papers in the William Charvat Collection of American Fiction at the Ohio State University Library. All five stories are printed here for the first time in book form.
Like its predecessor No Heroics, Please (1991), Call If You Need Me includes all the nonfiction left uncollected at the time of Raymond Carver’s death: his statements on his work (“Occasions”), his comments on others’ writings (“Introductions”), his book reviews, his two last-written essays (“Friendship” and “Meditation on a Line from Saint Teresa”). In addition, the present book contains four prose pieces—“My Father’s Life,” “On Writing,” “Fires,” and “John Gardner: The Writer as Teacher”—previously collected in the miscellany Fires: Essays, Poems, Stories (1983, 1989). Sections devoted to fiction include five of Carver’s early stories and the sole fragment of his uncompleted novel, The Augustine Notebooks.
The texts in Call If You Need Me are presented uncut and largely unedited. Obvious misspellings, word omissions, and errors of fact have been silently corrected. Direct quotations, whether from Carver’s work or writings by others, have been checked against their sources. In general, works in each section are arranged chronologically, in the order of their first publication. Information about copy-texts, sources, and publication history is provided in the notes.
For expert advice and assistance in locating and editing the texts that comprise this book, I thank my wife, research partner, and codiscoverer of two of the new stories, Maureen P. Carroll.
WILLIAM L. STULL
University of Hartford
Connecticut
March 2000
Years ago I read something in a letter by Chekhov that impressed me. It was a piece of advice to one of his many correspondents, and it went something like this: Friend, you don’t have to write about extraordinary people who accomplish extraordinary and memorable deeds. (Understand I was in college at the time and reading plays about princes and dukes and the overthrow of kingdoms. Quests and the like, large undertakings to establish heroes in their rightful places. Novels with larger-than-life heroes.) But reading what Chekhov had to say in that letter, and in other letters of his as well, and reading his stories, made me see things differently than I had before.
RAYMOND CARVER
“The Art of Fiction LXXVI”
Paris Review, summer 1983
UNCOLLECTED STORIES
Kindling
It was the middle of August and Myers was between lives. The only thing different about this time from the other times was that this time he was sober. He’d just spent twenty-eight days at a drying-out facility. But during this period his wife took it into her head to go down the road with another drunk, a friend of theirs. The man had recently come into some money and had been talking about buying into a bar and restaurant in the eastern part of the state.
Myers called his wife, but she hung up on him. She wouldn’t even talk to him, let alone have him anywhere near the house. She had a lawyer and a restraining order. So he took a few things, boarded a bus, and went to live near the ocean in a room in a house owned by a man named Sol who had run an ad in the paper.
Sol was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt when he opened the door. It was about ten o’clock at night and Myers had just gotten out of a cab. Under the porch light Myers could see that Sol’s right arm was shorter than his other arm, and the hand and fingers were withered. He didn’t offer either his good left hand or his withered hand for Myers to shake, and this was fine with Myers. Myers felt plenty rattled as it was.
You just called, right? Sol said. You’re here to see the room. Come on in.
Myers gripped his suitcase and stepped inside.
This is my wife. This is Bonnie, Sol said.
Bonnie was watching TV but moved her eyes to see who it was coming inside. She pushed the button on a device she held in her hand and the volume went off. She pushed it again and the picture disappeared. Then she got up off the sofa onto her feet. She was a fat girl. She was fat all over and she huffed when she breathed.
I’m sorry it’s so late, Myers said. Nice to meet you.
It’s all right, Bonnie said. Did my husband tell you on the phone what we’re asking?
Myers nodded. He was still holding the suitcase.
Well, this is the living room, Sol said, as you can see for yourself. He shook his head and brought the fingers of his good hand up to his chin. I may as well tell you that we’re new at this. We never rented a room to anybody before. But it’s just back there not being used, and we thought what the hell. A person can always use a little extra.
I don’t blame you a bit, Myers said.
Where are you from? Bonnie said. You’re not from anywhere around town.
My wife wants to be a writer, Sol said. Who, what, where, why, and how much?
I just got here, Myers said. He moved the suitcase to his other hand. I got off the bus about an hour ago, read your ad in the paper, and called up.
What sort of work do you do? Bonnie wanted to know.
I’ve done everything, Myers said. He set the suitcase down and opened and closed his fingers. Then he picked up the suitcase again.
Bonnie didn’t pursue it. Sol didn’t either, though Myers could see he was curious.
Myers took in a photograph of Elvis Presley on top of the TV. Elvis’s signature ran across the breast of his white sequined jacket. He moved a step closer.
The King, Bonnie said.
Myers nodded but didn’t say anything. Alongside the picture of Elvis was a wedding picture of Sol and Bonnie. In the picture Sol was dressed up in a suit and tie. Sol’s good strong left arm reached around Bonnie’s waist as far as it would go. Sol’s right hand and Bonnie’s right hand were joined over Sol’s belt buckle. Bonnie wasn’t going anywhere if Sol had anything to say about it. Bonnie didn’t mind. In the picture Bonnie wore a hat and was all smiles.
I love her, Sol said, as if Myers had said something to the contrary.
How about that room you were going to show me? Myers said.
I knew there was something we were forgetting, Sol said.
They moved out of the living room into the kitchen, Sol first, then Myers, carrying his suitcase, and then Bonnie. They passed through the kitchen and turned left just before the back door. There were some open cupboards along the wall, and a washer and dryer. Sol opened a door at the end of the little corridor and turned on the light in the bathroom.
Bonnie moved up and huffed and said, This is your private bathroom. That door in the kitchen is your own entrance.
Sol opened the door to the other side of the bathroom and turned on another light. This is the room, he said.
I made up the bed with clean sheets, Bonnie said. But if you take the room you’ll have to be responsible from here on out.
Like my wife says, this is not a hotel, Sol said. But you’re welcome, if you want to stay.
There was a double bed against one wall, along with a nightstand and lamp, a chest of drawers, and a pinochle table with a metal chair. A big window gave out onto the backyard. My
ers put his suitcase on the bed and moved to the window. He raised the shade and looked out. A moon rode high in the sky. In the distance he could see a forested valley and mountain peaks. Was it his imagination, or did he hear a stream or a river?
I hear water, Myers said.
That’s the Little Quilcene River you hear, Sol said. That river has the fastest per-foot drop to it of any river in the country.
Well, what do you think? Bonnie said. She went over and turned down the covers on the bed, and this simple gesture almost caused Myers to weep.
I’ll take it, Myers said.
I’m glad, Sol said. My wife’s glad too, I can tell. I’ll have them pull that ad out of the paper tomorrow. You want to move in right now, don’t you?
That’s what I hoped, Myers said.
We’ll let you get settled, Bonnie said. I gave you two pillows, and there’s an extra quilt in that closet.
Myers could only nod.
Well, good night, Sol said.
Good night, Bonnie said.
Good night, Myers said. And thank you.
Sol and Bonnie went through his bathroom and into the kitchen. They closed the door, but not before Myers heard Bonnie say, He seems okay.
Pretty quiet, Sol said.
I think I’ll fix buttered popcorn.
I’ll eat some with you, Sol said.
Pretty soon Myers heard the TV come on again in the living room, but it was a very faint sound and he didn’t think it would bother him. He opened the window all the way and heard the sound of the river as it raced through the valley on its way to the ocean.
He took his things out of the suitcase and put them away in the drawers. Then he used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He moved the table so that it sat directly in front of the window. Then he looked at where she’d turned the covers down. He drew out the metal chair and sat down and took a ballpoint out of his pocket. He thought for a minute, then opened the notebook, and at the top of a blank white page he wrote the words Emptiness is the beginning of all things. He stared at this, and then he laughed. Jesus, what rubbish! He shook his head. He closed the notebook, undressed, and turned off the light. He stood for a moment looking out the window and listening to the river. Then he moved to get into bed.
Bonnie fixed the popcorn, salted it and poured butter over it, and took it in a big bowl to where Sol was watching TV. She let him help himself to some first. He used his left hand to good effect and then he reached his little hand over for the paper towel she offered. She took a little popcorn for herself.
What do you make of him? she wanted to know. Our new roomer.
Sol shook his head and went on watching TV and eating popcorn. Then, as if he’d been thinking about her question, he said, I like him all right. He’s okay. But I think he’s on the run from something.
What?
I don’t know that. I’m just guessing. He isn’t dangerous and he isn’t going to make any trouble.
His eyes, Bonnie said.
What about his eyes?
They’re sad eyes. Saddest eyes I ever saw on a man.
Sol didn’t say anything for a minute. He finished his popcorn. He wiped his fingers and dabbed his chin with the paper towel. He’s okay. He’s just had some trouble along the way, that’s all. No disgrace attached to that. Give me a sip of that, will you? He reached over for the glass of orange drink she was holding and took some. You know, I forgot to collect the rent from him tonight. I’ll have to get it in the morning, if he’s up. And I should have asked him how long he intends to stay. Damn, what’s wrong with me? I don’t want to turn this place into a hotel.
You couldn’t think of everything. Besides, we’re new at this. We never rented a room out before.
Bonnie decided she was going to write about the man in the notebook she was filling up. She closed her eyes and thought about what she was going to write. This tall, stooped—but handsome!—curly headed stranger with sad eyes walked into our house one fateful night in August. She leaned into Sol’s left arm and tried to write some more. Sol squeezed her shoulder, which brought her back to the present. She opened her eyes and closed them, but she couldn’t think of anything else to write about him at the moment. Time will tell, she thought. She was glad he was here.
This show’s for the birds, Sol said. Let’s go to bed. We have to get up in the morning.
In bed, Sol loved her up and she took him and held him and loved him back, but all the time she was doing it she was thinking about the big, curly headed man in the back room. What if he suddenly opened the bedroom door and looked in on them?
Sol, she said, is this bedroom door locked?
What? Be still, Sol said. Then he finished and rolled off, but he kept his little arm on her breast. She lay on her back and thought for a minute, then she patted his fingers, let air out through her mouth, and went off to sleep thinking about blasting caps, which is what had gone off in Sol’s hand when he was a teenager, severing nerves and causing his arm and fingers to wither.
Bonnie began to snore. Sol took her arm and shook it until she turned over on her side, away from him.
In a minute, he got up and put on his underwear. He went into the living room. He didn’t turn on the light. He didn’t need a light. The moon was out, and he didn’t want a light. He went from the living room into the kitchen. He made sure the back door was locked, and then he stood for a while outside the bathroom door listening, but he couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. The faucet dripped—it needed a washer, but then, it had always dripped. He went back through the house and closed and locked their bedroom door. He checked the clock and made sure the stem was pulled. He got into bed and moved right up against Bonnie. He put his leg over her leg, and in that way he finally went to sleep.
These three people slept and dreamed, while outside the house the moon grew large, and seemed to move across the sky until it was out over the ocean and growing smaller and paler. In his dream, someone is offering Myers a glass of Scotch, but just as he is about to take it, reluctantly, he wakes up in a sweat, his heart racing.
Sol dreams that he is changing a tire on a truck and that he has the use of both of his arms.
Bonnie dreams she is taking two—no, three—children to the park. She even has names for the children. She named them just before the trip to the park. Millicent, Dionne, and Randy. Randy keeps wanting to pull away from her and go his own way.
Soon, the sun breaks over the horizon and birds begin calling to each other. The Little Quilcene River rushes down through the valley, shoots under the highway bridge, rushes another hundred yards over sand and sharp rocks, and pours into the ocean. An eagle flies down from the valley and over the bridge and begins to pass up and down the beach. A dog barks.
At this minute, Sol’s alarm goes off.
Myers stayed in his room that morning until he heard them leave. Then he went out and made instant coffee. He looked in the fridge and saw that one of the shelves had been cleared for him. A little sign was Scotch-taped to it: MR. MYERS SHELF.
Later, he walked a mile toward town to a little service station he remembered from the night before that also sold a few groceries. He bought milk, cheese, bread, and tomatoes. That afternoon, before it was time for them to come home, he left the rent money in cash on the table and went back into his own room. Late that night, before going to bed, he opened his notebook and on a clean page he wrote, Nothing.
He adjusted his schedule to theirs. Mornings he’d stay in the room until he heard Sol in the kitchen making coffee and getting his breakfast. Then he would hear Sol calling Bonnie to get up and then they’d have breakfast, but they wouldn’t talk much. Then Sol would go out to the garage and start the pickup, back out, and drive away. In a little while, Bonnie’s ride would pull up in front of the house, a horn would toot, and Bonnie would say, every time, I’m coming.
It was then that Myers would go out to the kitchen, put on water for coffee, and eat a bowl of cereal. But he didn’t have much of an app
etite. The cereal and coffee would keep him for most of the day, until the afternoon, when he’d eat something else, a sandwich, before they arrived home, and then he’d stay out of the kitchen for the rest of the time when they might be in there or in the living room watching TV. He didn’t want any conversation.
She’d go into the kitchen for a snack the first thing after she got in from work. Then she’d turn on the TV and wait until Sol came in, and then she’d get up and fix something for the two of them to eat. They might talk on the telephone to friends, or else go sit outside in the backyard between the garage and Myers’s bedroom window and talk about their day and drink iced tea until it was time to go inside and turn on the TV. Once he heard Bonnie say to someone on the telephone, How’d she expect me to pay any attention to Elvis Presley’s weight when my own weight was out of control at the time?
They’d said he was welcome anytime to sit in the living room with them and watch TV. He’d thanked them but said, No, television hurt his eyes.
They were curious about him. Especially Bonnie, who’d asked him one day when she came home early and surprised him in the kitchen, if he’d been married and if he had any kids. Myers nodded. Bonnie looked at him and waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.
Sol was curious too. What kind of work do you do? he wanted to know. I’m just curious. This is a small town and I know people. I grade lumber at the mill myself. Only need one good arm to do that. But sometimes there are openings. I could put in a word, maybe. What’s your regular line of work?
Do you play any instruments? Bonnie asked. Sol has a guitar, she said.
I don’t know how to play it, Sol said. I wish I did.
Myers kept to his room, where he was writing a letter to his wife. It was a long letter and, he felt, an important one. Perhaps the most important letter he’d ever written in his life. In the letter he was attempting to tell his wife that he was sorry for everything that had happened and that he hoped someday she would forgive him. I would get down on my knees and ask forgiveness if that would help.