10
PARTISAN REVIEW
v
But after awhile I begin to take brief glimpses and at length I
watch again with thirsty interest, like a child who tries to maintain
his sulk when he is offered the bribe of candy. My parents are now
having their picture taken in a photographer's booth along the board-
walk. The place is shadowed in the mauve light which is apparently
necessary. The camera is set to the side on its tripod and looks like
a Martian man. The photographer is instructing my parents in how
to pose. My father has his arm over my mother's shoulder, and both
of them smile emphatically. The photographer brings my mother a
bouquet of flowers to hold in her hand, but she holds it at the wrong
angle. Then the photographer covers himself with the black cloth
which drapes the camera, and all that one sees of him is one protrud-
ing arm and the hand with which he holds tightly to the rubber ball
which he squeezes when the picture is taken. But he is not satisfied
with their appearance. He feels that somehow there is something
wrong in their pose. Again and again he comes out from his hiding
place with new directions. Each suggestion merely makes matters
worse. My father is becoming impatient. They try a seated pose.
The photographer explains that he has his pride, he wants to make
beautiful pictures, he is not merely interested in all of this for the
money. My father says: "Hurry up, will you? We haven't got all
night." But the photographer only scurries about apologetically, is-
suing new directions. The photographer charms me, and I approve
of him with all my heart, for I know exactly how he feels, and as he
criticizes each revised pose according to some obscure idea of right-
ness, I become quite hopeful. But then my father says angrily: "Come
on, you've had enough time, we're not going to wait any longer."
And the photographer, sighing unhappily, goes back into the black
covering, and holds out his hand, saying: "One, two, three. Now!",
and the picture is taken, with my father's smile turned to a grimace
and my mother's bright and false. It takes a few minutes for the
picture to be developed and as my parents sit in the curious light
they become depressed.
VI
They have passed a fortune-teller's booth and my mother wishes
to go in, but my father does not. They begin to argue about it. My
mother becomes stubborn, my father once more impatient. What my
father would like to do now is walk off and leave my mother there,
but he knows that that would never do. My mother refuses to budge.
She is near tears, but she feels an uncontrollable desire to hear what
the palm-reader will say. My father consents angrily and they both
