PULL DOWN VANITYI
437
his confidence and pride, he's ... I'm coming in a minute!" She
interrupted herself to answer Hank's impatient yell.
"But you're not just asking me because-"
"No, no. I want you to come. You
have
to! It's just that I'm an
idiot when I talk to you. I'm not really an idiot, you know. It's just–
well-I can only explain it like an idiot." She stopped to smile a smile
worth all the words she could not find. "You must read his poems;
you must like them and tell him so- He really admires you so, though
he's shy. He's the one who really wants you to come- You must like
them!" She had placed her hands on my shoulders, looking directly into
my eyes with her own wet, black ones. "Please say you'll come and look
at the poems! It's important for us-for Hank and me- You don't
understand, for our life together, for
me!"
Inside the house, the baby had started to cry and Hank at the door
was calling, "Judy, for Christ's sake!"
"I'll come," I said feeling shamed at her excessive look of gratitude,
the warmth with which she said, "Oh thank you" and was gone.
It was seven before I arrived at the Somers' apartment. I knew
really that it was important I be on time; but I stopped by for Ed Fenton
on the way and he insisted that I have a drink. We had three, finally,
the first to death, the second to us, the third to goddamall; and found
Judith when we arrived quivering and annoyed. Excited, she had a
strange smell, not unpleasant really, but arid and thin. Her hands
trembled visibly as she reached out to take ours and draw us into the
foul little basement apartment, its walls stained with damp, its fore–
seeable books in their orange crates, its meaningless rickety furniture
that had never really belonged to anyone. I had forgotten the look of
a graduate student's house, that most dismal of bohemias.
In one corner, Hank squatted on his haunches, leaning over a baby
who lay naked and covered with prickly heat on a blanket on the
floor. He was fanning the child with a paper fan that read: DRINK
HELFEIFER'S BEER! THE BEER OF THE ELITE. A bare electric
bulb that dangled on a wire from the cracked ceiling seemed to make
the heat visible. I could feel my sweat oozing out, as I entered, like
blood from an unstaunched wound.
"It's hot," Judith remarked pointlessly, "and you're late and the
roast's overdone. And it's the first roast we've had in a year. How stupid
I am!" She tried to laugh. "Oh, excuse me, excuse me, and sit down."
She indicated the one easy chair, the two rickety wooden ones-and
seemed suddenly near tears.
