PARTISAN REVIEW
most old enough to be my mother, that
woman! Her husband is attracted to
something in me, some stillness. He took
me to Topinka's for a drink. Some peo–
ple from the studio were there. He is
best in such settings, against a back–
ground of other, busy people, of table–
clothes and silverware and drinks; at
these times it hardly matters what he
says. I stare at
him,
in love. "You are
on an island. You live alone on an
island," he says. "Do you want me to
rescue you?"
I drive all the way out to the hospital,
to see her, out of breath and angry. I
am so angry! But I don't know why,
exactly. My mother detaches herself
from a small group, it's clear to me
that she would rather
talk
with these
other women, these crazy old women,
than with me. My face shows this. I
won't lie.
Neither of us speaks.
It
is she who
is "sick" and she resents speaking first,
I suppose. Finally he gives in. She says,
"I didn't think you'd come here to–
night...."
My face is flushed with anger. A
nurse is standing not far away, sent
by Dr. van Gee1 to spy on us. Her uni–
form is too tight across the hips, the
thighs - she is a sluttish woman in her
forties. I wonder about the nurses. I
wonder about the intimacy of nurses
and their patients, all those hours, the
dreary overcast days, the baths, the
massages, the routine matters of these
secret days in hospitals....
My mother and I sit facing each
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