JOYCE CAROL OATES
401
Sweet Poppy!" the Carsons would cry in unison.
The setter was rheumy-eyed and thick-bodied and arthritic.
If
every
year of a dog's age is approximately seven years in human terms poor
Poppy was almost eighty years old. She managed to shuffle to the front door
to bark at visitors but then lacked the strength or motor coordination to re–
verse herself and return to the interior of the house so Paul had to carry her,
one arm under her bony chest and forelegs, the other firmly under her
hindquarters, an expression of vexed tenderness in his face.
Dryly he said, "I hope someone will do as much for me someday."
One rainy May afternoon when Paul was in Berlin and Barry was in
Virginia visiting his family Ceci impulsively invited Charlotte to come for a
drink and meet her friend ils Larson - or was the name Lasson - Lawson?
- an old old dear friend. Nils was short, squat-bodied, energetic, with a
gnomish head and bright malicious eyes; linked to Ceci, it appeared, in a way
that allowed him to be both slavish and condescending. He was a "theater
person" - his bubbly talk was studded with names of the famous and near–
famous. Never once did he mention Paul Riegel's name though certain of his
mannerisms- head thrown back in laughter, hands gesticulating as he spoke–
reminded Charlotte of certain of Paul's mannerisms. The man was Paul's el–
der by perhaps a decade.
Charlotte stayed only an hour, then made her excuses and slipped
away. She had seen Ceci's friend draw his pudgy forefinger across the nape
ofCeci's neck in a gesture that signaled intimacy or the arrogant pretense of
intimacy and the sight offended her. But she never told Barry and resolved
not to think of it and of whether Nils spent the night at the Riegels' and
whether Paul knew anything of him or of the visit. Nor did Ceci ask Char–
lotte what she had thought of Nils Larson - Lasson - Lawson? - the next
time the women spoke.
Barry returned from Virginia with droll tales of family squabbling. His
brother and his sister-in-law, their children, the network of aunts, uncles,
nieces, nephews, grandparents, ailing elderly relatives whose savings were
being eaten up - invariably the expression was "eaten up" - by hospital and
nursing home expenses. Barry's father, severely crippled from a stroke, was
him elfin a nursing home from which he would never be discharged, and all
his conversation turned upon this fact which others systematically denied;
including, in the exigency of the moment, Barry. He had not, he said, really
recognized his father. It was as if another man - aged, shrunken, querulous,
sly - had taken his place.
The elderly Mr. Carson had affixed to a wall of his room a small white
card on which he'd written some Greek symbols, an inscription he claimed to
have treasured all his life. Barry asked what the Greek meant and was told:
