ROBERT
WElL
655
which dish on the menu she would like to order. And it was that afternoon
that the idea of the first memoir was first discussed.
Following my visi t, I would call John and Iris as often as two or three
times a week from New York. Such calls extended far beyond the discus–
sions of the manuscript-in-progress, for I felt that I was quickly becoming
a personal friend and family member. Routinely, we would talk after he
and Iris had enjoyed one of John's home-cooked dinners, and virtually no
conversation with John ever ended without these seven words: "Would you
like a word with Iris?" The first time I thought it was strange to be invited
to talk wi th someone whose thoughts were scattered and frequently
incomprehensible, but it wasn't long before I looked forward to these many
"chats" with Iris.
"Iris, it's Bob, it's Bob from New York," I would intone loudly.
"Ah," she would exclaim with child-like delight, as if she had become
accustomed to my voice on the telephone without comprehending who I
really was.
If it were Monday evening, I would perhaps ask her if she had had a
good time at their friends' home in Wales.
"Did you have a nice weekend wi th Peter and Jim?"
"We had a nice weekend, thank you," she would respond, able to key
in to specifics of very basic questions, frequently ending any statement with
the words, "Thank you."
"Did you have fun with the dog, Cloudy?"
She would pause and then say, "Cloudy, yes," and giggle a bi t as if
recalling the shaggy dog who would snuggle with her so affectionately.
More frequently, I would merely ask her about the weather, specifically
whether it had rained or if it had been hot, as well as about their dinner.
"Did you like the spaghetti, did you eat all of your food?" I asked with the
apprehension of a parent.
She would pause, as if in deep thought, and more often than not,
would reassure me with a chuckle or a "yes I did" that she had cooperated
in eating one of John's home-cooked meals.
Occasionally, she corrected me, as in the time she was with John on a
vacation in France.
"Did John take good care of you on the trip, is he a good husband?"
"No, John is a perfect angel," she reproved, and after that, I would
almost always ask her if John was indeed "a perfect angel."
Particularly, the word "love" elicited a small cry ofjoy, and she seemed
very comforted by the reassurance that her admirers and friends all over the
world genuinely loved her.
