The Complete Collection. William Wharton

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      This is Dad, exercising his newfound largesse and expanded vocabulary.

      We get dressed in our costumes, laughing and kidding around. If it could always be like this, I’d move back to America. Dad’s wearing a fitted, light blue velvet waistcoat with silver buttons and gray flannel trousers. The shirt is a pale blue with a silver thread running through it. He’s wrapped a deep blue foulard under the collar and Mom ties it lightly in a soft knot. With his dark beard, he looks like one of the three Musketeers.

      Mom has on a pale yellow silk pajama suit. She’s wearing a golden necklace and pendant. On her head she has a chestnut-blonde wig with side curls. It fits her perfectly. We get all her hair tucked in and the wig nicely combed out. Dad’s helping comb out the wig; it reminds me of when he used to cut our hair in the cellar when we were kids. He walks around in front of Mom.

      ‘My goodness, Bette, you’re beautiful!’

      Mother’s sitting in front of the dresser mirror, smiling at herself, directing the combing. The problem is her eyebrows are black, actually black streaked with gray. Mom solves this by rubbing in foundation cream, turning them brown.

      I’m wearing a bright red blazer jacket I got for three dollars, along with red-and-white striped pants. We make quite an ensemble. I go buy some ice cream at the Lucky Market. Mother’s scandalized because I wear my tea-with-the-queen costume to the market.

      ‘You’ll get arrested for sure, Jacky!’

      Nobody notices me. After all, this is California, land of the kook. I get the ice cream, some pretzels and sugar cones. I’m on the watch for a dormouse and a Mad Hatter so I can invite them home with me.

      Finally, after we’ve waited impatiently, checking every car within earshot, Joan arrives. We meet her at the door, bowing and scraping. We circle around her, curtseying. Joan laughs hysterically and is very unqueenlike, but finally settles into her role and is properly haughty as we escort her to her throne at the head of the table and crown her. Then she spots the new couch and is satisfyingly enthusiastic, sitting on it, spreading her hands while we hover over her. She graciously admires our costumes, smothering giggles, and bows or smiles sweetly to all our ‘Your Highness’s. It’s as if we’ve made a tea party with mud cakes and invited our parents.

      I decide things are going well enough so I can leave Dad and Mom alone. I want to spend some time with Marty.

      Marty lives near the Los Angeles County Museum, so we go there. It’s wonderful seeing paintings again; it’s so easy to forget the big life when one gets bogged down with the up-front part of things. I find myself spaced out in the Impressionist room.

      When Gary comes home, we go to a Korean restaurant and talk about names for the baby. At that point it’s Will for a boy, Nicole for a girl. I give them a quick blow-by-blow of what’s been happening with Dad and Mom. They’re anxious to find a new place to live. Their apartment specifies no children or pets. It’s a very quiet, old-people’s neighborhood.

      I tell about Venice; how great it would be for a baby near the beach. They get enthusiastic. They’re tired of the heavy smog where they’re living and there’s practically no smog near the ocean. We agree Marty and I will spend the next afternoon looking down there. I phone home and everything’s OK. I tell them I’m staying over with Marty and Gary. I sleep on a couch in the living room, hoping everything’s all right.

      In the morning I take a quick buzz over to see Mom and Dad. It’s almost like visiting another house. Dad comes out, gives me a weak hug and pushes his beard against mine. Mom puckers up for a kiss. She’s still scared-looking but there’s excitement in her eyes; she whispers she wants to talk with me. Dad goes out to water and work in his greenhouse; Mom and I go into the main back bedroom: her bedroom now, while Dad still has those bedsores. She sits on the bed.

      ‘Jacky, you’ve got to do something. Somebody sensible like Dr Ethridge needs to talk with him. He’s crazy. I tell you, he’s crazy. He’s worse than you are. Do you know what he was doing this morning when I woke up?’

      She waits, almost as if she wants me to guess.

      ‘You know, he gets up at seven every morning now, humming and singing his crazy songs. This used to be the best time of day, but now I stay in bed.

      ‘He sneaks his own clothes from the closet and drawers, then goes into the bathroom and takes a shower. Can you imagine, a seventy-three-year-old man taking a shower every morning at seven o’clock? He’ll slip and kill himself.’

      Her face is so extremely mobile, going from complaint, to curiosity, to desire, to an escaped smile. I watch and wait.

      ‘Well, this morning, Jacky, I don’t hear anything for a while after his shower so I peek out to see what he’s doing; you never know, believe me. No man ever changed so much, so fast.

      ‘I look all around the house first and then out the window to see if he’s in the greenhouse. He’s on the patio and he’s shuffling in a circle along the outside edge of the brick part. He has on that crazy running suit and those blue sneakers with the stripes. I think his Indian blood is finally coming out and he’s doing a war dance, going to put his hand over his mouth and go “Ohoo wahhh wahhaaa!”’

      She’s definitely smiling, fighting it all the way. She puts her hand over mine on the bed.

      ‘Honest, Jacky; I’m scared to death. Maybe next he’ll scalp me.

      ‘I didn’t know whether to call you or not. Instead, I opened the door and ask as nicely as possible, “What’re you doing out there, Jack?” He smiles with sweat running down his face and he’s puffing. “Jake, remember, Bette? Jake.” He swings his arms over his head. “Just doing a little jogging, getting in shape; thought I’d do it in here so I wouldn’t disturb the neighborhood. Tomorrow I’ll do it back on the grass; this hard cement isn’t good for the knees.”

      ‘Jacky, you’ve got to admit, that’s ridiculous; and he never stops while he’s talking, just keeps shuffling round and round. He’s hardly lifting his feet but he’s convinced he’s jogging. And this is after his shower. Now, you know, Jacky; nobody in his right mind jogs after they shower.’

      I’m trying not to smile. I promise I’ll talk to Dr Chad.

      ‘And, Jacky.’

      Mother looks around to check if we’re being observed by the CIA or the KGB.

      ‘He keeps coming into my bed at night. He won’t leave me alone! He pesters me all night long. Your father has always been a highly sexed man but this is insane! He wants to make love all the time, even yesterday, in the afternoon, right out there on the patio – me with two heart attacks!’

      At this she ripples into a giggle.

      ‘Nobody’d believe he’s a seventy-three-year-old man who almost died a few weeks ago. Maybe his hormones got all mixed up, Jacky. You’ve got to talk with somebody. It’s going to kill me!’

      We hear Dad singing as he comes across the patio.

      ‘Oh, it ain’t a-gonna rain no more, no more,

      It ain’t a-gonna rain no more!

      How in the heck can I wash my neck

      If СКАЧАТЬ