Yesterday I began reading Confessions of Z. Next to be read are The Red and the Black and The Charterhouse of Parma. It sounds as though we are literate people. Also in the pile are The Silver Chalice, French Science-fiction Stories, and Man Meets Dog. Every time I read to her she reminds me how lucky we are that the librarian’s mother is her personal friend, so the librarian sends us books by messenger every Saturday at noon, when the library closes. I am not sure whether the books are selected by the librarian or by the messenger, who is a young schoolgirl of racially mixed parentage. Sometimes, as Mrs. Edway called to my attention, we receive a selection of books from authors whose names follow alphabetically: Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Flaubert. Other times there seems to be little method in the selection. Mrs. Edway and I agree, however, that we should be grateful for the service, which began when Mrs. Edway (who had donated half a dozen specimen violets to the reading room of the library) wrote a note to the librarian saying that she would no longer be able to make a weekly inspection of the violets because of her poor health; in fact, she would no longer be able to use the library at all. Our service began the week the note was delivered. On that occasion the librarian came herself, dropping off several anthologies of English and American literature. She declined to stay, although she did wait long enough to be given several Food’N’Bloom pellets.
Something interesting happened: after careful consideration as to whether we wanted a dog or a cat or nothing, we voted secretly, on separate pieces of paper, which we held up at the same time, so that one couldn’t change his mind after seeing what the other had written. Each of us had written “cat.” Next Saturday I will ask the messenger if any of her schoolmates have kittens they want to give away.
Mrs. Edway sees me writing and asks who I think is going to read all this. She is jealous for two reasons: I am using Xerox paper that Bernie brings me (he brings his father Xerox paper, while he brings his mother nothing), and because I have not begun the afternoon reading yet. I am not much interested in Confessions of Z and may call for a vote as to whether we should continue with it. She is cranky today because she did not have a good night, and if she suspects that I am not calling for the vote just out of routine, she is sure to answer, “Yes.”
She is looking through a magazine now, holding it close to her face. I suspect she is studying ads for cat food. The pictures show so clearly which brand contains more liver that it will not be necessary to vote when it comes time. What a coincidence that she received a free coupon for creamy liver dinner in the mail this morning. Is it the same brand pictured in the magazine?
Bernie just called to check on things. Xerox has developed an improved reproduction-machine paper. He is going to a convention to describe the new product to clients. He tells me his mind will be at rest if I persuade her to see a doctor before he leaves town.
The messenger has come and gone. Romeo and Juliet was not accounted for when she returned the books we had finished to the library today. She told me the book had to be in this house, because it was not in her house. She described putting the pile on her bureau and removing the pile this morning to return on her way to school. She carried them in a book bag, so she could not have dropped the book. I tried to treat the subject lightly and asked, “Wherefore art thou, book?” as she sprawled to look under the bed. Wanted to ask about the kitten, but she seemed very agitated. Decided to wait until Saturday. She made a thorough search of all but one room, and did not have time to do that because it was her lunch hour, and she had to return to school.
I raised what I thought might be a touchy subject: a charcoal filter for the spigot. She agreed.
Abandoned Confessions of Z for The Red and the Black. Listened to Brahms. Dinner of crab-stuffed flounder, lima beans and corn. She went to bed an hour earlier than usual, not feeling well again.
Tuesday
Arose early, prepared pancake batter for breakfast. Wrote two notes: one to the mail-order house for a charcoal filter, the other to Dr. Yeusa. The messenger arrived just as I finished writing. She was distraught and said she must find Romeo and Juliet. The search ended in vain at eight-thirty when she had to leave for school.
Must call Mrs. Edway’s attention to “High Hopes”—two withering leaves.
She slept through the phone call from Bernie, allowing me to tell him that I had contacted the doctor, asking him to stop by unannounced. He thanked me, promised a supply of the new Xerox paper.
When she awakens we will have breakfast and take the Tuesday stroll.
Radio bulletin about a missing two-engine plane.
Walked by the frozen pond, where children were ice-skating. One child recognized us, a girl about eleven, and asked if she could stop by with a selection of Girl Scout cookies. A nice little girl — remembered her from last year. Mrs. Edway knew her name, I think, but wouldn’t say it in front of me. She points up my deficiencies, such as forgetting names, by not helping out. She knows the messenger’s name, too, but won’t use it. Am waiting to ask the favor about the kitten because things are still strained between us. Looked for Romeo and Juliet myself. No luck. Told the messenger it had to be either here or there. She is convinced it is here and has arranged to stop by with a friend after school. I think her job may be in jeopardy and will suggest to Mrs. Edway that she offer to repay the library for the loss and to assume responsibility.
Mrs. Edway’s cousin from San Francisco mailed her a belated birthday gift: an embroidered picture of the Eiffel Tower. La Tour Eiffel in black cross-stitch at the bottom. Took a secret vote to see if it should be hung: “Yes.” We decided on the dining room without having to vote. Mrs. Edway wrote a note to the librarian offering to replace the book before I suggested it. She leaves the envelopes for me to lick and seal because she doesn’t like the taste. Peeked before I mailed it, but the note didn’t mention the messenger’s name.
Fell asleep in the afternoon after the episode in which Julien wishes he had died in M. de Renal’s garden. Dinner was late, and I didn’t concentrate as much as usual on the preparation because I was trying to piece together the nightmare I’d had about a plane circling a garden. Someone had asked questions of me, and the correct answer would allow the plane to land. If Mrs. Edway slept when I did, she didn’t say. I awoke to see her examining a magazine close to her face. She always looks over the top of her magazine to let me know she is aware I’m dozing. When she dozes, I ignore it.
She makes a shopping list for Wednesday. I have my own little private joke about the list: she can’t see well and lists toothpaste every week, although she has over a hundred tubes in reserve, and I keep buying them, stacking them up so if her vision improves and she sees them we will have something to argue about. We can well afford the toothpaste — no harm done. We spend some time, while the food cooks, making lists of vegetables and meats we will both eat, then buy seven dinners of items we have both agreed upon. She has added a few things to the list when she gives it to me: a hairnet, vitamins, toothpaste (I laugh to myself).