雙語·摸彩：雪莉·杰克遜短篇小說選 跟我來 2

Come Along with Me 2

I must say she had the good sense to offer me a cup of tea right away, once she found out I was a friend of her sister's, and in case you are wondering about me having lunch on the train and coffee and a doughnut in the station, and now a cup of tea and cookies, let me just remark that I have plenty of room to put it all.

“And what do you do, Mrs. Motorman?” she asked me.

“I dabble in the supernatural,” I told her.

Her name was Mrs. Faun; we both had names. “How is my sister?” she wanted to know.

“Doing well,” I said. “Of course, she has her troubles like the rest of us.”

I had taken to the house right away; I like most houses, and this was one of the best. The staircase was good, wide and clearly worn by a hundred trips up and down every day, up and down, up and down till your feet could fall off. It was a solid house, a devil to clean, but prepared to stand right where it was forever; enough people had lived here to make the air very alive; I was ready for any number to come around asking, but first I had to deal with Mrs. Faun.

“I've just buried my husband,” I said.

“I've just buried mine,” she said.

“Isn't it a relief?” I said.

“What?” she said.

“It was a very sad occasion,” I said.

“You're right,” she said, “it's a relief.”

She had a jaw and she served a strong cup of tea and I would not say a bad word against a woman who put out her own homemade sugar cookies for a guest; I am an excellent cook. The tea was served in the kitchen; as soon as I said I was a friend of her sister's she said, quite rightly, “I was just having a cup of tea; come on in the kitchen.”

When I tried to say it for the first time I was not actually certain how it was going to sound, because no one had ever said it before in the history of this earth, and I thought to myself, I'm giving birth. “I'm Mrs. Angela Motorman,” I said.

“I'm Mrs. Faun,” she said right back. “I was just having a cup of tea.”

I thought that Mrs. Faun and I were going to be all right together. I didn't know yet whether she had a silly laugh, or went on tapping her fingers on the table, but I liked her kitchen, which had no gadgets, and I liked her stove, which was still warm from making sugar cookies, and I liked her jaw.

“I'm not saying I want a room and I'm not saying I don't,” I told her, “but if I did, what would you have to show me?”

“I'm not saying I have a room and I'm not saying I don't,” she said right back, “but if you wanted to look I could let you see a very pretty little place.”

Oh, I was going to be all right with Mrs. Faun. I liked her jaw and I liked her stove and I liked her house and if she wanted to have a little crippled kid I was certainly not going to stand in her way; “It's hard for a woman alone,” I said.

“And what do you do, Mrs. Motorman?”

“I dabble in the supernatural.”

“My niece had this meningitis,” she said as though I had asked some kind of a question. “Let me fill your cup. She had this meningitis and it got to her heart. They knew it was going to, of course, but they never told her. She had it for years before she found out it got to her heart.”

“My cousin had mercury poisoning,” I said. “That goes directly to the heart, of course. He only lasted for about three days.”

“I had a cousin something like that,” she said. “You mentioned what a short time they last. Only in her case it all went to the brain. Reddest face I ever saw and she died not knowing one of us.”

“My aunt was the same,” I said. “Only she died of pneumonia; that's a very quick one. It catches you without any warning, you swell up, and there you go.”

“Bloated,” she said, “l(fā)ike my nephew, only his was alcohol.”

“And then there was this friend of mine,” I said. “She had cirrhosis of the scalp. They don't have a cure yet for any of those things, you know, and they run right through you. I hate to think of the way my friend went right on suffering until the very end.”

“Very often the end is the most to be desired,” she said. “There was a friend of mine, we all couldn't wait for her to go, but she had cancer. Incurable.”

“I had a friend who had cancer,” I said, “but they cut off her right leg.”

“That's never enough,” she said. “Mark me, she'll be back for her other leg. I knew a woman once who lost both arms that way.”

“My uncle fell under a truck,” I said. I wondered if I should tell her about my great-aunt.

“I'm sorry about your uncle,” she said. “Do you want a room or don't you?”

“I do.”

“And what do you do, Mrs. Motorman?”

“I dabble in the supernatural. Traffic with spirits. Seances, messages, psychiatric advice, that kind of thing.”

“I never had one of those before,” Mrs. Faun said. “I'm not saying I haven't had all kinds. You rent out rooms, it's sometimes a surprise what you get.”

“I never lived in a room before.”

“You won't find it terribly difficult,” she said, not smiling. “All you have to do is pay for it regularly. I'd be willing to add some meals, but that would be extra.”

“Perhaps I could give a hand with the cooking; I'm a fine cook.”

“I'm not sure but what that would be extra too,” she said. “You may not cook in your room.”

“I promise,” I said.

“You may not smoke in your bed.”

“I promise.”

“You may not make noise late at night.”

“I promise.”

“These are all safety precautions,” she explained to me. “Thou shalt not—I mean, you may not keep dirty pets.”

“I promise.”

“You may not spread any contagious diseases. Although the room I plan to show you has a private bath. Linen provided, we do the heavy cleaning, and anything you raise by way of spirits you have to put back yourself.”

Oh, I liked Mrs. Faun. She turned her head suddenly and then she stood up and went over to the back door of the kitchen, the door leading outside, and opened it. “Little early today,” she said, and “Must have run all the way,” which was clearly some kind of a private joke because there was laughter. I helped myself to another cookie, and then Mrs. Faun came back pushing the wheelchair; there was a ramp built outside the door so she could push it right inside without difficulty. “This is my son Tom,” Mrs. Faun said, “Tom, this is Mrs. Motorman.” Once again it sounded all right; I was going to learn to answer to it.

“Hi,” the boy in the wheelchair said. He seemed to be about twelve years old, although it's hard to tell with a boy sitting down. “Any cookies left?”

“I got my share,” I said. “Someday if you want me to I'll make you my special chocolate cake; it's got five layers.”

“Okay,” he said, and then he laughed. “Motorman's a funny name,” he said.

“I just made it up,” I told him. “You just home from school?”

“I like school,” he said, “but they're always surprised I'm not smarter, because I don't play baseball and stuff, they always think I'm going to be smarter than anyone else. And I'm not.”

“Maybe if you practice,” I said.

“One kid pushes me down the street every morning and another kid pushes me back home in the afternoon. They do all the pushing and I ride both ways and it's great, but I'm not as smart as they think I ought to be.”

“You're smart enough for your own good,” Mrs. Faun said. She brought him a glass of milk and pushed the plate of cookies a little closer to him. “I'll go and check your room,” she said to me.

“I'm pretty smart,” he said to me anxiously. “I'm not stupid, of course.”

“I'm pretty smart, but I never got pushed back and forth to school.”

“Well, I'm planning to be a scholar, and I better get started pretty soon. You know any Spanish?”

“No.”

“I want to learn Spanish and French and Italian and Russian and then Latin and Greek and be a scholar. So far I only know a little Spanish, but I'm lazy.”

“One of these days I might push you to the movies,” I said.

“I would like that,” he said. “Perhaps a movie in Spanish or French to improve my accent.”

We each had another cookie. Then he said, “What do you study, Mrs. Motorman?”

“I was married to a painter.”

“Was he any good?”

“He was lousy.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“How long you think I ought to go on studying Spanish before I start French? They're both good languages.”

“If you're so lazy why not give up the whole thing?”

“Well,” he said, thinking, “I suppose it's because they all keep waiting for me to be so smart. I wouldn't play baseball if I could, you can hurt yourself playing those games. But I don't mind being a scholar.”

“Look,” I said, “I'm not used to talking to kids.”

“Oh, that's all right,” he said.

“I don't know why you can't just sit around and read books.”

Mrs. Faun came back and said “Drink your milk there,” and “Your room is ready.” She touched the boy on the head and he said, “Hey, Mrs. Motorman and I are going to the movies someday,” and Mrs. Faun looked at me for a minute and then said, “I think you're going to like the room.”