'You are not dying,' Father said, sternly.
'Frank's the only one who's dying,' Franny said.
'No,' said Frank. 'I have already died. And the living bore me to death.'
'Stop it,' Mother said.
I went to lift weights in Iowa Bob's room. Every time the weights rolled off the end of the barbell, one of them struck the closet door,
and it opened, and out fell something. Coach Bob was terrible about the closet; he just threw everything in there loose. And one morning when Iowa Bob dropped a few weights, one of them rolled into the closet and out rolled Egg's bear. The bear was wearing my running hat, Franny's green sweater, a pair of Mother's nylons.
'Egg!' I screamed.
'What?' Egg screamed.
'I found your damn bear!' I yelled.
'It's my bear!' Egg yelled back.
'Jesus God,' Father said, and Egg went to Dr. Blaze to have his ears checked, again, and Lilly went to Dr. Blaze to have her size checked, again.
'If she hasn't grown in two years,' Franny said, 'I doubt she's grown in the last two days.' But there were tests that could be run on Lilly, and old Dr. Blaze was apparently trying to figure out what the tests were.
'You don't eat enough, Lilly,' I said. 'Don't worry about it, but just try to eat a little more.'
'I don't like to eat,' Lilly said.
And it wouldn't rain -- not a drop! Or when it rained, it was always in the afternoon, or in the evening. I would be sitting in Algebra II, or in the History of Tudor England, or in Beginning Latin, and I would hear the rain fall, and despair. Or I would be in bed, and it was dark -- dark in my room and throughout the Hotel New Hampshire, and all of Elliot Park -- and I would hear it raining and raining, and I'd think: Tomorrow! But in the morning, the rain would have turned to snow, or would have petered out; or it would be dry and windy again, and I would run my wind sprints in Elliot Park -- Frank passing me en route to the bio lab.
'Nuts, nuts, nuts,' Frank would grumble.
'Who's nuts?' I asked.
'You're nuts,' he said. 'And Franny's always nuts. And Egg is deaf, and Lilly's weird,' Frank said.
'And you're perfectly normal, Frank?' I asked, running in place.
'At least I don't play with my body as if I were a rubber band,' Frank said. I knew, of course, that Frank played with his body -- plenty -- but Father had already assured me, in one of his heart-to-heart talks about boys and girls, that everyone masturbated (and ought to, from time to time), and so I decided to be friendly to Frank and not tease him about his beating off.
'How's it coming with stuffing the dog, Frank?' I asked him, and he became immediately serious.
'Well,' he said. There are a few problems. The pose, for example, is very important. I'm still deciding on the best possible pose,' he said. The actual body has been properly treated, but the pose really worries me.'
'The pose?' I said, trying to imagine what poses Sorrow ever had. He seemed to have slept and farted in a variety of casual positions.
'Well,' Frank explained. There are certain classic poses in taxidermy.'
'I see,' I said.
'There's the "cornered" pose,' Frank said, and he recoiled from me, suddenly, putting his forepaws up to defend himself and raising his hackles. 'You know?' he asked.
'God, Frank,' I said. 'I don't think that one would be too appropriate to Sorrow.'
'Well, it's a classic,' Frank said. 'And this one,' he said, turning sideways to me, and appearing to sneak along the limb of a tree, snarling over his shoulder. This is the "stalking" pose,' he said.
'I see,' I said, wondering if in this pose poor Sorrow would be supplied with a branch to stalk on. 'You know, he was a dog, Frank,' I said, 'Not a cougar.'
Frank frowned. 'Personally,' he said, 'I favor the "attack" pose.'