The Hotel New Hampshire - Page 80

'Your father likes him,' Mother said, 'but he doesn't really know him, either.'

'What do you think the bear will be like?' I asked her.

'I don't know what the bear is for,' Mother whispered, 'so I couldn't guess what it could be like.'

'What could it be for?' I asked, but she shrugged again -- perhaps remembering what Earl had been like, and trying to remember what Earl could have been for.

'We'll all find out,' she said, and kissed me. It was an Iowa Bob thing to say.

'Good night,' I said to Mother, and kissed her.

'Keep passing the open windows,' she whispered, and I was asleep.

Then I had a dream that Mother died.

'No more bears,' she said to Father, but he misunderstood her; he thought she was asking him a question.

'No, one more bear,' he said. 'Just one more. I promise.'

And she smiled and shook her head; she was too tired to explain. There was the faintest effort of her famous shrug, and the intention of a shrug in her eyes, which rolled up and out of sight, suddenly, and Father knew that the man in the white dinner jacket had taken Mother's hand.

'Okay! No more bears!' Father promised, but Mother was aboard the white sloop, now, and she went sailing out to sea.

In the dream

, Egg wasn't there; but Egg was there when I woke up -- he was still sleeping, and someone else was watching him. I recognized the sleek, black back -- the fur thick and short and oily; the square back of his blundering head, and the half-cocked, no-account ears. He was sitting on his tail, as he used to do -- in life -- and he was facing Egg. Frank had probably made him smiling, or at least panting, witlessly, in that goofy way of dogs who repeatedly drop balls and sticks at your feet. Oh, the moronic but happy fetchers of this world -- that was our old Sorrow: a fetcher and a farter. I crept out of bed to face the beast -- from Egg's point of view.

I could see at a glance that Frank had outdone himself at 'niceness.' Sorrow sat on his tail with his forepaws touching and modestly hiding his groin; his face had a dippy, glazed happiness about it, his tongue lolled stupidly out of his mouth. He looked ready to fart, or wag his tail, or roll idiotically on his back; he looked like he was dying to be scratched behind his ears -- he looked like a hopelessly slavish animal, forever in need of fondling attention. If it weren't for the fact that he was dead, and that it was impossible to banish from memory Sorrow's other manifestations, this Sorrow looked as harmless as Sorrow ever could have looked.

'Egg?' I whispered. 'Wake up.' But it was Saturday morning -- Egg's morning for sleeping in -- and I knew Egg had slept badly, or only a little, through the night. Out the window I saw our car driving between the trees of Elliot Park, treating the soggy park like a slalom course -- at slow speed -- and I knew that meant Frank was at the wheel; he'd just gotten his driver's license, and he liked to practice by driving around the trees in Elliot Park. Also, Franny had just gotten her learner's permit and Frank was teaching her to drive. I could tell it was Frank at the wheel because of the stately progress of the car through the trees, at limousine speed, at hearse speed -- that was the way Frank always drove. Even when he drove Mother to the supermarket, he drove as if he were bearing the coffin of a queen past throngs of mourners seeking one last look. When Franny drove, Frank yelped beside her, cringing in the passenger seat; Franny liked to go fast.

'Egg!' I said more loudly, and he stirred a little. There was a slamming of doors outside, a changing of drivers in our car in Elliot Park; I could tell Franny had taken the wheel when the car began to careen between the trees, great slithers of the spring mud flying -- and the wild, half-seen gestures of Frank's arms waving in what is popularly called the death seat.

'Jesus God!' I heard Father yell, out another window. Then he shut the window and I heard him raving at Mother -- about the way Franny drove, about having to replant the grass in Elliot Park, about having to chip the mud off the car with a chisel -- and while I was still watching Franny racing among the trees, Egg opened his eyes and saw Sorrow. His scream jammed my thumbs against the windowsill and made me bite my tongue. Mother ran into the room to see what was the matter and greeted Sorrow with a shriek of her own.

'Jesus God,' said Father. 'Why does Frank have to spring the damn dog on everyone? Why can't he just say, 'Now I'm going to show you Sorrow,' and carry the damn thing into a room -- when we're all ready for it, for Christ's sake!'

'Sorrow?' said Egg, peering from under his bedclothes.

'It's just Sorrow, Egg,' I said. 'Doesn't he look nice?' Egg smiled cautiously at the foolish-looking dog.

'He does look nice,' Father said, suddenly pleased.

'He's smiling!' Egg said.

Lilly came into Egg's room and hugged Sorrow; she sat down and leaned back against the upright dog. 'Look, Egg,' she said, 'you can use him like a backrest.'

Frank came in the room, looking awfully proud.

'It's terrific, Frank,' I said.

'It's really nice,' said Lilly.

'A remarkable job, son,' Father said; Frank was just beaming. Franny came in the room, talking before she came in.

'Honestly, Frank is such a chicken shit in the car,' she complained. 'You'd think he was giving me stagecoach lessons!' Then she saw Sorrow. 'Wow!' she cried. And why did we all wait so quietly for what Franny would say? Even when she was not quite sixteen, my whole family seemed to regard her as the real authority -- as the last word. Franny circled Sorrow, almost as if she were another dog -- sniffing him. Franny put her arm around Frank's shoulder, and he stood tensed for her verdict. 'The King of Mice has produced a fucking masterpiece,' Franny announced; a spasm of a smile crossed Frank's anxious face, 'Frank,' Franny said to him sincerely, 'you've really done it, Frank. This really is Sorrow,' she said. And she got down and patted the dog -- the way she used to, in the old days, hugging his head and rubbing behind his ears. This seemed completely reassuring to Egg, who began to hug Sorrow without reserve. 'You may be an asshole in an automobile, Frank,' Franny told him, 'but you've done an absolutely first-rate job with Sorrow.'

Frank looked as if he were going to faint, or just fall over, and everyone began talking at once, and pounding Frank on the back, and poking and scratching Sorrow -- everyone but Mother, we suddenly noticed; she was standing by the window, looking out at Elliot Park.

Tags: John Irving Fiction
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