Читаем Fall and Rise полностью

“What will we say that we haven’t tonight?”

“My work. What you’ve been doing. Politics. Plenty.”

“How is your work going?”

“Fine. But tomorrow. Anything else I can bring? In fact I know exactly what. An electric blanket.”

“You have one?”

“Two. Could you use the extra?”

“They’re supposed to keep you warm for relatively little electricity, so if it’s not your only working one.”

“I don’t have one good or bad but I’ll get you one tomorrow. I knew you’d say no if I said I’d buy it.”

“I don’t need one.”

“I’m bringing it, but ripping up the label and receipt before I get there.”

“Then you should have kept me fooled. The whole thing was too calculating for you.”

“Come on, will you, that’s what I am.”

“No you’re not. Think more highly of yourself. When it comes to qualities — But before we hang up, what’s this new woman’s name?”

“Helene, but for who-knows-what reasons she might not want to see me or be able to for weeks or months. It’s happened. So enough about her unless something materializes, since I don’t want to be explaining for the next year about what ever happened to this woman.”

“She’ll want to see you. If she gave you her number, she will, and I bet in a hurry, and she’ll take to you too. Everyone does.”

“You’re my mother, so you’re saying this. And the truth is I think I sometimes need that kind of talk, much as I go out of my way to say I don’t. But don’t get your hopes up there’ll be any new woman in my life. What I’m saying is that if I was really feeling bad about myself now, which I’m not, then I’d say that if there’s any way to ruin it with any new woman I meet, you can be sure I’ll do it instinctively or find out how.”

“Then I shouldn’t get out my chiffon gown yet, that it? As you wish. Goodnight, dear.”

“Wait. Oh jeez. I sound like a moron sometimes, don’t I?”

“No. Who said so?”

“Then I didn’t make you feel awful just then?”

“No, and you didn’t plan to, did you? So stop worrying. But I am very tired, so I hope to see you tomorrow. Thanks for calling.”

“Thanks for what?” but she’s hung up.

Walking up Sixth I think I shouldn’t have said a lot of the things I said to her about myself and also should have told her of something I read in the paper this week about how anyone seventy-five or seventy and older shouldn’t have his room thermostat set lower than seventy or seventy-five degrees. Which? She’s over and her apartment temperature’s much lower, but over seventy on the thermostat for anyone under or over any age other than for someone, let’s say, seventy to seventy-five days or ill in a number of different ways sounds too high. Maybe I’m wrong about that, but the reasons the article writer gave for the warning were something about the gradual deterioration and collapse — but I’d only be making up most of that about the effects on the various body organs and tracts. But something like “Contrary to current scientific and popular layman belief and recent federal guidelines for residential and office buildings’ air conditioning and heat, any temperature lower over a prolonged period…acute hypothermia…very elderly and infirmed…”

I haven’t another coin. Easily enough achieved, considering the mission, but what would she say? “Please — the government — let me sleep.” No, that’s what she’d think. She’d say “What is it, darling, something you forgot to say that couldn’t wait?” I’d say “Damn, woke you up again,” and she’d say “Anyone else I might mind, but I’m sure coming from you it’s for a good reason,” since she knows I want nothing more for her than to be healthy and safe. Content too, of course, but there’s just so much an only alone son with a weighty workload and in another borough and with a welter of excuses and all those outside willful and fortuitous abuses can do. Damn landlords sometimes. Damn city. Damn geographical location, figmental extrapolation. Damn countries and oil and gas companies and international bickering and national trickstering and so on. Too tangled for me to understand. My damn density and dumb damnedness sometimes too, and all right for me to dig-in during this kind of crisis, but my mother? I don’t want her going to—