Can't and Won't: Stories Read online

  But when I am alone, I take out my list. No one will imagine, from a nearby table, that this list is what I am looking at. The trouble is, most kinds of fish on the restaurant menus are not fish one can eat freely. Some fish one cannot eat at all, ever, and other fish one may eat only if they come from the right place or are caught in the right way. I don’t ask the waitress how the fish is caught, but I often ask where the fish is from. She usually does not know. This means that no one else has asked her that evening—either no one else is interested, or some are not interested and others know the answer already. If the waitress does not know the answer, she goes away to ask the chef, and then comes back with an answer, though it is usually not the one that I was hoping to hear.

  I once asked a completely pointless question about halibut. I did not realize how pointless it was until the waitress had gone off to ask the chef. Pacific halibut is fine to eat, while Atlantic halibut is not. Even though I live on the Atlantic Coast, or near it, I asked her where the halibut was from, as though I had forgotten how far away the Pacific Ocean was, or as though halibut would be shipped all the way from the Pacific Coast to the Atlantic just for reasons of health or good fishing practices. As it happened, the restaurant was busy and she forgot to ask the chef, and by the time she returned I had realized that I should not order the halibut and was ready to order scallops instead. Scallops, my list said, were neither to be avoided nor to be eaten freely, but to be eaten with caution. I did not know what caution might mean in a restaurant situation, except perhaps that one should ask the waitress and the chef a few more questions than usual. But since even simple questions often did not produce very good answers, I did not expect good answers to detailed questions. Besides, I knew that the waitress and the chef did not have time for detailed questions. Certainly, if scallops were offered on the menu, the waitress or chef would not tell me they were endangered or unclean and advise me not to eat them. I ordered and ate them, and they were good, though I was a little uncomfortable, wondering whether they had been collected in the wrong way or contained toxic substances.

  When I eat alone, I have no one to talk to and nothing to do but eat and drink, so my bites of food and my sips of wine are a little too deliberate. I keep thinking, It’s time to take another bite, or Slow down, the food is almost gone, the meal will be over too soon. I try to read my book in order to make some time go by before I take another bite or another sip. But I can hardly understand what is on the page because I am reading so little at a time. I am also distracted by the other people in the room. I like to watch the waiters and waitresses and other customers very closely, even if they are not very interesting.

  The fish on the restaurant menu are often not on my list. Turbot in champagne sauce was offered one night at a very good French restaurant near where I live, but it was not on my list. I might have had it, but I was told by the waiter that it was a very mild fish, so I thought it was probably not very tasty. Also, it came with a cheese crust on it. I said I thought the crust would be too rich. The waiter said it was a very thin crust. Even so, I decided against it. There were other fish on the menu: red snapper, which my list instructed me to avoid; Atlantic cod, which was endangered; and salmon, but not wild Alaskan salmon. I gave up on fish and ordered the restaurant’s special plate of assorted vegetables, which arrived with small portions of many different vegetables, including fennel bulbs, arranged clockwise around a beautiful golden-brown molded potato cake. The different flavors of the vegetables were unexpectedly exciting, even though so many of them were root vegetables—not only carrots and potatoes, but also sautéed radishes, turnips, and parsnips.

  The restaurant was owned by a couple from France. The wife greeted the guests and oversaw the service, and the husband cooked. As I left the restaurant that night, on my way to the parking lot I passed the windows of the kitchen. It was brightly lit and I stopped to look in. The chef was alone. He was dressed in white, wearing his chef’s cap, and he was slim and active, bent over his chopping block. As far as I could see from that distance, his features were finely modeled and delicate, his expression intense. As I watched, he tipped his head back slightly and tossed a bit of food into his mouth, pausing to savor it. A younger man came in from the left carrying a tray of something, put it down, and went out again. He did not appear to have anything to do with the cooking. The chef was alone again. I had never before seen a real chef at work, and had never imagined that a chef would work alone in his kitchen. I could have watched him for a long time, but I felt it would be indiscreet to stay, and I walked away.

  The last time I ate by myself, I was in a restaurant I chose because there was no alternative. I was far out in the country and it was the only one open. I thought it would not be very good. It had a loud, popular bar in the front. I ordered a beer this time, and looked at the menu. The fish special was a marlin steak. I tried to think what marlin was. I had not thought of marlin for a long time. Then I pictured the fish sailing through the air with a large fin on its back, and I was almost sure it was popular for sport fishing, but I could not imagine what it tasted like. It was not on my list, but I ordered it anyway. Since I did not know whether I should avoid it, there was a chance that it was all right. Even if it wasn’t all right, of course, I could still occasionally have a fish that I should not have.

  When she brought the fish, the waitress passed along a message from the chef: he would be waiting to know how I liked it; it was such a beautiful steak, he said. I was impressed by his enthusiasm, and as I ate, I paid more careful attention than usual. The chef had time to be interested in this marlin steak, I suppose, because it was a Monday night and only one other table was occupied in the large dining room, though as I ate my meal, a few more people came in. Even the bar had only two customers, small old men in plaid flannel shirts. But with the loud television and the laughter of the barmaid, who was also the hostess and the wife of the chef, the bar was still noisy.

  The marlin was good, if a little chewy. When the waitress came by to see how I liked it, I did not tell her it was chewy. I told her it was very good, and that I liked the delicacy of the herbs in the sauce. At one point in the meal, as I continued eating slowly, this time without reading, the chef emerged from the kitchen in the distance. He was a tall man with a slight stoop to his shoulders. He walked over to the bar to have a drink and say a few words to his wife and the old men, and then walked back. Before he pushed through the swinging door, he turned a moment to look across the dining room in my direction, curious, I’m sure, to know who was eating his beautiful marlin steak. I looked back at him. I would have waved, but before I thought of it he disappeared through the door.

  The serving of food on my plate, the marlin steak and baked potato and vegetables, was generous, and I could not eat all of it. I ate all the vegetables, at least, tender slices of lightly sautéed zucchini with thin strips of red pepper and herbs, and asked the waitress if she would wrap up the rest for me to take home. She was worried; I had eaten only half the fish. “But you did like it?” she asked. She was young. I thought she was the daughter of the chef and the barmaid. I assured her I had. Now I was worried; the chef might not believe I had truly liked the fish, though I had. There was nothing more I could say about it, but as I paid my bill, I told the waitress I had loved the vegetables. “Most people don’t eat them,” she said matter-of-factly. I thought of the waste, and the care with which the chef prepared, over and over again, the vegetables that no one ate. At least I had eaten his vegetables, and he would know that I had liked them. But I was sorry I had not eaten all of his marlin. I could have done that.

  Can’t and Won’t

  I was recently denied a writing prize because, they said, I was lazy. What they meant by lazy was that I used too many contractions: for instance, I would not write out in full the words cannot and will not, but instead contracted them to can’t and won’t.

  Pouchet’s Wife

  story from Flaubert

  Tomorrow I will be going into Rouen
for a funeral. Madame Pouchet, the wife of a doctor, died the day before yesterday in the street. She was on horseback, riding with her husband; she had a stroke and fell from the horse. I’ve been told I don’t have much compassion for other people, but in this case, I am very sad. Pouchet is a good man, though completely deaf and by nature not very cheerful. He doesn’t see patients, but works in zoology. His wife was a pretty Englishwoman with a pleasant manner who helped him a good deal in his work. She made drawings for him and read his proofs; they went on trips together; she was a real companion. He loved her very much and will be devastated by his loss. Louis lives across the street from them. He happened to see the carriage that brought her home, and her son lifting her out; there was a handkerchief over her face. Just as she was being carried like that into the house, feet first, an errand boy came up. He was delivering a large bouquet of flowers she had ordered that morning. O Shakespeare!

  Dinner

  I am still in bed when friends of ours arrive at the house for dinner. My bed is in the kitchen. I get up to see what I can make for them. I find three or four packages of hamburger in the refrigerator, some partly used and some untouched. I think I can put all the hamburger together and make a meatloaf. This would take an hour, but nothing else occurs to me. I go back to bed for a while to think about it.

  dream

  The Dog

  We are about to leave a place that has a large flower garden and a fountain. I look out the car window and see our dog lying on a gurney in the doorway of a sort of shed. His back is to us. He is lying still. There are two cut flowers placed on his neck, one red and one white. I look away and then back—I want to see him one last time. But the doorway of the shed is empty. In that one moment he has vanished: a moment too soon, they have wheeled him away.

  dream

  The Grandmother

  A person has come to my house carrying a large peach tart. He has also brought with him some other people, including an old woman who complains about the gravel and is then carried into the house with great difficulty. At the table, she observes to one man, by way of conversation, that she likes his teeth. Another man keeps shouting in her face, but she is not frightened, she only looks at him balefully. Later, at home, it is discovered that while she was eating cashews from a bowl, she also ate her hearing aid. Even though she chewed on it for nearly two hours, she could not reduce it to particles small enough to swallow. At bedtime she spat it out into the hand of her caregiver and told him this nut was a bad one.

  dream

  The Dreadful Mucamas

  They are very rigid, stubborn women from Bolivia. They resist and sabotage whenever possible.

  They came with the apartment which we are subletting. They were bargains because of Adela’s low IQ. She is a scatterbrain.

  In the beginning, I said to them: I’m very happy that you can stay, and I am sure that we will get along very well.

  This is an example of the problems we are having. It is a typical incident that has just taken place. I needed to cut a piece of thread and could not find my six-inch scissors. I accosted Adela and told her I could not find my scissors. She protested that she had not seen them. I went with her to the kitchen and asked Luisa if she would cut my thread. She asked me why I did not simply bite it off. I said I could not thread my needle if I bit it off. I asked her please to get some scissors and cut it off—now. She told Adela to look for the scissors of la Señora Brodie, and I followed her to the study to see where they were kept. She removed them from a box. At the same time I saw a long, untidy piece of twine attached to the box and asked her why she did not trim off the frayed end of it while she had the scissors. She shouted that it was impossible. The twine might be needed to tie up the box some time. I admit that I laughed. Then I took the scissors from her and cut it off myself. Adela shrieked. Her mother appeared behind her. I laughed again and now they both shrieked. Then they were quiet.

  I have told them: Please, do not make the toast until we ask for breakfast. We do not like very crisp toast the way the English do.

  I have told them: Every morning, when I ring the bell, please bring us our mineral water immediately. Afterwards, make the toast and at the same time prepare fresh coffee with milk. We prefer Franja Blanca or Cinta Azul coffee from Bonafide.

  I spoke pleasantly to Luisa when she came with the mineral water before breakfast. But when I reminded her about the toast, she broke into a tirade—how could I think she would ever let the toast get cold or hard? But it is almost always cold and hard.

  We have told them: We prefer that you always buy Las Tres Niñas or Germa milk from Kasdorf.

  Adela cannot speak without yelling. I have asked her to speak gently, and to say “Señora,” but she never does. They also speak very loudly to each other in the kitchen.

  Often, before I have said three words to Adela, she yells at me: Si … si, si, si…! and leaves the room. I honestly don’t think I can stand it.

  I say to Luisa: Don’t interrupt me! I say: No me interrumpe!

  The problem is not that Adela does not work hard enough. But she comes to my room with a message from her mother: she tells me the meal I have asked for is impossible, and she shakes her finger back and forth, screaming at the top of her voice.

  They are both, mother and daughter, such willful, brutal women. At times I think they are complete barbarians.

  I have told Adela: If necessary, clean the hall, but do not use the vacuum cleaner more than twice a week.

  Last week she refused point-blank to take the vacuum cleaner out of the front hall by the entrance—just when we were expecting a visit from the Rector of Patagonia.

  They have such a sense of privilege and ownership.

  I have asked them: First listen to what I have to say!

  I took my underthings out to them to be washed. Luisa immediately said that it was too hard to wash a girdle by hand. I disagreed, but I did not argue.

  Adela refuses to do any work in the morning but housecleaning.

  I say to them: We are a small family. We do not have any children.

  When I go to them to inquire about the tasks I have given them, I find they are usually engaged in their own occupations—washing their sweaters or telephoning.

  The ironing is never done on time.

  Today I reminded them both that my underthings needed to be washed. They did not respond. Finally I had to wash my slip myself.

  I say to them: We have noticed that you have tried to improve, and in particular that you are doing our washing more quickly now.

  I have asked Adela: Please, do not leave the dirt and the cleaning things in the hall.

  I have asked her: Please, collect the trash and take it to the incinerator immediately.

  Today I told Adela that I needed her there in the kitchen, but she went to her mother’s room and came back with her sweater on and went out anyway. She was buying some lettuce—for them, it turned out, not for us.

  At each meal, she makes an effort to escape.

  As I was passing through the dining room this morning, I tried, as usual, to chat pleasantly with Adela. Before I could say two words, however, she retorted sharply that she could not do anything else while she was setting the table.

  Adela rushes out of the kitchen into the living room even when guests are present and shouts: Telephone for you in your room!

  Although I have asked her to speak gently, she never does. Today she came rushing out of the kitchen into the dining room saying: Telephone, for you! and pointed at me. Later she did the same with our luncheon guest, a professor.

  I say to Luisa: I would like to discuss the program for the days to come. Today I do not need more than a sandwich at noon, and fruit. But el señor would like a nutritious tea.

  Tomorrow we would like a rather nourishing tea with hard-boiled eggs and sardines at six, and we will not want any other meal at home.

  At least once a day, we want to eat cooked vegetables. We like salads, but we also like cooked vegetables.
Sometimes we could eat both salad and cooked vegetables at the same meal.

  We do not have to eat meat at lunchtime, except on special occasions. We are very fond of omelets, perhaps with cheese or tomato.

  Please serve our baked potatoes immediately after taking them from the oven.

  We had had nothing but fruit at the end of the meal for two weeks. I asked Luisa for a dessert. She brought me some little crepes filled with applesauce. They were nice, though quite cold. Today she gave us fruit again.

  I said to her: Luisa, you cannot refer to my instructions as “capricious and illogical.”

  Luisa is emotional and primitive. Her moods change rapidly. She readily feels insulted and can be violent. She has such pride.

  Adela is simply wild and rough, a harebrained savage.

  I say to Luisa: Our guest, Señor Flanders, has never visited the park. He would like to spend several hours there. Can you make sandwiches of cold meat for him to take with him? It is his last Sunday here.

  For once, she does not protest.

  When setting the dining table, Adela puts each thing down with a bang.

  I say to Luisa: Please, I would like Adela to polish the candlesticks. We are going to have them on the table at night.

  I ring the bell at the dining table, and a loud crash follows instantly in the kitchen.

  I have told them: There should not be these kitchen noises during our cocktail and dinner hour. But they are hitting each other again and yelling.