About Schmidt - Louis Begley [55]
Another sleep. No dreams. I found my body was covered with a secretion more like oil than sweat. 103.5. It’s nice to know the earlier reading wasn’t a fluke. Another bath and extensive cleaning of teeth. Then I put on fresh pajamas, sprayed myself with toilet water, remade my bed, got back into it, and thought about bad luck, and also how death and, one hopes, the flu dissolve all obligations. But I had really wanted to do well, and it seemed that this was the last effort I would make in this house, except to give the wedding and clear out my personal possessions.
The house was full of noises, but I could identify only a few. The growl of the orange juice squeezer, car wheels on the gravel, which meant Charlotte or Jon was going to get the paper. Still full of good intentions, I got up and opened the door to make clear that it was all right to come in.
I must have fallen asleep again. Back to the bathroom, and new pajamas out of my inexhaustible stock. Because my teeth were chattering, which told me something was going on, I didn’t bother with the thermometer. Three pillows propping me up, I sat there glaring, until I dozed off, like another Gregor Samsa. Sound of steps on the floorboards, a presence in the room? I opened my eyes. It was Dr. Renata; the noise was that of the rocker. In the place of wilted vegetables, she had brought me orange juice and a pot of tea.
I can’t imagine you want to eat, she told me, but perhaps you do, something like a yogurt. We’ve all had lunch. The children and Myron have gone to walk in some woods near Sag Harbor. Let me feel your head.
Big hand with a turquoise ring on my forehead, which was once again greasy.
You need more aspirin, she decided, and, when that was done, she said, Let’s talk if you are up to it.
Why did you stay in the house, I asked her.
To take care of you! was the reply Charlotte was going to stay, but I wanted her to go on the walk. She needs the fresh air, and it’s no fun for a big boy like Jon to go hiking with his mother and father while his fiancée …
Looks after her father. I completed the sentence for her.
I wonder about this grudge against Charlotte. Remember, I made her go with Jon and Myron. She would have stayed with you.
That’s right.
I wiped some of the grease off my face and drank another cup of tea. The tramway running back and forth inside my head was turning into a big Mack truck.
Renata, I said, you have me at a disadvantage. I am sick, I feel weak, I look disgusting. I haven’t the strength for a family therapy session. If you want to stay with me, please tell me a nice story or read a book to yourself. Otherwise, please go for a walk on the beach. I will be fine by myself, with this tea you brought me. Believe me, I don’t care whether it’s hot or cold!
She moved over to the side of my bed and once again put her hand on my forehead, keeping it there for a couple of minutes. I was glad I had shaved, because when she took her hand away it brushed against my cheek.
No therapy, Schmidtie, she said, but don’t be such a drag. It’s true you are feverish, but that’s no reason not to have a conversation. Here she stretched—rather contentedly, I thought. Think of all those nineteenth-century consumptives. In your present condition you may be quite interesting.
For instance, she continued, you have really handled very well not wanting to live with them in this house—you surprised me. How come? After such an unpromising start.
Her voice goes up a little at the end of declaratory sentences, turning them into questions without a question mark. Jewish accent, or the way everybody in New York talks now? I would like to ask Charlotte. Meanwhile Dr. R. had quietly taken my hand and was caressing it in a very soothing way. It’s nice that she is set in her ways. Not returning the pressure, I pretended I didn’t notice. Illness has its privileges.
Reply: I love my daughter. (I keep all note