Hit List - Lawrence Block [42]
“I know.”
“If you had it the other way around I’d say you invented the radio. This way, what? The silent film?”
“I hardly look at it, Keller. Then what’s it doing on—is that what you were going to ask?”
“I might have.”
“For years,” she said, “I only put the set on to watch something. I had my afternoon programs, and then for a while I got hooked on those home shopping channels.”
“I remember.”
“I never bought anything, but I would stare at the screen for hours. Part of it was there were no commercials to break your concentration.”
“Whole thing’s a commercial.”
“Well, no kidding,” she said. “I didn’t delude myself that I was watching PBS. Anyway, I watched QVC for a while, and then I got over it before I could spend my life savings on Diamonique.”
“Close call.”
“And then he died,” she said, with a glance at the ceiling. “And he wasn’t much company, especially toward the end, but the house all of a sudden felt empty without him. It’s not like I was getting choked up all the time. And I didn’t feel myself longing for the comfort of his presence, because when was he ever a comfort?”
“Even so.”
“Even so,” she said. “What I did, I took to keeping the radio going all the time. Just to have the sound of a human voice. Does that sound strange to you?”
“Not at all.”
“But I’ll tell you what’s the trouble with radio. You can’t mute the commercials.”
“I had the same thought myself not long ago. You can, by turning it off, but you don’t know when to turn it back on again.”
“TV spoils you. Somebody starts yammering at you, telling you their flashlight batteries keep going and going and going . . .”
“I kind of like that rabbit, though.”
“So do I, but I don’t want to hear about it. Watching it’s another matter. I tried NPR, but it’s not just commercials, it’s all the other crap you don’t want to hear. Traffic, weather, and please-send-us-money-so-we-won’t-have-to-keep-asking-you-for-money. So I started playing the TV all the time, muting it whenever it got on my nerves, and the commercials aren’t so bad when you can’t hear what they’re saying. Some of them, with the sound off you can’t even tell what they’re selling.”
“But you’ve got it mute all the time, Dot.”
“What I found out,” she said, “is that damn near everything on television is better with the sound off. And that way it doesn’t interfere with the rest of your life. You can read the paper or talk on the phone and the TV doesn’t distract you. If you don’t look at it, you get so that you forget it’s on.”
“Then why not turn it off?”
“Because it gives me the illusion that I’m not all alone in a big old barn of a house waiting for my arteries to harden. Keller, do you suppose we could change the channel? Not on the TV, on this conversation. Will you do me a big favor and change the subject?”
“Sure,” he said. “Dot, have you ever noticed anything odd about my thumb?”
“Your thumb?”
“This one. Does it look strange to you?”
“You know,” she said, “I’ve got to hand it to you, Keller. That’s the most complete change of subject I’ve ever encountered in my life. I’d be hard put to remember what we were talking about before we started talking about your thumb.”
“Well?”
“Don’t tell me you’re serious? Let me see. I’d have to say it looks like a plain old thumb to me, but you know what they say. You’ve seen one thumb . . .”
“But look, Dot. That’s the whole point, that they’re not identical. See how this one goes?”
“Oh, right. It’s got that little . . .”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are mine both the same? Like two peas in a pod, as far as I can make out. This one’s got a little scar at the base, but don’t ask me how I got it because I can’t remember. Keller, you made your point. You’ve got an unusual thumb.”
“Do you believe in destiny, Dot?”
“Whoa! Keller, you just switched channels again. I thought we were discussing thumbs.”
“I was thinking about Louisville.”
“I’m going to take the remote control away from you, Keller. It’s not safe in your hands. Louisville?”
“You remember when I went there.”
“Vividly.