Fitcher and I sort of circled around the ticket booth before each knew who the other was. Finally his gaze met my own.
"Are you--?"
"Yes."
Fitcher's gangly limbs and matted hair made him look more like a petulant boy than a well-established man. Only his eyes betrayed his years. They seemed to have seen more than they should have, and that's what made them his one conventionally attractive feature. And yes, I wanted to find something attractive about him. I don't know what I was expecting. As far as I knew, Maleen was still alive and they were happy and madly in love. If I'd wanted Fitcher, I wouldn't have wanted the job. My entire life spent locked in that attic--I knew about women, I knew how Mami moved and behaved and I knew how I did, but I'd never seen a man any longer than it took for him to disappear from my window. I never heard one any longer than it took for him to get what he wanted from Mami and walk out the door. I needed a subject to observe. And it wouldn't hurt if it was one that was pleasant to look at or at least to hear. His voice was pleasant enough. I should have been satisfied with that.
We met our train. Fitcher took his seat and consulted his date book while I hoisted my suitcase onto the overhead shelf. I took my place beside him with enough room between us so that our knees wouldn't touch. As the wheels began to turn and my feet vibrated with the engine, I pretended it was a familiar sensation.
Fitcher waited for the train to pull out of the station before he told me Barbara died that morning.
"Oh, my Go--my goodness! How terrible! Was she in pain? I should have come sooner.I'm so sorry."
"You can say 'Oh my God'. I don't care."
"Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?" I asked, restraining myself from the real question, which was, "Why couldn't you tell me this before the train started moving?"
"I was hoping you could stay on as a housekeeper. If you'd like. I know how important the relocation was to you. It's not a demanding As long as your work gets done, you can come and go as you please."
Those last five words sold me.
I was scrubbing the floor the morning of January 16th when I heard two voices coming from the garret. One was Fitcher's. The other was a woman's, I don't know whose. It was roughly nine o'clock. The floor didn't need to be cleaned. I just wanted to feel hot water on my hands. That winter I'd wear a drawer full of clothes at once. I left the house because I needed to run errands. And I wanted to leave them in peace. I told myself that I was jealous because that's how I thought I should feel, but really I didn't feel much of anything. This day would have come eventually. Igdalia from the greengrocer's would periodically ask if either of us had entertained guests of the romantic sort. I'd never actually asked Fitcher for his policy for me in that regard, and he himself never played host at the house. I didn't know how to handle this new situation, so I left them in peace. He would have done that to me.
Thyme oil is easy to make. You just need to crush the thyme, let it soak in the oil for two weeks, and then strain the leaves out. I had never actually made thyme oil before Fitcher asked me for some, but it's all the same with herb oils. The first time he requested thyme oil I was a little surprised but more than a little flattered. I didn't ask what he wanted it for. I didn't ask when he required a second jar a few days later. "I need more thyme oil," he asked for the third time. "Yes." Then I looked up at him. "Are you sick?" "I might be." I searched for the right response."Let me know if there's anything I can do." Evidentally it worked for him. "Thanks." He returned to the garret.
That night I ripped open the stitches on my mattress and pulled out the last key. I squeezed it into my fist. But my grip softened. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had an infection. A very dire infection that required three jars of thyme oil in less than two weeks. Maybe he caught a disease from his mysterious visitor. It still wouldn't call for that much thyme oil. My garden was dwindling. But thyme is cheap and I had other things to wonder about. The key went back to its refuge. That night I dreamt about tearing meat with my teeth.
"Are you--?"
"Yes."
Fitcher's gangly limbs and matted hair made him look more like a petulant boy than a well-established man. Only his eyes betrayed his years. They seemed to have seen more than they should have, and that's what made them his one conventionally attractive feature. And yes, I wanted to find something attractive about him. I don't know what I was expecting. As far as I knew, Maleen was still alive and they were happy and madly in love. If I'd wanted Fitcher, I wouldn't have wanted the job. My entire life spent locked in that attic--I knew about women, I knew how Mami moved and behaved and I knew how I did, but I'd never seen a man any longer than it took for him to disappear from my window. I never heard one any longer than it took for him to get what he wanted from Mami and walk out the door. I needed a subject to observe. And it wouldn't hurt if it was one that was pleasant to look at or at least to hear. His voice was pleasant enough. I should have been satisfied with that.
We met our train. Fitcher took his seat and consulted his date book while I hoisted my suitcase onto the overhead shelf. I took my place beside him with enough room between us so that our knees wouldn't touch. As the wheels began to turn and my feet vibrated with the engine, I pretended it was a familiar sensation.
Fitcher waited for the train to pull out of the station before he told me Barbara died that morning.
"Oh, my Go--my goodness! How terrible! Was she in pain? I should have come sooner.I'm so sorry."
"You can say 'Oh my God'. I don't care."
"Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?" I asked, restraining myself from the real question, which was, "Why couldn't you tell me this before the train started moving?"
"I was hoping you could stay on as a housekeeper. If you'd like. I know how important the relocation was to you. It's not a demanding As long as your work gets done, you can come and go as you please."
Those last five words sold me.
I was scrubbing the floor the morning of January 16th when I heard two voices coming from the garret. One was Fitcher's. The other was a woman's, I don't know whose. It was roughly nine o'clock. The floor didn't need to be cleaned. I just wanted to feel hot water on my hands. That winter I'd wear a drawer full of clothes at once. I left the house because I needed to run errands. And I wanted to leave them in peace. I told myself that I was jealous because that's how I thought I should feel, but really I didn't feel much of anything. This day would have come eventually. Igdalia from the greengrocer's would periodically ask if either of us had entertained guests of the romantic sort. I'd never actually asked Fitcher for his policy for me in that regard, and he himself never played host at the house. I didn't know how to handle this new situation, so I left them in peace. He would have done that to me.
Thyme oil is easy to make. You just need to crush the thyme, let it soak in the oil for two weeks, and then strain the leaves out. I had never actually made thyme oil before Fitcher asked me for some, but it's all the same with herb oils. The first time he requested thyme oil I was a little surprised but more than a little flattered. I didn't ask what he wanted it for. I didn't ask when he required a second jar a few days later. "I need more thyme oil," he asked for the third time. "Yes." Then I looked up at him. "Are you sick?" "I might be." I searched for the right response."Let me know if there's anything I can do." Evidentally it worked for him. "Thanks." He returned to the garret.
That night I ripped open the stitches on my mattress and pulled out the last key. I squeezed it into my fist. But my grip softened. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had an infection. A very dire infection that required three jars of thyme oil in less than two weeks. Maybe he caught a disease from his mysterious visitor. It still wouldn't call for that much thyme oil. My garden was dwindling. But thyme is cheap and I had other things to wonder about. The key went back to its refuge. That night I dreamt about tearing meat with my teeth.
