The Corps of the Bare-Boned Plane (23 page)

“I can't eat more. The thought of it makes me sick. And I can't sleep,” said Jocelyn.

“Well, of course not. You've done nothing but sleep for days on end. You're slept out. Bound to happen sooner or later. Good. Listen, I'm making tremendous progress now with the plane.” I was about to tell her how I had taken the tools out of the barn and moved the operation to the cemetery, which I was pretty sure Humdinger hadn't discovered yet. There was everything I needed there for a serviceable flying machine and I was going to be finished with it much earlier than expected. This was pretty exciting, but for some reason all Jocelyn wanted to talk about was Mrs. Mendelbaum and her friend Sophie. I had heard this about invalids: that they become very self-absorbed and blow up the minutiae of life way out of proportion, so I tried to listen patiently even though, clearly, she was bonkers.

“And, Meline, listen, this is very important.
Very
important; Mrs. Mendelbaum wants her friend, Sophie, to come here. She wants Sophie to care for her. She says she can get Sophie to do anything. I am supposed to ask Uncle to arrange a boat to bring her here because Sophie won't take planes. But I'm so tired, Meline, so could you ask Uncle?”

“I don't know. If Sophie comes, then there's less for Humdinger to do. We want to keep Humdinger occupied.”

“I'll keep him plenty occupied. I promise. I'm still real sick.”

“Oh, you are not.”

“I am. I tried to take a bath and I couldn't. I haven't the strength. Humdinger can take care of me instead of Mrs. Mendelbaum. I'll ask him for tea trays constantly.”

“What is this weird friendship you have formed with Mrs. Mendelbaum that suddenly her friend coming is so important to you? The two of you are thick as thieves. I'll be surprised if she isn't adopting you.” I sat on Jocelyn's bed and thought morosely about this. I could see it. Mrs. Mendelbaum adopting Jocelyn and taking her off the island. The two of them living happily ever after in some light bright modern apartment in Vancouver, engaged in real life, going to rock concerts, out to dinner, Jocelyn going to college on Mrs. Mendelbaum's savings. Sitting down to eat brown meat and savory puddings together. The two of them going to the theater, shopping, restaurants, Sunday walks on the waterfront. Happy as clams. It was because she just lay around looking pathetic, not doing anything. I had done nothing but work. I had kept busy. So, of course, Mrs. Mendelbaum liked Jocelyn better. Of course, she felt sorry for Jocelyn. Jocelyn reeked pathos. Jocelyn said nothing and closed her eyes. It felt as if any tenuous connection we had built on a joint project was swiftly slipping away. I hadn't wanted Jocelyn as an ally especially, but it was humiliating to lose her to Mrs. Mendelbaum.

“Sure,” I said defeatedly. “I'll ask Uncle.” If nothing else, it would show her that if she picked Mrs. Mendelbaum over me she was losing someone who can be unselfish and magnanimous even against her own best interests. That should make her think twice because I honestly didn't think Mrs. Mendelbaum had exhibited these qualities. And I needed Jocelyn back. I could work pretty well alone with the almost intact plane I had found, but I might still need her for lifting, holding, and steadying. I didn't want to burn bridges completely with her yet.

The next day I went upstairs to see Uncle Marten. I knocked loudly several times and finally went in. He was hunched over his desk, his eyes going back and forth from the computer screen to something he was scratching away at on a piece of paper.

“Excuse me!” I said and then again more loudly, “EXCUSE ME!”

He turned around distractedly and it took him a moment to get me in focus. Whatever he'd been working on was clearly still running through his head and he was reluctant to leave it.

“Can I interrupt?” I asked.

“You already have,” he said irritably. “As you see, you already have.” Then he sat there looking at me with his lips pursed and his brows furrowed, not saying anything, waiting for me to go on.

“Well, the thing is that Mrs. Mendelbaum is sick, as you know, and Jocelyn is, too, but Mrs. Mendelbaum would like her friend Sophie to come and care for her.”

“Care for her what?”

“To take care of her.”

“Why? Isn't that what that Humdinger is doing or supposed to be doing? Didn't I hire him for that?”

“No. You hired him to be the butler. Now he's doing his job and Mrs. Mendelbaum's and caring for Jocelyn and Mrs. Mendelbaum, and I guess Mrs. Mendelbaum just wanted a friend here. You know, in case she got worse. She has no family left. Sophie is her only friend.”

“Well, just how sick is she?” asked Uncle Marten. “Is she in danger of expiring soon?”

“Well, not soon,” I said, stalling. I didn't want to leave any false impressions that would worry him. “More like soonish. Soonish rather than laterish because she is, after all, older. I mean
much
older.”

“Is she really so very old?”

“Don't you remember Jocelyn said so?”

“Do you think she dyes her hair?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Because it's awfully black.”

“She must dye it, I suppose. I mean, I've never seen her dye it.”

“She'd have to get hair dye, then. Wait a second, I've seen her carrying around bottles of something black. That's it! She says it's cough medicine, but you can bet on it, that's the hair dye.”

“Hair dye? Jocelyn has been drinking it.”

“Jocelyn has been drinking hair dye?”

“She says it's cough medicine, too,” I said.

“Well, that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Are you sure?”

“
She
says she has been drinking cough medicine that Dr. Houseman gave her.”

“Oh well, then I suspect she has. What's that got to do with Mrs. Mendelbaum's black hair dye? Really, let's try and stay on topic for two seconds. Oh, say, I don't think I've ever seen any roots either,” said Uncle Marten.

“That's a good point. If it were dyed, you'd expect to see some roots occasionally. When she's flying around, you do see a lot of gray underneath.”

“Yes. But then, if she doesn't dye her hair, what is she doing walking around carrying bottles of black hair dye?”

“White roots, if she's really old, her hair would be white, wouldn't it? Not just black with gray underneath,” I said.

“Yes. I haven't seen a single white root. But perhaps she keeps them covered in that hair dye and that's why she walks around with it. Maybe she is always doing, what is it that women call it? Touch-ups! Or maybe she's not so old.”

“I think she is.”

“She doesn't look it.”

“But I think she is. Anyhow she
seems
pretty old, doesn't she?”

“In what way?”

“I don't know. Set in her ways. Like she's lived her whole life already. Like there's no place to go. Like she's just kind of resting now on her time left before, you know.”

“Before she dies.”

“And she talks about Nazis. If she was young in Nazi Germany, she'd be very old by now.”

“I'm going to call Houseman to come in and get a look at her.” He picked up his radio phone.

“Oh, I don't know if that's such a good idea. I don't think she'd like that.”

“Why ever not? She's sick, isn't she?”

“Yeah, but I think she just wants this friend.”

“Oh, for heaven's sakes, we can't possibly have anyone else living here. The house is bursting at the seams already. I really think I must take a stand.”

“Yes, but think how you'll feel if Mrs. Mendelbaum were to die alone.”

“Die? Who is talking about dying? Besides, no one in this house could die alone if he wanted to. We're crammed in here like sardines.”

“I'm sure it's only for a short visit, anyway.”

“All right. But let us make that clear at the outset. People do so often seem to show up on your doorstep and then stay forever.” Then, when he realized what he'd said and to whom, Uncle Marten blushed a deep red and looked frantically confused, immediately launching into a new train of thought, hoping, no doubt, I hadn't noticed, but I had and my stomach sank slightly. I had not known our presence bothered him so much. I hadn't cared about being wanted. I had wanted to be left alone. But I hated to think of myself as an annoyance. An annoyance he could do nothing to rid himself of. I was glad for the change of subject as well.

“How can you talk about people dying like that?” he asked. “It's very bad for the digestive system to even think of such things. I'm sure she isn't dying at all. I'm getting Houseman anyway because you can't have people just dying unnecessarily all over the house. Of course, people are going to die and sometimes at
your
house, but not just cavalierly because you've
left
them. Because you've forgotten to have the doctor in to check. Even though I'm certain it is completely unnecessary. But there it is, you've put the thought in my mind yourself. You've only yourself to blame.” Uncle Marten pressed a button and got the hospital and left a message.

“I'm surprised that you know her number. I'm surprised you remember her name,” I said. He never remembered things like this.

“How can I forget her? She calls about fifteen times a day. Not to speak to me, oh no, it's Humdinger she's got her eye on. He won't last long. No backbone. She'll have him married and bundled over to Vancouver before the summer, you mark my words. There'll be a summer wedding with everyone in long floaty white dresses and flowers and barefoot. Probably want to do it here on the island. Come to think of it, probably would want to raise their children in this very house if she could get a job here, which thank God she cannot. Everyone wants to come here. I just don't understand. I just don't understand.”

“There's another thing…”

“Well, there always is these days, isn't there?”

“Mrs. Mendelbaum wants you to arrange a boat to take Sophie over here because she is afraid of planes. She won't take the helicopter with Sam.”

“But Sam doesn't drive a boat,” said Uncle Marten, going back to work. “He never has. He doesn't like the ocean. He likes the air. Can't think why.”

“But he can't be the only person who could get a boat here.”

“Hmmm? No, probably not. The laws of probability say otherwise. Anyhow, I'm busy. Have Humdinger attend to it. Isn't that what he's here for?”

“I think you hired him to answer doors.”

“In point of fact, Mrs. Mendelbaum hired him, and as I recall it was so he would worry—but worrying doesn't seem to be his strong suit, so let's see how he is with boat procuring. Now leave me alone. No more things. Go away.”

It was always easier and harder than you thought it would be with Uncle Marten, but you could never predict which would be the easier things and which the harder. I sighed and went downstairs to give Jocelyn the news. She was pacing and scratching and didn't seem interested particularly. So then I knocked on Mrs. Mendelbaum's door and she was lying on her bed moaning.

“Mrs. Mendelbaum…” I said.

“Go away.”

“I've got good news.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” she said and put a pillow over her head.

“Mrs. Mendelbaum, do you hear me?”

“Oh.”

I heard her muffled groans.

“You can call your friend Sophie and ask her to come here. Uncle Marten says it's okay. He says Humdinger can arrange a boat for her.”

“Oy,” moaned Mrs. Mendelbaum. She seemed to like to vary her distressful exclamatory syllables. Then she started snoring just like that. For a second I was afraid it might be a death rattle, so I ripped the pillow off her face, but it was furrowed and she breathed heavily in the deepest, most miserable-looking sleep I had ever seen. It looked as if instead of giving her relief sleep was torturing her. “Mrs. Mendelbaum?” I said, but she continued to snore and I decided not to wake her. Jocelyn could do the rest. She'd probably rather have the news from Jocelyn anyway.

Maybe Uncle was right and Dr. Houseman
had
better see Mrs. Mendelbaum. I left when it was clear that she was going to hear nothing I said, and went back to Jocelyn's room. She hadn't stopped scratching or pacing and I wondered if maybe she had measles on top of everything else. She was still far away. Almost as far as Mrs. Mendelbaum appeared to be. They were a pair, all right.

“Listen, Jocelyn,” I said, “you're going to have to tell Mrs. Mendelbaum about Sophie yourself because she won't listen to me.”

Jocelyn just nodded as if she had no time to speak to me. As if I was interrupting her pacing.

No thank you from anyone. No acknowledgment. I left and went to my room. When I got there I realized that I hadn't even told her about finding the plane cemetery. I started to go back and stopped. What was the point? It was clear that she no longer cared.

*   *   *

Day after day passed alike. I slept or sat alone. My nights I spent working in the cemetery. Then one day I realized that to follow me out to the cemetery without being spotted was beyond even Humdinger's sneakiness. It was easy to see me going into the barn from a window in the house and even easy to sneak up to the barn and spy on me. But the cemetery was a long way from the house. And, besides, I thought, who cared anyhow? What could Humdinger do about it—the plane was almost built. If he hadn't done anything to stop me up until now, it was doubtful he would in the future.

There was a deep quiet in the house now. Jocelyn and Mrs. Mendelbaum never left their rooms and Uncle never seemed to notice. He was preparing for a conference and ate silently, reading through dinner. The puppy remained with Humdinger and the cat with Uncle Marten. In such deadly silent aloneness, my thoughts began to stray too often to home. Some nights I didn't even care about going out to the cemetery to work and would roll over to go back to sleep. This frightened me more than anything. I could not afford to lose momentum.