The Corps of the Bare-Boned Plane (24 page)

The day Sophie arrived I was the first one to see her. I was on my way to the plane cemetery when the boat landed. It was a small fishing boat and I thought Humdinger was very resourceful and wondered how he had procured it. The captain or fisherwoman or whatever you called her helped Sophie out and into a dinghy, which she rowed to shore, and then the woman pulled the dinghy with Sophie in it up onto the pebbly beach so she could get out without getting her feet wet. I stood and watched and almost ran over to escort her to the house, but then I decided no, I was not a welcoming committee, my plane was coming along a treat, and I would be departing soon. I did not wish to raise her hopes that she had a friend in me, so I shrugged to myself as I watched them scan the island for the house, and walked on toward the cemetery, where I spent a long day reattaching one wing where it had separated from the fuselage.

When I got in for dinner that night, Sophie was sitting at the table. Humdinger had set a place for her where Jocelyn used to sit, mid-table, but she had pulled her chair and place setting cozily next to Uncle Marten and was engaging him in conversation, which seemed to bemuse him, but politeness dictated he stop working and pay attention.

“Ah,” he said as I sat down. “Here is Meline. Meline dear, this is Miss Babilinska. You must keep her entertained. You really
must.
” He emphasized this a bit too heartily. Humdinger brought in pumpkin soup, and this seemed to distress Sophie, who kept trying to jump up and take courses from him all through dinner. It was clear she had never been served by a butler before and she seemed to think it was beneath Humdinger's dignity. But from what I had seen over the last few months, Humdinger's dignity was unassailable and had nothing to do with menial labor. In fact, Humdinger's dignity seemed to derive from being able to do menial labor, competently taking care of the things that needed to be done. Humdinger's dignity seemed to derive from the fact that he didn't worry about his dignity. Sophie, in apparent agony, watching Humdinger serve, had a small knot between her eyes even though Humdinger kept trying to reassure her and gesture for her to sit down and stop worrying. This was what he
did,
after all. I dug into my soup enthusiastically. I was chilled to the bone and my hands were red and raw from working with cold wet metal all day.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” I said. “I lost track of time.” I'd been working with a particularly difficult joint. There was a huge piece of metal missing where the elevator was and I was going to have to rig something. I was still not sure how to cut metal. I would have to go on the Internet and see if I could get some information.

“Tut tut, not at all, my dear. I have been telling Miss Babilinska that in the future I will be unable to eat dinner with the two of you. I have so much to finish before I leave for this conference. Fortunately, with her arrival, the two of you can dine together.”

“How is Mrs. Mendelbaum?” I asked Sophie politely because presumably she had spent the afternoon with her. Better her than me.

“Miss Babilinska has informed me that Mrs. Mendelbaum is doing very well. But it is a great comfort for her to know that she has a friend here.”

“A bosom companion,” said Miss Babilinska, stuffing her mouth with meat. Humdinger had brought in the plates, and after a short wrestle, Sophie had let him do so. I had heard Mrs. Mendelbaum call her Sophie originally and now I was finding it difficult to call her Miss Babilinska, which was a mouthful anyway. There was sliced brisket, and pierogies, which I assume he made especially for Sophie's welcome, and tzimmes, which were candied carrots and mashed potatoes and Brussels sprouts. He didn't bother putting brisket on my plate because by now he knew what I ate and didn't and didn't trouble me by offering me things he knew I wouldn't want. He was as aware of things as Uncle was unaware. Because he was so aware I began to have nervous knots in my stomach; maybe I underestimated him, maybe he could do something to stop me from completing my flying machine. Maybe he was simply waiting until the last second to scuttle my plans. We were so close to flying.

I could hear voices coming from the kitchen.

“Who's in the kitchen with Humdinger?” I asked.

“Ah. That would be the doctor,” said Uncle Marten, looking at me meaningly, raising his eyebrows and touching the side of his nose. “She came over to examine Mrs. Mendelbaum, who wouldn't let her in her room, by the way, causing quite a ruckus. Yes, you missed that while you were gone wherever it is you go all day. And then Dr. Houseman went to examine Jocelyn, who wasn't getting well fast enough to satisfy her, so now she has had the brilliant idea that she should move into one of the quickly disappearing free bedrooms where she can keep an eye on both of them.”

“I don't understand, doesn't she have to work?” I asked.

“Sam is taking her back and forth now and she is staying here apparently. She has a suitcase with her. I saw her bring it in.”

“Well, she can't do that, can she? I mean, it's
your
island, Uncle Marten.”

“Well, it
was
…” said Uncle Marten, absentmindedly going back to his book.

Humdinger brought dessert in at that point and Sophie ate her ice cream doggedly as if she were afraid someone would take it away if she didn't get it down promptly. So it wasn't until after dinner that she even bothered to look at me, and when she did it was with large, empty eyes. There are some people who you know are simply not too swift by looking at them. I could see why Mrs. Mendelbaum had said she could get Sophie to do anything. She would not be hard to push around because it was clear that she could have no ideas of her own. She had the hanging jowls of a basset hound but also the large trusting sad eyes. But she had no interest in me any more than anyone else in that house, she was there for Mrs. Mendelbaum. And she seemed to be in awe of Humdinger for some strange, basset hound reason of her own.

One evening after dinner when Sophie had left before dessert because Mrs. Mendelbaum had asked her to bring dessert up on a tray for the two of them, Uncle Marten turned to me and said, “How long does she plan to live here?” Sophie was spending more time eating with Mrs. Mendelbaum, so Uncle had apparently forgotten his threat not to come down to dinner and was sneaking down to meals again. We could sometimes hear the sound of their Yiddish drifting down the stairs. It gave the house a strange international flavor, Yiddish upstairs, English downstairs, as if we were the UN.

I shrugged.

“Well, has she moved in?”

I shrugged again.

“Well, let me put it this way, did she have a lot of
stuff
with her when she arrived that she unpacked and put folded neatly into drawers?”

“I really don't know, Uncle Marten,” I said, nonchalantly toying with my rice pudding. “I wasn't in when she arrived. I didn't see what she unpacked. She did seem to have a lot of cartons in the dinghy. But I can't say for certain those were hers because I didn't see them taken out. I left before they unloaded them, if they did. They might have belonged to the boat owner.”

“The boat owner?”

“Yes.”

“Why would the boat owner have a lot of cartons in a dinghy?”

“Well…”

“That's it. Trust me, that's the tip-off. Cartons. She has moved in. I have lost another bedroom.”

I shrugged again. I was becoming a great shrugger.

Sophie was keeping Mrs. Mendelbaum occupied. I had hoped that with her arrival, Mrs. Mendelbaum would sever ties with Jocelyn and Jocelyn would rejoin the airplane building, but I was beginning to accept that Jocelyn didn't ever want to get out of bed. It no longer felt like a joint project. I was working feverishly. I left the house early in the morning and worked in the rain until I was drenched, coming in at lunchtime to change clothes and eat and go out again until dark. It was staying light longer and longer and I was vaguely aware that trees were budding, but I didn't care. Humdinger seemed to find my wet clothes no matter where I hid them and they ended up washed and dried and folded neatly on my bed. This seemed pushy to me. As if he were emphasizing that I could have no secrets from him, but even this didn't bother me particularly. It didn't seem to matter if he knew anymore as long as he didn't stop me. Rainy day followed rainy day. It didn't warm up gradually like spring did at home. Instead daffodils bloomed, blossoms came out on trees, but the rain remained a gray driving constant and every day was like the one before.

I was sitting in a wing chair in front of the fire one evening, eyeing Humdinger carrying a basket of my laundry up to my room, when Dr. Houseman, who had just come dripping into the house, having arrived by helicopter, plopped beside me. She shivered and ran her hands over her rain-drenched face and then held her wet hands before the fire.

“Whew,” she said. “Long day. Thank goodness Sam was on time. I think I would have slept at the hospital or at home tonight if he hadn't been. I didn't have the energy to wait around on that windy helicopter pad. It's beastly out there.”

“Why don't you ever sleep at home?” I asked. “Why bother to sleep here? Jocelyn and Mrs. Mendelbaum aren't that sick, are they?”

“Well…” She looked as if she were about to tell me something and then stopped. She sat quietly for a moment in her chair. She was one of those people comfortable with her own silences. Then she said, “They're something of a mystery to me, I must admit. They aren't getting better as fast as I would like. I can't tell if it's some kind of secondary infection or depression. And, of course, Humdinger asked me to keep an eye on things. Medically.”

Oh, Humdinger did, did he? So the romantic feelings were not on Dr. Houseman's side alone. “If you ask me, Jocelyn is just stoned. She keeps taking this cough medicine and who knows where she's getting it. You're not giving it to her, I bet, but Jocelyn says you are. And I wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Mendelbaum is taking it, too, because at Christmas she was going around with this flask of black stuff that looks a lot like the stuff Jocelyn was taking. And I can guess who is giving it to them if you're not.”

“I'm not giving them any medicine, no. So who do you think is giving them cough medicine?

“Humdinger!” I said. The cat was now certainly out of the bag. But if someone was poisoned it was as well that I made my suspicions known ahead of time. And she should know what she was romantically dallying with, if you asked me.

To my surprise Dr. Houseman, instead of seeming shocked or concerned, allowed a thin weary smile to cross her face. Then she just sat there for a second with it frozen as if having her own little joke.

“I'm sorry,” she said, finally coming back to. “Oh my, it's been a long day. Why would Humdinger be giving Jocelyn and Mrs. Mendelbaum cough medicine?”

“He's trying to poison them. I'm telling you, the man, well, he has suspicious behavior.”

“No doubt,” said Dr. Houseman and smiled again. “Listen,” she began, leaning forward and putting a hand on my forearm, but just then Humdinger came in and offered to get Dr. Houseman dinner and she followed him into the kitchen, winking at me as she left.

Well, of course she wouldn't listen to you, you ninny, I said to myself. What did I expect, if Uncle was right and she was making a play for him? She wasn't going to think he was a poisoner. Worst of all, now she was probably going to tell him that I was onto him, and it would be twice as hard to catch him. On the other hand, perhaps, so alerted, he would cease drugging Jocelyn and Mrs. Mendelbaum long enough for Jocelyn to recover sufficiently for me to take her to the plane. The aircraft was almost complete. I had only a bit of bolting left and it would be done. Maybe two days' work. Would Jocelyn be well enough in two days? If I could get her as far as the dolly, I could wheel her there. I wasn't sure that she would care about going anymore, but it seemed the right thing to do. As if I must think for her now that she could no longer think straight herself, and keep my promise to take her with me. I tried to imagine what Humdinger would do about this. Would he come racing across the meadow after us? I had never seen him race before. But how else could he thwart us? Would he somehow slip the medicine into me as well? Into my food? I was so close to being done with the plane that I vowed not to eat again. Then there would be no danger of becoming permanently stoned like Jocelyn. On the other hand, what did Jocelyn need the plane for if she had the cough medicine? She'd found her own way to fly above it all. She'd found her own way out. At that moment, I cut her loose. I don't know why I ever thought she and I had to do this together anyway. I had done it all mostly alone and I could complete it alone.

The next day I finished bolting the machine. I turned the engine over and I should have been frantic with joy to hear the miracle of this sound, this engine I had brought to life after so many years idle and useless, but instead I sat in the pilot's seat, worn out and feeling flat. I looked out the rain-streaked windshield to the blossoming trees and felt nothing. None of it really mattered. Without Jocelyn, there was no one who would even see me leave. It felt odd to have no witness, not even one you didn't particularly care for, in your life. I tried to rouse some emotion in myself. Perhaps I just needed to eat something. Maybe I was at such a low energyless ebb because I needed food. I hoped it was something I could fix so easily because I could no longer reason myself out of this sense that none of it mattered or ever had. I dragged myself back through the rain to forage something uncontaminated in the kitchen, and on the way I almost tripped on a box that was lying sodden in a furrow. Another of Sam's drops, one that had been sitting in the rain for a very long time so that the cardboard had soaked through and all but disintegrated, leaving the contents spilled in the mud. I pawed through it and carried it back to my room.