When we went inside the house, I suggested I’d first show her around, after which we’d have lunch; “I’m not sure what we could do after that, but when [the property caretaker] comes back, we’ll figure out something.“
“Wow, don‘t think I‘m being impolite or anything,†she said, “but there’s hardly anything here, unless you have the television, the radio, the stereo, the videocassette player, or the digital video player, hidden in the walls. And the computer doesn’t even have loud-speakers or sound on it.
“And that’s an odd-looking telephone.
“There’s nothing to listen to here.â€
I let the whinery--she was polite enough to not make her complaints
real obvious, but they were there--pass, and was courteous enough to illuminate her that if she wished to use the telephone and the red light was on, to first turn it off.
“You’ll notice that all four rooms in this house, which doesn’t include the bathroom, are each 26’x32’; there were once seven rooms here, but some walls were taken down, probably during the 1960s. And the ceilings, as you can see, are pretty high.
“Here’s the bedroom, which you’ll take for the night--because of the weather, I’ll sleep out on the front porch--â€
She didn’t seem impressed by the interior decoration. “There’s hardly anything in this bedroom, just a single-sized bed, a bed-side table, a dresser, and an old upholstered armed chair.
“You’ve got a couch, a recliner, a floor-lamp, and bookshelves in the living room.
“The kitchen’s got
nothing in it; no microwave oven, no automatic dishwasher, no television, no telephone, the only small appliance being a blender--just what looks to be miles and miles of empty countertop space--â€
“It’s easier to keep clean,†I interrupted, bringing her back into the dining room, which we’d first entered when coming inside the house.
- - - - - - - - - -
The dining room was crowded, with a 1920s Sears, Roebuck buffet that had the telephone on it, and a 1920s Sears, Roebuck dining room table with all its leaves in place, extending it so it’d seat sixteen, seven on each side and one at each end.
The table was mostly occupied with piles of newly-washed and folded laundry, shirts, shorts, pants, towels, sheets, those sorts of things.
“[the former property caretaker’s wife] does the laundry,†I explained; “she picks it up every Tuesday afternoon, and brings it back every Friday morning. If I’m not around, she puts it here for me to put it away.â€
“But you haven’t,†she said.
“Well, you know,†I shrugged, “a guy, single, the only one who lives here; it just doesn’t seem important.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
She looked from the dining room back over into the living room. The computer sits on a 6‘x6‘ table in an alcove between the two rooms. “This is more like living in a solarium than in a house.â€
“Not quite,†I pointed out, “although there’s a lot more windows, and bigger windows, than what one’d expect in a house. The old caretaker some years ago measured, and told me that the outer walls are 43% windows.
“The old woman who lived here before I did was going blind, but she could still differentiate between light and darkness, and apparently it solaced her greatly, being able to see when it was day-time.â€
“But,†she said, “you have no shades, curtains, or draperies, nothing at all covering the windows.â€
“Oh, there were roll-down window-shades when I first moved in here nine years ago,†I explained, “but I took them down.
“I’ve always been hostile about window-shades; they remind me of coarse, slatternly people from my childhood, people with no class. Such shades were usually yellowed, curling, and torn, and if pulled down, from the outside it was obvious something not decent and civilized was taking place inside.
“Brrrr,†I shivered. “That appearance of trying to hide something always made me think it was something sinister, and I didn’t like it.
“After taking the shades down, I figured I’d pick up draperies at thrift-stores in [the big city], but I never got around to it.
“But anyway,†I concluded, “at least the bathroom, where shielding the inside’s necessary, it’s not windows, but those six-inch frosted glass ’bricks,’ and they do good at obscuring what’s inside.â€
“The other rooms, though,†she insisted, “people outside can look right in, and see what’s in here…..or what’s going on. Everything’s all out in the open. What about if one wants privacy during times of intimacy?â€
Oh, I said; “hopping around in the sack, you mean.
“We’re way out here in the middle of nowhere; there’s nobody else around to see anything.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
Then we finally went back into the kitchen, as I’d suggested we have lunch.
“I’m not a cook, and so we’ll each have to fend for ourselves, but whatever’s here, feel free,†I said.
“Let me look first, but I could make you a sandwich, maybe,†she replied, the first thoughtful comment she’d made.
She looked inside the institutional-sized refrigerator, in which she saw the right half was packed full.
“But these are all dairy products,†she said; “milk and more milk and yet more milk, orange juice and more orange juice, all sorts of cheeses, quarts and half gallons of sour cream, big blocks of butter, dozens of eggs, cases of yogurt--â€
I know, I know, I said; “I’m the dairyman’s best friend.
“Probably the stuff in the left half’ll interest you more.
“People are always coming out here to cook and barbeque and party, and they leave the leftovers.â€
She looked. “But there’s no kale, no quinoa, no tofu, no shitcakes, no curry, no gluten-free pasta, other healthy foods, but I guess I can make something for lunch out of all of this.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
She looked at my plate, on which was a sprig of parsley and a single potato chip.
“No,†she said; “that’s your dinner?â€
“Lunch,†I corrected her; “it’s my
lunch. We’re not having any dinner today, and we’ll be going to the bar in town for
supper.
“It’s too hot to eat much, and digesting a heavy stomach raises the body temperature considerably.â€
“That’s
all you’re having?â€
“No, not quite,†I assured her. “And I’ll eat more this evening, at supper.â€
She watched as I took a two-quart flower vase out of the cupboard, filled it with ice, and then dumped whole milk into it. Anticipating her next comment, I pre-empted, “well, there really aren’t any other suitable containers available, for those of us who like milk.
“They’re always either those super-sized insulated convenience-store mugs, or heavy clumsy things like tankards or steins.â€
I looked at what she had on her plate, collected from the left side of the refrigerator, the leftovers.
It was stacked with chocolate brownies, chocolate éclairs, chocolate cake, chocolate zucchini bread, chocolate mousse, chocolate fudge, chocolate truffles, chocolate sour cream banana bread, chocolate-covered strawberries, black-bean-and-chocolate chili, chocolate walnut biscotti, chocolate ganache, chocolate cream meringue pie, chocolate macaroni-and-cheese, among other things.
to be continued
