The New Yorker Stories Read Online Free Page A

spike in his back. No. He must be imagining that. Usually Michael doesn’t look at the books that are lying around. He goes through Prudence’s and Richard’s bureau drawers. Richard wears size thirty-two Jockey shorts. Prudence has a little blue barrette for her hair. Michael has even unwrapped some of the food in the freezer. Fish. He thinks about defrosting it and eating it, but then he forgets. He usually eats two cans of Campbell’s Vegetarian Vegetable soup for lunch and four Chunky Pecan candy bars for dinner. If he is awake in time for breakfast, he smokes hash.
    One evening, the phone rings. Silas gets there first, as usual, but he can’t answer it. Poor old Silas. Michael lets him out the door before he answers the phone. He notices that Ray has come calling. Ray is a female German shepherd, named by the next-door neighbor’s children. Silas tries to mount Ray.
    “Richard?” says the voice on the telephone.
    “Yeah. Hi,” Michael says.
    “Is this Richard?”
    “Right.”
    “It doesn’t sound like you, Richard.”
    “You sound funny, too. What’s new?”
    “What? You really sound screwed up tonight, Richard.”
    “Are you in a bad mood or something?” Michael counters.
    “Well, I might be surprised that we haven’t talked for months, and I call and you just mutter.”
    “It’s the connection.”
    “Richard, this doesn’t sound like you.”
    “This is Richard’s mother. I forgot to say that.”
    “What are you so hostile about, Richard? Are you all right?”
    “Of course I am.”
    “O.K. This is weird. I called to find out what Prudence was going to do about California.”
    “She’s going to go,” Michael says.
    “You’re kidding me.”
    “No.”
    “Oh—I guess I picked the wrong time to call. Why don’t I call you back tomorrow?”
    “O.K.,” Michael says. “Bye.”
    Prudence left exact directions about how to take care of her plants. Michael has it down pretty well by now, but sometimes he just splashes some water on them. These plants moderately damp, those quite damp, some every third day—what does it matter? A few have died, but a few have new leaves. Sometimes Michael feels guilty and he hovers over them, wondering what you do for a plant that is supposed to be moderately dry but is soaking wet. In addition to watering the plants, he tries to do a few other things that will be appreciated. He has rubbed some oil into Prudence’s big iron frying pan and has let it sit on the stove. Once, Silas went out and rolled in cow dung and then came in and rolled on the kitchen floor, and Michael was very conscientious about washing that. The same day, he found some chalk in the kitchen cabinet and drew a hopscotch court on the floor and jumped around a little bit. Sometimes he squirts Silas with some of Prudence’s Réplique, just to make Silas mad. Silas is the kind of dog who would be offended if a homosexual approached him. Michael thinks of the dog as a displaced person. He is aware that he and the dog get into a lot of clichéd situations—man with dog curled at his side, sitting by fire; dog accepts food from man’s hand, licks hand when food is gone. Prudence was reluctant to let the big dog stay in the house. Silas won her over, though. Making fine use of another cliché at the time, Silas curled around her feet and beat his tail on the rug.
    “Where’s Richard?” Sam asks.
    “Richard and Prudence went to Manila.”
    “Manila? Who are you?”
    “I lost my job. I’m watching the house for them.”
    “Lost your job—”
    “Yeah. I don’t mind. Who wants to spend his life watching out that his machine doesn’t get him?”
    “Where were you working?”
    “Factory.”
    Sam doesn’t have anything else to say. He was the man on the telephone, and he would like to know why Michael pretended to be Richard on the phone, but he sort of likes Michael and sees that it was a joke.
    “That was pretty funny when we talked on the phone,” he says. “At least I’m