Claire, and Granny Elizabeth behind them.
—
CLAIRE KNEW she was a quiet girl. Supposedly, she didn’t say “Mama” until she was nearly two. “It wasn’t that she couldn’t,” said Rosanna, “it was that she didn’t care to.”
But what, thought Claire, was the use of talking when no one was listening? You could see it right here in Eloise’s apartment. Some people talked all the time—Eloise and Granny Elizabeth. Henry yakked, but in spurts—Sir Francis Drake was the eldest of twelve children, he fought the Spanish Armada, and on and on. Rosa said little, but whenever Rosa said something (“We should put some mushrooms init”), the others fell silent, smiled, and nodded. Henry was in love with her and watched her every move. Eloise didn’t notice, because she did the same thing. Rosa was a perfect example of an only child, thought Claire—she behaved herself, but it was because she was always on the stage and the lights were always up.
In the five days they spent in Berkeley, Rosa didn’t introduce them to a single girl. Plenty of boys came over—they were kind of stinky and not good-looking, and they wore messy clothes. Everyone smoked and sat around, talking and talking. They watched out to see if you were listening, but they didn’t say anything right to you, they just went on and on about being and nothingness while thinking that they were talking about something. In the end, pigs were more interesting. If Claire had been asked her opinion, she would have described how pigs look for their favorite foods in the slop, how they push the orange rinds to one side and eat the potato skins first, then come back to the orange rinds and nibble them, and she had even seen a pig eat a lemon rind and wrinkle its nose. Also, pigs had friends, and they grouped together; quite often, they liked the pigs who looked more or less like they themselves did. There were a couple of pigs in every litter whom the other pigs stayed away from. Claire had plenty to say, but not anything that anyone wanted to hear.
Eloise took them to see the Golden Gate Bridge, which they drove over one way, and then they turned around and drove back over it the other way. They went to Chinatown in San Francisco. Granny Elizabeth wanted to buy a doll, and she had the money, but Eloise insisted on bargaining for it, and then, when the price got down to two dollars, Granny Elizabeth walked right up to the woman and paid her four dollars anyway. The night before they went home, they had dinner in a restaurant where, in her show-offy way, Rosa ate only vegetables. They had ice cream for dessert. Henry told a story about his adviser, who had divorced his wife because she kept mispronouncing the word “album.” She could not stop herself from saying “alblum.” Henry said, “He corrected her, but she was really stubborn.”
“Why don’t you go digging in Mexico or somewhere?” said Rosa. “New Mexico. There’s plenty of interesting archeological stuff there.”
“There is.” Henry’s voice was sharp. “But I didn’t start with that culture. I started with Indo-European, and it’s too late to change now.” His lips snapped shut, and Aunt Eloise looked from him toRosa. Rosa shrugged. It was a careful shrug—she knew Henry was looking at her, and she wanted him to understand that, whatever he did, she, Rosa didn’t care.
“How many languages do you speak, Henry?” said Granny Elizabeth, oblivious.
“English. German. I can read French and Italian. If you can read Italian, you can work out Spanish. I can read Latin, Middle English, Old English. There aren’t many texts, but I can make it through the Gothic version of the Bible. I’m taking Greek this semester.” Henry’s voice rose.
Rosa turned her head slowly, toward him, and then away from him, across the room. Aunt Eloise took another sip of her wine. Claire saw then that she and Rosa did have something in common, and that it was keeping secrets. Claire’s secrets
—
CLAIRE KNEW she was a quiet girl. Supposedly, she didn’t say “Mama” until she was nearly two. “It wasn’t that she couldn’t,” said Rosanna, “it was that she didn’t care to.”
But what, thought Claire, was the use of talking when no one was listening? You could see it right here in Eloise’s apartment. Some people talked all the time—Eloise and Granny Elizabeth. Henry yakked, but in spurts—Sir Francis Drake was the eldest of twelve children, he fought the Spanish Armada, and on and on. Rosa said little, but whenever Rosa said something (“We should put some mushrooms init”), the others fell silent, smiled, and nodded. Henry was in love with her and watched her every move. Eloise didn’t notice, because she did the same thing. Rosa was a perfect example of an only child, thought Claire—she behaved herself, but it was because she was always on the stage and the lights were always up.
In the five days they spent in Berkeley, Rosa didn’t introduce them to a single girl. Plenty of boys came over—they were kind of stinky and not good-looking, and they wore messy clothes. Everyone smoked and sat around, talking and talking. They watched out to see if you were listening, but they didn’t say anything right to you, they just went on and on about being and nothingness while thinking that they were talking about something. In the end, pigs were more interesting. If Claire had been asked her opinion, she would have described how pigs look for their favorite foods in the slop, how they push the orange rinds to one side and eat the potato skins first, then come back to the orange rinds and nibble them, and she had even seen a pig eat a lemon rind and wrinkle its nose. Also, pigs had friends, and they grouped together; quite often, they liked the pigs who looked more or less like they themselves did. There were a couple of pigs in every litter whom the other pigs stayed away from. Claire had plenty to say, but not anything that anyone wanted to hear.
Eloise took them to see the Golden Gate Bridge, which they drove over one way, and then they turned around and drove back over it the other way. They went to Chinatown in San Francisco. Granny Elizabeth wanted to buy a doll, and she had the money, but Eloise insisted on bargaining for it, and then, when the price got down to two dollars, Granny Elizabeth walked right up to the woman and paid her four dollars anyway. The night before they went home, they had dinner in a restaurant where, in her show-offy way, Rosa ate only vegetables. They had ice cream for dessert. Henry told a story about his adviser, who had divorced his wife because she kept mispronouncing the word “album.” She could not stop herself from saying “alblum.” Henry said, “He corrected her, but she was really stubborn.”
“Why don’t you go digging in Mexico or somewhere?” said Rosa. “New Mexico. There’s plenty of interesting archeological stuff there.”
“There is.” Henry’s voice was sharp. “But I didn’t start with that culture. I started with Indo-European, and it’s too late to change now.” His lips snapped shut, and Aunt Eloise looked from him toRosa. Rosa shrugged. It was a careful shrug—she knew Henry was looking at her, and she wanted him to understand that, whatever he did, she, Rosa didn’t care.
“How many languages do you speak, Henry?” said Granny Elizabeth, oblivious.
“English. German. I can read French and Italian. If you can read Italian, you can work out Spanish. I can read Latin, Middle English, Old English. There aren’t many texts, but I can make it through the Gothic version of the Bible. I’m taking Greek this semester.” Henry’s voice rose.
Rosa turned her head slowly, toward him, and then away from him, across the room. Aunt Eloise took another sip of her wine. Claire saw then that she and Rosa did have something in common, and that it was keeping secrets. Claire’s secrets
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