Read Online My Latest Grievance by Elinor Lipman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elinor Lipman
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returned. "How about this as a safe conversation? Our fellow resident heads. What can you tell me about my predecessor? Priscilla ... I can't recall her surname, even though it's sewn into every tea towel."
"Knight," I supplied.
"Were you and Mrs. Knight friends? I mean, to this degree—like you and me. Did you eat meals with her when you needed some adult companionship?"
I said, "I get plenty of adult companionship."
"Of course," she said. "Sorry."
"What adolescent would eat three meals a day with her parents if she didn't have to?"
She tapped my hand. "Shall we get back to Mrs. Knight? I'm curious about the woman whose shoes I'm filling."
I said, "I used to feed her fish when she went away weekends."
"To where?"
I said I didn't know.
"She must have left a number where you could reach her in case of emergency."
I said, "I wasn't left in charge of the dorm. I was only left in charge of the fish."
"Don't you find fish as pets to be a very telling facet of a fish owner's personality?" she asked.
"Not really," I said.
She cut a tiny piece of her neglected meat, chewed it daintily, and washed it down with a sip of wine before continuing. "No feedback. No warmth. Swimming around in cold water. Do they ever give anything back? Do they even know you're there? What does a person living alone get from a relationship with fish?"
I said, "I think she loved animals, and fish were the only things allowed in the dorms."
"If I were an animal lover, you know what I'd do? I'd sneak my dog or cat in and out of the dorm in a big straw pocketbook. I'd buy the smallest breed of dog and keep her a secret. And, if possible, teach her to use a litter box. I would
not
settle for fish."
"She gave them names, and she didn't feed them fish food. They ate chicken and lettuce and whole-wheat bread because she thought fish food was poisonous."
"Poisonous," she repeated. "She actually
believed
that manufacturers of fish food would want to kill off their clientele?"
"We didn't discuss it. She mentioned it once to explain why she fed the fish people-food."
"Did the girls like her? Because I get the impression that I am something of a breath of fresh air."
"Girls
tell
you that?"
"No. What they tell me are things like 'Mrs. Knight used to go to bed at nine o'clock. Mrs. Knight'—they call me Laura Lee by the way—'used to cut out pictures of fashion models and hang them on her door.'"
I said, "Only one model, her nephew."
"Her nephew? Are you sure? How could you prove that a magazine cutout was an actual relative? Did you ever meet him?"
I said, "No. He went to Brown. Brown students don't come to Dewing, even if their aunt lives here."
Her face registered something that I, the daughter of social scientists, knew well: an onlooker prospecting for greater meaning in what I'd said than I'd ever intended.
Frederica is implying that Dewing is inferior. She must be ashamed of her home, her kibbutz.
I could see that a follow-up question was perched on her lips. But she looked up, past me. Someone was approaching our table directly behind me. "Dr. Hatch," my tablemate said in greeting.
"Mind if I join you?" my mother's voice asked.
"Please," said Laura Lee. "Your daughter and I have been having a most interesting conversation."
My mother put her tray down next to mine. Her plate held only the evening's carrots, baked potato, and raw cauliflower florets from the salad bar. She looked her dowdiest, her gray hair bushing out from two mismatched barrettes of mine, her reading glasses dangling over a faded brown cotton turtleneck, torn along one shoulder seam.
"Are you a vegetarian?" asked Laura Lee.
My mother looked at our plates and said, "I don't eat pork. They ran out of Salisbury steak."
"Oh, that's right," said Laura Lee. "I forgot."
My mother said, "I was raised that way, and old habits are hard to break."
"She's never, in her entire life, eaten a cheeseburger," I volunteered.
"The laws of kashrut," Laura Lee said. "I know them
"Knight," I supplied.
"Were you and Mrs. Knight friends? I mean, to this degree—like you and me. Did you eat meals with her when you needed some adult companionship?"
I said, "I get plenty of adult companionship."
"Of course," she said. "Sorry."
"What adolescent would eat three meals a day with her parents if she didn't have to?"
She tapped my hand. "Shall we get back to Mrs. Knight? I'm curious about the woman whose shoes I'm filling."
I said, "I used to feed her fish when she went away weekends."
"To where?"
I said I didn't know.
"She must have left a number where you could reach her in case of emergency."
I said, "I wasn't left in charge of the dorm. I was only left in charge of the fish."
"Don't you find fish as pets to be a very telling facet of a fish owner's personality?" she asked.
"Not really," I said.
She cut a tiny piece of her neglected meat, chewed it daintily, and washed it down with a sip of wine before continuing. "No feedback. No warmth. Swimming around in cold water. Do they ever give anything back? Do they even know you're there? What does a person living alone get from a relationship with fish?"
I said, "I think she loved animals, and fish were the only things allowed in the dorms."
"If I were an animal lover, you know what I'd do? I'd sneak my dog or cat in and out of the dorm in a big straw pocketbook. I'd buy the smallest breed of dog and keep her a secret. And, if possible, teach her to use a litter box. I would
not
settle for fish."
"She gave them names, and she didn't feed them fish food. They ate chicken and lettuce and whole-wheat bread because she thought fish food was poisonous."
"Poisonous," she repeated. "She actually
believed
that manufacturers of fish food would want to kill off their clientele?"
"We didn't discuss it. She mentioned it once to explain why she fed the fish people-food."
"Did the girls like her? Because I get the impression that I am something of a breath of fresh air."
"Girls
tell
you that?"
"No. What they tell me are things like 'Mrs. Knight used to go to bed at nine o'clock. Mrs. Knight'—they call me Laura Lee by the way—'used to cut out pictures of fashion models and hang them on her door.'"
I said, "Only one model, her nephew."
"Her nephew? Are you sure? How could you prove that a magazine cutout was an actual relative? Did you ever meet him?"
I said, "No. He went to Brown. Brown students don't come to Dewing, even if their aunt lives here."
Her face registered something that I, the daughter of social scientists, knew well: an onlooker prospecting for greater meaning in what I'd said than I'd ever intended.
Frederica is implying that Dewing is inferior. She must be ashamed of her home, her kibbutz.
I could see that a follow-up question was perched on her lips. But she looked up, past me. Someone was approaching our table directly behind me. "Dr. Hatch," my tablemate said in greeting.
"Mind if I join you?" my mother's voice asked.
"Please," said Laura Lee. "Your daughter and I have been having a most interesting conversation."
My mother put her tray down next to mine. Her plate held only the evening's carrots, baked potato, and raw cauliflower florets from the salad bar. She looked her dowdiest, her gray hair bushing out from two mismatched barrettes of mine, her reading glasses dangling over a faded brown cotton turtleneck, torn along one shoulder seam.
"Are you a vegetarian?" asked Laura Lee.
My mother looked at our plates and said, "I don't eat pork. They ran out of Salisbury steak."
"Oh, that's right," said Laura Lee. "I forgot."
My mother said, "I was raised that way, and old habits are hard to break."
"She's never, in her entire life, eaten a cheeseburger," I volunteered.
"The laws of kashrut," Laura Lee said. "I know them
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