loathed the American custom of constantly smiling: “They are like chimpanzees,” she said, in her bitterly exclamatory voice. She grimaced, baring her teeth grotesquely. “Eee!” she said. “I smile at you! Eee! It is repulsive.”
But now she only looked at his smile with a sigh of disapproval, and he felt terribly self-conscious. “You wait,” she said, finally. “I will get keys.”
——
The efficiency surprised him. It reminded Jonah a little of a motel room, and he loved it immediately. There was a brown sofa that folded out into a bed, a small two-chair table with a standing lamp beside it, a seashore painting on the wall. In an alcove was a kitchenette with narrow counter space: a sink, a midget refrigerator, a microwave, a half-sized stove, a coffeemaker, some cabinets; and beyond that was a little bathroom, a tiny space not much bigger than a closet into which a toilet, sink, and bathtub had all been compressed. He was taken with the compactness of everything.
Efficiency,
he thought, and turned toward Mrs. Orlova, who stood in the doorway with her arms folded over her breasts.
“This looks great,” he said. “Just . . . fantastic.” He smiled at her again and looked her in the eye, as
Fifteen Steps on the Ladder of Success
had suggested. “I love it,” he said. And he really did. It was the opposite of the house he’d grown up in, with its smoke-stained stacks of clutter, its thick cobwebs and faucets that ran yellowish, sulphuric water. He cleared his throat. “So, well then,” he said. “Can I just—? How would I go about . . . reserving one?”
Mrs. Orlova raised her eyebrows, a single dark line that met over the bridge of her nose. “You have references?”
“References?”
“Where you live before?” She tilted her head and shrugged, tossing her hand. “You live somewhere, you have references.”
“Oh.” With effort, he prevented himself from assuming the submissive posture again. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m from South Dakota. I’m just moving here.”
“South Dakota?” she said, and moved the words in her mouth as if they were a new language. She frowned hard again, deeply and suspiciously, and he shifted from foot to foot. “It’s . . . ah . . . west?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s over—” and he pointed vaguely, though he didn’t know the direction. In the city his mental compass didn’t seem to work anymore, and he had no idea which way he was pointing. “Four—” he said, “five hundred miles or so?”
“Hm,” she said. She seemed to consider this as if she didn’t quite believe it. He watched as her eyes traveled again along the scar on his face, tracing an interstate on a map.
“I was in an accident at a factory,” he said. “If you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t wondering,” she said, though her expression softened somewhat. She moved her eyebrows in a complex way. “So what if this place is available? How will you pay?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Will you take cash?”
Her face changed again as he took the roll of bills from his jacket pocket, a wad a little bigger than his fist. Her eyes sparked, and her lower lip protruded again as he peeled one-hundred-dollar bills from the stack with shaky fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
“There was a settlement. From the accident.”
“Ah,” she said, and appraised him frankly. “They should have given you a million.” She shrugged, considering him for a moment longer, but she seemed to have made a favorable decision.
——
He’d thought, originally, that the money would last for quite a while. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars, which at the time had seemed like a stunning amount, though he later discovered that houses in most other places, even dilapidated houses, sold for many times that amount. When he left Little Bow, he carried with him 234 twenty-dollar bills, and 100 one-hundred-dollar bills, which he’d tried to hide in various places in the
But now she only looked at his smile with a sigh of disapproval, and he felt terribly self-conscious. “You wait,” she said, finally. “I will get keys.”
——
The efficiency surprised him. It reminded Jonah a little of a motel room, and he loved it immediately. There was a brown sofa that folded out into a bed, a small two-chair table with a standing lamp beside it, a seashore painting on the wall. In an alcove was a kitchenette with narrow counter space: a sink, a midget refrigerator, a microwave, a half-sized stove, a coffeemaker, some cabinets; and beyond that was a little bathroom, a tiny space not much bigger than a closet into which a toilet, sink, and bathtub had all been compressed. He was taken with the compactness of everything.
Efficiency,
he thought, and turned toward Mrs. Orlova, who stood in the doorway with her arms folded over her breasts.
“This looks great,” he said. “Just . . . fantastic.” He smiled at her again and looked her in the eye, as
Fifteen Steps on the Ladder of Success
had suggested. “I love it,” he said. And he really did. It was the opposite of the house he’d grown up in, with its smoke-stained stacks of clutter, its thick cobwebs and faucets that ran yellowish, sulphuric water. He cleared his throat. “So, well then,” he said. “Can I just—? How would I go about . . . reserving one?”
Mrs. Orlova raised her eyebrows, a single dark line that met over the bridge of her nose. “You have references?”
“References?”
“Where you live before?” She tilted her head and shrugged, tossing her hand. “You live somewhere, you have references.”
“Oh.” With effort, he prevented himself from assuming the submissive posture again. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m from South Dakota. I’m just moving here.”
“South Dakota?” she said, and moved the words in her mouth as if they were a new language. She frowned hard again, deeply and suspiciously, and he shifted from foot to foot. “It’s . . . ah . . . west?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s over—” and he pointed vaguely, though he didn’t know the direction. In the city his mental compass didn’t seem to work anymore, and he had no idea which way he was pointing. “Four—” he said, “five hundred miles or so?”
“Hm,” she said. She seemed to consider this as if she didn’t quite believe it. He watched as her eyes traveled again along the scar on his face, tracing an interstate on a map.
“I was in an accident at a factory,” he said. “If you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t wondering,” she said, though her expression softened somewhat. She moved her eyebrows in a complex way. “So what if this place is available? How will you pay?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Will you take cash?”
Her face changed again as he took the roll of bills from his jacket pocket, a wad a little bigger than his fist. Her eyes sparked, and her lower lip protruded again as he peeled one-hundred-dollar bills from the stack with shaky fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
“There was a settlement. From the accident.”
“Ah,” she said, and appraised him frankly. “They should have given you a million.” She shrugged, considering him for a moment longer, but she seemed to have made a favorable decision.
——
He’d thought, originally, that the money would last for quite a while. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars, which at the time had seemed like a stunning amount, though he later discovered that houses in most other places, even dilapidated houses, sold for many times that amount. When he left Little Bow, he carried with him 234 twenty-dollar bills, and 100 one-hundred-dollar bills, which he’d tried to hide in various places in the
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