The Anatomy Lesson by Philip Roth Read Free Book Online Page B

Zuckerman remembered her apron, her h ousedress, the dark graying hair, remembered the old Newark sofa re-cover ed—the year he went off to Chi cago—in a sober, utilitarian, stain-resistant “ Scotch plaid. ” She was stretched out on the living-room sofa, smiling faintly at all he was explaining to her, and imperceptibly falling asleep. He put her right out discussing Hobbes and the social contract. But how she loved that he knew it all. What a sedative that was, the most powerful she ’ d ever dared to take until, after her husband ’ s death, they got her on phenobarbital.
    All this sentiment. He wondered if it was only to compensate for the damage that he was reputed to have done her with the portrait of the mother in Carnovsky, if that was the origin of these tender memories softening him up while he watered her plants. He wondered if watering the plants wasn ’ t itself willed, artificial, a bit of heart-pleasing Broadway business as contrived as his crying over her favorite kitsch show tune. Is this what writing has done? All that self-conscious self-mining—and now I can ’ t even be allowed to take purely the shock of my own mother ’ s death. Not even when I ’ m in tears am I sure what gives.
    He had to smile when he saw who came in: no, it wasn ’ t the specter of his mother returned from the dead with a key to the door so as to hear from him now about Locke and Rousseau but a small, bottom-heavy, earthbound stranger, the color of bittersweet chocolate. She was dressed in a roomy turquoise slacks suit and wore a wig of shiny black curls. This would be Olivia, the eighty-three-year-old cleaning woman. Who he was, this man in pajamas humming to Mrs. Zuckerman ’ s music and watering her plants with her flowered can, she was not so quick to figure out.
    “ Who you! ” she shouted and, stamping her foot, showed him the way out.
    “ You ’ re Olivia. Take it easy. Olivia. I ’ m Mrs. Zuckerman ’ s son. I ’ m Nathan. From New York. I slept here last night. You can close the door and come in. ” He extended his hand. “ I ’ m Nathan Zuckerman. ”
    “ My God, you like t ’ scared me to death. My heart just flutterin ” . You say you Nathan? ”
    “ Yes. ”
    “ What you do for a livin ’ ? ”
    “ I ’ m the writer. ”
    She walked straight up to shake his hand. “ Well, you a good-lookin ’ man, ain ’ t you? ”
    “ You ’ re a good-looking woman. How do you do? ”
    “ Where ’ s your mamma? ”
     
    He told her and she dropped backwards onto the sofa. “ My Miz Zuckerman? My Miz Z uckerman? My beautiful Miz Zuck erman? That cain ’ t be! I seen her last Thursday. All dressed up — goin ’ out. Wearin ’ that white coat with the big collar. I say to her, ‘ Oh, Miz Zuckerman, how beautiful you looks. ’ She cain ’t be dead, not my Miz Zuckerman! ”
    He sat beside her on the sofa, holding and stroking her hand until finally she was able to be consoled.
    “ You wants me to clean up anyway? ” Olivia asked.
    “ If you feel you can, why not? ”
    “ You wants me to fix you a egg? ”
    “ No, I ’ m all right, thanks. You always come this early? ”
    “ Most usually I gets here six-thirty sharp. Me and Miz Zuckerman, we likes a early start. Oh, I cain ’ t believe that woman is dead. People always dy i n ’ , but you never gets used to it. The nicest woman in the world. ”
    “ She went quickly, Olivia. Without any pain. ”
    “ I say to Miz Zuckerman, ‘ Miz Zuckerman, your place so clean it hard for me to make it clean. ’”
    “ I understand. ”
    “ I tells her all the time. ‘ You wastin ’ your money on me. Everything so spark l in ’ here, I just rubs around to make it more sparklin ’ but I cain ’ t. ” I never comes in here we don ’ t hug and kiss soon as we sees each other. That woman she kind to everybody. They comes in here, the other ladies, and she sit in her chair, that one, and they start peskerin ’ her to give ‘ em some advice.