The Enchantment of Lily Dahl by Siri Hustvedt Read Free Book Online

that she meant what she was saying. She meant it as much as she meant anything. It was as if the old woman had cast a spell over her, a magic of comprehension and belief. A couple of times she burst out laughing for no reason and had to start a scene over again. And once, after Lily gave a particularly fiery speech to Mabel’s Helena, the old woman hugged her, and Lily hugged her back. They had never embraced before. Under the black cloth of Mabel’s tunic, Lily felt the woman’s sharp little bones. She’s just a stick, Lily thought, no flesh at all.
    That night at rehearsal, Mrs. Wright told Lily that she had made a “major breakthrough.”
    *   *   *
    Riding home on her bicycle from the Arts Guild, Lily looked up at the moon in the darkening sky. Clouds as thin as smoke passed over its white surface, and below it she could see the silhouette of the grain elevator rising above the squat buildings of the town. Her bike jolted over the railroad tracks, and then, crossing the bridge, she breathed in the smell of the Cannon River—carp and rust and underwater weeds. She turned down Division Street, glanced up at Edward Shapiro’s window in the Stuart Hotel, saw that his lights were on and felt a surge of hope.
    Inside her apartment, Lily walked to the window without turning on her light. Edward Shapiro was talking on the telephone. He sat in a chair with his legs apart and was jiggling his right knee as he talked. Then he stood up and paced the floor with the receiver clamped between his raised shoulder and chin. Most of the other windows in the hotel were dark or covered. A television flickered beneath a half-drawn shade in a window on the first floor, and the lobby glowed behind the glass door. Ida, who no doubt sat behind the desk, was invisible. Lily looked up at Shapiro and saw him stare at the receiver for an instant before he put it down in disbelief or resignation—Lily didn’t know which. Then she remembered Hank and unplugged her phone. When she turned around, she saw the paper bag lying on the floor, reached for it and took out the shoes. She looked down at the two pale forms in her hands and asked herself why she had taken them. In the garage she had believed that these shoes had belonged to Helen Bodler. In her room, this idea seemed far-fetched. Why would she want a dead woman’s shoes, want them enough to steal them? She hadn’t left the money and that made it stealing, didn’t it? “I’m a thief,” Lily said aloud. Then she kicked off her sneakers and put on the shoes.
    When she stood up, they hurt. I’m bad, she thought, and at that same moment, she knew what she was going to do. Lily turned on every light in her apartment and yanked open her window so violently that she saw Shapiro turn his head and look toward her. Good, she thought. Good. He walked toward his window and leaned out. Mabel was typing urgently next door. Lily heard the woman pause, then beat the keys again. Lily walked straight to the window and faced Shapiro. She reached for the band that held her ponytail, undid it and shook her hair onto her back. She looked straight at him, although his face was hidden in shadow, and unbuttoned her blouse slowly. Then she threw it on the floor, ran her fingers over her naked shoulder and bit her bottom lip hard, rolling the flesh inward. This is wonderful, she said to herself, and unbuttoned her cutoff jeans. She turned to one side and wriggled out of the tight shorts. She could feel the stiff material slide down her buttocks, and that sensation, along with the fact that she knew he was looking at her, prompted an image of herself as someone else—a party girl crashing a strip show, a girl who never said die and who could bump and grind with the best of them. She had to hold on to her underpants to keep them from gliding down with the shorts, and she did this as gracefully as she possibly could. Then she hurled the cutoffs in the direction of her blouse, tossed her head and smiled. She