The Middle Stories by Sheila Heti Read Free Book Online Page B

to my feet by another man and a lady who was older and dressed quite nicely. The lady then proceeded to brush off my suit as I stood there dazed, blinking at the world around me.
    “It sure is a lucky thing you didn’t hit your head when you fell,” said the man with the moustache. “You could have been bleeding all through your pretty hair.”
    I didn’t know what to say. How to thank such kind-hearted people? However I was in no condition to be polite, so I just walked away. At dinner that night, my husband told me that it was just lucky that there are kind people in this world willing to help a stranger like me.
    “What’s lucky, Tom,” I said, “is that I’m beautiful. Those people wouldn’t have helped me if I wasn’t so beautiful.”
    “Not true,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re just a lucky gal to have fallen into the care of such nice people. Someone,” he winked, “was looking out for you.”
    “Yes, the men in the street.”
    He furrowed his brow. Then he let me have the best portion of the meat, and I smiled because he is such a generous man, at times.

MR. JONES’S FIRST OUTING
     
    FOR THE PAST seven years Mr. Jones had been taking care of his wife who had long been sick and ended up dying. When he reentered the society of his friends and enemies he knew nothing of the world—or of what had changed and what had stayed the same—but when he saw Fritz sitting in a bar sipping some gin, he couldn’t help but say, “Fritz,” and so the new times became like the old.
    “Come over and sit with me, you poor bugger,” said Fritz.
    So Mr. Jones sat with Fritz, and Fritz put down his drink and looked into his friend’s eyes and said, “Most respectfully, man, can we talk about something else now?”
    “Oh yes, of course,” replied Mr. Jones, and he looked down shamefully into his milk.
    “Good. Y’know I was buying a comic the other day, see,” but just as Fritz was getting to the good part a hag and a young woman came up to their table and stood there waiting. The young woman was tall and her breasts pressed out; she had a fine body that appealed to men. Knowing this, the hag said calmly, “Can we sit down with you? My cousin here doesn’t know anyone.”
    “Well…” said Fritz, who didn’t like meeting new people.
    “But of course,” said Mr. Jones, and he hurriedly arranged the chairs so that the doll sat in one and he sat down beside her. The girl looked around, all bright-eyed, and Mr. Jones asked her profession.
    “Me?” she chirped.
    “She’s my friend,” said the hag, smiling till her gums showed.
    “I’m her friend,” nodded the girl, and everyone could tell she was no more smart than a crash test dummy.
    “I suppose you want to talk about events in the world,” sighed Fritz, with difficulty.
    “No. We want to see if we can become your friends,” said the hag.
    “I don’t know if that would be possible today,” said Fritz. He hated talking to new people. One never knew how one was being evaluated.
    Turning to Mr. Jones, the old hag’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She sputtered, “We heard about your horrible life and how your wife died, and truly we wanted to come over and give our compassion and support, if necessary.”
    “Oh, thank you,” blushed Mr. Jones, looking down and all around.
    “You looked like such a nice man, and I said to Janie, ‘Come now dear, we have to go over and tell that man he’s a real hero’—a real hero, that’s what you are.” She looked hopefully into Mr. Jones’s eyes and saw him avert them gently.
    “Well, thank you for saying that, but I loved my wife—love my wife—loved my wife—and there’s nothing heroic about love.”
    The hag shrugged and, bending her head in close to the table, said in a confidential tone, “She loves me too, and do you think she’d stick around if my toes were curling up?”
    The dollish young woman continued to smile.
    “No, it’s true,” said the hag, shaking her head.