My New American Life: A Novel by Francine Prose

Author:Francine Prose [Prose, Francine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 0061713767
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2011-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

I n the days that followed, Lula rehearsed how she would thank Alvo for Little Charmy Puppy. It was nicer than imagining what she would say if Mister Stanley discovered that Albanians were creeping around his house when no one was home. When she noticed that she couldn’t look at the mechanical dog without sighing, she shoved it into a drawer, as if it were Charmy Puppy’s fault that Lula was attracted to a guy who would rather stalk her than see her. But then she took it out again and made it do its tricks.

Having lived with relatives in a cramped apartment, Lula had long ago learned how to construct an imaginary wall between herself and the pushy cousin brushing her teeth and spitting into the same sink. Brick by invisible brick she constructed such a wall between herself and Zeke, with whom she still grocery-shopped and ate and watched TV, though now it was as if they were living the same lives in separate buildings. Surely Zeke must have felt the chill. For once, Lula didn’t care. She would knock down the invisible wall as soon as Alvo showed up. It wasn’t Zeke’s fault that Alvo hadn’t called, but Zeke was the only one here to blame. She avoided Mister Stanley, except for the brief nightly exchange required to reassure him that his son was still alive.

To pass the time, Lula wrote a true story about having a crush on a neighbor kid and slipping notes under his door, but never having the nerve to write anything, so she’d doodle on the paper and hope he knew it was from her. Soon after, his parents moved out of the building, and later she heard they were terrified that the secret police were tormenting them with encrypted messages that said nothing.

One night, Mister Stanley told her that Don Settebello had asked if he could come for Thanksgiving dinner. “Little Abigail is going to be with her mom. I think that’s why Don wants to be with us. His second family.”

“I’ll cook a turkey,” Lula said.

“Have you ever cooked a turkey?”

“Many times back in Albania,” Lula lied. Her granny’s peshest, crumbled cornbread soaked with turkey gravy and baked crisp at the edges, was a legend. Anyway, all you had to do was turn on the Food Network, day or night, and learn some famous chef’s holiday turkey secrets. Lula kept hearing a funny phrase: a successful turkey. How successful could it be, dead and eaten by people?

But either to spare Lula the effort or because they didn’t believe she was qualified to produce this national ritual of the grateful Pilgrim stomach, Don and Mister Stanley agreed to split the cost of a caterer who specialized in festive dinners and whom Don heard was fantastic. Lula tried not to feel hurt. It was less trouble for her. Less trouble was very American, she might as well enjoy it.

No one cooked in this country, though they were obsessed with every mouthful and afraid of how it might harm them.

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