As For Me and My House by Walter Wangerin Jr

Author:Walter Wangerin Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2012-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

•TWELVE•

THE THIRD TASK:

Talking and Listening

Glance around the restaurant. It's a Denny's on Saturday night, but it might be any place where a couple can sit to eat. There's a low hum of voices. People are talking; waitresses slide by on soft shoes; laughter bubbles up now and again; silverware chinks on dishes.

But glance around. Do you see the man and woman seated at a single table by the low, dividing wall? The couple by the plastic flowers? Watch them. They do not talk.

The waitress sets plates of food before them. He stares at his. His wife (she is his wife) smooths and smooths the napkin on her lap while the food is placed. The waitress smiles. The woman smiles. The man does not. They eat.

Steadily the man cuts meat. Efficiently he pokes the pieces in his mouth, his fork upside down. He chews, gazing at his plate.

It is curious that the woman should be overweight, because she takes such tiny bites. She fidgets her peas, sips water, darts her eyes around the room, picks chicken with her little finger arched, pats her mouth with the napkin, smooths it on her lap— sighs. Every bite is nibbled to death, as though she chews with her front teeth only.

He is done long before she is. So he sits sideways at the table with his thumbs hooked in his belt. Now he stares at nothing, at no one. His eyes are lost in middle distance. When he thinks of it, he blows on his coffee and drinks. But the woman—her nervous gestures have multiplied, intensified. When anyone passes them, she looks up, looks down immediately, smiles too late, then blanks her face. She is an anthill of twitchy motion. Through furious embarrassment she orders dessert. She attempts a joke about ice cream, cheese, and apple pie; the waitress smiles indulgence. The man clears his throat, gazing away, uncommitted.

When they rise to go, the man is not one whit changed from the solemn fellow who first sat down—except that we're surprised to note how short he is after all. He had looked thick and factory-hard and, therefore, seemed a big man seated. The woman, on the other hand, is exhausted, breathing heavily after much work; she checks and rechecks the table to see whether they forgot something, while her husband marches directly toward the cashier. Finally she follows. This is how they regularly walk together: she follows.

They see us. They have to pass us on the way out. It's surprising how they are almost the same size; and now that they're in motion, they look alike.

“Evenin', Reverent,” the man nods, and he sucks a piece of meat through his tooth.

“Isn't it a beautiful night?” the woman overflows. “Henry and I've just been commenting on how beautiful it is,” she says. “Why, the moment Henry got home from work he said, 'Matilda, we have to go out and enjoy this beautiful night. No cookin' for you tonight.'"

The night must be beautiful. Henry has already left to enjoy it before Matilda has finished her sentence.

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