The Nearly Departed by Brenda Cullerton

Author:Brenda Cullerton [CULLERTON, BRENDA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316084598
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2009-09-26T00:00:00+00:00

“handicapped? what jackass

invented that one?”

IN MY EARLY YEARS OF TRAVELING, THERE WERE NO DEATH-defying adventures — no perilous crossing of deserts or scaling of mountains, no war zones. Just the leap into other languages and the lives of those who spoke them. Juan Andres, Ulf, Gilles, Hans, Paki, Vincenzo. “It’s like some goddamn foreign legion,” Mom would say later. Mother couldn’t even pronounce their names. And I loved it. As I chattered away to distant friends on the phone in Spanish or French, whispering and giggling, Mom would stomp around the kitchen, silently mouthing her words of fury: “It’s rude, do you hear me? Rude! I don’t want to hear another word of that stinking language in my house.”

“Sorry,” I’d say with my iciest, most supercilious smile after hanging up. “I forgot you never learned any languages.” Abandoning my mother tongue in favor of Spanish, and later French and Italian, symbolized more than a rebellious streak or a rejection of Mom. Like ironing my hair with wax paper and wearing cookie-cutter clothes as a teenager, it was part of infiltrating and becoming one with the enemy. The enemy being, in Mom’s eyes, anyone who lived in a world outside or other than her own.

The spring I turned twenty-one and flew back from Paris with my father, I began inviting the enemy home. “I’m a liberal,” Mom would announce to these friends from abroad as we gathered in the den before dinner. “I’m a great fan of the underdog.” The blank stares did nothing to deter her. Very few of these Peruvians, Venezuelans, Parisians, or Germans spoke English, which was a distinct advantage from my point of view. As she rolled merrily along, extolling the virtues of Cesar Chavez and of not buying grapes, I’d roll my eyes and tap my foot. The fact that the only real underdogs Mom knew worked for her or her parents was irrelevant. Pearl, the cook, Alice, who cleaned, and Hoover, the gardener, weren’t underdogs, anyway. They were “family.”

So was everyone who served, or rather “helped,” her — the exterminator who, together with milkmen, dogcatchers, and casual passersby, also emptied garbage and changed lightbulbs; the telephone operators who were coaxed into interrupting phone calls with an “emergency” when she encountered a busy signal; and all the waiters at Fairfield County’s inns and restaurants. Most of them appreciated, even enjoyed, her. For the uninitiated few, however, those new to her quirks, she was definitely the customer from hell.

Restaurants were the worst. “Good evening, Heinz.” Heinz was the Bavarian headwaiter at our second kitchen annex, the Elms. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Cullerton. We have your table all ready.” “Wonderful,” said Mom, following him to her favorite corner. This was when one hand shot up as if to shield her eyes from a nuclear blast. “Would you mind removing that bulb in the wall sconce, Heinz? It’s so bright, I don’t know how anyone can stand it!” The five-watt bulb was unscrewed from its socket and gently placed in Heinz’s jacket pocket.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.