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The Senator cursed.
"Why did you say that, Father?" It was a tender question.
The Senator cursed again.
"I just wish there didn't have to be this acrimony, this tension, every time we talk. I love you so."
There was more cursing, made harsher by the fact that the Senator was close to tears.
"Why would you swear when i say I love you, Father?"
"You're the man who stands on a street corner with a roll of toilet paper, and written on each square are the words, 'I love you.' And each passer-by, no matter who, gets a square all his or her own. I don't want my square of toilet paper."
"I didn't realize it was toilet paper."
"Untill you stop drinking, you're not going to realize anything!" the Senator cried brokenly. "I'm going to put your wife on the phone. Do you realize you've lost her? Do you realize what a good wife she was?"
"Eliot-?" Sylvia's was such a breathy and frieghtened greeting. The girl weighted no more than a wedding veil.
"Sylvia-" This was formal, manly, but even. Eliot had written to her a thousand , had called and called. Untill now, there had been no reply.
"I- I am aware that- that I have behaved badly."
"As long as the behavior was human-"
"Can I help being human?"
"No."
"Can anybody?"
"Not that I know of."
...
"Elliot-?"
"Yes."
"How is everybody?"
"Here?"
"Anywhere."
"Fine."
"I'm glad."
"If- if i ask about certain people, I'll cry," said Sylvia.
"Don't ask."
"I still care about them, even if the doctors tell me I mustn't ever go there again."
"Don't ask."
"Somebody had a baby?"
"Don't ask."
"Didn't you tell your father somebody had a baby?"
"Don't ask."
"Who had a baby, Eliot?- I care, I care."
"Oh Christ, don't ask."
"I care, I care."
"Mary Moody."
"Twins?"
"Of course." Eliot revealed here that he had no illusions about the people to whom he was devoting his life. "And firebugs, too, no doubt, no doubt." The Moody family had a long istory of not only twinning but arson.
"Are they cute?"
"I haven't seen them." Eliot added with an irritability that had always been a private thing between himself and Sylvia. "They always are."
"Have you sent their presents yet?"
"What makes you think i still send presents?" This had reference to Eliot's old custom of sending a share of International Business Machine stock to each child born in the county.
"You don't do it anymore?"
"I still do it." Eliot sounded sick of doing it.
"You seem tired."
"It must be a bad connection."
"Tell me some more news."
"My wife is devorcing me for medical reasons."
"Can't we skip that news?" This was not a flippant suggestion. It was a tragic one. The tragedy was beyond discussion.
"Hippity hop," said Eliot emptily.
i had some thoughts the other morning from a dream i had. i think what it was all about pertains to a question that has been raised recently, but (and i can't quite put my finger on the reason why) i don't think i get to put in an answer... or atleast if i did, i don't think it would be taken as valid input. something like that is always a comforting thing to know.
Eliot took a drink of Southern Comfort, was uncomforted.
"I- I suppose I should say goodbye," said Sylvia guiltily. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
"That would be up to your doctor to say."
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