helps me think.”
This was true. Bernard had conceived of the ideas for his most popular books, including the most famous of all,
Mrs. Woolly and the Bengal Tiger
, while sitting in the dark.
“What, may I ask, are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“I see.” Maya gave him a long level stare. “Well, would it disturb you if I took Misty away for her dinner?”
Misty’s tail thumped harder. She jumped up from her position at Bernard’s feet and followed Maya from the study.
Once they were gone, Bernard switched off the overhead light and sat in darkness for a while. Then he turned on his desk lamp and, taking out a bright green Magic Marker, began to write.
Bernard had a special shorthand system; his very own method that he had devised while working on his books. It was his firm belief that vowels were unnecessary for reading comprehension, so his system (of which he was inordinately proud) consisted almost entirely of consonants.
He said out loud, “Anomalies?” and wrote in large green letters at the top of the page,
ANMLYS?
He sat and pondered that for a while.
Then he murmured, “Jealousy,” and carefully printed
JLSY
Underneath he wrote,
$$
His hand continued down the page, making sparse, abbreviated notes.…
“You don’t understand,” Isabel said the next day. “I don’t
want
my father to come home.”
“Why not?” asked Snooky.
“I don’t like the way he treats Richard, for one thing. And I’m not happy about how he acts toward me, either. Give me a hand here, will you, Snooky?”
He unfolded the blanket she gave him and put it on the bed. Isabel was getting her father’s room ready for his return.
She fluffed up a pillow, opened the window to let fresh air in and, looking around the room, said, “Well, at least he won’t find too much to criticize here.”
“I don’t understand. You’re rich, aren’t you? Why don’t you hire someone to help with the housework instead of doing it all yourself?”
“I’m not rich.
Laura
was rich. She was loaded. But Richard and I never saw much of it. Besides, Daddy thought we shouldn’t be spoiled. Ever since I came home from college I’ve taken care of everybody. Laura never did, that’s for sure. That wasn’t her style.”
She finished her inspection of the room and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she motioned Snooky to a seat at the table and brought out two cups of coffee.
“Milk?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Sugar?”
“Yes.”
She watched as he put four heaping teaspoons of sugar into his cup.
“Snooky. That’s
disgusting.
”
“Thanks.”
“You never used to drink it that way.”
“What can I say?”
She lit a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. Snooky glanced around the room. The kitchen was ultramodern, all glass and steel and shiny black surfaces. “What’s with this furniture?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
He gestured. “The walls. The chairs. The stove. Whose taste is it?”
Isabel looked around vaguely, as if seeing the room for the first time. “Oh. Laura’s, of course. She did the whole house over when we moved in, after they got married. It was old-fashioned, she said, so she redid everything.”
“I’ll say. Is this a table? It looks like it’s about to blast off.”
Isabel shrugged. “That was Laura. It had to be something different to please her.”
There was a pause. Snooky stirred his coffee, then said, “Listen, Isabel. Why don’t you get a job?”
She laughed. “A job? You mean, to get out of the house?”
“That’s right.”
Isabel sighed. “Ever since I graduated, everybody I know—my father, my father’s friends, my friends, everyone—has been trying to get me to go out and find a job. A
job
!” She said the word as if it offended her. “Why should I work? I like my life here, Snooky. I like sleeping late and not having to go to an office in the morning. I like having my own hours, staying up as late as I want. Nobody understands that I’m
This was true. Bernard had conceived of the ideas for his most popular books, including the most famous of all,
Mrs. Woolly and the Bengal Tiger
, while sitting in the dark.
“What, may I ask, are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“I see.” Maya gave him a long level stare. “Well, would it disturb you if I took Misty away for her dinner?”
Misty’s tail thumped harder. She jumped up from her position at Bernard’s feet and followed Maya from the study.
Once they were gone, Bernard switched off the overhead light and sat in darkness for a while. Then he turned on his desk lamp and, taking out a bright green Magic Marker, began to write.
Bernard had a special shorthand system; his very own method that he had devised while working on his books. It was his firm belief that vowels were unnecessary for reading comprehension, so his system (of which he was inordinately proud) consisted almost entirely of consonants.
He said out loud, “Anomalies?” and wrote in large green letters at the top of the page,
ANMLYS?
He sat and pondered that for a while.
Then he murmured, “Jealousy,” and carefully printed
JLSY
Underneath he wrote,
$$
His hand continued down the page, making sparse, abbreviated notes.…
“You don’t understand,” Isabel said the next day. “I don’t
want
my father to come home.”
“Why not?” asked Snooky.
“I don’t like the way he treats Richard, for one thing. And I’m not happy about how he acts toward me, either. Give me a hand here, will you, Snooky?”
He unfolded the blanket she gave him and put it on the bed. Isabel was getting her father’s room ready for his return.
She fluffed up a pillow, opened the window to let fresh air in and, looking around the room, said, “Well, at least he won’t find too much to criticize here.”
“I don’t understand. You’re rich, aren’t you? Why don’t you hire someone to help with the housework instead of doing it all yourself?”
“I’m not rich.
Laura
was rich. She was loaded. But Richard and I never saw much of it. Besides, Daddy thought we shouldn’t be spoiled. Ever since I came home from college I’ve taken care of everybody. Laura never did, that’s for sure. That wasn’t her style.”
She finished her inspection of the room and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she motioned Snooky to a seat at the table and brought out two cups of coffee.
“Milk?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Sugar?”
“Yes.”
She watched as he put four heaping teaspoons of sugar into his cup.
“Snooky. That’s
disgusting.
”
“Thanks.”
“You never used to drink it that way.”
“What can I say?”
She lit a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. Snooky glanced around the room. The kitchen was ultramodern, all glass and steel and shiny black surfaces. “What’s with this furniture?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
He gestured. “The walls. The chairs. The stove. Whose taste is it?”
Isabel looked around vaguely, as if seeing the room for the first time. “Oh. Laura’s, of course. She did the whole house over when we moved in, after they got married. It was old-fashioned, she said, so she redid everything.”
“I’ll say. Is this a table? It looks like it’s about to blast off.”
Isabel shrugged. “That was Laura. It had to be something different to please her.”
There was a pause. Snooky stirred his coffee, then said, “Listen, Isabel. Why don’t you get a job?”
She laughed. “A job? You mean, to get out of the house?”
“That’s right.”
Isabel sighed. “Ever since I graduated, everybody I know—my father, my father’s friends, my friends, everyone—has been trying to get me to go out and find a job. A
job
!” She said the word as if it offended her. “Why should I work? I like my life here, Snooky. I like sleeping late and not having to go to an office in the morning. I like having my own hours, staying up as late as I want. Nobody understands that I’m
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