J. D. Salinger
Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut
IT
WAS ALMOST THREE O'CLOCK when Mary Jane finally found Eloise's house. She
explained to Eloise, who had come out to the driveway to meet her, that
everything had been absolutely perfect, that she had remembered the way
exactly, until she had turned off the Merrick Parkway. Eloise said,
"Merritt Parkway, baby," and reminded Mary Jane that she had found
the house twice before, but Mary Jane just wailed something ambiguous,
something about her box of Kleenex, and rushed back to her convertible. Eloise
turned up the collar of her camel's-hair coat, put her back to the wind, and
waited. Mary Jane was back in a minute using a leaf of Kleenex and still
looking upset, even fouled. Eloise said cheerfully that the whole damn lunch
was burned--sweetbreads, everything--but Mary Jane said she'd eaten anyway, on
the road. As the two walked toward the house, Eloise asked Mary Jane how it
happened she had the day off. Mary Jane said she didn't have the whole day off;
it was just that Mr. Weyinburg had a hernia and was home in Larchmont, and she
had to bring him his mail and take a couple of letters every afternoon. She
asked Eloise, "Just exactly what is a hernia, anyway?" Eloise, dropping
her cigarette on the soiled snow underfoot, said she didn't actually know but
that Mary Jane didn't have to worry much about getting one. Mary Jane said,
"Oh," and the two girls entered the house.
Twenty minutes later,
they were finishing their first highball in the living room and were talking in
the manner peculiar, probably limited, to former college roommates. They had an
even stronger bond between them; neither of them had graduated. Eloise had left
college in the middle of her sophomore year, in 1942, a week after she had been
caught with a soldier in a closed elevator on the third floor of her residence
hall. Mary Jane had left--same year, same class, almost the same month--to
marry an aviation cadet stationed in Jacksonville, Florida, a lean, air-minded
boy from Dill, Mississippi, who had spent two of the three months Mary Jane had
been married to him in jail for stabbing an M.P.
"No," Eloise
was saying. "It was actually red." She was stretched out on the
couch, her thin but very pretty legs crossed at the ankles.
"I heard it was
blond," Mary Jane repeated. She was seated in the blue straight chair.
"Wuddayacallit swore up and down it was blond."
"Uh-uh.
Definitely." Eloise yawned. "I was almost in the room with her when
she dyed it. What's the matter? Aren't there any cigarettes in there?"
"It's all right. I
have a whole pack," Mary Jane said. "Somewhere." She searched
through her handbag.
"That dopey
maid," Eloise said without moving from the couch. "I dropped two
brand-new cartons in front of her nose about an hour ago. She'll be in, any
minute, to ask me what to do with them. Where the hell was I?"
"Thieringer,"
Mary Jane prompted, lighting one of her own cigarettes.
"Oh, yeah. I
remember exactly. She dyed it the night before she married that Frank Henke.
You remember him at all?"
"Just sort of.
Little ole private? Terribly unattractive?"
"Unattractive. God!
He looked like an unwashed Bela Lugosi."
Mary Jane threw back her
head and roared. "Marvellous," she said, coming back into drinking
position.
"Gimme your
glass," Eloise said, swinging her stockinged feet to the floor and
standing up. "Honestly, that dope. I did everything but get Lew to make
love to her to get her to come out here with us. Now I'm sorry I--Where'd you
get that thing?"
"This?" said
Mary Jane, touching a cameo brooch at her throat. "I had it at school, for
goodness sake. It was Mother's."
"God," Eloise
said, with the empty glasses in her hands. "I don't have one damn thing
holy to wear. If Lew's mother ever dies--ha, ha--she'll probably leave me some
old monogrammed icepick or something."
"How're you getting
along with her these days, anyway?"
"Don't be
funny," Eloise said on her way to the kitchen.
"This is positively
the last one for me!" Mary Jane called after her.
"Like hell it is.
Who called who? And who came two hours late? You're gonna stick around till I'm
sick of you. The hell with your lousy career."
Mary Jane threw back her
head and roared again, but Eloise had already gone into the kitchen.
With little or no
wherewithal for being left alone in a room, Mary Jane stood up and walked over
to the window. She drew aside the curtain and leaned her wrist on one of the
crosspieces between panes, but, feeling grit, she removed it, rubbed it clean
with her other hand, and stood up more erectly. Outside, the filthy slush was
visibly turning to ice. Mary Jane let go the curtain and wandered back to the
blue chair, passing two heavily stocked bookcases without glancing at any of
the titles. Seated, she opened her handbag and used the mirror to look at her
teeth. She closed her lips and ran her tongue hard over her upper front teeth,
then took another look.
"It's getting so icy
out," she said, turning. "God, that was quick. Didn't you put any
soda in them?"
Eloise, with a fresh
drink in each hand, stopped short. She extended both index fingers, gun-muzzle
style, and said, "Don't nobody move. I got the whole damn place
surrounded."
Mary Jane laughed and put
away her mirror.
Eloise came forward with
the drinks. She placed Mary Jane's insecurely in its coaster but kept her own
in hand. She stretched out on the couch again. "Wuddaya think she's doing
out there?" she said. "She's sitting on her big, black butt reading
`The Robe.' I dropped the ice trays taking them out. She actually looked up
annoyed."
"This is my last.
And I mean it," Mary Jane said, picking up her drink. "Oh, listen!
You know who I saw last week? On the main floor of Lord & Taylor's?"
"Mm-hm," said
Eloise, adjusting a pillow under her head. "Akim Tamiroff."
"Who?" said Mary
Jane. "Who's he?"
"Akim Tamiroff. He's
in the movies. He always says, `You make beeg joke--hah?' I love him. . . .
There isn't one damn pillow in this house that I can stand. Who'd you
see?"
"Jackson. She
was--"
"Which one?"
"I don't know. The
one that was in our Psych class, that always--"
"Both of them were
in our Psych class."
"Well. The one with
the terrific--"
"Marcia Louise. I
ran into her once, too. She talk your ear off?"
"God, yes. But you
know what she told me, though? Dr. Whiting's dead. She said she had a letter
from Barbara Hill saying Whiting got cancer last summer and died and all. She
only weighed sixty-two pounds. When she died. Isn't that terrible?"
"No."
"Eloise, you're
getting hard as nails."
"Mm. What else'd she
say?"
"Oh, she just got
back from Europe. Her husband was stationed in Germany or something, and she
was with him. They had a forty-seven-room house, she said, just with one other
couple, and about ten servants. Her own horse, and the groom they had, used to
be Hitler's own private riding master or something. Oh, and she started to tell
me how she almost got raped by a colored soldier. Right on the main floor of
Lord & Taylor's she started to tell me--you know Jackson. She said he was
her husband's chauffeur, and he was driving her to market or something one
morning. She said she was so scared she didn't even--"
"Wait just a
second." Eloise raised her head and her voice. "Is that you,
Ramona?"
"Yes," a small
child's voice answered.
"Close the front
door after you, please," Eloise called.
"Is that Ramona? Oh,
I'm dying to see her. Do you realize I haven't seen her since she had
her--"
"Ramona,"
Eloise shouted, with her eyes shut, "go out in the kitchen and let Grace
take your galoshes off."
"All right,"
said Ramona. "C'mon, Jimmy."
"Oh, I'm dying to
see her," Mary Jane said. "Oh, God! Look what I did. I'm terribly
sorry, El."
"Leave it. Leave
it," said Eloise. "I hate this damn rug anyway. I'll get you
another."
"No, look, I have
more than half left!" Mary Jane held up her glass.
"Sure?" said
Eloise. "Gimme a cigarette."
Mary Jane extended her
pack of cigarettes, saying "Oh, I'm dying to see her. Who does she look
like now?"
Eloise struck a light.
"Akim Tamiroff."
"No,
seriously."
"Lew. She looks like
Lew. When his mother comes over, the three of them look like triplets."
Without sitting up, Eloise reached for a stack of ashtrays on the far side of
the cigarette table. She successfully lifted off the top one and set it down on
her stomach. "What I need is a cocker spaniel or something," she
said. "Somebody that looks like me."
"How're her eyes
now?" Mary Jane asked. "I mean they're not any worse or anything, are
they?"
"God! Not that I
know of."
"Can she see at all
without her glasses? I mean if she gets up in the night to go to the john or
something.
"She won't tell
anybody. She's lousy with secrets."
Mary Jane turned around
in her chair. "Well, hello, Ramona!" she said. "Oh, what a
pretty dress!" She set down her drink. "I'll bet you don't even
remember me, Ramona."
"Certainly she does.
Who's the lady, Ramona?"
"Mary Jane,"
said Ramona, and scratched herself.
"Marvellous!"
said Mary Jane. "Ramona, will you give me a little kiss?"
"Stop that,"
Eloise said to Ramona.
Ramona stopped scratching
herself.
"Will you give me a
little kiss, Ramona?" Mary Jane asked again.
"I don't like to
kiss people."
Eloise snorted, and
asked, "Where's Jimmy?"
"He's here."
"Who's Jimmy?"
Mary Jane asked Eloise.
"Oh, God! Her beau.
Goes where she goes. Does what she does. All very hoopla."
"Really?" said
Mary Jane enthusiastically. She leaned forward. "Do you have a beau,
Ramona?"
Ramona's eyes, behind
thick, counter-myopia lenses, did not reflect even the smallest part of Mary
Jane's enthusiasm.
"Mary Jane asked you
a question, Ramona," Eloise said.
Ramona inserted a finger
into her small, broad nose.
"Stop that,"
Eloise said. "Mary Jane asked you if you have a beau."
"Yes," said
Ramona, busy with her nose.
"Ramona,"
Eloise said. "Cut that out. But immediately."
Ramona put her hand down.
"Well, I think
that's just wonderful," Mary Jane said. "What's his name? Will you
tell me his name, Ramona? Or is it a big secret?"
"Jimmy," Ramona
said.
"Jimmy? Oh, I love
the name Jimmy! Jimmy what, Ramona?"
"Jimmy
Jimmereeno," said Ramona.
"Stand still,"
said Eloise.
"Well! That's quite
a name. Where is Jimmy? Will you tell me, Ramona?"
"Here," said
Ramona.
Mary Jane looked around,
then looked back at Ramona, smiling as provocatively as possible. "Here
where, honey?"
"Here," said
Ramona. "I'm holding his hand."
"I don't get
it," Mary Jane said to Eloise, who was finishing her drink.
"Don't look at
me," said Eloise.
Mary Jane looked back at
Ramona. "Oh, I see. Jimmy's just a make-believe little boy.
Marvellous." Mary Jane leaned forward cordially. "How do you do, Jimmy?"
she said.
"He won't talk to
you," said Eloise. "Ramona, tell Mary Jane about Jimmy."
"Tell her
what?"
"Stand up, please. .
. . Tell Mary Jane how Jimmy looks."
"He has green eyes
and black hair."
"What else?"
"No mommy and no
daddy."
"What else?"
"No freckles."
"What else?"
"A sword."
"What else?"
"I don't know,"
said Ramona, and began to scratch herself again.
"He sounds
beautiful!" Mary Jane said, and leaned even farther forward in her chair.
"Ramona. Tell me. Did Jimmy take off his galoshes, too, when you came
in?"
"He has boots,"
Ramona said.
"Marvellous,"
Mary Jane said to Eloise.
"You just think so.
I get it all day long. Jimmy eats with her. Takes a bath with her. Sleeps with
her. She sleeps way over to one side of the bed, so's not to roll over and hurt
him."
Looking absorbed and
delighted with this information, Mary Jane took in her lower lip, then released
it to ask, "Where'd he get that name, though?"
"Jimmy Jimmereeno?
God knows."
"Probably from some
little boy in the neighborhood."
Eloise, yawning, shook
her head. "There are no little boys in the neighborhood. No children at
all. They call me Fertile Fanny behind my--"
"Mommy," Ramona
said, "can I go out and play?"
Eloise looked at her.
"You just came in," she said.
"Jimmy wants to go
out again."
"Why, may I
ask?"
"He left his sword
outside."
"Oh, him and his
goddam sword," Eloise said. "Well. Go ahead. Put your galoshes back
on."
"Can I have
this?" Ramona said, taking a burned match out of the ashtray.
"May I have this.
Yes. Stay out of the street, please."
"Goodbye,
Ramona!" Mary Jane said musically.
"Bye," said
Ramona. "C'mon, Jimmy."
Eloise lunged suddenly to
her feet. "Gimme your glass," she said.
"No, really, El. I'm
supposed to be in Larchmont. I mean Mr. Weyinburg's so sweet, I hate to--"
"Call up and say you
were killed. Let go of that damn glass."
"No, honestly, El. I
mean it's getting so terribly icy. I have hardly any anti-freeze in the car. I
mean if I don't--"
"Let it freeze. Go
phone. Say you're dead," said Eloise. "Gimme that."
"Well . . . Where's
the phone?"
"It went," said
Eloise, carrying the empty glasses and walking toward the dining room,
"--this-a-way." She stopped short on the floor board between the
living room and the dining room and executed a grind and a bump. Mary Jane
giggled.
"I mean you didn't
really know Walt," said Eloise at a quarter of five, lying on her back on
the floor, a drink balanced upright on her small-breasted chest. "He was
the only boy I ever knew that could make me laugh. I mean really laugh."
She looked over at Mary Jane. "You remember that night--our last
year--when that crazy Louise Hermanson busted in the room wearing that black
brassiere she bought in Chicago?"
Mary Jane giggled. She
was lying on her stomach on the couch, her chin on the armrest, facing Eloise.
Her drink was on the floor, within reach.
"Well, he could make
me laugh that way," Eloise said. "He could do it when he talked to
me. He could do it over the phone. He could even do it in a letter. And the
best thing about it was that he didn't even try to be funny--he just was
funny." She turned her head slightly toward Mary Jane. "Hey, how
'bout throwing me a cigarette?"
"I can't reach
'em," Mary Jane said.
"Nuts to you."
Eloise looked up at the ceiling again. "Once," she said, "I fell
down. I used to wait for him at the bus stop, right outside the PX, and he
showed up late once, just as the bus was pulling out. We started to run for it,
and I fell and twisted my ankle. He said, `Poor Uncle Wiggily.' He meant my
ankle. Poor old Uncle Wiggily, he called it. . . . God, he was nice."
"Doesn't Lew have a
sense of humor?" Mary Jane said.
"What?"
"Doesn't Lew have a
sense of humor?"
"Oh, God! Who knows?
Yes. I guess so. He laughs at cartoons and stuff." Eloise raised her head,
lifted her drink from her chest, and drank from it.
"Well," Mary
Jane said. "That isn't everything. I mean that isn't everything."
"What isn't?"
"Oh . . . you know.
Laughing and stuff."
"Who says it
isn't?" Eloise said. "Listen, if you're not gonna be a nun or something,
you might as well laugh."
Mary Jane giggled.
"You're terrible," she said.
"Ah, God, he was
nice," Eloise said. "He was either funny or sweet. Not that damn
little-boy sweet, either. It was a special kind of sweet. You know what he did
once?"
"Uh-uh," Mary
Jane said.
"We were on the
train going from Trenton to New York--it was just right after he was drafted.
It was cold in the car and I had my coat sort of over us. I remember I had
Joyce Morrow's cardigan on underneath--you remember that darling blue cardigan
she had?"
Mary Jane nodded, but
Eloise didn't look over to get the nod.
"Well, he sort of
had his hand on my stomach. You know. Anyway, all of a sudden he said my
stomach was so beautiful he wished some officer would come up and order him to
stick his other hand through the window. He said he wanted to do what was fair.
Then he took his hand away and told the conductor to throw his shoulders back.
He told him if there was one thing he couldn't stand it was a man who didn't
look proud of his uniform. The conductor just told him to go back to
sleep." Eloise reflected a moment, then said, "It wasn't always what
he said, but how he said it. You know."
"Have you ever told
Lew about him--I mean, at all?"
"Oh," Eloise
said, "I started to, once. But the first thing he asked me was what his
rank was."
"What was his
rank?"
"Ha!" said
Eloise.
"No, I just
meant--"
Eloise laughed suddenly,
from her diaphragm. "You know what he said once? He said he felt he was
advancing in the Army, but in a different direction from everybody else. He
said that when he'd get his first promotion, instead of getting stripes he'd
have his sleeves taken away from him. He said when he'd get to be a general,
he'd be stark naked. All he'd be wearing would be a little infantry button in
his navel." Eloise looked over at Mary Jane, who wasn't laughing.
"Don't you think that's funny?"
"Yes. Only, why
don't you tell Lew about him sometime, though?"
"Why? Because he's
too damn unintelligent, that's why," Eloise said. "Besides. Listen to
me, career girl. If you ever get married again, don't tell your husband
anything. Do you hear me?"
"Why?" said
Mary Jane.
"Because I say so,
that's why," said Eloise. "They wanna think you spent your whole life
vomiting every time a boy came near you. I'm not kidding, either. Oh, you can
tell them stuff. But never honestly. I mean never honestly. If you tell 'em you
once knew a handsome boy, you gotta say in the same breath he was too handsome.
And if you tell 'em you knew a witty boy, you gotta tell 'em he was kind of a
smart aleck, though, or a wise guy. If you don't, they hit you over the head
with the poor boy every time they get a chance." Eloise paused to drink
from her glass and to think. "Oh," she said, "they'll listen
very maturely and all that. They'll even look intelligent as hell. But don't
let it fool you. Believe me. You'll go through hell if you ever give 'em any
credit for intelligence. Take my word."
Mary Jane, looking
depressed, raised her chin from the armrest of the couch. For a change, she
supported her chin on her forearm. She thought over Eloise's advice. "You
can't call Lew not intelligent," she said aloud.
"Who can't?"
"I mean isn't he
intelligent?" Mary Jane said innocently.
"Oh," said
Eloise, "what's the use of talking? Let's drop it. I'll just depress you.
Shut me up."
"Well, wudga marry
him for, then?" Mary Jane said.
"Oh, God! I don't
know. He told me he loved Jane Austen. He told me her books meant a great deal
to him. That's exactly what he said. I found out after we were married that he
hadn't even read one of her books. You know who his favorite author is?"
Mary Jane shook her head.
"L. Manning Vines.
Ever hear of him?"
"Uh-uh."
"Neither did I.
Neither did anybody else. He wrote a book about four men that starved to death
in Alaska. Lew doesn't remember the name of it, but it's the most beautifully
written book he's ever read. Christ! He isn't even honest enough to come right
out and say he liked it because it was about four guys that starved to death in
an igloo or something. He has to say it was beautifully written."
"You're too
critical," Mary Jane said. "I mean you're too critical. Maybe it was
a good-"
"Take my word for
it, it couldn't've been," Eloise said. She thought for a moment, then
added, "At least, you have a job. I mean at least you--"
"But listen,
though," said Mary Jane. "Do you think you'll ever tell him Walt was
killed, even? I mean he wouldn't be jealous, would he, if he knew Walt was--you
know. Killed and everything."
"Oh, lover! You
poor, innocent little career girl," said Eloise. "He'd be worse. He'd
be a ghoul. Listen. All he knows is that I went around with somebody named
Walt--some wisecracking G.I. The last thing I'd do would be to tell him he was
killed. But the last thing. And if I did--which I wouldn't--but if I did, I'd
tell him he was killed in action."
Mary Jane pushed her chin
farther forward over the edge of her forearm.
"El. . ." she
said.
"Why won't you tell
me how he was killed? I swear I won't tell anybody. Honestly. Please."
"No."
"Please. Honestly. I
won't tell anybody."
Eloise finished her drink
and replaced the empty glass upright on her chest. "You'd tell Akim
Tamiroff," she said.
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