The Hotel New Hampshire Part 31

'No, not summer summer camp,' Franny had to tell Lilly, who had always been afraid of being sent to summer camp and was unsurprised to hear that they tortured the campers. camp,' Franny had to tell Lilly, who had always been afraid of being sent to summer camp and was unsurprised to hear that they tortured the campers.

'Not summer summer camp, Lilly,' Frank said. 'Freud was in a camp, Lilly,' Frank said. 'Freud was in a death death camp.' camp.'

'But Herr Tod never found me,' Freud said to Lilly. 'Mr. Death never found me at home when he called.'

It was Freud who explained to us that the nudes in the fountain at the Neuer Markt, the Providence Fountain - or the Donner Fountain, after its creator - were actually copies of the original. The originals were in the Lower Belvedere. Designed to portray water as the source of life, the nudes had been condemned by Maria Theresa.

'She was a b.i.t.c.h,' Freud said. 'She founded a Chast.i.ty Commission,' he told us.

'What did they do?' Franny asked. 'The Chast.i.ty Chast.i.ty Commission?' Commission?'

'What could could they do?' Freud asked. 'What can those people they do?' Freud asked. 'What can those people ever ever do? They couldn't do anything to stop the s.e.x, so they f.u.c.ked around with a few fountains.' do? They couldn't do anything to stop the s.e.x, so they f.u.c.ked around with a few fountains.'

Even the Vienna of Freud - the other other Freud - was notorious for being unable to do anything to stop the s.e.x, though this didn't stop the Victorian counterparts of Maria Theresa's Chast.i.ty Commission from trying. 'In those days,' Freud pointed out, admiringly, 'wh.o.r.es were allowed to make arrangements in the aisles of the Opera.' Freud - was notorious for being unable to do anything to stop the s.e.x, though this didn't stop the Victorian counterparts of Maria Theresa's Chast.i.ty Commission from trying. 'In those days,' Freud pointed out, admiringly, 'wh.o.r.es were allowed to make arrangements in the aisles of the Opera.'

'At intermissions,' Frank added, in case we didn't know.

Frank's favorite tour with Freud was the Imperial Vault - the Kaisergruft Kaisergruft in the catacombs of the Kapuzinerkirche. The Hapsburgs have been buried there since 1633. Maria Theresa is there, the old prude. But not her heart. The corpses in the catacombs are heartless - their hearts are kept in another church; their hearts are to be found on another tour. 'History separates everything, eventually,' Freud would intone in the heartless tombs. in the catacombs of the Kapuzinerkirche. The Hapsburgs have been buried there since 1633. Maria Theresa is there, the old prude. But not her heart. The corpses in the catacombs are heartless - their hearts are kept in another church; their hearts are to be found on another tour. 'History separates everything, eventually,' Freud would intone in the heartless tombs.

Good-bye, Maria Theresa - and Franz Josef, and Elizabeth, and the unfortunate Maximilian of Mexico. And, of course, Frank's prize lies with them: the Hapsburg heir, poor Rudolf the suicide - he's also there. Frank always got especially gloomy in the catacombs.

Franny and I got gloomiest when Freud directed us along Wipplingerstra.s.se to Futterga.s.se.

'Turn!' he'd cry, the baseball bat trembling.

We were in the Judenplatz, the old Jewish quarter of the city. It had been a kind of ghetto as long ago as the thirteenth century; the first expulsion of the Jews, there, had been in 1421. We knew only slightly more about the recent expulsion.

What was hard about being there with Freud was that this tour was not so visibly historical. Freud would call out to apartments that were no longer apartments. He would identify whole buildings that were no longer there. And the people people he used to know there - they weren't there, either. It was a tour of things we couldn't see, but Freud saw them still; he saw 1939, and before, when he'd last been in the Judenplatz with a working pair of eyes. he used to know there - they weren't there, either. It was a tour of things we couldn't see, but Freud saw them still; he saw 1939, and before, when he'd last been in the Judenplatz with a working pair of eyes.

The day the New Hampshire couple and their child arrived, Freud had taken Lilly to the Judenplatz. I could tell because she was depressed when she came back. I had just taken the bags and the Americans to their rooms on the third floor, and I was depressed, too. I had been thinking all the way upstairs about Ernst describing the 'cow position' to Franny. The bags weren't especially heavy because I was imagining that they were Ernst, and I was carrying him him up to the top of the Hotel New Hampshire, where I was going to drop him out a window on the fifth floor. up to the top of the Hotel New Hampshire, where I was going to drop him out a window on the fifth floor.

The woman from New Hampshire ran her hand briefly up the banister and said, 'Dust.'

Schraubenschlussel pa.s.sed us on the landing of the second floor. He was smeared with grease from his fingertips to his bicepses; he had a coil of copper wire around his neck like a hangman's noose and in his arms he lugged an obviously heavy box-shaped thing that resembled a giant battery - a battery too big for a Mercedes, I would recall, much later.

'Hi, Wrench,' I said, and he grunted past us; in his teeth he held, quite delicately - for him - some kind of gla.s.s-wrapped little fuse.

'The hotel's mechanic,' I explained, because it was the easiest thing to say.

'Not very clean,' said the woman from New Hampshire.

'Is there an automobile on the top floor?' her husband asked.

As we turned down the third-floor corridor, searching in the half-dark for the correct rooms, a door opened up on the fifth floor, the clamor of a kind of eleventh-hour typing reached us - Fehlgeburt, perhaps, either bringing a manifesto to a close or writing her thesis on the romance that is at the heart of American literature - and Arbeiter screamed down the stairwell.

'Compromise!' Arbeiter shrieked. 'You represent nothing so strongly as you represent compromise compromise!'

'Each time is its own own time!' Old Billig hollered back. Old Billig the radical was leaving for the day; he crossed the third-floor landing while I was still fumbling with the luggage and keys. time!' Old Billig hollered back. Old Billig the radical was leaving for the day; he crossed the third-floor landing while I was still fumbling with the luggage and keys.

'You blow the way the wind blows, old man!' Arbeiter yelled. This was in German, of course, and I suppose - for the Americans, who didn't understand German - it might have seemed more ominous in that language than it was. I thought it was pretty ominous, and I I understood it. 'One day, old man,' Arbeiter concluded, 'the wind's going to blow you away!' understood it. 'One day, old man,' Arbeiter concluded, 'the wind's going to blow you away!'

Old Billig the radical stopped on the landing and yelled back up to Arbeiter. 'You're crazy!' he screamed. 'You'll kill us all! You have no patience patience!' he shouted.

And somewhere between the third and fifth floors, moving softly, her gentle figure generous with Schlagobers Schlagobers, the good Schw.a.n.ger tried to soothe them both, trotting downstairs a few steps toward Old Billig, and talking in a whisper, trotting upstairs a few steps toward Arbeiter - with whom she had to speak up a little.

'Shut up!' Arbeiter snapped at her. 'Go get pregnant again,' he said to her. 'Go get another abortion. Go get some Schlagobers Schlagobers,' he abused her.

'Animal!' Old Billig cried; he started back upstairs. 'It is possible to remain a gentleman, but not you you!' he screamed up at Arbeiter. 'You are not even a humanist humanist!'

'Please,' Schw.a.n.ger was soothing. 'Bitte, bitte 'Bitte, bitte. '

'You want Schlagobers Schlagobers?' Arbeiter roared at her. 'I want want Schlagobers Schlagobers running all over the Karntnerstra.s.se,' he said, crazily. 'I want running all over the Karntnerstra.s.se,' he said, crazily. 'I want Schlagobers Schlagobers stopping the traffic on the Ring. stopping the traffic on the Ring. Schlagobers Schlagobers and blood,' he said. 'That's what you'll see: over everything. Oozing over the streets!' said Arbeiter. ' and blood,' he said. 'That's what you'll see: over everything. Oozing over the streets!' said Arbeiter. 'Schlagobers and blood.' and blood.'

And I let the timid Americans from New Hampshire into their dusty rooms. Soon it would be dark, I knew, and the shouting matches upstairs would cease. And downstairs the groaning would start, the bed-rocking, the constant flushing of the bidets, the pacing of the bear - policing the second floor - and the baseball bat of Freud, whumping steadily, room to room.

Would the Americans go to the Opera? Would they return to see Jolanta muscling a brave drunk upstairs - or rolling him down? Would someone be kneading Babette, like dough, in the lobby, where I played cards with Dark Inge and told her about the heroics of Junior Jones? The Black Arm of the Law made her happy. When she was 'old enough,' she said, she was going to make a bundle, then go visit her father and see for herself how bad it was for blacks in America.

And at what hour of the night would Screaming Annie's first fake o.r.g.a.s.m send the daughter from New Hampshire scurrying into her parents' room through the adjoining door? Would they three huddle in one bed until morning - overhearing the tired bargains made with Old Billig, the mean thudding of Jolanta wrecking someone?

Screaming Annie had told me what she would do to me if I ever touched Dark Inge.

'I keep Inge away from the men in the street,' she confided. 'But I don't want her thinking she's in love in love, or something. I mean, in a way, that's worse - I I know. That really f.u.c.ks you up. I mean, I'm not letting anyone know. That really f.u.c.ks you up. I mean, I'm not letting anyone pay pay her for it - not ever - and I'm not letting you sneak in for free.' her for it - not ever - and I'm not letting you sneak in for free.'

'She's only my sister Lilly's age,' I said. 'To me.'

'Who cares how old she she is?' Screaming Annie said. 'I'm watching is?' Screaming Annie said. 'I'm watching you you.'

'You're old enough to get a rod, occasionally,' Jolanta told me. 'I've seen it. I got an eye for seeing rods rods.'

'If you get a hard-on, you might use it,' Screaming Annie said. 'And I'm just telling you, if you want to use it, don't use it on Dark Inge. Use it on her and you lose it,' Screaming Annie told me.

'That's right,' Jolanta said. 'Use it with us, never with the kid. Use it with the kid and we'll finish you. Lift all the weights you want, sometime you got to fall asleep.'

'And when you wake up,' said Screaming Annie, 'your rod will be gone.'

'Got it?' Jolanta asked.

'Sure,' I said. And Jolanta leaned close to me and kissed me on the mouth. It was a kiss as threatening with lifelessness as the New Year's Eve kiss, tinged with vomit, that I had received from Doris Wales. But when Jolanta finished this kiss, she pulled away suddenly with my lower lip trapped in her teeth - just until I screamed. Then her mouth released me. I felt my arms lift up all by themselves - the way they do when I've been curling the one-arm dumbbells, for half an hour or so. But Jolanta was backing away from me very watchfully, her hands in her purse. I looked at the hands and the purse until she was out of my room. Screaming Annie was still there.

'Sorry about the bite,' she said. 'I really didn't tell her to do it. She's just mean, all by herself. You know what she's got in the purse?' I didn't want to know.

Screaming Annie would know. She lived with Jolanta - Dark Inge had told me. In fact, Dark Inge told me, not only were her mother and Jolanta girl friends of the lesbian kind, but Babette also lived with a woman (a wh.o.r.e who worked the Mariahilfer Stra.s.se). Only Old Billig actually preferred men; and, Dark Inge told me, Old Billig was so old she preferred nothing at all - most of the time.

So I stayed strictly nons.e.xual with Dark Inge; in fact, it wouldn't have occurred to me to even think think of her s.e.xually if her mother hadn't brought it up. I stayed strictly to my imagination: of Franny, of Jolanta. And of course my shy, stumbling courtship of Fehlgeburt, the reader. The girls at the American School all knew I lived in ' of her s.e.xually if her mother hadn't brought it up. I stayed strictly to my imagination: of Franny, of Jolanta. And of course my shy, stumbling courtship of Fehlgeburt, the reader. The girls at the American School all knew I lived in 'that hotel on the Krugerstra.s.se'; I was not in the same cla.s.s of Americans that they were in. People say that in America most Americans are not at all cla.s.s-conscious, but I know about the Americans who live abroad, and they are wildly conscious about what hotel on the Krugerstra.s.se'; I was not in the same cla.s.s of Americans that they were in. People say that in America most Americans are not at all cla.s.s-conscious, but I know about the Americans who live abroad, and they are wildly conscious about what kind kind of Americans they are. of Americans they are.

Franny had her bear, and, I suppose, she had her imagination as much as I had mine. She had Junior Jones and his football scores; she must have had to work hard to imagine him past the ends of the games. And she had her correspondence with Chipper Dove, she had her rather one-sided imagination concerning him.

Susie had a theory about Franny's letters to Chipper Dove. 'She's afraid of him,' Susie said. 'She's actually terrified of ever seeing him again. It's fear fear that makes her do it - write to him all the time. Because if she can address him, in a normal voice - if she can that makes her do it - write to him all the time. Because if she can address him, in a normal voice - if she can pretend pretend that she's having a normal relationship with him - well ... then he's no rapist, then he never did actually that she's having a normal relationship with him - well ... then he's no rapist, then he never did actually do it do it to her, and she doesn't want to to her, and she doesn't want to deal deal with the fact that he with the fact that he did did. Because,' Susie said, 'she's afraid that Dove or someone like him will rape her again again.'

I thought about that. Susie the bear might not have been the smart bear Freud had in mind, but she was a smart bear on her own terms.

What Lilly once said about her has stayed with me. 'You can make fun of Susie because she's afraid to simply be a human being and have to deal deal - as she would say - with other human beings. But how many human beings feel that way and don't have the imagination to do anything about it? It may be stupid to go through life as a bear,' Lilly would say, 'but you'll have to admit it takes imagination.' - as she would say - with other human beings. But how many human beings feel that way and don't have the imagination to do anything about it? It may be stupid to go through life as a bear,' Lilly would say, 'but you'll have to admit it takes imagination.'

And we were all familiar with living with imagination, of course. Father thrived there; imagination was his own hotel. Freud could see only there. Franny, composed in the present, was also looking ahead - and I was always, for the most part, looking at Franny (for signals, for some vital signs, for directions). Of us all, Frank was perhaps the most successfully imaginative; he made up his own world and kept to himself there. And Lilly, in Vienna, had a mission - which was to keep her safe, for a while. Lilly had decided to grow. It had to be with her imagination that she would do this, because we noted few physical changes.

What Lilly did in Vienna was write write. Fehlgeburt's reading had gotten to her. Lilly wanted to be a writer, of all things, and we were embarra.s.sed enough for her that we never accused her of it - although we knew she was doing it, all the time. And she was embarra.s.sed enough by it so that she never admitted it, either. But each of us knew that Lilly was writing writing something. For nearly seven years, she wrote and wrote. We knew the sound of her typewriter; it was different from the radicals'. Lilly wrote very slowly. something. For nearly seven years, she wrote and wrote. We knew the sound of her typewriter; it was different from the radicals'. Lilly wrote very slowly.

'What are you doing, Lilly?' someone would ask her, knocking on her ever-locked door.

'Trying to grow,' Lilly would say.

And that was our euphemism for it, too. If Franny managed to say she was beaten up, when she'd been raped - if Franny could get away with that that, I thought - then Lilly ought to be allowed to say she was 'trying to grow' when she was (we all knew) 'trying to write.'

And so when I told Lilly that the New Hampshire family included a little girl just her age, Lilly said, 'So what? I've got some growing to do. Maybe I'll introduce myself, after supper.'

One of the curses of timid people - in bad hotels - is that they're often too timid to leave leave. They're so timid they don't even dare to complain. And with their timidity comes a certain politeness; if they check out because a Schraubenschlussel has frightened them on the stairs, because a Jolanta has bitten someone in the face in the lobby, because a Screaming Annie has inched them closer to death with her howls - even if they find bear hair in the bidet, they still apologize.

Not the woman from New Hampshire, however. She was more feisty than your average timid guest. She lasted through the early evening pickups of the wh.o.r.es (the family must have been dining out). The family lasted past midnight without a complaint; not even an inquiring phone call to the front desk. Frank was studying with the dressmaker's dummy. Lilly was trying to grow. Franny was at the desk in the lobby, and Susie the bear was cruising there - her presence made the wh.o.r.es' customers their usual peaceful selves. I was restless. (I was restless for seven years, but this night I was especially restless.) I had been playing darts at the Kaffee Mowatt with Dark Inge and Old Billig. It was another slow night for Old Billig. Screaming Annie found a customer crossing the Karntnerstra.s.se and turning down Krugerstra.s.se a little past midnight. I was waiting my turn at the darts when Screaming Annie and her furtive male companion peeked into the Mowatt; Screaming Annie saw Dark Inge with me and Old Billig.

'It's after midnight,' she said to her daughter. 'You go get some rest. It's a school day tomorrow.'

So we all walked back to the Hotel New Hampshire more or less together. Screaming Annie and her customer a little ahead of us. Inge and I on either side of Old Billig, who was talking about the Loire Valley in France. 'It's where I'd like to retire,' she said, 'or go for my next holiday.' Dark Inge and I knew that Old Billig always spent her holidays - every every holiday - with her sister's family in Baden. She took a bus or a train from a stop opposite the Opera; Baden would always be much more accessible to Old Billig than France. holiday - with her sister's family in Baden. She took a bus or a train from a stop opposite the Opera; Baden would always be much more accessible to Old Billig than France.

When we walked into the hotel, Franny said that all the guests were in. The New Hampshire family had gone to bed about an hour ago. A youthful Swedish couple had gone to bed even earlier. Some old man from Burgenland hadn't left his room all night, and some British bicycle enthusiasts had come in drunk, double-checked their bicycles in the bas.e.m.e.nt, attempted to be sportive with Susie the bear (until she growled), and were now, no doubt, pa.s.sed out in their rooms. I went to my room to lift weights - pa.s.sing Lilly's door at the magical instant her light went out; she had stopped growing for the night. I did some forearm curls with the long barbell, but I didn't have much interest in it; it was too late. I was just lifting because I was bored. I heard the dressmaker's dummy slam off the wall between my room and Frank's; something Frank was studying had made him cross, and he was taking it out on the dummy - or he was just bored, too. I knocked on the wall.

'Keep pa.s.sing the open windows,' Frank said.

'Wo ist die Gemutlichkeit?' I sang, half-heartedly.

I heard Franny and Susie the bear slipping past my door.

'Four hundred and sixty-four, Franny!' I whispered.

I heard the solid thock thock of Freud's baseball bat, falling out of a bed above me. Babette's bed, I could tell. Father, as usual, was sleeping soundly - dreaming well, no doubt; dreaming on and on. A man's voice blurted out something on the landing of the second floor, and I heard Jolanta respond. She responded by throwing him down the stairs. of Freud's baseball bat, falling out of a bed above me. Babette's bed, I could tell. Father, as usual, was sleeping soundly - dreaming well, no doubt; dreaming on and on. A man's voice blurted out something on the landing of the second floor, and I heard Jolanta respond. She responded by throwing him down the stairs.

'Sorrow,' I heard Frank murmur.

Franny was singing the song Susie could make her sing, so I tried to concentrate on the fight in the lobby. It was an easy fight for Jolanta, I could tell. All the pain came from the man.

'You got a c.o.c.k like a wet sock and you tell me it's my my fault?' Jolanta was saying. This was followed by the sound of the man absorbing a blow - the heel of the hand into the jowl? I guessed. Hard to be sure, but there was the sound of the man falling again - that was clear. He said something, but his words seemed strangled. Was Jolanta choking him? I wondered. Should I interrupt Franny's song? Was this a job for Susie the bear? fault?' Jolanta was saying. This was followed by the sound of the man absorbing a blow - the heel of the hand into the jowl? I guessed. Hard to be sure, but there was the sound of the man falling again - that was clear. He said something, but his words seemed strangled. Was Jolanta choking him? I wondered. Should I interrupt Franny's song? Was this a job for Susie the bear?

And then I heard Screaming Annie. I think everyone on the Krugerstra.s.se heard Screaming Annie. I think that even some fashionable people who'd been to the Opera, and who were just leaving the Sacher Bar and walking home along the Karntnerstra.s.se, must have heard Screaming Annie.

One November day in 1969 - five years after we left Vienna - two seemingly unrelated bits of news made morning headlines in the city. As of the seventeenth of November, 1969, it was announced, prost.i.tutes were to be barred barred from strolling on the Graben and the Karntnerstra.s.se - and from all the side streets off the Karntnerstra.s.se, too, from strolling on the Graben and the Karntnerstra.s.se - and from all the side streets off the Karntnerstra.s.se, too, except except the Krugerstra.s.se. The wh.o.r.es had owned these streets for 300 years, but after 1969 they would be given only the Krugerstra.s.se. In my opinion, the people in Vienna gave up on trying to save the Krugerstra.s.se the Krugerstra.s.se. The wh.o.r.es had owned these streets for 300 years, but after 1969 they would be given only the Krugerstra.s.se. In my opinion, the people in Vienna gave up on trying to save the Krugerstra.s.se before before 1969. In my opinion, it was Screaming Annie's fake o.r.g.a.s.m on the night the New Hampshire family was staying with us that determined the official decision. That particular fake o.r.g.a.s.m 1969. In my opinion, it was Screaming Annie's fake o.r.g.a.s.m on the night the New Hampshire family was staying with us that determined the official decision. That particular fake o.r.g.a.s.m finished finished the Krugerstra.s.se. the Krugerstra.s.se.

And on the same day in 1969 when the Austrian officials made their announcements about limiting the Karntnerstra.s.se prost.i.tutes to the Krugerstra.s.se, the newspapers also revealed that a new bridge over the Danube had cracked cracked; a few hours after the ceremonies that opened the bridge, the bridge cracked. The official word on the fault of the crack put the blame on the poor sun. In my opinion, the sun was not to blame. Only Screaming Annie could crack a bridge - even a new bridge. There must have been a window open somewhere where she was working.

I believe that Screaming Annie faking an o.r.g.a.s.m could raise the corpses of the heartless Hapsburgs out of their tombs.

And that night when the timid New Hampshire family was visiting us, Screaming Annie got off what was surely the record fake o.r.g.a.s.m for the duration of our stay in Vienna. It was a seven-year o.r.g.a.s.m. It was followed so closely by the single short yelp of her male companion that I reached a hand out of my bed and grabbed one of my barbells for support. I felt the dressmaker's dummy in Frank's room fly off the wall, and Frank himself stumbled clumsily toward his door. Franny's fine song was nipped in the upswing and Susie the bear, I knew, would be frantically searching for her head. For all the growing Lilly might have accomplished before she turned out her light, I knew she probably lost an inch in the single moment of recoiling from Screaming Annie's terrible sound.

'Jesus G.o.d!' Father called out.

The man Jolanta was beating up in the lobby found the sudden strength necessary to break free and lunge out the door. And other prost.i.tutes pa.s.sing by on the Krugerstra.s.se - I can only imagine them reconsidering their profession. Whoever called this 'the gentle occupation'? they must have been thinking.

Someone was whimpering. Babette, frightened, and thrown out of rhythm with Freud? Freud, seeking his baseball bat, as a weapon? Dark Inge, finally afraid for her mother? And it seemed that one of the radicals' typewriters way up on the fifth floor - all by itself moved moved itself off a typing table and crashed to the floor. itself off a typing table and crashed to the floor.

In less than a minute, we were in the lobby, moving up the stairs to the second floor. I had never seen Franny look so deeply disturbed; Lilly went to her and hung on her hip. Frank and I fell in line, like soldiers, wordlessly drawn to the devastating cry. It was over now, and the silence Screaming Annie left behind was almost as bloodcurdling as her bellow. Jolanta and Susie the bear led the way upstairs - like bouncers moving in, grimly, on some unsuspecting rowdies.

'Trouble,' Father was muttering. 'That sounded like trouble.'

On the second-floor landing we met Freud and his baseball bat, leaning on Babette.

'We can't have any more of that that,' Freud was saying. 'No hotel can survive it, no matter what what cla.s.s of clientele - that's too much, it's just more than anyone can bear.' cla.s.s of clientele - that's too much, it's just more than anyone can bear.'

'Earl!' said Susie, bristling for a fight. Jolanta had her hands in her purse again. The whimpering continued and I realized it was Dark Inge, too frightened even to investigate her mother's incredible noise.

When we got to Screaming Annie's door, we saw that the New Hampshire family were not as timid as they had first appeared. The daughter certainly looked half-dead with fright, but she was standing almost on her own, leaning only slightly on her trembling father. He was in his pajamas and a red-and-black-striped robe. He held the shaft of a bedside lamp in his hand, the electrical cord wrapped around his wrist, the light bulb and shade removed - to make it a more efficient weapon, I suppose. The woman from New Hampshire stood closest to the door.

'It came from there,' she announced to us all, pointing to Screaming Annie's door. 'Now it's stopped. They must be dead.'

'Stand back,' her husband said to her, the lamp leaping up and down in his hand. 'It's not a sight for women or children, I'm sure.'

The woman glared at Frank, because - I guess - he had been the man at the desk who had officially admitted her to this madhouse. 'We're Americans Americans,' she said, defiantly. 'We've never been exposed to anything this sordid sordid before, but if one of you doesn't have the before, but if one of you doesn't have the guts guts to go in there, to go in there, I I will.' will.'

'You will will?' Father said.

'It's clearly a murder,' the husband said. 'Nothing could be clearer,' the woman said.

'With a knife knife,' the daughter said, and cringed, involuntarily - she twitched against her father. 'It must have been a knife,' she almost whispered.

The husband dropped the lamp, then s.n.a.t.c.hed it up again.

'Well?' the woman said to Frank, but Susie the bear pushed forward.

'Let the bear in!' Freud said. 'Don't mess with the guests, just let the bear in!'

'Earl!' said Susie. The husband, thinking Susie might attack him and his family, poked the lamp, threateningly, in Susie's face.

'Don't make the bear hostile!' Frank warned him, and the family retreated.

'Be careful, Susie,' Franny said.

'Murder,' murmured the New Hampshire woman.

'Something unspeakable,' her husband said.

'A knife,' the daughter said.