The Hotel New Hampshire Part 45

'It's just so elitist,' he whispers, wonderingly. 'I mean, I always knew knew this was a special place, but, somehow, I never dreamed it would this was a special place, but, somehow, I never dreamed it would actually actually ...'And he usually breaks off his sentence right there, smiling. And then he adds, 'Well, wouldn't your mother have loved all ...'And he usually breaks off his sentence right there, smiling. And then he adds, 'Well, wouldn't your mother have loved all this this!' The baseball bat waves, showing it all to Mother.

And I say, without the slightest tone of qualification in my voice, 'She sure would have, Pop.'

'If not every minute,' my father adds, thoughtfully, 'at least this part. At least the end.'

Lilly's end, considering her cult following, was as quiet as we could have it. I wish I'd had the courage to ask Donald Justice for an elegy but it was - as much as possible - a family funeral. Junior Jones was there; he sat with Franny, and I couldn't help but notice how perfectly they held each other's hands. It often takes a funeral to make you realize who has grown older. I noticed Junior had added a few gentle lines around his eyes; he was a very hardworking lawyer, now - we'd hardly heard from him when he was in law school; he disappeared almost as completely into law school as he had once disappeared into the bottom of a pile of Cleveland Browns. I guess law school and football are similarly myopic experiences. Playing in the line, Junior always said, had prepared him for law school. Hard work, but boring, boring, boring.

Now Junior ran the Black Arm of the Law, and I knew that when Franny was in New York, she stayed with him.

They were both stars, and maybe they were finally at ease with each other, I thought. But at Lilly's funeral, all I could think was how Lilly would have loved seeing them together.

Father, next to Susie the bear, kept the heavy end of his baseball bat on the floor between his knees - just swaying slightly. And when he walked - on Susie's arm, on the arm of Freud's former Seeing Eye bear - he carried the Louisville Slugger with great dignity, as if it were simply a stout sort of cane.

Susie was a wreck, but she held herself together at the funeral - for Father's sake, I think. She had worshiped my father ever since his miracle swing of the bat - the fabulous, instinctual swing that had batted Ernst the p.o.r.nographer away. By the time of Lilly's suicide, Susie the bear had been around. She'd left the East Coast for the West, and then had come back East again. She ran a commune in Vermont for a while. 'I ran that f.u.c.ker right into the ground,' she would tell us, laughing. She started a family counseling service in Boston, which blossomed into a day care center (because there was a greater need for one of those), which blossomed into a rape crisis center (as soon as day care centers were everywhere). The rape crisis center was not welcome in Boston, and Susie admits that not all all the hostility was external. There were rape lovers and women haters everywhere, of course, and a variety of stupid people who were willing to a.s.sume that women who worked in a rape crisis center the hostility was external. There were rape lovers and women haters everywhere, of course, and a variety of stupid people who were willing to a.s.sume that women who worked in a rape crisis center had had to be what Susie called 'hardcore d.y.k.es and feminist troublemakers.' The Bostonians gave Susie and her first rape crisis center a rather hard time. Apparently, as a way of making their point, they even raped one of the rape crisis center employees. But, even Susie admits, some of the rape crisis women in those early days to be what Susie called 'hardcore d.y.k.es and feminist troublemakers.' The Bostonians gave Susie and her first rape crisis center a rather hard time. Apparently, as a way of making their point, they even raped one of the rape crisis center employees. But, even Susie admits, some of the rape crisis women in those early days were were 'hardcore d.y.k.es and feminist troublemakers,' they really 'hardcore d.y.k.es and feminist troublemakers,' they really were were just man haters, and so just man haters, and so some some of the trouble at the rape crisis center was internal. Some of those women were simply anti-system philosophers without Frank's sense of humor, and if the law-enforcement personnel were antagonistic to women wanting to see a little rape justice - for a change - so were the women antagonistic to the law, in general, and n.o.body really did the of the trouble at the rape crisis center was internal. Some of those women were simply anti-system philosophers without Frank's sense of humor, and if the law-enforcement personnel were antagonistic to women wanting to see a little rape justice - for a change - so were the women antagonistic to the law, in general, and n.o.body really did the victim victim much good. much good.

Susie's rape crisis center, in Boston, was broken up when some of the man haters castrated an alleged rapist in a parking lot in Back Bay. Susie had come back to New York - she had gone back to family counseling. She specialized in child beatings - 'dealing with,' as she would say, both the children and the beaters - but she was sick of New York City (she said it was no fun to live in Greenwich Village if you weren't weren't a bear) and she was convinced that she had a future in rape crisis. a bear) and she was convinced that she had a future in rape crisis.

Having witnessed her performance at the Stanhope in 1964, I had to agree. Franny always said it was a better performance than any performance Franny Franny would ever give, and Franny is very good. The way Franny held herself together for her one-line part in dealing with Chipper Dove must have given her the necessary confidence. In fact, in all her later films, Franny would make that old line live again: 'Well, look who's here.' She always finds a way to slip in that lovely line. She does not use her own name, of course. Movie stars almost never do. And Franny Berry isn't exactly the sort of name that people notice. would ever give, and Franny is very good. The way Franny held herself together for her one-line part in dealing with Chipper Dove must have given her the necessary confidence. In fact, in all her later films, Franny would make that old line live again: 'Well, look who's here.' She always finds a way to slip in that lovely line. She does not use her own name, of course. Movie stars almost never do. And Franny Berry isn't exactly the sort of name that people notice.

Franny's Hollywood name, her acting name, is one you know. This is our family's story, and it's inappropriate for me to use Franny's stage name - but I know that you know her. Franny is the one you always desire. She is the best one, even when she's the villain; she's always the real hero, even when she dies, even when she dies for love - or worse, for war. She's the most beautiful, the most unapproachable, but the most vulnerable, too, somehow - and the toughest. (She's why you go to the movie, or why you stay.) Others dream of her, now - now that she has freed me from dreaming about her in quite such a devastating way. Now I can live with what I I dream about Franny, but there must be members of her audience who don't live so well with what they dream about her. dream about Franny, but there must be members of her audience who don't live so well with what they dream about her.

She made the adjustment to her fame very easily. It was an adjustment Lilly could never have made, but Franny made it easily - because she was always our family's star. She was used to being the main attraction, the center of everyone's attention - the one we waited for, the one we listened to. She was born to the leading role.

'And I was born to be a miserable f.u.c.king agent agent,' Frank said gloomily, after Lilly's funeral. 'I have agented even this,' he said, meaning Lilly's death. 'She wasn't big enough for all the s.h.i.t I gave her to do!' he said, morosely; then he began to cry. We tried to cheer him up, but Frank said, 'I'm always the f.u.c.king agent agent, d.a.m.n it. I bring it all about - that's me. Look at Sorrow!' he howled. 'Who stuffed him? Who started the whole story?' Frank cried, crying and crying. 'I'm just the a.s.shole agent,' he blubbered.

But Father reached out to Frank, the baseball bat as his antenna, and he said, 'Frank, Frank, my boy. You're You're not the agent of Lilly's trouble, Frank,' Father said. 'Who is the family dreamer, Frank?' Father asked, and we all looked at him. 'Well, it's not the agent of Lilly's trouble, Frank,' Father said. 'Who is the family dreamer, Frank?' Father asked, and we all looked at him. 'Well, it's me me - - I'm I'm the dreamer, Frank,' Father said. 'And Lilly just dreamed more than she could the dreamer, Frank,' Father said. 'And Lilly just dreamed more than she could do do, Frank. She inherited inherited the d.a.m.n dreams,' Father said. 'From me.' the d.a.m.n dreams,' Father said. 'From me.'

'But I was her agent,' Frank said, stupidly.

'Yes, but that doesn't matter, Frank,' Franny said. 'I mean, it matters that you're my my agent, Frank - I really need you,' Franny told him. 'But agent, Frank - I really need you,' Franny told him. 'But n.o.body n.o.body could be Lilly's agent, Frank.' could be Lilly's agent, Frank.'

'It wouldn't have mattered, Frank,' I told him - because he was always saying this to me. 'It wouldn't have mattered who her agent was, Frank.'

'But it was me,' he said - he was so infuriatingly stubborn!

'Christ, Frank,' Franny said. 'It's easier to talk to your answering answering service.' That finally brought him around. service.' That finally brought him around.

For a while we would have to endure the wall of worshipful wailers: Lilly's suicide cult - they were her fans who thought that Lilly's suicide was her ultimate statement, was the proof of her seriousness. This was ironic in Lilly's case, because Frank and Franny and I knew that Lilly's suicide - from Lilly's point of view was the ultimate admission that she was not serious enough enough. But these people insisted on loving her for what she least loved in herself.

A group of Lilly's suicide fans even wrote to Franny, requesting that Franny travel to the nation's college campuses giving readings from Lilly's work - as Lilly. It was Franny the actress they were appealing to: they wanted Franny to play Lilly.

And we remembered Lilly's only writer-in-residence role, and her account of the only English Department meeting she ever attended. In the meeting, the Lecture Committee revealed that there was only enough money remaining for two more visits by moderately well-known poets, or one more visit by a well-known writer or or a poet, or they could contribute a poet, or they could contribute all all the remaining money toward the considerable expenses asked by a woman who was traveling the nation's campuses 'doing' Virginia Woolf. Although Lilly was the only person in the English Department who actually taught any of Virginia Woolf's books in her courses, she found that she was alone in resisting the department's wishes to invite the Virginia Woolf impersonator. 'I think Virginia Woolf would have wanted the money to go to a living writer,' Lilly said. 'To a the remaining money toward the considerable expenses asked by a woman who was traveling the nation's campuses 'doing' Virginia Woolf. Although Lilly was the only person in the English Department who actually taught any of Virginia Woolf's books in her courses, she found that she was alone in resisting the department's wishes to invite the Virginia Woolf impersonator. 'I think Virginia Woolf would have wanted the money to go to a living writer,' Lilly said. 'To a real real writer,' she added. But the department insisted that they wanted all the money to go to the woman who 'did' Virginia Woolf. writer,' she added. But the department insisted that they wanted all the money to go to the woman who 'did' Virginia Woolf.

'Okay,' Lilly finally said. 'I'll agree, but only if the woman does it all all. Only if she goes all the way.' There was a silence in the English Department meeting and someone asked Lilly if she was really serious - if she could possibly be in such 'bad taste' as to suggest that the woman come to the campus to commit suicide.

And my sister Lilly said, 'It is what my brother Frank would call disgusting that you - as teachers of literature - would actually spend money on an actress imitating a dead writer, whose work you do not teach, rather than spend it on a living writer, whose work you probably haven't read. Especially,' said Lilly, 'when you consider that the woman whose work is not being taught, and whose person is being imitated, was virtually obsessed obsessed with the difference between greatness and with the difference between greatness and posing posing. And you want to pay pay someone to pose as someone to pose as her her? You should be ashamed,' Lilly told them. 'Go ahead and bring the woman here,' Lilly added. 'I'll give her the rocks to put in her pockets; I'll lead her to the river.'

And that is what Franny told the group who wanted her to pose as Lilly and 'do' the nation's campuses. 'You should be ashamed,' Franny said. 'Besides,' she added, 'I am much too tall to play Lilly. My sister was really short short.'

This, by the suicide fans, was construed as Franny's insensitivity - and by a.s.sociation, in various aspects of the news, our family was characterized as being indifferent to Lilly's death (for our unwillingness to take part in these Lilly poses poses). In frustration, Frank volunteered to 'do' Lilly at a public reading from the works of suicidal poets and writers. Naturally, none of the writers or poets were reading from their own work; various hired readers, sympathetic to the work of the deceased - or worse, sympathetic to their 'lifestyle,' which nearly always meant their 'death-style' - would read the work of the suicides as if they were were the dead authors come back to life. Franny wanted no part of this, either, but Frank volunteered; he was rejected. 'On the grounds of "insincerity," ' he said. 'They surmised I was insincere. f.u.c.king the dead authors come back to life. Franny wanted no part of this, either, but Frank volunteered; he was rejected. 'On the grounds of "insincerity," ' he said. 'They surmised I was insincere. f.u.c.king right right I was!' he shouted. 'They could all stand a f.u.c.king overdose of insincerity!' he added. I was!' he shouted. 'They could all stand a f.u.c.king overdose of insincerity!' he added.

And Junior Jones would marry Franny - finally! 'This is a fairy tale,' Franny told me, long distance, 'but Junior and I have decided that if we save it any longer, we won't have anything worth saving.' Franny was sneaking up on forty at the time. The Black Arm of the Law and Hollywood had, at least, Schlagobers Schlagobers and blood in common. I suppose that Franny and Junior Jones would strike people - in their New York and their Los Angeles life - as 'glamorous,' but I often think that so-called glamorous people are just very busy people. Junior and Franny were consumed by their work, and they succ.u.mbed to the comfort of having each other's arms to fall exhausted into. and blood in common. I suppose that Franny and Junior Jones would strike people - in their New York and their Los Angeles life - as 'glamorous,' but I often think that so-called glamorous people are just very busy people. Junior and Franny were consumed by their work, and they succ.u.mbed to the comfort of having each other's arms to fall exhausted into.

I was truly happy for them, and only sorry that they both announced that they would have no time for kids. 'I don't want children if I can't take care of them,' Franny said.

'Ditto, man,' said Junior Jones.

And one night Susie the bear told me that she she didn't want children either, because the children she gave birth to would be ugly, and she wouldn't bring an ugly child into the world - not for anything, she said; it was simply the cruelest life one could expose a child to: the discrimination suffered by people who aren't good-looking. didn't want children either, because the children she gave birth to would be ugly, and she wouldn't bring an ugly child into the world - not for anything, she said; it was simply the cruelest life one could expose a child to: the discrimination suffered by people who aren't good-looking.

'But you're not not ugly, Susie,' I told her. 'You just take a little getting used to,' I told her. 'I think you're really attractive, if you want to know.' And I ugly, Susie,' I told her. 'You just take a little getting used to,' I told her. 'I think you're really attractive, if you want to know.' And I did did think so; I thought Susie the bear was a hero. think so; I thought Susie the bear was a hero.

'You're sick, then,' Susie said. 'I got a face like a hatchet, like a chisel with a bad complexion. And I got a body like a paper bag,' she said. 'Like a paper bag of cold oatmeal,' Susie said.

'I think you're very nice,' I told her, and I did; Franny had shown me how lovable Susie the bear was. And I had heard the song Susie the bear taught Franny to sing; I'd had some interesting dreams concerning Susie's teaching me a song like that. So I repeated to her, 'I think you're very nice.'

'Then you've got a brain brain like a paper bag of cold oatmeal,' Susie told me. 'If you think I'm very nice, you're a real sick boy.' like a paper bag of cold oatmeal,' Susie told me. 'If you think I'm very nice, you're a real sick boy.'

And one night when there were no guests in the Hotel New Hampshire, I heard a peculiar creeping sound; Father was as likely to walk around at night as he was likely to walk around in the daylight - because, of course, it was always nighttime for him. But wherever Father went, the Louisville Slugger trailed after him or searched ahead of him, and as he grew older his gait more and more resembled the gait of Freud, as if Father had psychologically developed a limp - as a form of kinship to the old interpreter of dreams. Also, wherever Father went, Seeing Eye Dog Number Four went with him! We were negligent about keeping Four's toenails clipped, so that Father, accompanied by Four, made quite a clatter.

Old Fred, the handyman, had a room on the third floor and slept like a stone at the bottom of the sea; he slept as soundly as the abandoned weirs, ruined by seals and now sunk in the mud flats, now rinsed by the tide. Old Fred was a sundown and sunup sort of sleeper; because he was deaf, he said, he didn't like to be up at night. Especially in summer, the Maine nights are vibrant with noise - at least when you compare the nights to the Maine days days.

'The opposite of New York,' Frank liked to say. 'The only time it's quiet on Central Park South is about three in the morning. But in Maine,' Frank liked to say, 'about three in the morning is about the only only time anything's going on. f.u.c.king nature comes to life.' time anything's going on. f.u.c.king nature comes to life.'

It was about three in the morning, I noted - a summer night, with the insect world teeming; the seabirds sounded fairly restful but the sea was no less determined. And I heard this peculiar creeping sound. It was at first hard to tell if it was outside my window, which was open - though there was a screen - or if the sound was outside my door, in the hall. My door was open, too; and the outside doors to the Hotel New Hampshire were never locked - there were too many of them.

A racc.o.o.n, I thought.

But then something much heavier than any racc.o.o.n shuffled across the bare floor at the landing to the stairs and softly padded down the carpeted hall toward my door; I could feel the weight weight of whatever it was - it was making the floorboards sigh. Even the sea seemed to quiet itself, even the sea seemed to listen to whatever it was - it was the kind of sound you hear in the night that makes the tide pause, that makes the birds (who never fly at night) float up to the sky and hang suspended as if they were painted there. of whatever it was - it was making the floorboards sigh. Even the sea seemed to quiet itself, even the sea seemed to listen to whatever it was - it was the kind of sound you hear in the night that makes the tide pause, that makes the birds (who never fly at night) float up to the sky and hang suspended as if they were painted there.

'Four?' I whispered, thinking that the dog might be on the prowl, but whatever was in the hall was too tentative to be Seeing Eye Dog Number Four. Four had been in the hall before; old Four wouldn't be pausing at every door.

I wished I had Father's baseball bat, but when the bear lurched into my doorway I realized there was no weapon in the Hotel New Hampshire powerful enough to protect me from this this intruder. I lay very still, pretending to be sound asleep - with my eyes wide open. In the flat, blurred, flannel-soft light of the predawn, the bear seemed huge. It stared into my room, at my motionless bed, like an old nurse taking a bed check in a hospital; I tried not to breathe, but the bear knew I was there. It sniffed, deeply; and very gracefully, on all fours, it came into my room. Well, why not? I was thinking. A bear began my life's fairy tale; it is fitting that a bear should end it. The bear shoved its warm face near mine and breathed in everything about me; with one purposeful sniff, it seemed to review my life's story - and in a gesture resembling commiseration, it placed its heavy paw on my hip. It was quite a warm summer night - for Maine - and I was naked, covered by just a sheet. The bear's breath was hot, and a little fruity - perhaps it had just been feeding in the wild blueberries - but it was surprisingly pleasant breath, if not exactly fresh. When the bear drew back the sheet and looked me over, I felt just the tip of the iceberg of fear that Chipper Dove must have felt when he truly believed that a bear intruder. I lay very still, pretending to be sound asleep - with my eyes wide open. In the flat, blurred, flannel-soft light of the predawn, the bear seemed huge. It stared into my room, at my motionless bed, like an old nurse taking a bed check in a hospital; I tried not to breathe, but the bear knew I was there. It sniffed, deeply; and very gracefully, on all fours, it came into my room. Well, why not? I was thinking. A bear began my life's fairy tale; it is fitting that a bear should end it. The bear shoved its warm face near mine and breathed in everything about me; with one purposeful sniff, it seemed to review my life's story - and in a gesture resembling commiseration, it placed its heavy paw on my hip. It was quite a warm summer night - for Maine - and I was naked, covered by just a sheet. The bear's breath was hot, and a little fruity - perhaps it had just been feeding in the wild blueberries - but it was surprisingly pleasant breath, if not exactly fresh. When the bear drew back the sheet and looked me over, I felt just the tip of the iceberg of fear that Chipper Dove must have felt when he truly believed that a bear in heat in heat wanted him. But this bear rather disrespectfully snorted at what it saw. 'Earl!' said the bear, and rather roughly shoved me; it made room beside me for itself and crawled into my bed with me. It was only when it embraced me, and I identified the most distinctive component of its strange and powerful scent, that I suspected this was no ordinary bear. Mixed with the pleasure of its fruited breath, and the mustard-green sharpness of its summer sweat, I detected the obvious odor of wanted him. But this bear rather disrespectfully snorted at what it saw. 'Earl!' said the bear, and rather roughly shoved me; it made room beside me for itself and crawled into my bed with me. It was only when it embraced me, and I identified the most distinctive component of its strange and powerful scent, that I suspected this was no ordinary bear. Mixed with the pleasure of its fruited breath, and the mustard-green sharpness of its summer sweat, I detected the obvious odor of mothb.a.l.l.s mothb.a.l.l.s.

'Susie?' I said.

'Thought you'd never guess,' she said.

'Susie!' I cried, and turned to her, returning her embrace; I had never been so happy to see her.

'Keep it down,' Susie ordered me. 'Don't wake up your father. I've been crawling all over this f.u.c.king hotel trying to find you. I found your father first, and someone who says "What?" in his sleep, and I met an absolute moron moron of a dog who didn't even know I was a bear - the f.u.c.ker wagged his tail and went right back to sleep. What a watchdog! And f.u.c.king of a dog who didn't even know I was a bear - the f.u.c.ker wagged his tail and went right back to sleep. What a watchdog! And f.u.c.king Frank Frank gave me the directions - I don't think Frank should be trusted to give the directions to gave me the directions - I don't think Frank should be trusted to give the directions to Maine Maine, much less to this this queer little part of the wretched state. Holy cow,' said Susie, 'I just wanted to see you before it got light, I wanted to get to you while it was still dark, for Christ's sake, and I must have left New York about noon, yesterday, and now it's almost f.u.c.king dawn,' she said. 'And I'm exhausted,' she added; she started to cry. 'I'm sweating like a pig in this dumb f.u.c.king suit, but I smell so bad and look so awful I don't dare take it off.' queer little part of the wretched state. Holy cow,' said Susie, 'I just wanted to see you before it got light, I wanted to get to you while it was still dark, for Christ's sake, and I must have left New York about noon, yesterday, and now it's almost f.u.c.king dawn,' she said. 'And I'm exhausted,' she added; she started to cry. 'I'm sweating like a pig in this dumb f.u.c.king suit, but I smell so bad and look so awful I don't dare take it off.'

'Take it off,' I told her. 'You smell very nice.'

'Oh sure,' she said, still crying. But I coaxed her out of the bear head. She smudged her tears with her paws, but I held her paws and kissed her on the mouth for a while. I think I was right about the blueberries; that's what Susie tastes like, to me: wild blueberries.

'You taste very nice,' I told her.

'Oh sure,' she mumbled, but she let me help her out of the rest of the bear suit. It was like a sauna inside there. I realized that Susie was built like a bear, and she was as slick with sweat as a bear fresh out of a lake. I realized how I admired her - for her bearishness, for her complicated courage.

'I'm very fond of you, Susie,' I said, closing my door and getting back into bed with her.

'Hurry up, it will be light soon,' she said, 'and then you'll see how ugly I am.'

'I can see you now,' I said, 'and I think you're lovely.'

'You're going to have to work hard to convince me,' said Susie the bear.

For some years now I have been convincing Susie the bear that she is lovely. I I think so, of course, and in a few more years, I think, Susie will finally agree. Bears are stubborn but they are sane creatures; once you gain their trust, they will not shy away from you. think so, of course, and in a few more years, I think, Susie will finally agree. Bears are stubborn but they are sane creatures; once you gain their trust, they will not shy away from you.

At first Susie was so obsessed with her ugliness that she took every conceivable precaution against a possible pregnancy, believing that the worst thing on earth for her to do would be to bring a poor child into this cruel world and allow him or her to suffer the treatment that is usually bestowed upon the ugly. When I first started sleeping with Susie the bear, she was taking the Pill, and she also wore a diaphragm; she put so much spermicidal jelly on the diaphragm that I had to suppress the feeling that we were engaging in an act of overkill - to sperm. To ease me over this peculiar anxiety, Susie insisted that I wear a prophylactic, too.

'That's the trouble with men,' she used to say. 'You got to arm yourself so heavily before you dare do it with them that you sometimes lose sight of the purpose.'

But Susie has calmed down, recently. She seems to feel that one one method of birth control is adequate. And if the accident happens I can't help but hope that she will accept it bravely. Of course, I wouldn't push her to have a baby if she didn't want to; those people who want to make people have babies they don't want to have are ogres. method of birth control is adequate. And if the accident happens I can't help but hope that she will accept it bravely. Of course, I wouldn't push her to have a baby if she didn't want to; those people who want to make people have babies they don't want to have are ogres.

'But even if I weren't too ugly,' Susie protests, 'I'm too old. I mean, after forty you can have all sorts of complications. I might not just have an ugly baby, I might not even have have a baby - I might give birth to a kind of a baby - I might give birth to a kind of banana banana! After forty, it's pretty risky.'

'Nonsense, Susie,' I tell her. 'We'll just get you in shape - a little light work with the weights, a little running. You're young at heart, Susie,' I tell her. 'The bear in you bear in you, Susie, is still a cub cub.'

'Convince me,' she tells me, and I know what that means. That's our euphemism for it - whenever we want each other. She will just say, out of the blue, to me, 'I need to be convinced.'

Or I will say to her, 'Susie, you look in need of a little convincing.'

Or else Susie will just say 'Earl!' to me, and I'll know exactly what she means.

When we got married, that's what she said when she came to her moment to say 'I do.' Susie said, 'Earl!'

'What?' the minister said.

'Earl!' Susie said, nodding.

'She does does,' I told the minister. 'That means she does.'

I suppose that neither Susie nor I will ever, quite, get over Franny, but we have our love for Franny in common, and that's more to have in common than whatever thing it is that's held in common by most couples. And if Susie was once Freud's eyes, I now see for my father, so that Susie and I have the vision of Freud in common, too. 'You got a marriage made in heaven, man,' Junior Jones has told me.

That morning after I'd first made love to Susie the bear I was a little late meeting Father in the ballroom for our weight-lifting session.

He was already lifting hard when I staggered in.

'Four hundred and sixty-four,' I said to him, because this was our traditional greeting. Recalling that old rogue, Schnitzler, Father and I thought it was a very funny way for two men living without women to greet each other.

'Four hundred and sixty-four, my eye!' Father grunted. 'Four hundred and sixty-four - like h.e.l.l! I had to listen to you half the night. Jesus G.o.d, I may be blind, but I can hear hear. By my count you're down to about four hundred and fifty-eight. You haven't got four hundred and sixty-four left in you - not anymore. Who the h.e.l.l is she? I've never imagined such an animal animal!'

But when I told him I'd been with Susie the bear, and that I very much hoped she would stay and live with us, Father was delighted.

'That's what we've been missing!' he cried. 'That's really perfect. I mean, you couldn't ask for a better hotel. I think you've handled the hotel business brilliantly! But we need a bear. Everybody does! And now that you've got the bear, you're home free, John. Now you've finally written the happy ending.'

Not quite, I thought. But, all things considered - given sorrow, given doom, given love - I knew things could be much worse.

So what is missing? Just a child, I think. A child is missing. I wanted a child, and I still want one. Given Egg, and given Lilly, children are all I am missing, now. I still might convince Susie the bear, of course, but Franny and Junior Jones will provide me with my first child. Even Susie is unafraid for that that child. child.

'That child is going to be a beauty,' Susie says. 'With Franny and Junior making it, how can it miss?' child is going to be a beauty,' Susie says. 'With Franny and Junior making it, how can it miss?'

'But how could we we miss?' I ask her. 'As soon as you have it, believe me, it will be beautiful.' miss?' I ask her. 'As soon as you have it, believe me, it will be beautiful.'

'But just think of the color color,' Susie says. 'I mean, with Junior and Franny making it, won't it be an absolutely gorgeous f.u.c.king color?'

But I know, as Junior Jones has told me, that Franny and Junior's baby might be any any color - 'I'll give it a range between coffee and milk,' Junior likes to say. color - 'I'll give it a range between coffee and milk,' Junior likes to say.

'Any color baby is going to be a gorgeous-colored baby, Susie,' I tell her. 'You know that.' But Susie just needs more convincing. color baby is going to be a gorgeous-colored baby, Susie,' I tell her. 'You know that.' But Susie just needs more convincing.

I think that when Susie sees sees Junior and Franny's baby, it will make her want one, too. That's what I hope, anyway - because I am almost forty, and Susie has already crossed that bridge, and if we're going to have a baby, we shouldn't wait much longer. I think that Franny's baby will do the trick; even Father agrees - even Frank. Junior and Franny's baby, it will make her want one, too. That's what I hope, anyway - because I am almost forty, and Susie has already crossed that bridge, and if we're going to have a baby, we shouldn't wait much longer. I think that Franny's baby will do the trick; even Father agrees - even Frank.

And isn't it just like Franny to be so generous as to offer to have a baby for me me? I mean, from that day in Vienna when she promised us all that she was going to take care of us, that she was going to be our mother, from that day forth, Franny has stuck to her guns, Franny has come through - the hero in her has kept pumping, the hero in Franny could lift a ballroom full of barbells.

It was just last winter, after the big snow, when Franny called me to say that she was going to have a baby - just for me. Franny was forty at the time; she said that having a baby was closing the door to a room she wouldn't be coming back to. It was so early in the morning when the phone rang that both Susie and I thought it was the rape crisis center hot-line phone, and Susie jumped out of bed thinking she had another rape crisis on her hands, but it was just the regular telephone that was ringing, and it was Franny - all the way out on the West Coast. She and Junior were staying up late and having a party of two together; they hadn't gone to bed, yet, they said - they pointed out that it was still night in California. They sounded a little drunk, and silly, and Susie was cross with them; she told them that no one but a rape victim ever called us that early in the morning and then she handed the phone to me.

I had to give Franny the usual report on how the rape crisis center was doing. Franny has donated quite a bit of money to the center, and Junior has helped us get good legal advice in our Maine area. Just last year Susie's rape crisis center gave medical, psychological, and legal counsel to ninety-one victims of rape - or of rape-related abuse. 'Not bad, for Maine,' as Franny says.

'In New York and L.A., man,' says Junior Jones, 'there's about ninety-one thousand victims a year. Of everything everything,' he adds.

It wasn't hard to convince Susie that all those rooms in the Hotel New Hampshire could be used for something. We're a more than adequate facility for a rape crisis center, and Susie has trained several of the women from the college in Brunswick, so we always have a woman here to answer the hot-line phone. Susie has instructed me never to answer the hot-line phone. 'The last thing a rape victim wants to hear, when she calls for help,' Susie has told me, 'is a f.u.c.king man's man's voice.' voice.'

Of course it's been a little complicated with Father, who can't see see which phone is ringing. So Father, when he's caught off guard by a ringing phone, has developed this habit of yelling, 'Telephone!' Even if he's standing right next to it. which phone is ringing. So Father, when he's caught off guard by a ringing phone, has developed this habit of yelling, 'Telephone!' Even if he's standing right next to it.

Surprisingly, although Father still thinks that the Hotel New Hampshire is a hotel, he is not bad at rape counseling. I mean, he knows that rape crisis is Susie's business - he just doesn't know that it's our only only business, and sometimes he starts a conversation with a rape victim who's recovering herself with us at the Hotel New Hampshire, for a few days, and Father gets her confused with what he thinks is one of the 'guests.' business, and sometimes he starts a conversation with a rape victim who's recovering herself with us at the Hotel New Hampshire, for a few days, and Father gets her confused with what he thinks is one of the 'guests.'

He might happen upon the victim, just composing herself down on one of the docks, and my father will tap-tap-tap his Louisville Slugger out onto the dock, and Four will wag his tail to let my father know that someone is there, and Father will start chatting. 'h.e.l.lo, who's here?' he'll ask.

And maybe the rape victim will say, 'It's just me, Sylvia.'

'Oh yes, Sylvia!' Father will say, as if he's known her all his life. 'Well, how do you like the hotel, Sylvia?' And poor Sylvia will think that this is my father's very polite and indirect way of referring to the rape crisis center - 'the hotel' - and she'll just go along with it.

'Oh, it's meant a lot to me,' she'll say. 'I mean, I really needed to talk, but I didn't want to feel I had to talk about anything until I was ready, and what's nice here is that n.o.body pressures you, n.o.body tells you what you ought ought to feel or ought to do, but they help you get to those feelings more easily than you might get to them all by yourself. If you know what I mean,' Sylvia will say. to feel or ought to do, but they help you get to those feelings more easily than you might get to them all by yourself. If you know what I mean,' Sylvia will say.

And Father will say, 'Of course I know what you mean, dear. We've been in the business for years, and that's just what a good hotel does: it simply provides you with the s.p.a.ce, and with the atmosphere, for what it is you need need. A good hotel turns s.p.a.ce and atmosphere into something generous, into something sympathetic - a good hotel makes those gestures that are like touching you, or saying a kind word to you, just when (and only only when) you need it. A good hotel is always there,' my father will say, the baseball bat conducting both his lyrics and his song, 'but it doesn't ever give you the feeling that it's breathing down your neck.' when) you need it. A good hotel is always there,' my father will say, the baseball bat conducting both his lyrics and his song, 'but it doesn't ever give you the feeling that it's breathing down your neck.'

'Yeah, that's it, I guess,' Sylvia will say; or Betsy, or Patricia, Columbine, Sally, Alice, Constance, or Hope will say. 'It gets it all out out of me, somehow, but not by force,' they'll say. of me, somehow, but not by force,' they'll say.

'No, never by force, my dear,' Father will agree. 'A good hotel forces nothing. I like to call it just a sympathy sympathy s.p.a.ce,' Father will say, never acknowledging his debt to Schraubenschlussel and his sympathy bomb. s.p.a.ce,' Father will say, never acknowledging his debt to Schraubenschlussel and his sympathy bomb.

'And,' Sylvia will say, 'everyone's nice here.'

'Yes, that's what I like about a good hotel!' Father will say, excitedly. 'Everyone is is nice. In a nice. In a great great hotel,' he'll tell Sylvia, or anybody who'll listen to him, 'you have a right to hotel,' he'll tell Sylvia, or anybody who'll listen to him, 'you have a right to expect expect that niceness. You come to us, my dear - and please forgive me for saying so - like someone who's been maimed, and we're your doctors and your nurses.' that niceness. You come to us, my dear - and please forgive me for saying so - like someone who's been maimed, and we're your doctors and your nurses.'

'Yes, that's right,' Sylvia will say.

'If you come to a great hotel in parts parts, in broken pieces,' my father will go on and on, 'when you leave the great hotel, you'll leave it whole whole again. We simply put you back together again, but this is almost mystically accomplished - his is the sympathy s.p.a.ce I'm talking about - because you can't again. We simply put you back together again, but this is almost mystically accomplished - his is the sympathy s.p.a.ce I'm talking about - because you can't force force anyone back together again; they have to grow their own way. We provide s.p.a.ce,' Father will say, the baseball bat blessing the rape victim like a magic wand. 'The s.p.a.ce and the anyone back together again; they have to grow their own way. We provide s.p.a.ce,' Father will say, the baseball bat blessing the rape victim like a magic wand. 'The s.p.a.ce and the light light,' my father will say, as if he were a holy man blessing some other holy person.