Did you know, he said, looking up, that the mayor has only one foot? One real foot?
Hes got a potato masher in there?
That guy in the back room, she said. Hes eating our potatoes. You were wonderful last night. The night before that, you were wonderful. The night before that, you were terrible. Hes eating our potatoes. I went in there and looked at him and he had potato smeared all over his face. Mashed. You were wonderful on the night that we met. I was terrible. You were terrible on the night we had the suckling pig. The pig, cooking the pig, put you in a terrible mood. I was wonderful in order to balance, to attempt to balance, your foul behavior. That guy with the eye patch in the back room is eating our potatoes. What are you going to do about it?
Kinda funny to have a mayor with only one foot.
What? he said.
They say, he said, that there are flowers all over the city because the mayor does not know where his mother is buried. Did you know that?
Well, he said, hes got to live, dont he?
Cooking the pig put you in a terrible mood. The pigs head in particular. You asked me to remove the pigs head. With a saw. I said that the pigs head had to remain in place. Placing the apple in a bloody hole where the pigs neck had been would be awful, I said. People would be revolted. You threw the saw on the floor and declared that you could not go on. I said that people had been putting the apple in the pigs mouth for centuries, centuries. There were twenty people coming for dinner, a mistake, of course, but not mine. The pig was stretched out on the counter. You placed the pig on two kitchen chairs which had been covered with newspaper, the floor had been covered with newspaper too, my knee was on or in the pigs back, I grasped an ear and began to saw. You were terrible that night, threw a glass of wine in a mans face. I remember these things.
We have plenty of potatoes, he said. I think youre getting excited. Getting excited about nothing. Maybe youd better simmer down. If I want frenzy Ill go out on the street. In here, I want calm. Clear, quiet calm. Youre getting excited. I want you to calm down. So I can read. Quietly, read.
The man said he was going to thump you. I said, Go ahead and thump him. You said, No one is going to thump anybody. The man left, then, red wine stains staining his pink cashmere sweater quite wonderfully. You were wonderful that night.
I dont know. Maybe so, maybe not. You brought him home. What are you going to do about it?
And a little pot. He holds the little pot between his knees. Mashes away with his masher. Mash mash mash.
What are you going to do about it?
You were superb on the night we had the osso buco, she said. I cooked it. That seemed to strike your fancy. You appreciated the effort, my effort, or seemed to. You didnt laugh. You did smile. Smiled furiously all through dinner. I was atrocious that night. Biting the pillow. You kept the lights turned up, you were reading. We struggled for the rheostat. The music from the other room flattered you, your music, music you had bought and paid for, to flatter yourself. Your good taste. Nobody ever listens to that stuff unless he or she wants to establish that he or she has supremely good taste. Supernal good taste.
