Paul Rudnick - I Shudder: And Other Reactions to Life, Death, and New Jersey

Paul Rudnick

I Shudder

And Other Reactions to Life, Death, and New Jersey

For John Raftis

Contents

Hallie Tesler

Yumbies

IntimacyWhy?

Good and Evil

Mr. Christmas

I have changed a few names in the nonfiction pieces,
to allow private citizens to remain private.
All of the fictional pieces are true.

My first apartment in New York was a fifth-floor walk-up on Charles Street in the West Village. On the first Saturday after Id moved in, I got a visit from my mother and her sisters, my Aunt Hilda and my Aunt Lil. All of these women were stylishly dressed, including leather handbags and silk scarves, and they all wore those oversized eyeglass frames which are known as Tootsie glasses, because Dustin Hoffman wore them when he was in drag. Actually, Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie could have been a fourth sister, because he wore such nice wool challis skirts and exhibited a proud, feminist outlook.

The Klahr sisterstheir maiden namealways wore their hair slicked back in matching buns, like their mother, and their many steel hairpins sometimes set off the metal detectors at airports. They were all brunettes; blondes, along with anyone who spent too much time on their hair, were considered suspect, trivial, and, inescapably, Gentile. The sisters aimed for a certain dignity and finesse; they resisted the trophy minks of their outlying cousins and preferred heavier ethnic jewelry over anything gold and garish.

My mother, Selma, is the baby, and she was considered rebellious and even bohemian. This was because she read poetry and had moved, with her family, to the New Jersey suburbs; Jersey was considered exotic when compared to Long Island. Hilda was the elegant middle sister who tended to be the peacemaker, despite her dry and often subversive sense of humor. Hilda was the person to sit next to at a Passover seder, because shed murmur, Oh, come on already, get those Jews out of Egypt. Lets eat!

Lil was the all-powerful eldest sister, a compact, solidly built dynamo with the staunch, gimlet-eyed mien of a Navajo priestess. Lil was an accomplished person. During the Depression, with no money, shed founded a nursery school, aided by my Uncle Rudy, a peppy gym teacher, and shed continued to rise, ultimately becoming a Superintendent of Schools. Lil had also recently departed from the sisters code of subdued good taste. Shed started having a local dressmaker whip up a closetful of polyester tube dresses in bold, almost tropical prints, sometimes with bobbing ball fringe at the hemlines. These dresses had high necklines and short sleeves, and they resembled colorful, off-season covers for patio furniture. These dresses are so practical, shed tell her siblings, you should get some. Lils greatest gift was her magnetic, raw confidence. She had strong opinions, and she knew exactly what you should be doing with your life, and she had no problem with letting you know.

I could hear the sisters climbing the many flights up to my apartment, with expressive groans and remarks like, How much further? Why does he live here? and I think Im having a stroke.

Look whos here! my mother called out, entering the apartment and kissing me.

Look whos here! said Hilda, hugging me.

Look whos here! said Lil, adding, So theres no elevator?

Of course not, explained my mother. Thats why he lives up hereso we wont come and visit him.

Well, I guess we showed him, Hilda chortled.

Im not kidding, theres no elevator? asked Lil.

There is, I replied, but its restricted. This is a nice building.

Oh, very funny, said my mother.

Mr. Ha-Ha, said Hilda, grinning.

So this is your apartment? said Lil, looking around. With the addition of a bed, myself and my relatives, the ten-by-fifteen-foot studio was packed.

Of course this is his apartment, said my mother.

What else? said Hilda.

Is this the whole thing? asked Lil. Or is this the foyer?

Actually, there are five more bedrooms, I explained, but theyre being painted.

There are not, said my mother, he just graduated. This is perfectly fine; its a studio.

Its lovely, said Lil. See, Im being nice.

Shes being nice. said Hilda, Write that down.

Hil? said Lil, wary of insubordination.

I didnt say anything! Hilda insisted.

So its a studio? asked Lil. Why do they call it that? So itll sound fancy? Why dont they just say, its a broom closet up a lot of stairs with a bed and, I hope to God, a bathroom. Is there a john?

I just go out in the hall, I said. Theres a bucket.

Hilda laughed, but after Lil glanced at her she stopped, claiming, Im not laughing, its not funny. Im sure theres a john.

Its right in here, said my mother, supportively opening the bathroom door. Come on in, well take the grand tour.

The three women peered inside a bathroom the size of half a phone booth.

Look, he has a toilet, said Hilda, approvingly. Very nice.

And a sink, added my mother.

Its like the Waldorf, Lil concluded. Are there bugs?

Of course not! my mother protested, and then, to me, You dont have bugs, do you?

I cant afford them, I said. Its sad.

You know, said Lil, when Mama and Papa first came to this country, they lived on the Lower East Side, in a tenement, just like this. And now here you are.

Id never really known my grandparents, whod died when I was little. My grandfather had been a tireless garment factory worker, a cutter who skillfully sliced through many layers of tweed and gabardine; he was also known for such remarks as, Like the monkey said when he peed into the cash register, This is running into money. My grandmother, who made Lil look like a trembling ingenue, had been especially concerned with her familys internal cleanliness. For Hildas eighth birthday, without telling Hilda or her guests, shed frosted a batch of cupcakes with melted Ex-Lax, so that the kids would all stay regular.

Look what we brought you! said Hilda, handing me a shopping bag. Gifts are like passports in my family, since no one is allowed to travel without carrying many wrapped packages. My aunts always bring something, even if the gift makes no sense. Its the gesture, Lil would say, it marks the occasion. Over the years Ive received, among other things, Mexican papier-mch marionettes, a tennis sweater, a notepad with an appliqud felt cover depicting a man in a vest playing a banjo, and a bamboo back scratcher. Hilda would find many of these treasures at an outlet store on Long Island called Girl Meets Buy.

At my apartment, I opened Hildas shopping bag to find washcloths, a wicker cover for a box of Kleenex, and a plastic toilet brush. While these were actually thoughtful purchases, the women began handling the various housewares as if they were uncut rubies, or newborn infants, to be adored and inspected for flaws.

This is a very nice toilet brush, Lil told Hilda. Where did you get this?

At the store near me, said Hilda. It also comes in taupe.

I love these washcloths, said my mother, nuzzling one first to her own cheek, and then to mine. Feel how soft.

And look, wicker, said Lil, holding the Kleenex caddy up to the light. I could use this.

Give me that, I said, snatching it away.

So youre going to climb all those stairs, said Lil, and then youre going to sit here, probably on that bed, since Im not noticing a chair, and youre going to write something. So what are you going to write?

Leave him alone, said Hilda, he just got here.

He has to make a living, said Lil, who had a point.

Hes going to write whatever he wants to write, said my mother, and its going to be wonderful and were all going to love it, as long as its not disgusting.