Edmund White - Forgetting Elena: A Novel

To Ann and Alfred

I am the first person in the house to awaken, but I am unsure of the implications. I cant be absolutely certain, of course, whether everyone else is still sleeping, but the other two men in the room are breathing heavily and their hands are stretched out, curled or closed in positions that seem at once natural and improbablein short, I doubt whether anyone would be clever enough to improvise such convincing gestures of repose. Moreover, their closed eyes are ringed with puffy circles and their lips are softly parted.

As for the occupants of the other rooms, I have no way of knowing whether theyre asleep or even inside the house at all. No one is moving about, however; of that I can be quite confident, since the walls are thin and dont run all the way up to the ceiling and the cottage is so small that no part of it is more than thirty feet away from my bed.

I wonder what sort of impression I might make if I should go to the bathroom now? Perhaps no one would notice or care that I was the first to use it; perhaps people here are quite natural about bodily functions and find them humorous or, alternately, too trivial to mention. On the other hand, a carefully regulated procedure may govern the whole matter, and the men of the house may take turns in the order of their height, popularity or seniority.

I simply must use the bathroom, no matter what the consequences may be. If Im making a mistake, I strongly doubt whether anyone will reproach me directly. An air of permissiveness seems to be the rule, despite the fact that any impropriety is observed on all sides and endlessly joked aboutlightly, casually and insistently. Last night, when Bob stood up after dinner, he walked around the room and, I imagine, felt uneasy about what he should do next. Summoning up his nerve, he said, to nobody in particular, I guess Ill stroll down to the hotel and dance for a while. His statement drew no comments. He walked around the room once more and yawned in a distinctly forced waynot a real yawn at all but a rather poor copy. Then he left.

As soon as his footsteps could be heard no longer, the men still at table burst into laughter. Dance? How absurd! No one ever goes to the hotel until the stroke of midnight. But Bobs always out of phase. For instance, Ive told him again and again that the good people leave the hotel about two in the morning and return home. But hes so literal-minded that he now leaves precisely at two, regardless of the conditions, regardless of the social nuances. Naturally, hes been left out in the cold more than once, and then he becomes petulant and says to me, But you told me two. I try to point out to him that he must scrutinize the mood of the crowd, keep his eye on important people, observe when they appear to be restless and likely to leave.

That will never happen, said Herbert, who, though often silent, unmistakably rules the cottage and may quite possibly be an important official. He, more than any of the other men in the cottage, has mastered the casual, permissive air; when I asked him last night if I should clear the table, he put an unfriendly, utterly cheerless hand on my shoulder and said, But my dear fellow, do as you like. Who keeps track of these things? Everyone follows his own impulse and, amazingly, the house runs along all by itself.

That will never happen, Herbert was saying, because Bob is quite lacking in the social instincts. But who needs them? he asked, glancing at me. He has other, more important qualities. I even find his ineptitude charming. Today I isolated a new mannerism in Bob: shall I call it the yawning syndrome?

Everyone urged Herbert to describe the syndrome. As the group leaned closer to the table (Herbert had judiciously lowered his voice), I served another round of coffee as silently as I could.

The yawning syndrome occurs whenever Bob feels ill-at-ease, uncertain about going or coming, or when hes aware of some tension he may have provoked in the company. At such times he ululatesno, perhaps thats an unkind word. His voice heavily aspirant, his jaw dropped, his eyes averted, he sounds one high note and then slides down a fifth, if you will forgive the technicality of my expression. I recognized the syndrome this morning and have been amused exactly six times since to seeor rather, hearit in action.

Billy, Herberts houseboy, or perhaps secretary, valet or younger brotherIm uncertain of his exact position and am careful to treat him respectfully, lest he turn out to be a person of some, even extraordinary, importanceBilly laughed convulsively and said, You have swept that boy back.

Someone asked about this curious usage, and Billy explained quite cheerfully that back was the latest way of saying thoroughly at the hotel. For instance, you might say, Im going to clean this house back, or, if youre dressing up, Tonight Ill give you fashion back.

I made a mental note of back and give you fashion and resolved to try them out when Id be chatting with another newcomer (if thats what I am); once the expressions fitted easily into my conversation, I would employ them with the other people, all the while remembering to emphasize the words slightly, ironically, since I suspected that hotel slang was considered amusing only so long as its impurity was acknowledged.

I wasted little time over the words, however, before turning my attention to a more pressing question: was Billys remark (Im going to clean this house back) a subtle hint sent indirectly from Herbert, or the group, to me, informing me of duties I had unwittingly neglected to perform? I dared not ask them point-blank, since I would only be told once again, But my dear fellow, do as you like.

Why do we put up with Bob? someone asked Herbert laughingly. Hes so ridiculousdancing at eleven and yawning. And have you noticed the clever way he imagines hes by-passed all the intricacies of fashion? Last night he announced that he intended to wear a green shirt and blue jeans all summerthat was to be his trademark he told me with evident satisfaction. Not only is that a misguided and primitive notion of dress, a sort of packaging the product for easy recognition, but it also ignores any sort of a look we might want to achieve as a group. Not that Im proposing we contrive little uniforms or anything, but there are times when one should accommodate ones companions, and give them at least a little sartorial nod. If he were to wear all blue, for instance, I might choose a blue scarf as an allusion to his costume.

More importantly, Herbert said, for Bob to persevere in green and blue shows no awareness of the change of weather or seasons. God knows I dont demand conformity in clothes, but an eccentricity, to be noticeable at all, must be a rare and calculated exception. Of course, he has a perfect right to wear whatever he chooses. We mustnt be petty. Then he looked at all of us and slowly pushed his chin forward, like a pianist embarking on a new phrase. As to your question, Why do we put up with Bob?, I should have thought that nothing would be easier to do. Hes a charming young man. We are all equals now.

Herberts closing words, delivered almost inaudibly, arose as unexpectedly out of the drift of his argument as a human arm out of the waves at night. The room was filled with the sound of scraping chairs as the men rose. Herbert crossed the room and ascended the three steps that led to the cottages higher level, turned right and switched on a dim lamp behind the bamboo blinds. He sat on the edge of his cot and read a book.