Stranger Things Happen (24 page)

"You tried garlic?" Louise says. "Spitting? Holy water? The
library?"

"Yes," Louise says, lying.

"How about country music?" Patrick says. "Johnny Cash, Patsy
Cline, Hank Williams?"

"Country music?" Louise says. "Is that like holy water?"

"I read something about it," Patrick says. "In 
New
Scientist
, or 
Guitar 
magazine, or maybe it
was 
Martha Stewart Living
. It was something about the
pitch, the frequencies. Yodeling is supposed to be effective. Makes
sense when you think about it."

"I was thinking about summer camp," Louise says to Louise.
"Remember how the counselors used to tell us ghost stories?"

"Yeah," Louise says. "They did that thing with the flashlight.
You made me go to the bathroom with you in the middle of the night.
You were afraid to go by yourself."

"I wasn't afraid," Louise says. "You were afraid."

#

At the symphony, Louise watches the cellists and Louise watches
Louise. The cellists watch the conductor and every now and then
they look past him, over at Louise. Louise can feel them staring at
Louise. Music goes everywhere, like light and, like light, music
loves Louise. Louise doesn't know how she knows this—she can just
feel the music, wrapping itself around Louise, insinuating itself
into her beautiful ears, between her lips, collecting in her hair
and in the little scoop between her legs. And what good does it do
Louise, Louise thinks? The cellists might as well be playing
jackhammers and spoons.

Well, maybe that isn't entirely true. Louise may be tone deaf,
but she's explained to Louise that it doesn't mean she doesn't like
music. She feels it in her bones and back behind her jaw. It
scratches itches. It's like a crossword puzzle. Louise is trying to
figure it out, and right next to her, Louise is trying to figure
out Louise.

The music stops and starts and stops again. Louise and Louise
clap at the intermission and then the lights come up and Louise
says, "I've been thinking a lot. About something. I want another
baby."

"What do you mean?" Louise says, stunned. "You mean like
Anna?"

"I don't know," Louise says. "Just another one. You should have
a baby too. We could go to Lamaze classes together. You could name
yours Louise after me and I could name mine Louise after you.
Wouldn't that be funny?"

"Anna would be jealous," Louise says.

"I think it would make me happy," Louise says. "I was so happy
when Anna was a baby. Everything just tasted good, even the air. I
even liked being pregnant."

Louise says, "Aren't you happy now?"

Louise says, "Of course I'm happy. But don't you know what I
mean? Being happy like that?'

"Kind of," Louise says. "Like when we were kids. You mean like
Girl Scout camp."

"Yeah," Louise says. "Like that. You would have to get rid of
your ghost first. I don't think ghosts are very hygienic. I could
introduce you to a very nice man. A cellist. Maybe not the highest
sperm count, but very nice." "Which number is he?" Louise says.

"I don't want to prejudice you," Louise says. "You haven't met
him. I'm not sure you should think of him as a number. I'll point
him out. Oh, and number eight, too. You have to meet my beautiful
boy, number eight. We have to go out to lunch so I can tell you
about him. He's smitten. I've smited him."

Louise goes to the bathroom and Louise stays in her seat. She
thinks of her ghost. Why can't she have a ghost and a baby? Why is
she always supposed to give up something? Why can't other people
share?

Why does Louise want to have another baby anyway? What if this
new baby hates Louise as much as Anna does? What if it used to be a
dog? What if her own baby hates Louise?

When the musicians are back on stage, Louise leans over and
whispers to Louise, "There he is. The one with big hands, over on
the right."

It isn't clear to Louise which cellist Louise means. They all
have big hands. And which cellist is she supposed to be looking
for? The nice cellist she shouldn't be thinking of as a number?
Number eight? She takes a closer look. All of the cellists are
handsome from where Louise is sitting. How fragile they look, she
thinks, in their serious black clothes, letting the music run down
their strings like that and pour through their open fingers. It's
careless of them. You have to hold onto things.

There are six cellists on stage. Perhaps Louise has slept with
all of them. Louise thinks, if I went to bed with them, with any of
them, I would recognize the way they tasted, the things they liked
and the ways they liked them. I would know which number they were.
But they wouldn't know me.

#

The ghost is bigger again. He's prickly all over. He bristles
with hair. The hair is reddish brown and sharp looking. Louise
doesn't think it would be a good idea to touch the ghost now. All
night he moves back and forth in front of her bed, sliding on his
belly like a snake. His fingers dig into the floorboards and he
pushes himself forward with his toes. His mouth stays open as if
he's eating air.

Louise goes to the kitchen. She opens a can of beans, a can of
pears, hearts of palm. She puts the different things on a plate and
places the plate in front of the ghost. He moves around it. Maybe
he's like Anna—picky. Louise doesn't know what he wants. Louise
refuses to sleep in the living room again. It's her bedroom after
all. She lies awake and listens to the ghost press himself against
her clean floor, moving backwards and forwards before the foot of
the bed all night long.

In the morning the ghost is in the closet, upside down against
the wall. Enough, she thinks, and she goes to the mall and buys a
stack of CDs. Patsy Cline, Emmylou Harris, Hank Williams, Johnny
Cash, Lyle Lovett. She asks the clerk if he can recommend anything
with yodeling on it, but he's young and not very helpful.

"Never mind," she says. "I'll just take these."

While he's running her credit card, she says, "Wait. Have you
ever seen a ghost?"

"None of your business, lady," he says. "But if I had, I'd make
it show me where it buried its treasure. And then I'd dig up the
treasure and I'd be rich and then I wouldn't be selling you this
stupid country shit. Unless the treasure had a curse on it."

"What if there wasn't any treasure?" Louise says.

"Then I'd stick the ghost in a bottle and sell it to a museum,"
the kid says. "A real live ghost. That's got to be worth something.
I'd buy a hog and ride it to California. I'd go make my own music,
and there wouldn't be any fucking yodeling."

#

The ghost seems to like Patsy Cline. It isn't that he says
anything. But he doesn't disappear. He comes out of the closet. He
lies on the floor so that Louise has to walk around him. He's
thicker now, more solid. Maybe he was a Patsy Cline fan when he was
alive. The hair stands up all over his body, and it moves gently,
as if a breeze is blowing through it.

They both like Johnny Cash. Louise is pleased—they have
something in common now.

"I'm onto Jackson," Louise sings. "You big talken man."

#

The phone rings in the middle of the night. Louise sits straight
up in bed. "What?" she says. "Did you say something?" Is she in a
hotel room? She orients herself quickly. The ghost is under the bed
again, one hand sticking out as if flagging down a bedroom taxi.
Louise picks up the phone.

"Number eight just told me the strangest thing," Louise says.
"Did you try the country music?"

"Yes," Louise says. "But it didn't work. I think he liked
it."

"That's a relief," Louise says. "What are you doing on
Friday?"

"Working," Louise says. "And then I don't know. I was going to
rent a video or something. Want to come over and see the
ghost?"

"I'd like to bring over a few people," Louise says. "After
rehearsal. The cellists want to see the ghost, too. They want to
play for it, actually. It's kind of complicated. Maybe you could
fix dinner. Spaghetti's fine. Maybe some salad, some garlic bread.
I'll bring wine."

"How many cellists?" Louise says.

"Eight," Louise says. "And Patrick's busy. I might have to bring
Anna. It could be educational. Is the ghost still naked?" "Yes,"
Louise says. "But it's okay. He got furry. You can tell her he's a
dog. So what's going to happen?"

"That depends on the ghost," Louise says. "If he likes the
cellists, he might leave with one of them. You know, go into one of
the cellos. Apparently it's very good for the music. And it's good
for the ghost too. Sort of like those little fish that live on the
big fishes. Remoras. Number eight is explaining it to me. He said
that haunted instruments aren't just instruments. It's like they
have a soul. The musician doesn't play the instrument any more. He
or she plays the ghost."

"I don't know if he'd fit," Louise says. "He's largish. At least
part of the time."

Louise says, "Apparently cellos are a lot bigger on the inside
than they look on the outside. Besides, it's not like you're using
him for anything."

"I guess not," Louise says.

"If word gets out, you'll have musicians knocking on your door
day and night, night and day," Louise says. "Trying to steal him.
Don't tell anyone."

#

Gloria and Mary come to see Louise at work. They leave with a
group in a week for Greece. They're going to all the islands.
They've been working with Louise to organize the hotels, the tours,
the passports, and the buses. They're fond of Louise. They tell her
about their sons, show her pictures. They think she should get
married and have a baby.

Louise says, "Have either of you ever seen a ghost?"

Gloria shakes her head. Mary says, "Oh honey, all the time when
I was growing up. It runs in families sometimes, ghosts and stuff
like that. Not as much now, of course. My eyesight isn't so good
now."

"What do you do with them?" Louise says.

"Not much," Mary says. "You can't eat them and you can't talk to
most of them and they aren't worth much."

"I played with a Ouija board once," Gloria says. "With some
other girls. We asked it who we would marry, and it told us some
names. I forget. I don't recall that it was accurate. Then we got
scared. We asked it who we were talking to, and it spelled out
Z-E-U-S. Then it was just a bunch of letters. Gibberish."

"What about music?" Louise says.

"I like music," Gloria says. "It makes me cry sometimes when I
hear a pretty song. I saw Frank Sinatra sing once. He wasn't so
special."

"It will bother a ghost," Mary says. "Some kinds of music will
stir it up. Some kinds of music will lay a ghost. We used to catch
ghosts in my brother's fiddle. Like fishing, or catching fireflies
in a jar. But my mother always said to leave them be."

"I have a ghost," Louise confesses.

"Would you ask it something?" Gloria says. "Ask it what it's
like being dead. I like to know about a place before I get there. I
don't mind going someplace new, but I like to know what it's going
to be like. I like to have some idea."

#

Louise asks the ghost but he doesn't say anything. Maybe he
can't remember what it was like to be alive. Maybe he's forgotten
the language. He just lies on the bedroom floor, flat on his back,
legs open, looking up at her like she's something special. Or maybe
he's thinking of England.

#

Louise makes spaghetti. Louise is on the phone talking to
caterers. "So you don't think we have enough champagne," she says.
"I know it's a gala, but I don't want them falling over. Just
happy. Happy signs checks. Falling over doesn't do me any good. How
much more do you think we need?"

Anna sits on the kitchen floor and watches Louise cutting up
tomatoes. "You'll have to make me something green," she says.

"Why don't you just eat your crayon," Louise says. "Your mother
isn't going to have time to make you green food when she has
another baby. You'll have to eat plain food like everybody else, or
else eat grass like cows do."

"I'll make my own green food," Anna says.

"You're going to have a little brother or a little sister,"
Louise says. "You'll have to behave. You'll have to be responsible.
You'll have to share your room and your toys—not just the regular
ones, the green ones, too."

"I'm not going to have a sister," Anna says. "I'm going to have
a dog."

"You know how it works, right?" Louise says, pushing the drippy
tomatoes into the saucepan. "A man and a woman fall in love and
they kiss and then the woman has a baby. First she gets fat and
then she goes to the hospital. She comes home with a baby."

"You're lying," Anna says. "The man and the woman go to the
pound. They pick out a dog. They bring the dog home and they feed
it baby food. And then one day all the dog's hair falls out and
it's pink. And it learns how to talk, and it has to wear clothes.
And they give it a new name, not a dog name. They give it a baby
name and it has to give the dog name back."

"Whatever," Louise says. "I'm going to have a baby, too. And it
will have the same name as your mother and the same name as me.
Louise. Louise will be the name of your mother's baby, too. The
only person named Anna will be you."

"My dog name was Louise," Anna says. "But you're not allowed to
call me that."

Louise comes in the kitchen. "So much for the caterers," she
says. "So where is it?"

"Where's what?" Louise says.

"The you know what," Louise says, "you know."

"I haven't seen it today," Louise says. "Maybe this won't work.
Maybe it would rather live here." All day long she's had the radio
turned on, tuned to the country station. Maybe the ghost will take
the hint and hide out somewhere until everyone leaves.

The cellists arrive. Seven men and a woman. Louise doesn't
bother to remember their names. The woman is tall and thin. She has
long arms and a long nose. She eats three plates of spaghetti. The
cellists talk to each other. They don't talk about the ghost. They
talk about music. They complain about acoustics. They tell Louise
that her spaghetti is delicious. Louise just smiles. She stares at
the woman cellist, sees Louise watching her. Louise shrugs, nods.
She holds up five fingers.