🎧 313: And so they . . .

AND SO they decided to move. Lorna wanted to tell Mrs. Mikszath herself, when they were alone. She invited her for coffee, sat her down, and fussed over her, putting a pillow behind the small of her back, insisting that she kick off her shoes and put her feet on the ottoman, buttering a roll for her, putting a third lump of sugar in her coffee. And then, when she thought that the pillow and ottoman and buttered roll and extra sugar had provided enough of a cushion, she delivered the blow: “Mrs. Mikszath,” she said, looking into her cup, “Herb and I are going to move. We don’t want to go, but we have to have more room for the baby, for Ella.”
     Mrs. Mikszath said nothing. She stirred her coffee. She looked at the roll. She put her spoon on the saucer. She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. A tear fell from her right eye, struck her cheek, ran along a wrinkle. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”
     “Oh, so do I, Mrs. Mikszath. We’ve really liked it here, really. We just — ”
     “Miklos and I — ”
     “We need more room.”
     “Miklos and I, we, we are in the way.”
     “In the way?”
     “You have to go past us. In the living room. When we — we’re in the living room — you have to go by us. We hear you, at night. On tiptoes. You don’t feel at home.”
     “Oh, no. No, Mrs. Mikszath. That’s not it. We do feel at home. It’s just the space. That’s all.”
     “Maybe Miklos and I could move in here!”
     “What?”
     “Sure! We could move in here. You and Herb move in our place. Living room, regular kitchen, whole big bathroom, bedroom, plenty of room. What do we need, anyway?” She looked around. Her shoulders dropped. She frowned and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Miklos wouldn’t stand it. It’s too small. It would make him feel bad to be in just one room.” She smiled at Lorna, a weak smile, as if the idea had been Lorna’s and she was sorry to have to disappoint her. “I can’t make him feel bad,” she said.
     “Of course not,” said Lorna.
     Mrs. Mikszath touched the handle of her cup as if she were going to lift it and drink from it, but she paused, thought, made a frail fist, nodded once, and raised her head to look at Lorna. There was mischief in her eyes. “So,” she said. “In this case, I want to tell you. Something I have to say. A secret, you understand?”
     “Yes. A secret.”
     “A secret for women, okay?”
     “Okay.”
     “At night, Miklos and I, we hear you. Always, you and Herb, we hear you.”
     Lorna looked puzzled. “I’m sorry if we — ”
     “Oh, no, no. I mean we hear you — ” She nodded toward the pine bed. “ — in bed.”
     “You do?”
     “From the first night!” She clapped her hands. “We try not to listen. I wash the dishes, make noise, but we can’t help it. You are — very busy in bed.”
     “Mrs. Mikszath!”
     “You are, you are, very — alive! Bouncing. Giggling. Squealing. Sounds very good, very nice. We try not to listen, but we can’t help hearing, and I tell you, most things we don’t hear so well. Finally, we give up trying not to hear. We start hearing. After a while, we listen.”
     “How — often?”
     “All the time!”
     “All the time?”
     “Sure. All the time. I tell you. We wait for you. At night. When we hear you start, I pour Miklos his beer, and a little for me. We turn the radio off, put out the lights. We sit, and we listen.”
     “You listen.”
     “Yes, and — I have to tell you this. We — ”
     “You don’t have to tell me, Mrs. Mikszath.”
     “We — oh — we — we this and that. I’m sorry. I — ”
     “Oh, Mrs. Mikszath,” said Lorna, “don’t be sorry.” She sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulders. “I’m not upset. I’m glad. I’m glad you and Miklos — this and that.”
     “Not what you think, I think. Miklos — Miklos — I’m afraid for Miklos. He might have an attack. Miklos is afraid too, but he doesn’t say it. So we don’t do much — ” She put her hand on Lorna’s. “But you do. Oh, do you! And we — we remember. And we have — our little pleasures.” She looked at Lorna and blinked. “There, I told you. I’m glad I told you.” Then she burst out laughing. “Miklos and I are going to miss you,” she said.
     Lorna sat for a moment. She looked at Mrs. Mikszath. She pursed her lips. She thought. She grinned. “Mrs. Mikszath,” she said, “I’d like to give you something. Something to remember us by.” She got up and, from the windowsill in the kitchen, took the papier-mâché duck that Luther had made for her. Carefully, she separated the top from the bottom, along a nearly invisible seam. She removed what looked like a pocket watch and brought it to Mrs. Mikszath. She squatted in front of her and held the watchcase in both hands. She pressed the stem, and the lid opened. An ivory couple lay on rumpled sheets in a pine bed. Mrs. Mikszath said “Ah!” and brought her hand to her mouth.
     “A secret,” said Lorna. “For you and Miklos only.” Slowly she began to twist the stem.

In Topical Guide 313, Mark Dorset considers Ecouterism from this episode.

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