385: Lorna turned . . .
Herb ’n’ Lorna, Chapter 18 continues
Lorna turned from the sink to look at Herb, and even in the rude light of the circular fluorescent fixture Herb could see that her elusive loveliness had returned. For some time fear and fretfulness had poisoned Lorna’s system like allergens, had made the skin under her eyes puff and redden, had made her forehead break out, had made her cheeks pale and her jaw slack. Now, instantly, she seemed cleansed, cured. She had been revivified by what I think I’ll call God’s Own Wonder-Working Tonic, an invigorating compound of three potent ingredients: work to be done (keeps the eyes bright and focused on the future), self-respect (keeps the head up, also the corners of the mouth, and makes the past, on the whole, a pleasant place to visit), and lust (keeps important bodily fluids flowing and makes the present thrilling).
“Herb,” she said. “I want to show you something.” Her heart was racing. She dried her hands on her apron. She could feel them tremble. She took the flour canister from the shelf. She hesitated for the briefest of moments; then she pulled the lid off and turned the flour out on the counter.
“Lorna?” said Herb.
Lorna poked her fingers into the flour and pulled out what she wanted at once, her only souvenir of her coarse-goods work, one of the animated ones, one that she had modified to please herself. She wiped the case on her apron. Then she turned and held it out toward Herb in her trembling hands.
Herb’s jaw fell. He brought his hand to his mouth. “Oh,” he said. “Is that — ? How did you — ? So you know. I — ”
Lorna pressed the stem, and the lid popped open. There was one of the little couples, but this pair had been carved with special care. They resembled, quite clearly, Herb and Lorna, and the arena for their enthusiastic performance was not a rumpled bed but a rowboat.
“Why, that’s — ”
“It’s us,” said Lorna. “I made it.”
“You? I. I made it.”
“What?”
“I made it. Isn’t that what you meant? That you knew? You found out?”
“Herb, I made this. I carved the little rowboat. I carved these figures. I had to fit the little sections of their bodies onto fine wires and rods that fit onto — ”
“ — wires that run onto pulleys, rods that run to shafts that are turned by the gears in the bottom of the case.”
“That make the man and woman perform — ”
“The way I designed them.”
“It can’t be.”
“Wait here.” Herb dashed down the stairs to the cellar, and, in a moment, dashed back up them, carrying the green metal box marked with a skull and crossbones. He set it on the kitchen table, opened it, lifted the tray from it, and pulled out a stack of papers. “Look,” he said. “Look here. These are my designs. All of them.” He was beaming. He spread the drawings out on the table and stood back with his arms crossed over his chest, proud, exhilarated.
“Herb — ”
“Lorna — ”
“All these years?” she asked.
“I guess so,” he said.
“Oh, Herb,” she said, “ignite me please, right this minute.”
[to be continued on Friday, November 18, 2022]
In Topical Guide 385, Mark Dorset considers Art and Craft and Real Life from this episode.
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