Nobody's Fool

SULLY ” that contained important documents he might somedayneed, but she doubted he’d mind if he did, and besides, Miss Beryl never felt guilty about surreptitiously guarding her tenant’s interests. But this was a different kind of intrusion, and she knew it. She had not intended to follow up on Clive Jr.’s suggestion to inspect Sully’s flat for herself until she was actually on the stairs, and now that she was here, she wished that she had followed her usual rule of thumb and dismissed Clive Jr.’s advice on general principle. How had he managed to convince her to invade her longtime tenant’s privacy? Was Clive Jr. becoming more persuasive? Or was she becoming, in her advancing age, more uncertain and susceptible to persuasion? She feared it could well be the latter and wondered if it might be a good idea to make, for future reference, a list of things she should never agree to do at her son’s urging. That way, if she became more uncertain or weak-willed, if she woke up some morning and discovered that Clive Jr.’s advice suddenly made sense, she could consult her list, made when she was still in command of her faculties. Everything would be right there on paper:
    1. Don’t invest in any of Clive Jr.’s sure things.
    2. Don’t tell him how much money you have. It would not be good for him to know this until you are dead and it’s his.
    3. Don’t sell Clive Jr. your house, because then it will be his house. Don’t listen to his reasons, because they’re good ones.
    4. Don’t let him convince you to vote Republican. This would not be in your spiritual best interest.
    The question was whether to add number five:
    5. Don’t let Clive Jr. talk you into evicting Sully, who is fond of you, just as you are fond of him. If Sully burns your house down with you in it, he will not have meant to.
    Miss Beryl frowned at her mental list. Each item on it struck her as dubious, and number five was especially unconvincing. At bottom, the other four represented a failure of generosity to Clive Jr., not to mention a near total collapse of any natural maternal instinct to accord one’s children more credit than they are due. They were Driver Ed speaking, not herself.
    So deeply was Miss Beryl plunged into these interior considerations that she did not hear footsteps on the stair outside or notice that she was no longer alone. And when the intruder spoke, the old woman nearlyjumped out of her skin, not so much out of surprise to discover that she was not alone as because for a split second it seemed to her that the new voice, one she recognized vaguely, was in her head. What this new voice said was: “Six. Quit talking to yourself. Everybody will think you’re nuts.”
    Miss Beryl could not take her eyes off the little girl, who sat perfectly still, staring without apparent comprehension at Miss Beryl, her tiny legs hanging over the cushion, not quite touching the floor. Another child would have swung her legs, banged the backs of her shoes against the sofa. But this child’s legs remained preternaturally still. Which wasn’t even the most amazing part. Her mother had declined to be seated on the sofa next to her daughter, planting herself on the floor, back braced against the sofa arm, as if in sad acknowledgment of unworthiness. But once she got situated, Miss Beryl learned why the child’s mother had settled herself at her daughter’s feet, for, without actually looking at her mother, the girl’s small right hand found her mother’s upper arm, then the fingers traveled lightly along the shoulder and up the young woman’s neck until they located her ear. Miss Beryl watched, fascinated, as the child gently caressed her mother’s earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. The young woman even helped the little girl locate it by brushing back her hair with her opposite hand and holding it until the tiny fingers had located the lobe, explaining, “Birdbrain here likes to keep in touch, don’t you, Birdbrain?”
    The child did not react to this observation, though, Miss Beryl noticed, she now looked more relaxed and tranquil as she caressed the lobe of her mother’s ear. Miss Beryl also saw once again that the little girl had a migrating eye, and since she had located her mother’s earlobe, the bad eye had wandered more noticeably, glancing off at the ceiling while the good eye continued to fix Miss