56 THENEWYORKER,AUGUST19, 2019
many old folks seem to? Not to appear
ageist? Or playing cards or watching old
movies on TV?
I care about this country, I say.
(As Prepped.)
Jer and Meg and Kennedy B. look
at me like: Yes, yes, how well said, by
our uncle.
I believe I should be able to state my
views, though old, I say.
So true, says Kennedy B.
So modestly put, says
Meg.
Remember that time
he anonymously paid my
college tuition? says Ken-
nedy B.
That time he donated his
Buick to the Park District?
says Meg. Anonymously?
On a more serious note,
to somewhat shift gears, the lady says.
There are rumors afloat, of a secret cadre
of folks who are, one might say, mind-
washed, or sort of like zombies who just
show up? Individuals blanked-out men-
tally, then reprogrammed—human ro-
bots, so to speak—who arrive en masse,
even in buses, for propaganda purposes,
sans minds of their own?
Silence.
I did not understand what you just
said, please explain, I say.
He gets confused so easily, Meg says.
These days. At his age.
When he was younger? Jer says. Never
confused. Sharp as a tack.
Just one sharp uncle, says Kennedy B.
Of ours, says Meg.
And that darn beating probably didn’t
help much, says Kennedy B.
Have you, Greg, to the best of your
recollection, received any training or
programming of this kind? the lady says.
Can you name, for example, the place
of your birth?
Meg touches her hat.
Special high-school memories? the
lady says. A show you enjoyed as a child?
Who are you, Greg? In what do you,
yourself, believe?
Freedom, I say. For poor and sick. And
defend weak from oppressors.
Ha, oh boy, the lady says. That is
rich. Defend the weak? Allentown,
Pennsylvania, Greg: ring a bell? Cer-
tain brutal events that occurred there
to some union-organizer folks in a mini-
mall? Galena, Illinois, what transpired
there, tragically, last July, to a group of
unarmed middle-school teachers?
Meg touches her hat, clears throat.
What is your last name, Greg? the
lady says. Do you even know it? The
approximate year of the moon landing?
The name of the football team from
Cleveland? How is it that this house
was rented only three days ago? Why,
when you fellows chant, do
you always chant the same
four words?
Meg clears throat, wid-
ens eyes, touches hat.
Bastard, turd, creep, idiot,
the lady says.
I hop up, excuse self, go
to bathroom.
You call yourself a jour-
nalist? Kennedy B. says.
You call yourself a per-
son? the lady says.
I wait in bathroom until ladies, cam-
era, leave.C
at in tub Curled up happy Why
O why cannot I be more like it?
Not confused Just curled up My
tub making my purr be louder.
Jer comes in closes door leans
against.
O.K., that was unfortunate, Jer says.
That lady? Janet Ardmore, KTOD-
NewsTeamTwo? Stinker. Real cranky-
pants. Kind of biased. Strange view of
the world. Bit of a liar. Funny how bad-
ness will just say whatever, you know?
But, I admit, we’re in a bind. And, no
offense: you are one shit interview, pal.
I do not understand what you just
said, please explain, I say.
Door flies open Meg and Ken-
nedy B. squeeze in Jer steps into tub
with slight look of yikes.
Cat races out.
Jer, KZIP’s calling and calling, says
Meg. WDUC’s parked right up the
frigging street. In that yellow van. With
the beak on it.
I do not understand what you just
said, please explain, I say.
You know what, 89? says Meg. You’re
going to stop saying that. You’re driv-
ing me freaking nuts with that.
Meg’s stressed, says Jer.
We’re all stressed, says Kennedy B.
Contrary to popular belief, I am not
some bitch made of stone, says Meg.
I never said you were a bitch madeof stone, says Kennedy B. I said you could
sometimes be a very company lady.
Glimm’s on his way over, says Meg.
With the portable. Right? Totally works:
we Rescrape. Per the qapp. Which we
should’ve done long ago. It’s brain dam-
age. We say. To whoever. From the beating.
See? Win-win. Afterward, 89’s subdued
and blank. Can’t speak. At all. Who did
it? Them. They did. Beat a nice old guy
so bad they blanked him right out. And
they call themselves moral? Like that.
What a shame, says Jer. Total waste
of a year.
He has to consent, Kennedy B. says
soft ly handing Meg a page by hand.
Are you sad, pal, are you scared,
do you know what’s about to happen?
says Jer.
The time for delicate feelings is I don’t
know when, says Meg. But not now.
Miles and miles up shit creek here,
says Kennedy B.
And just like snap at her word of
creek I know creek: is that is that
which at edge of which we would
build ramp of snow snowramp If
jump no good? Boy and sled fell in
creek Boy must run home, pants of ice,
dragging sled Pants getting more ice
with each cold step through quiet blue
winter town toward home sweet
Ma, I think.
Then see her so clear: Flour in
hair Mouth going O at sight of ice-
pants Which I am to leave by door
on Hefty bag, spread out Here is Vixen
Our dog! Sniffing my icepants which
I am no longer which lie now on Hefty
bag In shape of boy doing dance: one
leg bent.
Jer leans against sink Makes desk
of own back Meg puts page on Jer’s
backdesk hands me pen.
So 89, this is just going to be your
CF-201B, Meg says. Addendum to your
CF-201A. Which you already signed.
Happily. Gladly. Earlier.
When you first joined us, says Ken-
nedy B.
Joined our team, says Meg.
It doesn’t hurt, 89, says Kennedy B.
Remember? It’s just with magnets and
whatnot?
How would he remember that, doo-
fus? says Meg.
He seems to actually remember kind
of a lot, says Kennedy B.
If I ever lied to you, 89, which I didn’t?