THENEWYORKER,NOVEMBER16, 2020 57
Dr. Blood’s a fat old red-faced al-
coholic. On his office wall is a poster
of a warty man-size frog. Dr. Blood
always orders the girls to “look at the
frog” right before he needles them.
He feels Gretyl’s stomach.
Yes, he says, quite swollen! He takes
her temperature and hears about the
puking, lack of appetite, and diarrhea.
Yes, he says. Absolutely!
Gretyl says, Is it my appendix?
What? he says. No.
Gretyl’s tummy hurts all over, he
says; were her appendix infected, her
tummy would hurt only in the lower-
right quadrant.
Her sisters had the same symptoms,
Gretyl says politely, and had appendi-
citis. Shouldn’t she be tested?
Ha ha ha, Dr. Blood says, so young
and already a doctor!
He’s had seven glasses of Maker’s
Mark; he reeks of whiskey and mouth-
wash.
You have, he says, MarsVirus.
He prescribes an antibiotic.
In five days, he says, she’ll be ship-
shape!
A
t midnight, the girl awakens. She
strides, free of pain, to the kitchen,
opens the fridge, grabs a hamburger for
the cat, and goes outside.
In the woods, she knows, the shelter
of the trees creates warmth. She wants
to climb to the ledge and meet the bear.
Mihos walks beside her. He’s leo-
nine, lion-size.
When she offers him the hamburger,
he looks away.
You know, he says, everyone who en-
ters the forest must leave a trail.
Gretyl feels her neck—bare. Arms
and wrists—bare. Sporadically, she tosses
hamburger bits behind her. She doesn’t
see, though the gibbous moon illumi-
nates the field, starlings swooping down
and gobbling up the meat.
On the ledge, the cat says, You won’t
return, I don’t think.
She says, Why not?
The cat holds up a paw. Licks it.
It’s late, the cat says, to be honest.
Long past the time when you could
have.
The girl shakes her head. I’m fine.
Furthermore, the cat says reason-
ably, the birds ate your hamburger.
Now you’re lost. But, if you cheer up,
I’ll take you to visit the bear in the
cave on the ledge. You’ll like him.
He’ll rend your body and eat you, but
that’s all. And it won’t take long. Then
you’ll feel rested; I’ll stay with you,
and when you’re ready you’ll become
again.
The girl blinks. I want to go home.
I want to see my parents, sisters, friends.
The cat sneezes. I’m afraid it’s not
possible. You’re gone, you see.
But if you insist—the cat
stretches—just this once, I’ll
carry you home.
The cat’s pupils grow
huge.
But you’ll lose parts of
your body. You’ll never di-
gest food normally. Never
defecate without pain. He
scratches his neck, then closes
one eye. You’ll never bear
children. Not only because of physical
deformities but because someone si-
phoned off the part of you that could
have loved a child. Do you still want to
go home?
Yes, the girl says.
The cat crouches down. She sits
astride his haunches, and he lopes
through the forest and carries her across
the moonlit fields.T
he mother cooks bacon, “Farm-
ers’ Almanac” waffles, eggs; the
father eats, then works in the garage.
After breakfast, the mother devours
an extra waffle, then goes to the bath-
room, defecates copiously, and enjoys
a long bath. Later, she brings Gretyl
an antibiotic. She notices a dense
scent, like a decaying rat. Her daugh-
ter’s curled into a ball, and breathing
rapidly.
Sit up, the mother says.
The girl tries. She’s dizzy. But she
swallows the capsule and sips ginger ale.
Thanks, Mom.
She sips more ginger ale.
Her eyes bulge. She vomits.
Jesus, her mother says.
After the mother changes the fouled
blankets, she makes the girl swallow an-
other pill.In her dreams, Hansa and Piece of
Shit are running away from her, throw-
ing pebbles behind them, yelling, Catchthe pebbles! Catch, catch! But she can-
not breathe or move, and her sisters dis-
appear into darkness.- In the afternoon, beautiful classical
music fills the house. The mother sits at
the computer desk, wearing her ruby
bracelet for luck. She has a mission. She
needs a new rug. But she already has a
rug—with hand-tied knots,
high thread count, and vegeta-
ble dyes—for every room. So,
she’s decided, she’ll sell her
least favorite on eBay. She
clicks on hundreds of rugs,
saves, deletes, narrows crite-
ria. Hours pass. On the couch,
Gretyl writhes. A naughty
idea occurs to the mother: if
they build an extension, a sun-
room—which she’s always
wanted—they’ll need a new rug. But
there’s no money. But, a second mortgage?
The grandmother brings coffee cake,
but the girl’s asleep.
After gulping cake, the father wan-
ders into the living room. Gretyl’s on
the couch. In her sleep, she trembles.
He enjoys seeing this daughter. She’s
reasonable and still attractive. He sniffs.
The smell’s strong. He opens a win-
dow. He feels anxious. He doesn’t want
her to die. But thoughts proliferate.
He sees a funeral: himself suited, hand-
some but solemn; a divorce; a new fam-
ily, possibly sons, who’d be free from
the complications, lamentations, and
recriminations daughters bring.
Dad?
Gretyl’s eyes open. I’m so cold.
Hi, sweetie! he says. I opened a win-
dow because it smells!
Oh, she says. It’s probably me.
It’s nothing, he says. In winter, houses
smell. Your mother farts. I don’t, but your
mother does, a lot!
Dad, the girl whispers. Could you
take me to the E.R.?
The father frowns. Honey. You just
saw the doctor.
The girl shivers under the blankets.
Upstairs, he says, Grethilda, she looks
pretty sick.
Hans, the mother says. She’s taking