To Dana, without whom

this would not have been possible.

Copyright :o by Bradd Allen Saunders
All rights reserved.
.ss-o: :o,o::,o
|\-: ,,s:o,o::,:
IVETHA
An AIredaIe's CompendIum

Bradd AIIen Saunders

IVETHA: An Airedales Compendium
By Bradd Allen Saunders
Contact: braddallensaunders@hotmail.com
In the empty spaces of belief there is the potential for salvation.

A BRIEF HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION

OF IVETHA STREET,
CBD, CRA-C2, 29-35, Established 1837:
Three hundred and seventy-ve feet in length, it slopes at a
westerly grade of :z percent. A former trapping trail, it was the
fourth thoroughfare of the city to be ofcially zoned in the area
known as Wilsons Ridge.
Unofcially, it went by the name of Horsehoe Hill because of
a livery and blacksmiths shop at the base of the street and then
later called Tristans because of a shop there by that name which
sold provisions. It was paved, as the city grew, twenty years after
the invention of the automobile, with an aggregate of stone and
tar and, in :g, was covered with asphalt and leveled by three
degrees.
When the city incorporated, it was renamed Jacksons Slope,
but then later dubbed Ivetha after a city father returned from a
visit to the Balearic Islands. Over the course of a hundred and
fty years, over two hundred shops have come and gone, including
pubs, restaurants, millineries, haberdasheries and a hotel named
the Bellesaire, which went bankrupt in :g. A re, in :gj,
destroyed fourteen buildings on the south side of the street and the
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:
architectural rm of Markham & Maybin was contracted by the
city to design a set of buildings in the Italianate style to replace
them. Of these, one was destroyed in an explosion of a furnace in
:gz, and two others were eventually condemned, razed, and left
as empty lots.
In :gB, a group of homeless men made a tent city in the
empty lot made by the Markham/Maybin furnace explosion,
which was eventually abolished by a police action.
In the fties, Thanksgiving parades would wind through
the city center from a southerly direction, turn onto Molitor, head
north to Sasha, and then proceed up the slope of Ivetha to Monette.
A murder occurred on the sixth oor of the building addressed
jo, in :g0j. Later, it was determined that the killer had been
lying in wait and had ambushed his supervisor in a disagreement
over money.
In what was once a department store named Andersens, a
man named Cole Grebbs made a proposal to his ance on the
second oor of the store and discovered, only minutes later, that
shed had a heart attack on the fourth oor while shopping. Grebbs
was later suspected of killing her because she had rejected his
proposal, but was tried by a jury and found innocent.
In the early part of the twenty-rst century, money was set
aside by the city for the refurbishment of curbs, benches, and
sundry items as part of a project called z:
st
Century Downtown,
to revitalize the area.
Fourteen new businesses relocated on Ivetha over the next
three years. Of these, three went bankrupt, but the others are still in
operation. Today, there are plans for private development on the
north side, but the project has been put on hold due to nancial
considerations.
It was said by a city planner familiar with the street: Though
its history is as rich as any, it has failed, through whatever
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,
mysterious means, to make any sort of impression. Its as though
it is but it isnt, as though we all know and agree on the idea of
it, but without being able to explain why. I have known men who
have worked for the city for years who are unaware of its existence,
though some have admitted, upon reection, to have visited it
frequently. It is not so much a street as the memory of one, a rut
in the less accessible precincts of a mans mind. I see no need for it
to continue and have recommended it be razed and redeveloped. I
hope to never tend to it again.
Robert Gordon Grier, author of, A Series of Encounters in
the Accidental Edice, had this to add: It was as if all the time it
was there it wasnt, as though we could only see it when we werent
looking.
The Author
,
THE BEGINNING:
A Series of E-Mail Exchanges Between
Benjamin Stuart Broyhill and Helen Van
Houten, from August 10
th
through the 12
th
Helen,
I know I`m the last person you want to hear from. I
understand you`re not well. But things have gotten so bad
I had to write to you. Please don`t get too mad.
It happened this time, if you can believe it, because of a ball-
point pen. Some guy I work with needed one and because
I`m at the bottom of the totem pole around here it came to
me. Why I have to work at a place this far below my level of
intelligence, education, and general sense of competence
is a mystery to me, but that`s an issue for another day. The
guy needed his pen; he wanted somebody to pick it up for
him at this fancy stationery place; it fell to me.
When I got near the stationery store I couldn`t fnd a place
to park, so I had to stop a little further from it than I wanted.
I knew Ivetha was nearby, but I fgured it had to be at least
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o
three or four blocks away, Helen - three or four blocks, at
the very least, because, as you know, I`m pretty sensitive
to the proximity of that place. Obviously, though, I was
closer to it than I thought I was, or it was closer to me.
The frst thing I noticed when I parked the car was the
smell of coffee. It was strange because I didn`t think there
was a coffee shop around, but because I could smell it
I kind of wanted some, even though I`m not that fond of
coffee at all. I turned and started walking in the direction
of the smell when I realized, suddenly, that I was there,
that in some weird way I had always been there and
that even though I thought I had left it days ago I had
somehow managed to remain. I know that sounds like
tripe or something completely off the wall, Helen, but it`s
true. It`s true.
How can I describe you this time? You were wearing
a pair of multicolored knee socks and walking a dog.
I don`t know much about dogs. It might have been a
Schnauzer or a terrier of some kind - one of those fuzzy,
wiry haired kinds of things that people who like animals
spend too much money on. You had on a big fur coat and
a pair of sunglasses that made your eyes look like a bug.
You were dressed (I hope you don`t take this the wrong
way) a little like a crack whore on holiday, and you were
with some jowly guy with sideburns who looked kind of
like your pimp. I have no idea what you were doing. You
could have been getting some air or out looking for a
trick; but whatever you were doing there was no doubt
in my mind it was you, Helen. As sure as I`m sitting here,
it was you.
At frst, you didn`t see me and I wondered if I could be
imagining it, if maybe I was only remembering seeing
you from the last four or fves times and getting things
mixed up. So I closed my eyes and tried to brush the
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;
whole scene from my mind, but when I opened them you
were still there looking at me like the lewd, leering, little
whore we both knew you to be. I thought maybe you had
been momentarily immobilized, as if you were a memory
of mine that had stopped for a moment and was waiting
to start again. And then, your dog ran off and I saw you
watch it go and then you turned back and looked at me
again. And it was then I knew that, no matter what, you
would always be there.
Of course, I know it couldn`t have happened. You can`t be
in two places at the same time. But how can anyone say
what`s possible after everything I`ve been through? Today,
I was there and saw you dressed as a prostitute. A couple
of days before you were a nun. What will you be if I go
there tomorrow? My mom?
For me the overriding question is: What do we do now?
I know this is only happening to me at the moment, but
because it involves you I sort of feel it`s your problem too.
What happens if both our lives get crossed up on this
street somehow in some permanent way? What would it
mean if we got trapped in some other life and couldn`t fnd
our way back to the ones we have now? Would we live
in blissful ignorance of the joys and heartaches we once
had in this life, or would we be cursed to remember what
we were and live in envy of our former selves?
I understand this e-mail has come at a bad time, but I`m
at the end of my rope here. Can you tell me what to do?
Get.well.soon.
Ben
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s
HELEN'S RESPONSE, WRITTEN IN THE HOSPITAL
UNDER THE DURESS OF INJURY, FOUR HOURS
LATER.
Benjamin,
I`ve spent my entire week with tubes shoved into nearly
every orifce of my body, needles in my arm, my leg in
a cast and pins in my hips, and you`re trying to tell me
you saw me earlier today on Ivetha Street dressed in a
fur coat and walking a dog with my pimp? Do you really
believe the stuff you`re writing to me, or are you in the grip
of some kind of horrible drug?
Benjamin, there is something I want you to understand that
is very important: I`m in pain; there are parts of my body
that don`t work the way they used to and I spend most of
my time doped up and living in some kind of blurry fog.
There are times when your letters are so bizarre it makes
me wonder if I could be dreaming them, and when I realize
I`m not, I get angry. The few minutes I have to look forward
to everyday when they wheel me in front of this computer is
the only small pleasure I have left in the world. Please don`t
ruin it by making me respond to this stuff.
You say you want my help, but what you really need is
to be put into the care of some kind of professional. You
need to submit yourself to a doctor right away. I`m a ffty-
seven year old mother, who has just suffered a major car
accident, and you say you saw me today dressed like a
crack whore with a dog?
Get help.
Helen
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,
E-MAIL FROM BENJAMIN, IN REPLY TO HELEN'S
E-MAIL, TWENTY MINUTES LATER.
Helen,
It was a Schnauzer. I looked it up and I`m pretty sure
that`s what you were walking when I saw you. I think
it was wearing a rhinestone collar that read "Jasper" or
maybe "Jason," attached to a metal leash. What I`m
thinking now is that I might have accidentally stumbled
onto some bizarre set of superpositions on this street
in some pure, unentangled set of eigenstates, each
subject to an endless string of controlled interferences
resulting in unpredictable collapses of the universal
wave-function.
I know what I`m saying probably sounds Greek, but I`m
a scientist, Helen, or I hope to be one day and I know
these things are possible. They`ve already proven this
on a quantum level, so why can`t it be happening here?
It`s always possible that we have a true physical anomaly
on our hands: a geographical binding element between
worlds.
Multi-colored knee socks. The guy you were with wore
a llama vest and striped pants, like the hippies did in
the sixties. Did you ever know anyone who dressed that
way?
Get.well.
B-
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o
E-MAIL FROM HELEN TWO DAYS LATER, AUGUST
17
TH
.
Benjamin,
Please stop telling me to get well; it only makes things
worse. And why do you write it that way with all the dots?
Ben, let`s for a second imagine that there is some kind of
reason for the stuff you`re seeing and it could make some
kind of sense. What would it matter if I did know someone
who dressed that way? It would be my memory and not
yours. Do you understand? You can`t have memories that
belong to other people, no matter what you think you`re
seeing on that street.
I`m not saying it`s your fault, but thanks to you and some
other pressures I`ve been under lately, I`ve had a setback.
A tube fell out of my nose yesterday and my leg began to
ache. The doctor has told me he`s going to increase my
pain medication, and that if I don`t show more signs of
recovery I may have to go back into surgery. Does that
make you happy? Did you get your pound of fesh?
I`ll be honest. When you frst started telling me these
things, I found it kind of fattering. Most people don`t take
much interest in me and sometimes I`m not that interested
in myself. But you have to stop writing this stuff or I`m
going to lose what little grip I have left on my life. In the
name of all that`s holy let me be!
H-
|v|+|

E-MAIL IN REPLY TO HELEN'S, ONLY MINUTES LATER,

AUGUST17
th.
Helen,
I don`t want you to take this the wrong way because I
know you`re hurt, but I fnd your whole attitude about
this to be disturbing. I know it may sound crazy to you
because you`re unfamiliar with the concepts, but believe
me when I tell you that this is possible, that some very
sane and smart men and women have proven theories
like this and there is no real reason why what I say can`t
be true. You say you can`t have memories that belong to
other people, but that`s where you`re only proving how
ignorant you are, Helen. You can have memories that
belong to other people. It`s just that when they happen to
me frst they become mine.
Multi-colored knees socks. A dog named Jasper...Don`t
you have a husband by that name?
B-
E-MAIL FROM JACK VAN HOUTEN, HELEN'S SPOUSE,
TO BENJAMIN BROYHILL THE NEXT DAY.
Dear Mr. Broyhill,
The name is Jack, actually, but thanks for thinking of me.
Well, I can see that after all these years you`re still the
same snot-nosed little boy who used to throw snowballs at
our car. You were always a pain in the ass, Benjamin, and
troubled too, but I can see, if anything, you`ve gotten worse.
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:
I want you to stop writing this stuff or you`re going to
be sorry. The crap you`ve written the last few days has
disturbed both me and my wife greatly and caused us
unnecessary suffering and pain. If you think it`s funny to
harass an injured woman in a hospital, you`re even sicker
than you seem. Stop flling her head with this nonsense
or I`m going to fnd out where you are and put you in the
hospital too.
Get it?
Jack Van Houten
E-MAIL FROM BENJAMIN BROYHILL, IN RESPONSE
TO JACK'S E-MAIL, FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER.
Yes, Jack, I do and I`m sorry. I`ve just been having a little
problem interpreting some observations I`ve made lately
and I thought maybe your wife could help.
But since she`s not available, I guess I`ll ask you.
I remember now that your name isn`t Jasper, but
has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like a
Schnauzer? Maybe that`s how I got confused.
B-
|v|+|
,
END OF THE FIRST SET OF E-MAIL EXCHANGES
AND THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER BETWEEN THE
WRITER, ANTHONY PULSIPHER, AND HIS FRIEND,
PERSEPHONE WERT, SEPTEMBER 5
th,
ROUGHLY
THREE YEARS BEFORE THE PREVIOUS E-MAILS:
Persephone,
After weeks of hard work, unbelievable anguish and
enormous mental strain, this is all I`ve been able to come
up with. I know I said I was going to write the Great
American Novel. I know I told everyone within earshot
that I was going to do something great. But after hours of
untold agony and the kind of suffering I wouldn`t wish on
the lowest demon in hell, all I`ve been able to put down on
a page is the following:
A BRIEF SALUTE TO THE BEAGLE:
The playful and noteworthy Beagle is one of the most
popular breeds in the canine world. Curious, willful,
friendly and independent, Beagles are amongst the
most loyal companions of all dog breeds. Difcult
and distracted if not handled properly, it is their very
temperament which makes them endearing to the true
Beagle lover. They are strong willed and fun loving and
great with kids too.

The origins of this delightful animal are unclear, but it
is believed that its progenitor was brought to England in
the
TH
century by William the Conqueror, in the form
of the Talbot Hound a scent hound derived from the
St. Hubert, which had been developed centuries before.
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(
Beagles make excellent hunting dogs, but they also
make wonderful pets if given proper, alpha dog
leadership and plenty of exercise and love. Hundreds
of clubs, kennels and associations have been created
in support of this iconic breed, guaranteeing that the
Beagles proud place in the hearts and minds of its
owners will always be assured.
End of excerpt, beginning of what is liable to be a pathetic
rant:
Well, there you have it. That`s it. That`s all I`ve been able
to put down. Can you believe it? I can`t either, but that`s all
I`ve been able to write after weeks and weeks of agony: A
few poorly plagiarized paragraphs about a hound.
Why these chickens have come home to roost, I don`t
know. I had a plan, or at least I thought I did, but I realize
now that I only had the idea of one, which is not the same
thing. Now, I have become the husk of hope, the part
that`s left over when the all the good parts are gone.
But I`m not writing this because I want you to feel sorry for
me. I know my problems are my own. I was only wondering
if you could do me a little favor. I`ve been thinking, lately,
that I might like to throw myself off a bridge somewhere
and I was hoping you could help. As you know, it`s always
been hard for me to take that frst little step - the one that
gets things rolling. Do you think it would be asking too
much for you to push me? I`d be in your debt.
Fuck.
T-
|v|+|
,
PERSEPHONE'S REPLY, LATER THAT EVENING.
Tony,
Of course, I could! You know I`d do anything for you! But
you can`t go jumping off just any old bridge.
This is liable to be the defning moment of your life, Tony.
You need to put some thought into this. Would you like me
to do some research and come up with some really nice
places to jump off of? We could make a road trip out of it,
if you`d like. I could drive.
P-
HIS RESPONSE.
You`re rotten, you know that, and evil too. Do you mean
anything that you say?
A-
HERS.
Always. Do you?
P-
;
END OF THE SECOND SET OF E-MAIL EXCHANGES
AND THE BEGINNING OF THE BOOK,
A Series of Encounters in the Accidental Edice,
BY ROBERT GORDON GRIER:
Book One, Cbapter One:
OIIver And TrIna
I
n his mind he didnt do it because he had to. It wasnt
because his wife had quit her job and he needed the
money or because the world was in a constant state of
ux and he had to do what he could to keep up. He didnt
do it because he was tired and needed a change or because
he thought it might make him more interesting to people
or improve his standing in the world. He did it because he
owned the place and could do whatever he wanted. Did he
need a better reason than that?
It was thus that Oliver made the decision to look for a
new and different place to set up shop. Feeling calmer and
more self-possessed than he was accustomed, he went into
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s
it with optimism. Why, he wasnt sure, but it was one of
those rare periods in a mans life where he feels he can do
no wrong, when for reasons he could not quite put a nger
on he senses that the greater forces of the universe are in
harmony with his desires. Though he was old enough to
know that this is never really true, the pure pleasure he felt
in thinking this way was so seductive it made him forget.
(Such is the pleasure in the absence left by forgetting, an
absence so potentially addictive it can become, for some,
a kind of memory in itself or a memory of a memory of
the possibility of itself.)
After months of carefully combing through a spate of
empty spaces, however, he could nd nothing that seemed
right. Everything was either too big or small or just plain
wrong or out of sorts. Since things were good, he felt he
could afford to be patient; but this only had the effect of
prolonging everything to the point they were worse.
And then, through circumstances he could no longer
recall (and the fact that he couldnt recall them was
something he would come to see as the rst and most
signicant of his memories of absence a memory of
something that was not something at all), it was brought
to his attention that there was a space which had become
available in an area hed always hoped to be a part of.
Though he had spent several days combing through just
this part of town, he had not heard or known about this
opportunity until late into his search. It was as if the
building had not existed until he had known a need for it;
and now that he had nally acknowledged such a need it
had appeared out of thin air.
It was address number , on a little street named
Ivetha. When he looked it up on a map he found it
couldnt be more perfectly situated. With a theatre and
an upscale set of restaurants nearby, it was a choice area
|v|+|
,
by any measure and sure to be in the crosshairs of just
the kind of people he was trying to reach. It was in a part
of the city that had undergone one of those fashionable
gentrications that had become an urban trend, a place
where the city makes an effort to dress up a neglected area
in order to get people to take an interest in it again. Oliver
sold faithful reproductions of period piece furniture that
were licensed and in limited production, the price of
which, for some items, was very dear. It was not the kind
of stuff that appealed to everybody, but it would appeal to
the kind of people who came there.
It was represented by a Mrs. Janice Ackerman, of the
Ackerman Property Management Agency a place and
person he had never heard of and available for viewing
by appointment only, but Oliver wanted to take a look at
it, initially, on his own. Real estate agents, and their ugly
cousins (property managers), are distracting as well as
renowned liars and he wanted to be able to assess the
place with a cold, hard eye.

To his surprise his wife wanted to come.

Mind if I tag along?
He didnt think she would suggest it. Staring at empty
spaces and speculating on how useful they might be to sell
furniture was not really Trinas cup of tea; but if he had
learned anything over the course of his marriage it was
that if his wife wanted to do something, and he couldnt
think of a good reason for her not to, then it was going to
happen.
Okay, he said, a bit more brusquely than he should
have. But dont dawdle, all right? Ive got to get back to
the shop for deliveries.
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:o
She stared.
I dont have to. I just thought you might want me to.
I do. I want you to. Im just in a hurry.
Trina was beautiful in a lot of ways, but, unfortunately,
the many ways in which she was beautiful could only be
seen with real clarity through what made her ugly. One
quality she had in abundance was a conviction that she
had insights into people and places that others didnt and
an obligation to share them when necessary. Giving her a
reason to apply this talent was something he knew better
than to do.
Im not trying to say I dont want you to come, he said.
Im just saying that I want you to come quickly.
Fine, she replied and walked away.
Oliver was already beginning to feel like he shouldnt
have told her she could come with him but that ship had
already sailed.
Sweetheart, he called, as he waited for her to get a
coat or do whatever it was that women seemed to need to
do before they went anywhere I dont know why but I have
a good feeling about this place. I know it sounds a little
crazy since I havent even seen it yet, but I think it could be
just what weve been looking for this time. Dont you have
a feeling it could change our lives?
Oliver wasnt sure if their lives needed changing and,
if they did, if Trina agreed, but the feelings he had been
having were so strong and so agreeable to him they seemed
to create a reality of their own.
I know its kind of a risk, he continued. People say
that if you have a successful business its not a good idea
to move it, but I really feel its different in this case. Dont
you? Dont you think theres a time when you just have to
do something different just because you can?
Again Trina didnt answer, but he wasnt too miffed.
|v|+|
:
There were times when Oliver felt their relationship was a
little like a pair of convicts in separate cells communicating
to each other through a wall: though they knew the other
one had to be there (there was nowhere else to go) what
was going on with the other, and whether or not you were
actually connecting in some way, could only be reduced
to a guess.
Sweetie, he said, a bit more loudly. Dont you think it
would be a good idea to push the envelope a little?
And then Oliver became aware of a feeling. It was
faint at rst so faint it was hardly a feeling at all but
gradually it began to grow like a wave that came from a
great distance, arriving with such a sudden and shattering
force it swept out all other contents from his mind like a
ood. Trina is not here, he thought. Shes gone.
Sweetie, he said, warily.
Nothing.
Are you ready?
He knew it was crazy, that she had to be somewhere,
probably taking care of some little bit of laundry or
putting away a dish; but he could not shake the complete
conviction that he was alone, that he had always been
alone and that Trina, his wife, had never been anything
but the most fragile of inventions on his part, which had
suddenly, like the insubstantial thing it always was, gone
up in smoke. He knew there was no foundation for this
feeling, but it was so powerful he couldnt make it stop. He
called.
Trina?
He began to glance around the house surreptitiously,
at rst, as if someone might be watching him and he had
to be careful not to look like dumb but with a greater
urgency as he continued.
Honey?
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::
He peered into the kitchen.
Pumpkin?
He looked down the hall. The house felt like a
stage empty, but charged with anticipation but for
what he didnt know.
Trina, he said, louder.
And then she appeared from around a corner with a
smile as if nothing in the world had been wrong.
Ready, she said, brightly. Then she looked at him and
frowned.
Oliver? Her brows knitted and she looked as if she
thought he might be sick. Are you all right?
:,
Cbapter Two
O
nce theyd hit the road he felt better. Oliver had
always liked having something to do. It didnt
matter what it was. He had long ago learned that
the only real tragedy in life is in getting what you want, but
as long as you were only in the process of getting what you
wanted, and werent actually getting it, you were safe.
Im really looking forward to this, he said, with a
smile. I have a good feeling about this.
Since shed gotten in the car Trina had been
preoccupied. Oliver had noticed but had decided to
pretend he hadnt. Some things, he knew, worked better
that way.
Oliver, she nally said breaking whatever spell she
was under and looking at him as if he were invisible can
I ask you something?
Sure.
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:(
Do you think its possible were fucking it up?
He stared at her.
Excuse me?
Our lives. Do you think its possible were fucking up
our lives? That were making a complete mockery of them
and living like fools?
The utter lack of context in which she delivered this
query threw him a moment. He groped.
Well, I dont know, honey, he said, and suddenly he
felt dumb, as if his head were a bell that couldnt ring
anymore. Do you think its a mockery? Does it feel like a
mockery to you?
No. Well I mean
The manner in which she so clumsily disguised the obvious
need not to hedge this point bordered, he felt, on insulting.
No. I dont. I just wonderDo you think its possible
to do it wrong? To live a whole life and realize, perhaps at
the point of death, or maybe even sooner, that youve done
it wrong? That you missed the point of it and messed it
up? Do you think that can happen? Do you think there
could be a wrong way to live?
In many ways Oliver hated these kinds of questions.
He had always suspected there was something self-
aggrandizing about them and disingenuous.
Well, sweetie, he said, I dont know. If there is
what can we do? Were only living, right? Isnt that what
everybody else is doing? Living their lives? Besides, if
there is a wrong way then wouldnt that meant theres also
a right one? And if there is, what would it be? What would
be the right way to live?
Just because I said there could be a wrong way doesnt
mean that there has to be a right one. Not everything
works like that. Youre old enough, Im sure, to know that
by now. Some things you can do wrong without there ever
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:,
being a right way to do it. Relationships are like that, dont
you think? At least most of them?
I dont know, he said, hufly. Are you trying to say
that theres no way to do our relationship right, but theres
a way to do it wrong?
No.
Then I dont think I understand.
All Im saying is that its possible theres something
about it all were not getting and that maybe thats the
point, thats the point of the whole thing, to get that one
thing and that somehow either through hard-headedness
or sheer stupidity we missed it, we may have missed it and
were living wrong.
Oliver didnt want to talk about this anymore. He
sighed.
Well, he said in the tone he always used when he
wanted to bring a subject to an end, I guess I dont know,
honey. I just dont know. What can I say?
She sneered.
Thats so like you. Whenever you dont want to talk
about something you pretend theres nothing more to
talk about, as if every subject is an enormous gum-ball
machine that only has so many pieces of gum to dispense,
and once theyre gone its through. Theres something so
controlling about it and arrogant, Oliver. I just wanted to
know what you thought. I didnt expect you to have the
wisdom of Job.
Well, I told you what I thought but you didnt like
what I said. Do you want to know what I think, or do you
want me to say whatever you want to hear? I said, I dont
know and thats true. If youd like a different answer
tell me what it is and Ill say it. Im not even sure I know
what youre talking about. Its making my head dizzy just
arguing about it right now.
as|| |||n sun||ss
:o
She waved him off, peevishly. Though theyd only been
on the road a short time it already felt like forever. Oliver
hoped the space they were going to would be everything
he was looking for. He needed some good news.

Though there had been every bit as much congestion as

Oliver had expected, he had negotiated the trafc deftly,
and once they had pushed, crept, and cajoled their way
through the tangle of one-way streets, through the mish-
mash of moving metal, and clouds of diesel fuel, he nally
found Ivetha where he expected it to be, and turned. What
he saw there made him feel much better about everything.
Ivetha was great.
Slicing a block in two on the diagonal, the street was
essentially located on a shortcut, a road that linked two
major thoroughfares together in an area that could almost
qualify as the citys cynosure. While everything around
it in all directions was a smattering of controlled and
uncontrolled confusion, old and new shops, makeshift
patches of urban improvement and neglect, Ivetha was a
veritable oasis of timeless serenity and charm.
Tree-lined and gracious, it was in a charter part of
town, a product of the citys original foundation and early
urban expansion. In those days, the federal style reigned
and the streets were a proud representation of the citys
faith in itself and its future.
Though the street did have its drawbacks (he could
see it wasnt quite as clean as it could be and it was a bit
narrow), it still had the overall feeling of a small and
friendly Parisian boulevard, with the concomitant sense of
ease and leisure that entailed. Buildings were anywhere
from four to eight stories tall and well maintained. The
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:;
sidewalks and curbs were in good shape. The street was
vigorous and alive with shoppers. It was elegant without
being haughty; a world apart, yet clearly a part of the world.
He was smitten.
He was just getting ready to share these feelings when
he turned to his wife.
Jesus Christ, she said, when shed nally gotten out
of the car and had a chance to look things over, is this
it?
There had been many times, in the course of their
relationship, when Oliver had seen something very
differently than Trina. Sometimes these differences led
to disagreements and sometimes they didnt, but they were
always slight enough that one, or both of them, were able,
at least in some small way, to understand the point of the
other. But this was different. Oliver could not understand
how anyone could have a problem with this street. It was
wonderful. It was as if he had found the fountain of youth
and she had called it a sewer.
You dont like this, he said, trying to curb a quick,
and potentially disruptive, ash of anger.
No, and she looked at him as if she thought he might
be on the verge of losing his mind. Do you?
Maybe, he reasoned, Im not looking at what is actually
here. Women are often better at processing the subtleties of
things, and he had been so excited about seeing the place
it was possible he was seeing what he had been hoping to
see, rather than what was actually here. He tried to take a
sober inventory.
When he did, what he saw was even better than his rst
impression: women were pushing baby carriages, there
were outdoor cafes with people smiling and eating good
food. It did not look so much like a street but a refuge, a
place to go to get away from all the other places you didnt
as|| |||n sun||ss
:s
want to be. It just felt good to be here, for some reason.
He turned to his wife. She did not look well.
Trina, he said, his face lled, suddenly, with concern,
are you okay?
She exhaled slowly and then brightened and seemed
better, then nodded. Oliver remained unsure.
Lets take a look at the building, he said nally, still
feeling a bit leery about his wifes behavior and regretting
the fact that he had ever told her she could come. Isnt
that why were here?

If Oliver liked the street, he liked the building even

better. was clearly the architectural agship of the
avenue. Five stories tall with plenty of space still available
on the upper and lower oors, every unique element so
representative of its particular period had been expertly
maintained and respectfully preserved.
Filled with an abundance of windows which gave the
building an open, inviting feel, Oliver liked them because
they werent of the austere, modern variety, which often
made things look antiseptic, but instead were a carefully
integrated part of the buildings original design.
There were two entrances trailing off Ivetha itself
and Monette (the northernmost street running by the
building), which would make deliveries easy and offered
a broad access for large items. The entrance proper was a
double door of glass, framed by polished cherry, capped
by a hunter green canopy, extending modestly over the
sidewalk. The stone on the building was a freshly cleansed
cream and the roof was capped with crenellations an
architectural gewgaw that were not so much kitschy as
delightful, bringing a contradictory touch of both whimsy
|v|+|
:,
and majesty to the place. At the top of the northwestern
crenellation was a ag and on each cornerstone was a
coat of arms which produced a faux, castle effect that was
delightful. The building had a sense of tradition which
refurbishment had somehow managed to make seem new.
Place likes this didnt grow on trees. He knew because
he had looked. He cast a hopeful glance in his wifes
direction.
Trinas face was wan. She was acting queasy. She
pitched back and forth on the balls of her feet, just a little
at rst, but with increasing vigor with each moment, as
though she had been abruptly placed on a balancing
board and had to concentrate to keep from falling off. She
stumbled a moment then steadied herself, her expression
xed on some distant and indenable point she seemed to
need to align with to stay erect.
Honey?
Her eyes rolled back a moment in her head and
he could see her mouth twist as if she was ready to say
something but couldnt. Her breathing became shallow
and her jaw set forward. She looked as if she was in the
grip of some private, invisible force that she was doing her
best to allay. Her aspect took a sudden, dramatic turn for
the better and just as quickly looked bad again.
Oliver?
He stepped forward.
She raised a hand and then straightened. She
looked better, almost well, but then bent double suddenly,
convulsed, and vomited, splattering an uneven and
elliptical brown patch a foot or so along the sidewalk
only inches from her feet. Oliver stared at the vomit,
too shocked, initially, to react. He found himself more
fascinated with it than disgusted, as if there was a message
in it meant just for him. She wheezed.
as|| |||n sun||ss
,o
Sweetheart, his face was ashen. Are you all right?
She nodded, the color rapidly returning to her face,
though she still did not look well.
Oliver, she said, still looking a little disoriented and
trying to catch her breath, I think Ive seen enough for
today. Have you?
,
Cbapter Tbree
T
he drive back was quiet. Though he had asked her
repeatedly if she was all right, Trina kept dismissing
his concerns as if they were nothing. Oliver wasnt
sure what had happened, but he knew better than to argue
with her about her feelings. They rode a while without
talking before she shot him a quick glance. He did what
he could to disguise the fact he was annoyed.
So, she said, pretending that nothing unusual had
happened, what did you think?
About what?
About the building, silly. What did you think about
the building? Did you like it? Was it everything you
hoped it would be?
Maybe. I like the neighborhood. There are some
things I need to nd out about it rst, but it looks good
so far.
She nodded and they rode awhile. Moments passed.
as|| |||n sun||ss
,:
Sweetie?
Uh-huh?
Just out of curiosity, how did you nd out about it?
How did I nd out about what?
The building? How did you know it was available?
How did you nd out it was there?
He had wondered that himself, but for some strange
reason couldnt come up with an answer. It was as if in a
funny way he had always known it was there but had only
chosen to remember it now. He shrugged.
I dont know. Probably an ad. Im not sure.
She nodded again and they rode a while longer.
Did it seem funny to you?
In what way?
I dont know. In a certain way? Just the way it was?
The way it seemed?
The way it seemed? Trina? What are you talking
about? What are you trying to say?
I dont know. Just the way it looked. Did it seem funny
to you in the impression that it made?
No.
She nodded again. Oliver didnt want to try to even
imagine what she was thinking. Even if she told him, he
wasnt sure he would understand.
Im going to pick up the dry cleaning today, she said,
nally, her tone sounding strangely at and removed. Is
there anything you want me to bring in?
The dry cleaning?
Yes.
Oliver had to think a moment about what she was
saying. The dry cleaning, he thought. Why in hell would she
ask me about that?

|v|+|
,,
When he pulled into the drive, Trina got out and waved
to him as he left. The gravity with which she made the
gesture made him feel as if he were driving a hearse. He
had no idea what had just happened with his wife, or why,
but what he did know was that he didnt have time to worry
about it right now. What mattered was that he had nally
found it. After a lot of time, trouble, and uncertainty, he
had nally found the perfect space for the future of his
business, and if the details proved to be acceptable (the
length, in particular, of the lease), he could see that he was
standing on the precipice of a new and exciting chapter in
his life. If his wife was less than enthusiastic (and maybe
even acting downright odd), he knew she would eventually
come around. It was, after all, inevitable. The universe
was in harmony with his desires.
Once she had watched her husband drive away, Trina
turned toward the house. The day was still quite young
and already it felt long. She had asked to come with her
husband on a whim, just so they could do something nice
together, and she had nished it by making a public display
of herself. She knew that Oliver would be annoyed, but she
also knew it wouldnt matter much in the end. If Oliver
had any talent to speak of it was an ability to remember
only that which was useful to him and forget the rest.
Though this might not be the best way to go about life, or
even a relationship, she also took a bit of solace in it too.
(Complacency is a kind of cancer in a relationship, but it
is also a cure.)
Meanwhile, she had things to do: there were
groceries to buy, laundry to clean, stuff to pick up at the
hardware store, and other errands to effect. It seemed
that ever since she had quit her job to devote more of
her life to the upkeep of their world together, she had
less of a life of her own to look after. But it is always that
as|| |||n sun||ss
,(
way, she reasoned, about anything you have: As soon as
you recognize it as something valuable and try to hold
onto it, it goes away.
When she stepped in the house she saw, to her chagrin,
that the foyer was dirty again. She could not gure out
how two people could track so much dirt into one small
space. She grabbed a broom.
While she swept, she tried in as calm and careful
a manner as she could to come to some kind of
understanding of what she had just been through. She
had looked into a pane of glass, in an empty shop, on
an obscure street and had seen (as far as she could
understand) everything not just what was before her in
the window, but all there ever was, or would be. It was
as if every moment in time past, present, and future
had always existed simultaneously and could be seen, with
little effort, in a shop window in the time it took to blink
your eyes. It was impossible. She knew it could not have
happened. But it had.
Well, she told herself, at least I gured out one thing today.
I found out that Oliver is unhappy. He wont say it because either
he doesnt know it, or he doesnt want me to know; but the fact that
he wont say that were not living wrong means he thinks were not
living right. He doesnt like his life. All this talk about change is
only a kind of code. Im not even sure if he likes me.
She opened the door and swept the dust from the oor
onto the front porch then tried to decide her next move.
The oor, despite the fact she had just swept it, was still
dirty. It really needed to be mopped, but she didnt feel
like doing it right now. She put the broom back in the
closet and told herself she wasnt going to worry about it
anymore today. After all, it would only get dirty again
tomorrow.