I inhabit a large empty loft above the arboretum. Eliot has visited me there. He tells me that my home, as spacious as it is, tends to close in on one in a discomforting way.
“You have no furniture. Not even chairs.” He flopped onto the floor, slinging his metal arm behind him to avoid seeing it. You would think that he would be proud of the thing, durable as it is, stronger even than an arm of flesh and bone. Considering some of the mismatched body parts and insufficient materials that the children's tribe has been known to use, Eliot is lucky to have that “I can’t imagine that it would ever feel warm in here. It just the coldest place anyone would ever want to live.”
“I have a bed,” I said. With a sliding glance, I took in my loft, searching for this ‘coldness.’ The walls beamed back at me, pale and severe, lit like snowy mountainsides by the high sun through the uncurtained windows. “And a large credenza. And see, I’ve a lamp just over there.”
“But you have a house as big as the museum. You need more than that.”
“Eliot,” I chided, “It’s not a house. It’s a loft.” His language has been afflicted by the Children’s Tribe, and I find myself constantly reminding him of it.
“Regardless, you must furnish it. You can’t live here with no chairs, can you?”
“I always have.”
He contemplated this with a fold of his small, pink brow. “Well, you really ought not to have. Some color in here, or at least something soft on the floors would be nice and may cheer you.”
“I’m cheerful. Are you saying I’m not?” It seemed that I was always being cheerful for some reason or another. Someone walks up to you in the street and says; ‘can you find Willet Street today?’ And naturally you smile cheerfully and reply; ‘yes, I’ve seen it to the south, about a half mile, you can catch it if you run.’ Or you are waiting for a train when someone says; ‘oh, that’s a nice dress. Look at the fabric- can I touch it?’ And what do you say? You smile, and you say; ‘sure. Go ahead. It’s cotton.’ And then you go through the business of feigning interest in every little thing they have to say up until the very moment that your train departs and you are free of them. Not everyone is so cheerful as I, and some are moreso. But I’d hardly say I’m cheerless. “Just last week I bought a clip for Noel to keep his hair out of his eyes.”
“Did he like it?”
“I haven’t given it to him.”
“Why not?”
“I like the way he pushes his hair back.”
Eliot shook his head, his striped sweater rubbing gently on his lowered chin. “You need at least a rug. The floor in here is so hard. You just can’t feel comfortable in here.”
“I do.”
end (6)
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