The Anatomy Lesson (Vintage International)

by Philip Roth

“I assure you, it’s writers who have to make things up, not girls.”

The sane ones bore you practically to death, and the ones who fascinate you turn out to be nuts.

But she was dead. She wanted nothing. He awakened in a large penthouse suite looking out over the lake. Before even removing his clothes to shower, he called Bobby’s house. But by eight Bobby’s hospital day had already begun. Eight to eight, thought Zuckerman, and at night the emergency calls.

“I’ve been up since five. Gregory never came home. I don’t understand how Bobby accepts it. He hasn’t even called to tell his father where he is. It’s morning. It’s starting to snow. We’re going to have that storm, and big. Everybody in the world knows. The ‘Today Show’ says so. The papers say so. Only Gregory hasn’t heard. I’m supposed to go out this morning before it really starts up, but where is Gregory?” He was beginning to sob. “To snow—to snow so soon. Zuck, I can’t stand it. Two feet of snow.” “Suppose I take you. Suppose we go out in a taxi together.” “I’ve got my car, it runs beautiful—only Bobby would be furious if I went alone, especially in this weather. How she loved to look out the window when it snowed. Like a little girl, whenever she saw the first snow.” “I’ll take you in your car.” “Out of the question. You have a life to live. I wouldn’t hear of it.” “I’ll be by at ten.” “But if Gregory comes back—” “If he’s back, go. If no one’s home, I’ll understand that you went with him.”

First, he would take Mr. Freytag to visit the grave before the snow buried his wife a second time.

Back when he’d still been hunting for a hidden cause, he’d even come to wonder if the aim of the affliction mightn’t be to provide a fresh subject, the anatomy’s gift to the vanishing muse.

expostulation,

How do you explain to a child of seven the irrepressible urge to spurt?”

He was thinking that they ought to do these things twice: the first time you could just stand there not knowing what’s happening, while the second time you could look around, see who was in tears, hear the words being said, understand at least a little of what was going on; sentiments uttered over a grave can sometimes alter a life, and he’d heard nothing. He didn’t feel like a son who’d just witnessed his mother’s burial, but like an actor’s understudy, the one they use in rehearsals to see how the costumes look under the lights.

Just go with it. Ride it out. It’ll end like everything else. The whole thing won’t be the shortest journey imaginable, but it won’t last forever either.”

When he wasn’t sucking liquid pulp or sleeping, he went exploring his mouth with his tongue. Nothing existed but the inside of his mouth. He made all sorts of discoveries in there. Your mouth is who you are. You can’t get very much closer to what you think of as yourself. The next stop up is the brain. No wonder fellatio has achieved such renown. Your tongue lives in your mouth and your tongue is you.

You have made a great name in life for which all my congratulations. But I want you to know you are still Joel Kupperman (“The Quiz Kid”) to Bobby’s Dad and always will be. Hurry and get well. Love from the Freytags, Harry, Bobby, and Greg The last of the old-fashioned fathers. And we, thought Zuckerman, the last of the old-fashioned sons.