The Body Of Jonah Boyd - By David Leavitt Page 0,36
and they’re not small. Have you called the Chinese restaurant?”
“They don’t open until five.”
“What can I do?”
“If you could just help Ernest out in the study . . . Daphne’ doing her room, and Ben his. The Boyds have turned around and are going to do the arroyo. I’ve told everyone to adopt this system I saw on television, where you divide each area into quadrants and go quadrant by quadrant. A woman found a lost diamond earring that way.”
Having put the garbage can to rights, we went inside, where I found Ernest in the study, removing the cushions from the daybed. A piece of popcorn, I saw, had lodged in one of the corners.
“Nancy told me what happened,” I said. “Any luck so far?”
“No, and there’ not going to be,” Ernest said. “And you know why? Because they’re not here.”
“How do you know?”
“Isn’t it obvious? They’re in some Dumpster, or burned up in the incinerator behind the Chinese restaurant. Who cares? The point is, if he’ lost them, it’ because he wanted to lose them. Textbook parapraxis.”
From typing Ernest’ correspondence, I was familiar with the term, if not this particular usage. “But I thought parapraxis meant letting something slip that you didn’t mean to say,” I said.
“Yes, but it can also mean answering a question wrong on a test because you secretly want to fail. Or losing something"— he formed his fingers into quotation marks—” ‘accidentally on purpose.’”
“And you think that’ what happened with Boyd?”
“There’ no question. Consider that twice already—that we know of—he’ been saved just in the nick of time ‘thanks to the intervention of the muse,’ or some such nonsense. I mean, you don’t just keep losing things, and losing them, and never take any precautions, unless on some level you’re really hoping to lose them. Or because you get your kicks from the risk, the danger.”
“But a novel—something he’ been working on for years—”
“For all we know, the bit he read us is all there is, the rest of the notebooks are blank. Or think about it this way: You’re betting everything you’ve got on one book, and one day you wake up and realize it’ just not very good. Then what do you do? If it’ lost, no one will ever be able to criticize it. It will never be a failure. It’ll exist in some sort of ideal state for all eternity, as a ‘lost masterpiece.’ Of course, that’ a pretty desperate tactic, and not one, I suspect, that any normal person would opt for consciously—but from the point of view of the subconscious, it makes perfect sense.”
Nancy came in. “What are you two doing just standing there and gabbing?” she said. “We’ve still got the living room to do.”
“Relax. There’ no need. They’re not going to turn up.” Ernest replaced the cushions on the daybed. “As head of this household, I hereby declare this search over.”
“But if we haven’t looked—”
“There’ no point. Give it up.”
Ernest went outside, to his office.
“He doesn’t like Boyd,” Nancy said, getting down on her knees to peer under a table.
“Why not?”
“All that talk about the muse got on his nerves. Also, he didn’t appreciate what Boyd read. He said it was pornographic.”
Ben slunk through the door. “Nothing in my room. Daphne’ still looking in hers.”
The bell rang. “Oh no,” Nancy said. “Who on earth could that be? I hope it’ not—”
But it was. Opening the kitchen door, Nancy admitted the Boyds. Anne looked—if this was possible—even more rumpled than she had upon her arrival from the airport. As for Jonah Boyd, he wore on his pallid face an expression of mute resignation—as if he had fast-forwarded through panic, false hope, and anger, and now stood on the brink of a premature acceptance.
Anne was not in anywhere near so calm a state. “Any luck?” she asked, shimmying out of her ratty coat.
“Oh, Annie, I’m sorry, not yet. How about on your end?”
“None.” She sat heavily at the tulip table. “Although we left a description with the police, and they’ve promised to keep an eye open down at the arroyo. We went by the Chinese restaurant, too. They weren’t open. I tried to get into their Dumpster but it was locked.”
“My wife is indefatigable,” Boyd said with great fatigue. “She would climb into Dumpsters on my behalf.”
“Jonah, why don’t you sit down, too? Would you like some coffee?”
“Thank you.” He eased himself into a chair. “And thank you—all of you—for helping out. It’ rather embarrassing, what’ happened.”
“Now there’ nothing