The Disco Artist She was Talking About
that’s just how my throat works- sky was a vivid tranquillity of green and yellow
- elegance without pomp
- A bear!
- what kind of fish to put in the moat
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The disco artist she was talking about was Chartreuse’s brother, Deuce. Deuce Pamplemousse had a huge hit with “Hop on my Caboose.” It was an insidiously catchy number, and once you had it stuck in your head, the only way to exorcise it was to sing a snatch of it backwards. I did that now, hoping to banish the tune before it lodged itself deep in my psyche.
“What was that?” Hildegard demanded. “That noise — is that what you call singing?”
“Don’t get so worked up,” I said. “That’s just how my throat works. I never claimed to be a singer.” I took a deep breath and tried to relax and pee.
“But your twin is America’s number one wedding rapper!” She grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around to face her. “Your identical twin!”
“Rapping is not singing.” I tried to remain calm. I looked out the window where the morning sky was a vivid tranquillity of green and yellow over the fresh snow. The sulfurous emissions from the nearby valley did strange things to the sunlight.
I shrugged away from Hildegard and sat on the toilet. So much for the elegance without pomp that standing urination embodied — I was desperate for release and didn’t care how pompous I looked. My innate elegance would have to carry me through.
Hildegard’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing!”
“I told you I need to go.” My voice sounded more pleading than elegant.
“But, as you Americans say, does not a bear shit in the woods?”
“A bear! Are you calling me a bear? I’m not that hairy. And unless you want to witness what an American does in the bathroom, you’ll give me some privacy.” I didn’t actually have to poop, but Hildegard didn’t have to know that. “Give me five minutes, and then we can talk about whatever you want — what to have for breakfast, what kind of fish to put in the moat, who your favorite disco artist is — anything. But please, five minutes.”
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