The State of the Novel (4)

The Novel Heals the Sick

During Johnny’s illness The Novel read him Laura Ingalls Wilder books and sang songs of the French countryside. The maid brought tea when his voice began to tire.

While Johnny passed in and out of delirium the other children flew kites in the meadow and played house under the willow.

After the fever broke The Novel sang a song he had learned from his German teacher, a ditty about rats and sewers and boys who steal flatbread for their lunches.

The next morning Johnny was permitted outside to watch The Novel on the backyard swing. The swing hung from the big maple that had stood since Woodrow Wilson’s Princeton presidency. As The Novel swung forward his hair flew back and he looked like a boy on a roller coaster.

A maple is good, he said to Johnny. I prefer ash but in truth a maple lasts longer. The ash is truer but shorter-lived.

My mother arrived by train and asked what The Novel was doing with the Johnny.

Well, I said.

Well nothing, my mother said. Get rid of him.

The Novel came inside for lunch and introduced himself.

I’m sure, my mother said.

The following morning The Novel ate a huge breakfast of sausages and fried eggs. Mother slept until noon.