Free Black Dahlia & White Rose: Stories by Joyce Carol Oates Page B

does it go ?
    Once a week or so, Candace takes a laxative. But sometimes forgets if she has taken it. Or forgets to take it.
    Candace recalls another lavatory she’d hurried into recently on a false alarm, at the mall. This too a place where girls—high-school, middle-school—hang out. She’d been shocked to see a poster depicting a wan adolescent girl with bruised eyes and mouth staring at the viewer above a caption inquiring ARE YOU A VICTIM OF VIOLENCE, ABUSE, THREAT OF BODILY HARM? ARE YOU FRIGHTENED? CALL THIS NUMBER. At the bottom of the poster were small strips of paper containing a telephone number and of a dozen or more of these, only two remained. Candace wanted to think that this was some kind of prank—tearing off the paper strips as if they’d be of use.
    Weedle is inquiring about Kimi’s father: does he lose his temper at times, lose control, does he ever lay hands on Kimi?
    “ ‘Kimi’s father’—?”
    Candace has begun to sound like a deranged parrot echoing Weedle’s questions.
    “Yes—Kimi’s father Philip Waxman? According to our records, he is your daughter’s father?”
    Some strange tortured syntax here. Your daughter’s father.
    “Well, yes—but this ‘Philip Waxman’ no longer lives with us, Dr. Weedle. My former husband has moved to Manhattan, to be nearer his place of employment in which he occupies a sort of low-middle-echelon position of shattering insignificance.”
    “I see. I’m sorry to hear that . . .”
    “Sorry that he has moved to Manhattan, or that he occupies a low-middle-echelon position of shattering insignificance? He’s in the insurance scam—I mean, ‘game’—should you be curious.”
    Candace speaks so brightly and crisply, Candace might be reciting a script. For very likely, Candace has recited this script concerning the former husband upon other occasions.
    Usually, listeners smile. Or laugh. Weedle just stares.
    “The question is—does Kimi’s father share custody with you? Does she spend time alone with him?”
    “Well—yes. I suppose so. She is in the man’s ‘custody’ on alternate weekends—if it’s convenient for him. But Philip is not the type to ‘abuse’ anyone—at least not physically.” Candace laughs in a high register, a sound like breaking glass. Seeing Weedle’s disapproving expression Candace laughs harder.
    Once it is dialogue Candace is doing, Candace can do it. Earnest conversation is something else.
    Weedle asks Candace what she means by this remark and Candace says that her former husband has refined the art of mental abuse . “But indirectly—Philip is passive-aggressive. It’s as if you are speaking to a person who does not know the English language—and he is deaf! He becomes stony-quiet, he will not engage. You can speak to him—scream at him—clap your hands in his face, or actually slap his face—only then will he acknowledge you, but you will be at fault . It is impossible for the man to lose at this game—it’s his game. And if you stand too close to him you’re in danger of being sucked into him—as into a black hole.” Candace laughs, wiping at her eyes. Black hole is new, and inspired. Wait till Candace tells her women friends! “ ‘Abusive men’ are ‘provoked’ into violent behavior but my former husband can’t be provoked— he is the one who provokes violence.”
    But is this a felicitous thing to have said? With Weedle staring at Candace from just a few feet away, humorless, and slow-blinking?
    “What do you mean, Candace—‘provokes violence’?”
    “Obviously not what I said! I am speaking figuratively.”
    “You are speaking—in ‘figures’?”
    “I am speaking—for Christ’s sake—analytically—and in metaphor. I am just trying to communicate what would seem to be a simple fact but—I am having great difficulty, I see.”
    Breathing quickly. Trying not to become exasperated. Her hands have slipped loose of their protective grip and are fluttering about like