Free Other People's Lives by Johanna Kaplan Page B

Matthew. Life is so funny.”
    Maria sneezed. “God damn it if I now get a cold. I can’t afford it from my screwed-up sick leave. I would have the time, it’s only from the stupid cutbacks, they are always hedging and hawing.”
    â€œDarling, I know. Sometimes I feel so discouraged about the future. We were all so care ful, we were all so self less. We were going to raise the best, the freest generation of children ever known in the history of mankind. And we did. They’re wonderful. But sometimes I think: My God, after all, what are we? A few generations up from the monkeys, a few generations down from the trees. And monkeys! At least monkeys don’t kill each other.”
    Maria began sneezing spasmodically and shaking things out of her purse. “Monkeys are I think the one animal Matthew didn’t ask me for yet. Yes, angel? Damn it if I can’t now find even tissues, I know I have some. And also histamines. It’s maybe only sinus and not a cold. I hope. ”
    â€œMaria, darling! Don’t take anything,” Rebecca said. “I’ll make you some tea. My marvelous Lapsang Souchong, you’ll love it. It’s from a wonderful couple who know everything about tea. They go all over the world looking for it and they’ve been to Ceylon and the Amazon and everywhere! Leon calls them the Teacups because their name is Kupperman and because you know Leon, I hate to say it, in some ways he’s a very conventional person. And some people might think they’re a little bit kooky or a little bit nutty, but as far as I’m concerned, I don’t see what’s wrong with having a special interest or with pursuing it! And that’s something young people could learn—that you have to pursue things and social change doesn’t come overnight.”
    â€œWe had I think chamomile tea, I don’t know what,” Maria called out as Rebecca went off through the door to the kitchen. “It was from some kind of roots, you can pick them. Not real tea. Also not real coffee, my cousin Klaus used always to complain that he missed his bean coffee. We made it from hickory. Chicory? I don’t know what. Real coffee, bean coffee I had first when I went to West Berlin. It tasted to me, I don’t know what, funny. I had first to get used to it.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’ve always said, Maria! You can get used to anything. And it has nothing to do with age! Some people, even if they’re young, can get stuck—in a rut—and that’s it! And other people can go on and on—changing. Exploring. Look at me! If I can adapt, at my age, to living in a freezing house, without any heat, with no one around and isolated in the country. Without even a stove working properly! And it isn’t as if the builder didn’t have time, God knows I called him enough times.” Rebecca’s voice suddenly got louder as she came in carrying a tray. She said, “Anyway, what can I do?”
    â€œThat’s a beautiful teapot,” Louise said. It was delicate hand-painted china—pale flowers on a black background—and contrasted oddly with the heavy brown clay mugs.
    â€œThank you, darling.” Rebecca beamed. “It’s an antique, but I didn’t have the heart to part with it, so I decided, What the hell! I’ll call it a fringe benefit.” She looked at Louise for the first time and, immediately turning to Maria, said, “Weil? You said her name is Weil? Is she related to the perfume people? Because we met them in Greece—in one of those marvelous ruins, it was in the middle of a downpour and there was no place to take shelter.”
    The Kuppermans, a slightly kooky, slightly nutty couple, were tramping through the tropical underbrush of an out-of-the-way Caribbean island. They were both wearing high boots and safari suits, having learned from long experience to be prepared for anything when they were