6
Greta listened to the new session without transcribing it, as if it were a podcast or radio interview. Big Swiss’s voice tumbled out of the speakers and steadied Greta’s nerves as she repaired the windows with Gorilla Tape. The day was warm and bright. Greta felt optimistic for no reason. Perhaps the winter would be mild. Perhaps the windows, which were original to the house, i.e., over two hundred and eighty years old, would keep the weather out. It was a miracle they still opened and closed. The actual panes, made of pioneer glass as potent as Big Swiss’s personality, had not shattered or even cracked when they’d fallen, but the timber that held the panes was rotting. Tape, tape, and more tape, that’s all. Greta used an entire roll. Since the tape was silver, the windows looked boss in the way that orthodontic braces could sometimes look boss on the right person— Greta smelled smoke and looked over her shoulder. There stood Sabine, wearing a Victorian nightgown with coffee stains on the chest. Her hair, usually in a loose bun, was tangled around her shoulders.
“Do people say ‘boss’ anymore?” Greta asked. “You know, as a synonym for ‘cool.’？”
“Is this NPR?” Sabine asked.
“No,” Greta said.
“Whose voice is this?”
“Uh,” Greta said. “I don’t think you know her.”
“Is she serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Greta said.
Sabine blew smoke toward the ceiling. Greta was ready to drop everything and unplug the speakers. Luckily, the session abruptly ended.
“Actually, her voice reminds me of… metal,” Sabine said. “Liquid metal.”
“She’s Swiss,” Greta explained. “Listen, I slept in the antechamber last night, and I may just sleep in there every night, but do you have a chamber pot of some sort?”
“Of course,” Sabine said breezily, as if Greta had asked for an extra blanket. “In fact, there’s one right there.” She pointed at the bookless bookcase, which for some reason always made Greta think of the Headless Horseman. On one shelf sat a broken antique scale. On another, a giant ceramic teacup.
“I can pee in that cup?” Greta asked. “It looks expensive.”
“It might be,” Sabine said. “It’s a legit chamber pot from the nineteenth century.”
Sabine supervised Greta’s tape work without comment, flicking her cigarette out of the space for the missing pane Greta was aiming to repair.
“We have new neighbors,” Sabine said. “South Americans. Come have a look.”
“Wait,” Greta said. “I’m almost done. Hold this.”
Sabine held the final pane in place while Greta applied the tape. Although the tape was very sticky and advertised as all-weather, it had trouble adhering to the wood, which was coated in dirt and chipped paint.
“Like trying to tape a twig to a tree,” Greta said. “Or an arm to a dead person… covered in sand.”
“Jesus. This glass is very distorted,” Sabine said. “I’ve never noticed that.”
“I feel drunk whenever I look out the window.”
“You’ll feel drunk when you see who moved in next door.”
Greta followed Sabine to the front of the house. They stepped into the yard. Sabine pointed at the empty lot across the road. All Greta saw was a pine grove. No South Americans.
“Look up,” Sabine directed. “In that tree.”
The tallest pine had been taken over by big black birds. Three or four were perched on every bough, but the tree was huge. Greta lost count at nineteen.
“Thirty-nine,” Sabine said. “I counted this morning.”
“What the fuck are they?” Greta said. “And why are there so many?”
“Vultures,” Sabine said. “Black vultures from South America. They’re roosting in these pines here.”
“Why?”
“They’re confused,” Sabine said. “They’ve been in that same tree for days. I keep waiting for them to move on, but it looks like they’re here to stay.” She handed Greta a pair of binoculars. “Check out their horrible heads.”
A dozen of them stood stock-still, their creepy wings spread wide like capes. They looked like miniature Draculas. Their heads were indeed horrible—featherless, wrinkled as ancient testicles.
“Jesus,” Greta said. “What are they doing with their wings?”
“Sunbathing,” Sabine said. “They hold their wings out like that to catch a ray. To regulate their body temperature, they shit on their own feet. I read all about them online. A group of vultures is called a committee, which is kind of cute.”
“Is this committee stalking Pi?on?” Greta asked. “Will they gang up on him and eat him?”
“They only eat carrion,” Sabine said.
“I bet they’re waiting for Walter to get nailed by a truck. He crosses the road constantly, and he never looks both ways.”
“Well, yesterday I saw them feasting on a baby—”
The fire alarm went off next door. The vultures seemed totally unfazed, but Sabine stopped talking and resorted to mime, as usual. She mimed driving and then eating a sandwich and pointed at Greta. Greta shook her head and mimed typing and blowing her brains out. They went inside. The siren subsided as Greta slipped on her headphones.
OM:?Can you state your initials for the transcriber, please?
FEW:?FEW.
OM:?How you feeling today?
FEW:?Slightly nervous. This afternoon I’m assisting another doctor in removing endometriosis from a patient’s uterus, even though there’s a seven-inch tumor attached to her bowel. The tumor is killing her. She will likely die in six months, maybe less. Ordinarily we wouldn’t perform this surgery, but she’s been bleeding for over a month—
OM:?Endometriosis. Remind me what that is again.
FEW:?What?
OM:?Endometriosis.
FEW:?You’re a sex therapist and you don’t know what that is?
OM:?Well, it’s not an STD. [PAUSE] Correct?
FEW:?Pathetic.
OM:?I’m not the gynecologist—you are.
FEW:?Many of your female clients find intercourse physically painful. True or false?
OM:?Um, I wouldn’t say many.
FEW:?More than one?
OM:?Perhaps.
FEW:?And you’re probably suggesting that they’re not in touch with their bodies, or that that they should try… chanting.
“Big Swiss, Big Swiss, Big Swiss,” Greta chanted.
OM:?Are you upset about the kundalini we practiced last time?
FEW:?I’m dismayed that you don’t know what endometriosis is. Do you know what a uterus even looks like?
OM:?Heart shaped, with horns?
“Cock shaped, with balls?” Greta said.
FEW:?By “horns” you mean fallopian tubes?
OM:?Yeah, those.
FEW:?Oddly enough, some women do have heart-shaped uteri, also known as bicornate, which is a congenital anomaly and often a precursor for endometriosis. If endometriosis affected straight men and their penises—never mind. You’d never hear the end of it. I imagine you have male clients who complain of women not being “enthusiastic” enough in bed. Well, chances are the women are in terrible pain. Or just average pain. Most women don’t say anything, though, because we’re conditioned to suffer, and to make men feel good about themselves.