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Thirteen
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143 thir teen Our next try with De bora also failed. This de spite her con scien tious diet of Rob i tus sin (two tea spoons, three times a day, eight days straight), de signed to thin her vag i nal se cre tions. De spite, too, our method’sfine-tuning: Stu did his busi ness now straight into the In stead Cup, not a drop lost in the spec i men cup or sy ringe; De bora stayed in bed, hips high, for two hours, then kept the In stead Cup, for two fur ther hours, deep in side, snug against her cer vix. So dil i gent, so loyal to the cause, our surro was. I was glad I’d thought to bring her some thing from New York: a T-shirt from the zoo, em bla zoned with a two-toed sloth, upside-down, smil ing. Hang Tight! I’d bought the same, in kids’ size, for Paula. “I know they’re dumb,” I’d said, hand ing De bora the gifts. (I did this while Stu was in the bath room, get ting busy; Danny, in a heads-up bid to avert a scene like last time’s, had whisked Paula out to the back yard.) “But hey,” I said, “they’re Bra zil ian. The guy in the zoo shop told me. The sloths, not the shirt— that’s from China.” “A sloth . . . well. Why not bring me some thing nice? A tou can?” “I asked for a tou can. No, I did! They—” Feign ing in dig na tion, she hurled the shirt aside. But later, when she sum moned me and Stu back to the bed room (smells of sweat and cough 144 syrup muggy in the air), she wore it like a win ning team’s col ors. “I love this. I love,” she said. “Danny, find the cam era.” “What?” he said. “Se ri ously?” “Paula should wear hers, too. Go and get her changed. Make it quick.” I’d wor ried, when Stu and I agreed to use a surro, about how we’d honor such a debt. The moral, not fi nan cial, ob li ga tion. But Debora’s out size joy, now, for just a silly shirt, made me think the most val u able thing we were giv ing her was treat ing her as some one worthy of value. De bora, from her perch in bed, caught us up on news, the most im por tant piece of which was: she had hosted a Seder! The very first she’d hosted for the Neu mans. “You see, Stu?” she said. “See how you in spire me?” Danny’s en tire clan had come from Brock ton for the eve ning, and every one as sured her she had done a lovely job. “Next year in Hyan nis,” they all joked. The fun ni est part: Paula had ac tu ally liked to eat the horse rad ish, the way it made her eyes swell with tears. “A Jew, no? Even at her age. It’s in the genes!” And how, she asked, was our Seder? A nice trip to New York? Shit, I thought. Here we go again. I was al ready up to my chin with tell ing Stu I was sorry: Sorry I spoke too soon. I should have let you tell your folks. I know I should have cho sen dif fer ent words. “Go ahead, ex plain,” he said. “Tell her about what hap pened. You’re the one who’s so good at di vulg ing.” “I don’t know, Stu. Maybe it’s bet ter if—” “No,” he said. “Go on.” Fine, I did. De scribed the Nadlers’ protest of our plan (omit ting men tion of grand kid funds, and also Dr. Men gele), try ing my best to show its comic as pects. “They’re sure you’re being used,” I said. “A woman en slaved, they think.” “Ai,” said De bora, “look at how I’m chained in bed. Help!” Paula, from down stairs, called, “Mãinha? You okay?” “Yes, yes, fil hinha.” De bora laughed. “I am per fect.” [54.210.126.232] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 01:24 GMT) 145 “But lis ten,” I said, se ri ously, “I under stand their fears. They’re older, and old-fashioned. Sur ro gacy is new. We knew they might need a lit...