Atwood, Margaret - Dancing Girls and Other Stories

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The War in the BathroomMondayLate this afternoon she moved out of the old place into the new one. The movingwas accomplished with a minimum of difficulty: she managed to get everything intothe two suitcases and was able to carry them herself for the three blocks thatseparate the old place from the new one. She only had to stop and rest twice. Sheis quite strong for her age. A man came along and offered to help her, rather apleasant-looking man, but I have told her never to accept help from strangers.I think the German woman was glad to see her go. She always regarded herwith a certain amount of suspicion. She stood on the wooden porch in her slippers,watching, her arms in their gray ravelled sweater-sleeves folded across her fatstomach, her slip hanging an inch below the figured cotton housedress she alwayswore. I, for one, have always disliked the German woman. I had become tired ofseeing that certain things in the room had been moved (though she took pains toset them back in the approximate proper spot, she was never quite meticulousenough), and I had begun to suspect lately that she was looking at the mail: theenvelopes had greasy thumbprints, and it is still too cold for the postmen to gowithout their gloves. The new place has a landlord instead of a landlady; I think,on the whole, I prefer them.When she reached the new place she got the keys from an old man who lives inthe ground-floor front room. He answered the doorbell; the landlord was out, buthad told him she was to be expected. An agreeable old man with white hair and abenevolent smile. She took the suitcases up the narrow staircase to the secondfloor, one at a time. She has spent what was left of the day arranging the room.This room is smaller than the old one, but at least it is clean. She put theclothes into the cupboard and some of them into the bureau. There are no shelvesso she will have to keep the saucepan, the cup, the plate, the silverware, and thecoffeepot in one of the bureau drawers. However there is a small table, and Idecided that the teapot may be left on it, even between mealtimes. It has adecorative pattern. She made up the bed with the sheets and blankets that thelandlord had provided. The room has a northern exposure and will be chilly.Fortunately there is an electric heater in the room. She has always been partialto warmth, although I myself have never been overly conscious of temperature. Acompensation: the room is the one next to the bathroom, which will be handy.The Notebook will be kept on the table, beside the teapot.Tomorrow she must go outside for some groceries, but now she will go to bed.TuesdayShe was lying in bed this morning trying to get back to sleep. I was looking atthe clock and agreeing with her that indeed the mattress was thin and quite hard,harder even than the one at the old place. It was almost nine and I told her toreach out and shut off the clock before the alarm went off.Someone came up the front stairs, slowly, with a limping step, and went into

the bathroom, closing and locking the door. I have discovered that the walls arenot thick and noises tend to carry. She was about to turn over and sleep againwhen the person in the bathroom began to cough violently. Then there was a soundof clearing and spitting and the toilet being flushed. I am sure I know who itwas: it must be the old man from downstairs. The poor man must have a cold. Hestayed in the bathroom exactly half an hour though, which is rather long; and hemanaged to make a number of unpleasant noises. I can see that the room beside thebathroom may have its disadvantages and I am beginning to realize why the landlordwas willing to rent it so cheaply.I finally persuaded her to get up and close the window (I have always feltfresh air to be necessary for one's health, although she is not fond of it) andturn on the electric heater. She began to go back to bed but I told her to put onthe clothes: she had to go shopping, there was nothing to eat. She went into thebathroom, none too soon because there were other footsteps approaching. I thoughtthat the bathroom could have been cleaner; however, this morning she just washedin the basin. Plenty of hot water at any rate. She went back into the room and puton her coat and overshoes. I told her she had better put on the scarf too as I hadnoted frost on the storm window. She picked up the purse and went out of the room,locking the door behind her. The bathroom door was closed as she went by; thelight showed through the transom. When she reached the bottom of the stairs theold man was in the hall, sorting out the mail on the small dark table that standsnear the front door. He was wearing his bathrobe; below it his striped pyjamaswent down, then his thin ankles and maroon-leather bedroom slippers. He smiledbeautifully and said good morning. I told her to nod and smile back.She closed the front door behind her and took the gloves out of her pocketand put them on. She made her way down the porch steps, carefully, since they wereicy. I have often noticed that it is much less dangerous for her to go up stepsthan to go down them. She walked along the street towards the place, a few blocksalong, where I knew there was a store. I gloated over the houses on the street asshe passed them, fondling them, placing them in order: red brick houses, doublehouses mostly, like the one that the room is in, with twin wooden porches. Thehouses near the old place had been bigger. I had been on this street before, ofcourse (it was not far from the old place), but now I could regard this street forthe first time as mine, as part of the new territory through which I could traceout pathways and my own familiar routes. These trees were mine. This sidewalk wasmine. When the snow melted and the trees blossomed, the damp earth and the newleaves and the spring water running in the gutters would be mine.She turned onto a main street with cars moving on it and walked a block andturned and walked two more blocks until she reached the store. There had beenanother store nearer to the old place. I had never been in this particular store.She went in the glass doors and through the turnstile. Then she hesitated:she did not know whether to take a pushcart or a wire basket. She felt that thepushcarts are easier, wire baskets are heavy to carry; but I said she wouldn't bebuying that much and pushcarts get in the way and slow things up so she finallytook a basket.I always have to watch how much she spends. She would like to buy steak andmushrooms, of course, and olives and pies and pork roasts. Her old habits are hardto break. But I insist that she get things that are cheap and nourishing. It is,after all, the middle of the month, and the government cheque will not come forsome time. After the rent has been paid there is not a great quantity of moneyleft for other things. I must remember to have her make out a change-of-addresscard. She dislikes wieners but I made her buy a package of six. They have a lot ofprotein for the money. She got bread, and butter (I draw the line at margarine)and a quart of milk and some packaged soups, they are nice on a cold day, and sometea and eggs and several small tins of baked beans. She wanted some ice cream butI told her to get a package of frozen peas instead.The check-out girl was rude to her simply because some of the things gotmixed up with those of the woman ahead. Also I suspect she would have tried to

short-change if she had dared. I wonder if it is worthwhile walking the extradistance to the old store? She carried the parcel back easily enough and put themilk and the eggs and the frozen peas into the refrigerator, which is in theground-floor hallway. The refrigerator has a peculiar odour. Perhaps the landlordshould be told to clean it. She then went upstairs and got some water from thebathroom and made herself a cup of coffee on the one-burner hotplate (the coffeecame in the suitcase along with the sugar and the salt and the pepper) and atesome bread and butter. While she was eating, someone went into the bathroom; notthe old man this time, but a woman. She must talk to herself; at any rate Idistinguished two voices, one high and querulous, the other an urgent whisper:most curious. The walls are thin but I could not quite hear what she was saying.When the footsteps had gone out she took the cup and spoon into the bathroomand washed them in the basin. Then she lay down and had a nap. I felt she deservedit after all the walking she had done. It was suppertime when she woke up. Sheopened one of the cans of beans. When the cheque comes she must buy a new can-opener.After I finish this I will do a little reading in the Bible (the lighting inthis room is better than I would have expected) and then she will go to bed. Note:tomorrow she must take a bath.WednesdayThis appears to be a daily occurrence. At nine o'clock exactly I was againawakened by the old man limping into the bathroom. He has a most rending cough. Itsounds as though he is vomiting. Perhaps it would be possible for her to changethe position of the bed so that her head is farther away from the wall. But when Iconsider the size and shape of the room I can see that there is only one place forit. Really it is annoying. Somehow when she coughs herself it is quite differentfrom listening to someone else cough. If he keeps on coughing like that he willsoon cough up everything inside him. I suppose I should feel sorry. Again thismorning he stayed in the bathroom for half an hour.Later, when she had got up and put on the clothes, she went downstairs toget the milk from the refrigerator. The old man had arranged the letters on thehall table: one letter in each corner of the table, and one in the centre. I mustremember to have her fill out a change-of-address card.Several times during the morning the woman with the two voices came into thebathroom.She seemed to be emptying pails or saucepans of water into the basin. AgainI could hear the high voice and the harsh whisper. Talking to oneself is a badhabit. When she went in to wash the cup and plate after lunch, she found a potatopeeling caught in the drain.Later in the afternoon I told her that she must take a bath. She would liketo have avoided it because the bathroom tends to be chilly, but I keep telling herthat cleanliness and good health necessarily go together. She locked the door andI had her kneel beside the bathtub so that I could inspect it thoroughly. I founda small hair, and some lint around the drain.At the old place there was only one other person who used the same bathroom,a working girl who used to wash her stockings and leave them on the towel-rack.There is something repugnant about sharing the bathroom with other people. Shealways feels that the toilet seat is warmer than it ought to be, and I must saythat I find even the thought of brushing one's teeth in the same basin used bytotal strangers disagreeable. I told her that someday soon she would have abathroom of her own again, but I think she did not believe me. I must have her geta fresh bottle of antiseptic: the present one is almost empty.The water was hot and she had a pleasant bath, though it was not asleisurely as it might have been. There were anxious footsteps walking outside the