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f something more general； something large in scope and content。
She came in with Wilder and seated him on the kitchen counter。 Denise and Steffie came downstairs and we talked about the school supplies they would need。 Soon it was time for lunch。 We entered a period of chaos and noise。 We milled about； bickered a little； dropped utensils。 Finally we were all satisfied with what we'd been able to snatch from the cupboards and refrigerator or swipe from each other and we began quietly plastering mustard or mayonnaise on our brightly colored food。 The mood was one of deadly serious anticipation； a reward hard…won。 The table was crowded and Babette and Denise elbowed each other twice； although neither spoke。 Wilder was still seated on the counter surrounded by open cartons； crumpled tinfoil； shiny bags of potato chips； bowls of pasty substances covered with plastic wrap； flip…top rings and twist ties； individually wrapped slices of orange cheese。 Heinrich came in； studied the scene carefully； my only son； then walked out the back door and disappeared。
〃This isn't the lunch I'd planned for myself；〃 Babette said。 〃I was seriously thinking yogurt and wheat germ。〃
〃Where have we heard that before？〃 Denise said。
〃Probably right here；〃 Steffie said。
〃She keeps buying that stuff。〃
〃But she never eats it；〃 Steffie said。
〃Because she thinks if she keeps buying it； she'll have to eat it just to get rid of it。 It's like she's trying to trick herself。〃
〃It takes up half the kitchen。〃
〃But she throws it away before she eats it because it goes bad；〃 Denise said。 〃So then she starts the whole thing all over again。〃
〃Wherever you look；〃 Steffie said； 〃there it is。〃
〃She feels guilty if she doesn't buy it； she feels guilty if she buys it and doesn't eat it； she feels guilty when she sees it in the fridge； she feels guilty when she throws it away。〃
〃It's like she smokes but she doesn't；〃 Steffie said。
Denise was eleven； a hard…nosed kid。 She led a more or less daily protest against those of her mother's habits that struck her as wasteful or dangerous。 I defended Babette。 I told her I was the one who needed to show discipline in matters of diet。 I reminded her how much I liked the way she looked。 I suggested there was an honesty inherent in bulkiness if it is just the right amount。 People trust a certain amount of bulk in others。
But she was not happy with her hips and thighs； walked at a rapid clip； ran up the stadium steps at the neoclassical high school。
She said I made virtues of her flaws because it was my nature to shelter loved ones from the truth。 Something lurked inside the truth； she said。
The smoke alarm went off in the hallway upstairs； either to 'et us know the battery had just died or because the house was on fire。 We finished our lunch in silence。
3
Department heads wear academic robes at the College…on…the…Hill。 Not grand sweeping full…length affairs but sleeveless tunics puckered at the shoulders。 I like the idea。 I like clearing my arm from the folds of the garment to look at my watch。 The simple act of checking the time is transformed by this flourish。 Decorative gestures add romance to a life。 Idling students may see time itself as a plex embellishment； a romance of human consciousness； as they witness the chairman walking across campus； crook'd arm emerging from his medieval robe； the digital watch blinking in late summer dusk。 The robe is black； of course； and goes with almost anything。
There is no Hitler building as such。 We are quartered in Centenary Hall； a dark brick structure we share with the popular culture department； known officially as American environments。 A curious group。 The teaching staff is posed almost solely of New York émigrés； smart； thuggish； movie…mad； trivia…crazed。 They are here to decipher the natural language of the culture； to make a formal method of the shiny pleasures they'd known in their Europe…shadowed childhoods—an Aristotelianism of bubble gum wrappers and detergent jingles。 The department head is Alfonse （Fast Food） Stompanato； a broad…chested glowering man whose collection of prewar soda pop bottles is on permanent display in an alcove。 All his teachers are male； wear rumpled clothes； need haircuts； cough into their armpits。 Together they look like teamster officials assembled to identify the body of a mutilated colleague。 The impression is one of pervasive bitterness； suspicion and intrigue。
An exception to some of the above is Murray Jay Siskind； an ex…sportswriter who asked me to have lunch with him in the dining room； where the institutional odor of vaguely defined food aroused in me an obscure and gloomy memory。 Murray was new to the Hill； a stoop…shouldered man with little round glasses and an Amish beard。 He was a visiting lecturer on living icons and seemed embarrassed by what he'd gleaned so far from his colleagues in popular culture。
〃I understand the music； I understand the movies； I even see how ic books can tell us things。 But there are full professors in this place who read nothing but cereal boxes。〃
〃It's the only avant…garde we've got。〃
〃Not that I'm plaining。 I like it here。 I'm totally enamored of this place。 A small…town setting。 I want to be free of cities and sexual entanglements。 Heat。 This is what cities mean to me。 You get off the train and walk out of the station and you are hit with the full blast。 The heat of air； traffic and people。 The heat of food and sex。 The heat of tall buildings。 The heat that floats out of the subways and the tunnels。 It's always fifteen degrees hotter in the cities。 Heat rises from the sidewalks and falls from the poisoned sky。 The buses breathe heat。 Heat emanates from crowds of shoppers and office workers。 The entire infrastructure is based on heat； desperately uses up heat； breeds more heat。 The eventual heat death of the universe that scientists love to talk about is already well underway and you can feel it happening all around you in any large or medium…sized city。 Heat and wetness。〃
〃Where are you living； Murray？〃
〃In a rooming house。 I'm totally captivated and intrigued。 It's a gorgeous old crumbling house near the insane asylum。 Seven or eight boarders； more or less permanent except for me。 A woman who harbors a terrible secret。 A man with a haunted look。 A man who never es out of his room。 A woman who stands by the letter box for hours； waiting for something that never seems to arrive。 A man with no past。 A woman with a past。 There is a smell about the place of unhappy lives in the movies that I really respond to。〃
〃Which one are you？〃 I said。
〃I'm the Jew。 What else would I be？〃
There was something touching about the fact that Murray was dressed almost totally in corduroy。 I had the feeling that since the age of eleven in his crowded plot of concrete he'd associated this sturdy fabric with higher learning in some impossibly distant and tree…shaded place。
〃I can't help being happy in a town called Blacksmith；〃 he said。 〃I'm here to avoid situations。 Cities are full of situations； sexually cunning people。 There are parts of my body I no longer encourage women to handle freely。 I was in a situation with a woman in Detroit。 She needed my semen in a divorce suit。 The irony is that I love women。 I fall apart at the sight of long legs； striding； briskly； as a breeze carries up from the river； on a weekday； in the play of morning light。 The second irony is that it's not the bodies of women that I ultimately crave but their minds。 The mind of a woman。 The delicate chambering and massive unidirectional flow； like a physics experiment。 What fun it is to talk to an intelligent woman wearing stockings as she crosses her legs。 That little staticky sound of rustling nylon can make me happy on several levels。 The third and related irony is that it's the most plex and neurotic and difficult women that I am invariably drawn to。 I like simple men and plicated women。〃
Murray's hair was tight and heavy…looking。 He had dense brows； wisps of hair curling up the sides of his neck。 The small stiff beard； confined to his chin and unacpanied by a mustache； seemed an optional ponent； to be stuck on or removed as