EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES Friday, May 7, 2004 (Henry is 40, Clare is 32)

EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES


Friday, May 7, 2004 (Henry is 40, Clare is 32)

HENRY: We are at the opening of Clare’s exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center. She
has been working nonstop for a year, building huge, ethereal bird skeletons out of


wire, wrapping them in translucent strips of paper, coating them with shellac until
they transmit light. Now the sculptures hang from the high ceiling, and squat on the
floor. Some of them are kinetic, motorized: a few beat their wings, and there are two
cock skeletons slowly demolishing each other in a corner. An eight-foot-tall pigeon
dominates the entrance. Clare is exhausted, and ecstatic. She’s wearing a simple black
silk dress, her hair is piled high on her head. People have brought her flowers; she has
a bouquet of white roses in her arms, there’s a heap of plastic-wrapped bouquets next
to the guest book. It’s very crowded. People circle around, exclaim over each piece,
crane their heads back to look at the flying birds. Everyone congratulates Clare. There
was a glowing review in this morning’s Tribune. All our friends are here, and Clare’s
family has driven in from Michigan. They surround Clare now, Philip, Alicia, Mark
and Sharon and their kids, Nell, Etta. Charisse takes pictures of them, and they all
smile for her. When she gives us copies of the pictures, a few weeks from now, I will
be struck by the dark circles under Clare’s eyes, and by how thin she looks.

I am holding Alba’s hand. We stand by the back wall, out of the crowd. Alba can’t
see anything, because everyone is tall, and so I lift her on to my shoulders. She
bounces.

Clare’s family has dispersed and she is being introduced to a very well-dressed
elderly couple by Leah Jacobs, her dealer. Alba says, “I want Mama.”

“Mama’s busy, Alba,” I say. I am feeling queasy. I bend over and set Alba on the
floor. She puts her arms up. “ No. I want Mama.” I sit on the floor and put my head
between my knees. I need to find a place where no one can see me. Alba is pulling
my ear. “Don’t, Alba,” I say. I look up. My father is making his way to us through the
crowd. “Go,” I tell Alba. I give her a little push. “Go see Grandpa.” She starts to
whimper. “I don’t see Grandpa. I want Mama.” I am crawling toward Dad. I bump
into someone’s legs. I hear Alba screaming, “Mama!” as I vanish.

CLARE: There are masses of people. Everyone presses at me, smiling. I smile at them.
The show looks great, and it’s done, it’s up! I’m so happy, and so tired. My face hurts
from smiling. Everyone I know is here. I’m talking to Celia when I hear a commotion
at the back of the gallery, and then I hear Alba screaming, “Mama!” Where is Henry?
I try to get through the crowd to Alba. Then I see her: Richard has lifted her up.
People part to let me through. Richard hands Alba to me. She locks her legs around
my waist, buries her face in my shoulder, wraps her arms around my neck, “Where’s
Daddy?” I ask her softly. “Gone,” says Alba.