Lessons in Chemistry
- Автор: Garmus Bonnie
- Год: 2022
- Язык: английский
- Год: Doubleday Canada
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Lessons in Chemistry». Краткое содержание книги:
She looked out at the audience as various people scribbled notes, several of which read “Invisible hand: libertarian garbage.”
“The point is, you and your husband are completely different and yet you still have a strong connection. That’s fine. It’s also ionic.” She paused, lifting the sheet of paper over the top of the easel to reveal a fresh page of newsprint.
“Or perhaps your marriage is more of a covalent bond,” she said, sketching a new structural formula. “And if so, lucky you, because that means you both have strengths that, when combined, create something even better. For example, when hydrogen and oxygen combine, what do we get? Water — or H2O as it’s more commonly known. In many respects, the covalent bond is not unlike a party — one that’s made better thanks to the pie you made and the wine he brought. Unless you don’t like parties— I don’t — in which case you could also think of the covalent bond as a small European country, say Switzerland. Alps, she quickly wrote on the easel, + a Strong Economy = Everybody Wants to Live There.
In a living room in La Jolla, California, three children fought over a toy dump truck, its broken axle lying directly adjacent to a skyscraper of ironing that threatened to topple a small woman, her hair in curlers, a small pad of paper in her hands. Switzerland, she wrote. Move.
“That brings us to the third bond,” Elizabeth said, pointing at another set of molecules, “the hydrogen bond — the most fragile, delicate bond of all. I call this the ‘love at first sight’ bond because both parties are drawn to each other based solely on visual information: you like his smile, he likes your hair. But then you talk and discover he’s a closet Nazi and thinks women complain too much. Poof. Just like that the delicate bond is broken. That’s the hydrogen bond for you, ladies— a chemical reminder that if things seem too good to be true, they probably are.”
She walked back behind the counter and, exchanging the marker for a knife, took a Paul Bunyan swing at a large yellow onion, cleaving it in two. “It’s chicken pot pie night,” she announced. “Let’s get started.”
“See?” a woman in Santa Monica demanded as she turned to her sullen seventeen-year-old daughter, the girl’s eyeliner so thick, it looked as if planes could land there. “What did I tell you? Your bond with that boy is hydrogen only. When are you going to wake up and smell the ions?”
“Not this again.”
“You could go to college. You could be something!”
“He loves me!”
“He’s holding you back!”
“More after this,” Elizabeth said as the cameraman indicated a commercial break.
From his producer’s chair, Walter Pine slumped. After a massive amount of groveling, he’d managed to get Phil Lebensmal to extend Zott’s contract for another six months, but only by agreeing that sexy was in, science was out. The clock, Phil had warned, was really ticking this time. According to him, they’d been getting a lot of complaints. Walter broached the subject with Elizabeth just before the show. “We have to make a few changes,” he explained.
She’d listened, nodding her head thoughtfully, as if considering each change carefully. “No,” she said.
In addition to that little problem, Amanda had some stupid family tree assignment that demanded a current family photograph with mommy, even though mommy was long out of the picture. Worse, it insisted on celebrating the biological relationship between himself and his child, a bond that did not exist and never would. Obviously, he was planning on telling Amanda the truth and soon: that her lousy mother was never coming back and that, technically, he and she weren’t related in any way. Adopted children had the right to know. He was waiting for the right moment. Her fortieth birthday.
—
“Walter,” Elizabeth said as she strode toward him. “Have you heard from your insurance people? As you know, tomorrow’s show focuses on combustion, and while I continue to believe there’s really no significant danger, I— Walter?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Walter?”
“Sixty seconds, Zott,” said the cameraman.
“It wouldn’t hurt to have a couple of extra fire extinguishers on hand. Again, I’d prefer the nitrogen propellant over the newer water and foam models, but that’s just me; I’m sure either one will do the job. Walter? Are you listening? Respond.” She frowned, then turned back to the stage. “I’ll catch you next break.”
As she made her way back up onstage, Walter turned to watch her mount the steps, her blue trousers — she was wearing trousers—belted high on the waist. Who did she think she was? Katharine Hepburn? Lebensmal would go ballistic. He turned, motioning for the makeup woman.
“Yes, Mr. Pine?” said Rosa, her hands full of small sponges. “Did you need something? Zott’s face was fine, by the way. She wasn’t glistening.”
He sighed. “She never glistens,” he said. “Despite the fact that those lights alone would sear a steak in thirty seconds, she never breaks a sweat. How is that possible?”
“It is unusual,” Rosa agreed.
“And we’re back,” he heard Elizabeth say as she pointed both hands at the camera.
“Please be normal,” whispered Walter.
“Now,” Elizabeth said to her at-home viewers, “I’m confident you used our short break to chop your carrots, celery, and onions into small disparate units, thereby creating the necessary surface area to facilitate the uptake of seasoning, as well as to shorten cooking time. So now things look like this,” she said, tipping a pan at the camera. “Next, apply a liberal amount of sodium chloride—”
“Would it kill her to say salt?” Walter hissed. “Would it?”
“I like how she uses science-y words,” Rosa said. “It makes me feel— I don’t know — capable.”
“Capable?” he said. “Capable? What happened to wanting to feel slim and beautiful? And what the hell is going on with those trousers? Where did those come from?”
“Are you okay, Mr. Pine?” Rosa asked. “Can I get you something?”
“Yes,” he said. “Cyanide.”
Several more minutes passed as Elizabeth led viewers through the chemical makeup of various other ingredients, explaining, as she added each to the pan, which bonds were being created.
“There,” she said, tipping the pan to the camera again. “What do we have now? A mixture, which is a combination of two or more pure substances in which each substance retains its individual chemical properties. In the case of our chicken pot pie, notice how your carrots, peas, onions, and celery are mixed yet remain separate entities. Think about that. A successful chicken pot pie is like a society that functions at a highly efficient level. Call it Sweden. Here every vegetable has its place. No single bit of produce demands to be more important than another. And when you throw in the additional spices — garlic, thyme, pepper, and sodium chloride — you’ve created a flavor that not only enhances each substance’s texture but balances the acidity. Result? Subsidized childcare. Although I’m sure Sweden has its problems, too. Skin cancer at the very least.” She took a cue from the cameraman. “We’ll be right back after this station identification.”
“What was that?” Walter gasped. “What did she say?”
“Subsidized childcare,” Rosa said as she sponged his forehead. “We should get that on the ballot.” She leaned down, taking in a vein pulsing on Walter’s forehead. “Listen, why don’t I go get you some acetylsalicylic acid. It’ll—”