Anastasia, Ask Your Analyst Page 7

  "In a new house, like mine," Mrs. Coletti went on, "you don't get all the dust like you have here. Of course you get your modern heating system. See this?" She reached behind her and ran one finger over the top of the radiator. "With your modern heating system you don't get any of this dust."

  Mrs. Krupnik smiled a tight-lipped smile and sipped her tea. "We wanted an older house," she said, "because of the space. This house has room for me to have a studio here, so that I can work at home."

  "Oh, you work?"

  Mrs. Krupnik nodded.

  "My mother's an illustrator," Anastasia said. "She does the illustrations for books."

  "I'm lucky," said Shirley Coletti smugly. "I never had to work."

  "Mom doesn't have to work," said Anastasia. "She works because she's good at it. She likes to work."

  "I have a real artistic sister," said Shirley Coletti, pouring herself some more tea. "She does her own Christmas cards every year? Last year she did Santa Claus holding a martini glass. You know, you could tell, because it had an olive in it? Then inside it said, `'Tis the season to be jolly, Ho Ho Ho.'"

  Mrs. Krupnik smiled politely. The dining room was quiet. They could hear Nicky's "rrrrrrr" from some distance; apparently Nicky had headed toward the kitchen.

  "Anastasia," her mother said, "maybe you could go and check—"

  "Maybe it didn't say 'jolly.' I think it said "Tis the season to be merry.' They were real cute, anyway," said Shirley Coletti.

  There was a terrible crash from the kitchen. Anastasia jumped up.

  "Nicole Marie Coletti!" yelled her mother. "Whatever you're doing, cut it out! Or I'll whip the living daylights out of you!"

  The kitchen was empty when Anastasia reached it. But Sam's train was there, its red caboose flattened. Nicky had apparently stood on the caboose to reach the shelf where the cookie jar was. There were cookies everywhere, and the fat blue pottery cookie jar was in shattered pieces on the floor.

  Sadly, Anastasia picked up the pieces and dropped them into the wastebasket. Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  "My train," he whimpered.

  Anastasia put her arm around him. "Mom and I will try to fix it after that brat leaves," she said. "Right now we'd better find her."

  There was a trail of cookie crumbs on the back stairs. They followed it, and found Nicky in the master bedroom. She was spraying herself with Mrs. Krupnik's perfume. She was wearing Mrs. Krupnik's best high-heeled shoes.

  Anastasia reached for the perfume bottle, to take it away from Nicky. Nicky bit her on the arm.

  "OW!" said Anastasia.

  "I told you Nicky Coletti bites," said Sam grimly.

  Anastasia wrestled Nicky to the floor, took away the perfume, and removed her mother's shoes. Nicky darted away in her stocking feet and disappeared.

  Anastasia sighed, picked up Nicky's little patent leather shoes, rubbed the aching bite mark on her arm, and went in pursuit.

  The bathroom was empty, but the toilet paper had been unwound and strewn around the floor. A tube of bright green Prell shampoo had been squeezed into the bathtub.

  "She's really fast," said Anastasia. "Where do you suppose she went?" She headed toward Sam's bedroom, with Sam trotting behind her.

  "My nursery school teacher says that Nicky Coletti is faster than a speeding bullet," said Sam.

  His bedroom was ominously quiet. They stood in the doorway, looking in; Sam's finger-paints had been opened, and his bedspread was smeared with blue and green paint.

  Suddenly, Nicky appeared, jumping up from her hiding place behind the closet door. She took aim and threw a Matchbox car in their direction. Anastasia shielded Sam, and the missile caught her on the shoulder as it whizzed past.

  "OW!" she said again. She grabbed for Nicky, caught her as she dashed by, and pinioned her arms to her sides. Nicky kicked her in the shins.

  "I told you Nicky Coletti kicks," murmured Sam.

  "Nicky," said Anastasia, holding the little girl tightly by the shoulders, "go downstairs. Your mother wants you."

  Pouting, Nicky shook herself loose and headed down the front stairs toward the living room. Anastasia followed, rubbing her wounds.

  "There you are, Nicky, you little devil," said Shirley Coletti. "If you broke anything, I'm going to tell your daddy to whip you when we get home." She turned back to Anastasia's mother. "So, as I was saying, with your wall-to-wall, like I have, you don't have your problem with trying to keep these old floors clean."

  Nicky had sauntered away.

  "She's headed for your studio, Mom," said Sam loudly. "And she's already wrecked every other room, almost."

  Mrs. Krupnik leaped to her feet and took off after Nicky.

  "That Nicky," said Shirley Coletti, smiling at Anastasia. "She's your basic hyperactive? The doctor says that your hyperactives are smarter than other children, did you know that?"

  Mrs. Krupnik returned with Nicky, kicking and whining, under one arm. She deposited her unceremoniously in Mrs. Coletti's lap. Nicky curled up, leaned against her mother, and looked slyly at Anastasia.

  Mrs. Coletti sniffed. "You found yourself some perfume, didn't you, Nicky? You're a real little lady. Is that one of your Avon products?" she asked Mrs. Krupnik.

  "No. It's called Je Reviens," said Katherine Krupnik in an ominous voice.

  "French, huh? That's real la-di-da. You know Avon has some real good scents, your florals? And they're not as expensive as your French," said Shirley Coletti.

  "Anastasia," said Mrs. Krupnik, "why don't you get Mrs. Coletti's coat? And Nicky's snowsuit?"

  "I'll do that," said Anastasia.

  Myron Krupnik came through the back door and brushed at the shoulders of his heavy jacket. "It's starting to snow," he announced. "I got the snow tires put on just in time."

  His wife was vacuuming cookie crumbs from the kitchen floor. "Move," she said to him. "You're in my way."

  Anastasia looked over from the sink, where she was washing the teacups. "Hi, Dad," she said wearily.

  "How's it going, old Sam?" asked Dr. Krupnik cheerfully, and leaned over to pick up Sam, who was kneeling on the floor trying to unsquash his red caboose. "Want to feel some snowflakes?"

  Sam burst into tears. "Put me down," he wailed.

  "Well," said Anastasia's father, depositing Sam back on the floor, "there's nothing like a warm hearty welcome to make a man feel terrific."

  Everyone glared at him.

  "I have a feeling," he said slowly, "that the tea party did not go well."

  "Where were you?" asked Mrs. Krupnik. "You said you'd be here."

  "I got held up at the gas station. Everybody was waiting in line to have their snow tires put on. Why? You didn't need me, did you? To entertain one woman and one little boy?"

  "Girl," said Sam.

  "Girl," said Anastasia.

  "Girl," said Mrs. Krupnik. "One obnoxious, pretentious, irritating woman, and one horrendous, horrible ■—"

  "Hyperactive—" said Anastasia.

  "Hyperactive brat. YES, we needed you. Talk about a rat deserting a sinking ship!"

  Dr. Krupnik hung his jacket on a hook in the back hall. "Sam, would you get your old dad a beer, please?" he asked.

  Sam went to the refrigerator.

  "Now tell me all about it, Katherine," Anastasia's father said.

  "I'm going upstairs," said Anastasia. "I don't want to hear about it."

  "Can I come with you?" asked Sam.

  Sure.

  They trudged up the stairs, over the cookie crumbs, past Sam's paint-spattered room and the master bedroom, which still reeked of Je Reviens perfume.

  "I don't know which is worse," said Anastasia. "A room filled with French perfume or a room filled with gerbilsmell." They headed up the stairs to Anastasia's thirdfloor room.

  "A room with Nicky Coletti in it; that's the worst," said Sam.

  "Right. Oh, NO!" Anastasia stood in the doorway of her bedroom, looking in. "She was up here, too!"

  Anastas
ia's marking pens were lying all over the floor, with their caps off. There was a wavy line of orange on the wallpaper near her bed; and Freud had a blue spot on the tip of his crooked nose.

  She dashed to her goldfish bowl. "Frank? Are you okay, Frank?"

  Frank opened and closed his mouth solemnly. He looked all right, but he wasn't his usual cheerful self.

  "He's traumatized," Anastasia said. "He's stunned."

  "Anastasia," said Sam in a frightened voice. "Look." He was on his knees beside the gerbil cage.

  She looked. The top of the cage was unlatched and open, and the gerbil cage was empty.

  Science Project

  Anastasia Krupnik

  Mr. Sherman's Class

  On October 13, I acquired two wonderful little gerbils, who are living in a cage in my bedroom. Their names are Romeo and Juliet, and they are very friendly. They seem to like each other a lot. Since they are living in the same cage as man and wife, I expect they will have gerbil babies. My gerbil book says that It takes twenty-five days to make gerbil babies. I think they are already mating, because they act very affectionate to each other, so I will count today as DAY ONE and then I will observe them for twenty-five days and I hope that on DAY 25 their babies will be born.

  This will be my Science Project.

  Day Three.

  My gerbils haven't changed much. They lie in their cage and sleep a lot. They're both overweight, because they eat too much, and they resemble Sonya Isaacson's mother, at least in chubbiness.

  In personality, they resemble my mother. They're very grouchy.

  Day Three Continued.

  People who have serious emotional problems sometimes have difficulty doing real good gerbil-observation because they suffer from inability to concentrate. I myself have serious emotional difficulties so I have this problem.

  As part of my Science Project I will talk about serious emotional problems. I will tell you what someone named Freud says about this.

  The division of the psychical into what is conscious and what is unconscious is the fundamental premise of psycho-analysis; and it alone makes it possible for psycho-analysis to understand the pathological processes in mental life, which are as common as they are important, and to find a place for them in the framework of science.

  Day Five.

  My gerbils gave birth to premature babies. Instead of twenty-five days, it took them only five days to have babies.

  Now I have eleven gerbils, and their names are Romeo, Juliet, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Grumpy, Bashful, Doc, Snow White, and Prince.

  I also have a psychiatrist. His name is Freud. He is dead. But there is no need to be grossed out by that because with some psychiatrists it doesn't seem to matter much if they are alive or dead.

  Day Twenty-five.

  I have not written anything for a long time because I have felt very tired and it may be that I have a wasting disease. My dependent relations have no sympathy for someone with a wasting disease, I am sorry to say.

  Here is what my psychiatrist says about dependent relations:

  ...the derivation of the super-ego from the first object-cathexes of the id, from the Oedipus complex, signifies even more for it. This derivation, as we have already shown, brings it into relation with the phylogenetic acquisitions of the id and makes it a reincarnation of former ego-structures which have left their precipitates behind in the id.

  To identify my gerbils scientifically, I have colored their heads.

  RED—ROMEO BROWN—GRUMPY

  BLUE—JULIET BLACK—SLEEPY

  YELLOW—HAPPY PINK—DOPEY

  GREEN—SNEEZY TURQUOISE—SNOW WHITE

  ORANGE—BASHFUL WHITE—PRINCE

  PURPLE—DOC

  This will make it easier for me to know who is who, in case one of them has babies or something.

  To identify my psychiatrist, I have put a large MAGENTA spot on his head. (There is, of course, no chance that my psychiatrist will have babies.)

  Day Twenty-nine.

  My gerbils have disappeared.

  My gerbil book says this about disappeared gerbils: "If, in the process of escaping, the gerbils have been frightened, it is best to just sit very still In the middle of the floor until the gerbils come out of hiding on their own."

  But my scientific assistant, Sam, and I sat very still in the middle of the floor for one hour, and my scientific assistant fell sound asleep while we waited. But the gerbils never appeared.

  I think that by now there are eleven gerbils loose all over the house. And if my mother sees even ONE of them she is likely to have a nervous breakdown.

  My mother doesn't even know I HAVE eleven gerbils.

  And my psychiatrist is no help at all. He has his own problems: a villain has painted his nose blue.

  7

  "Myron," said Mrs. Krupnik at dinner one night a month later, "I think I should make an appointment with the eye doctor. I think I need glasses."

  "Really? I'm surprised. Your vision has always been perfect. I've always thought it was a shame that Anastasia inherited my astigmatism instead of your perfect vision."

  "Don't feel bad, Dad," said Anastasia. "I don't mind wearing glasses. I used to think that I wanted contact lenses when I got older. But now I've decided that glasses make me look scholarly. I like looking scholarly."

  Mrs. Krupnik, at the end of the table, held up a piece of chicken on her fork. She peered at it thoughtfully. "I can see all right. This piece of chicken is perfectly clear."

  "How about across the room?" asked Anastasia. "If I take my glasses off, I can't tell if that painting on the wall is a landscape or a still life."

  Her mother looked across the dining room at the painting. "I can see that just fine," she said.

  "Then why do you think you need glasses?"

  "It's strange. I've been noticing it for several weeks. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye—I guess it's my peripheral vision—I see something move. It's just an instantaneous sensation, that something is moving very quickly. Then when I turn to look, nothing is there."

  "It could be migraine," said Dr. Krupnik. "Migraine does that to people sometimes."

  "It could be Dopey," said Sam. Anastasia glared at him.

  His mother laughed. "It is sort of dopey, Sam. But I guess I'd better have my eyes tested."

  "Sam," said Anastasia later, privately, "remember that you shouldn't mention the gerbils in front of Mom."

  "I know," sighed Sam. "I forgot. But it is Dopey she sees, I'm sure of it. Or maybe Grumpy, or Doc, or Romeo."

  "Or Sleepy. We don't have Sleepy back yet, either."

  "Yeah. Dumb old Sleepy."

  There were still five gerbils missing. It had been a frustrating month.

  They had found Snow White first, the day after Nicky Coletti's visit. Snow White had holed up in a sneaker in Anastasia's closet. She had poked her head up curiously when Anastasia reached into the closet for a sweater and had been caught.

  Two days later Sam had found Bashful in the coal car of his train.

  Two weeks ago, Anastasia had vacuumed up Sneezy when she was cleaning her room. It happened so quickly she couldn't stop it; he was under her bed, and he got sucked right in. Frantically she opened the vacuum cleaner, and there he was, wrapped in a layer of dust. She had thought he was dead. But while she was looking around for a small coffin, he opened his eyes suddenly. If she hadn't grabbed him, he would have taken off again.

  The day after that, Sam had come across Juliet, sitting right in the middle of the kitchen floor, eating a Rice Krispie. Fortunately, his mother had not been in the kitchen at the time.

  Happy had finally surfaced last week, in a pile of dirty clothes that Anastasia had been carrying down from her room. He had eaten a hole in the sleeve of her favorite tee shirt.

  And she had discovered Prince only yesterday, sitting in the dirt of a potted plant in the living room, munching on a leaf of her mother's favorite begonia.

  But there were still five gerbils mi
ssing. Anastasia wondered if they had starved to death by now. She realized guiltily that she didn't really care if they had.

  And her psychiatrist was no help at all. He continued to smile serenely, even when Anastasia was at the peak of despair. It was as if Freud didn't even care about the missing gerbils.

  Freud would certainly have to care if Mrs. Krupnik had a total nervous breakdown; and Mrs. Krupnik would certainly have a total nervous breakdown if she knew there were five gerbils loose in her house.

  "Mom," asked Anastasia during dessert, "are you in any particular part of the house when you have this problem with your eyes?"

  Her mother thought. "I hadn't considered that. I remember that it's happened in the studio. Several times in the studio. I've been working, and then I'd see this—this movement—over to the side."

  "It must be the light in there, Katherine," said Dr. Krupnik. "The light's very bright in there, particularly this time of year when there are no leaves on the trees. I think it's migraine. Bright light affects migraine."

  "What day is today?" asked Anastasia. "Wednesday?"

  "Yes," said her father. "Mom's turn for the dishes."

  "While you're doing the dishes, Mom, could I use your studio? I want to do some drawings for my Science Project."

  Mrs. Krupnik cringed. "As long as you don't use live models, Anastasia. I will not have those two things in my studio."

  "I will definitely not take any live creatures into your studio, Mom," she promised truthfully.

  Sam grinned. "Dopey," he murmured under his breath. "I think it's Dopey."

  But it wasn't Dopey. It was Romeo and Doc. When Anastasia turned on the studio light, she saw them, sitting side by side on the table, gnawing on a 4-H pencil. She recognized their red and purple heads. They looked up, startled by the light, and turned to scamper away. But Anastasia was too quick for them. She grabbed a basket of fruit that her mother had been using as a model for a still life, dumped three pears and a banana on the floor, and overturned the basket on top of the gerbils. They were caught.