Episode 7: “Moby’s-Dick, Part I”

“Hello?”

“Hi Mom, how are you feeling?”

“Better Mattie, much better. The antibiotics just knocked that sucker right out of there. And when my son calls, that's the icing on the cake! How are you doing? How's work?”

“Oh, work is just fine. Can you believe I'll be coming up on nine years at MGH in May?”

“Nine years? Oh it goes by so fast! Doesn’t it seem like yesterday when your orchestra won the Regionals?”

“That was 20 years ago, Ma.” While Monique Sarisob was proud of her son's accomplishments as a healthcare professional in Boston, she couldn't help revisiting cherished memories of when he still lived in New Bedford, before he moved to Boston to get his Master’s. Sarisob lived at home during college, and commuted from New Bedford to Bridgewater State with his friend Larry Macomber.

“Remember when we saw you off on the bus to Stonehill for the competition?”

“How could I forget, Ma? And it wasn't my orchestra, it was our orchestra. If it was anybody's it was Mr. Lajoie's orchestra.”

“Do you ever play the clarinet any more?”

“No, not in years. But it's still in my bureau.”

“You should play it Mattie—you were so good!”

“Was good—was. I'll never be able to put the time in to get as good as I'd want to. When I can hear Stoltzman play, why would I want to hear myself?”

“Well I thought you were great when you used to play those Irish pieces at the Nursing home—”

“—Ma, that was 25 years ago!”

“Whenever it was, you were great. So...have you been seeing anyone lately?”

“Not since you asked me two weeks ago. But I did meet a nice woman on the online personals, named Katie. We exchanged a few emails this week. She's around my age, works as a nurse, and she grew up in Wareham. She likes Yoga and loves music.”

“Sounds great, my fingers are crossed! I told you that online dating would be good for you, Mattie! You always were such a good writer—”

“—Ma, can I ask you a question? Honestly now, was there ever anything you thought I was mediocre in, and just didn't tell me?”

“Ha haaaa haaaaa!!!” Monique Sarisob's operatic, horselike laugh turned heads wherever she went. “Oh, honey, that’s not a question to ask your mother! When you become a parent you will understand what I mean.”

“Yes yes yes Ma, I know you want a grandchild. But could you maybe answer the question?”

“I’d rather not, but...OK, well, you weren’t very interested in Art.” She pronounced “interested” with the accent on the third syllable. “Remember that horse you made in Sister Josephus’s class?”

“Yes, with the glitter and the colored gravel.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, son, but it looked like a spider. You made the tail a fifth leg, and the mane looked more like a halo! But that’s OK, you were great in your studies and that’s what counts. There was one more thing you weren’t great in though, but you wouldn’t remember.”

“What’s that, Ma?”

“Well...your potty training was kind of difficult.” Whoa! thought Sarisob, now we’re getting somewhere!

“What—you mean it took a while for me to use the toilet?”

“Sort of...ummm...you liked to play with your poop. You started by rubbing it on your face, and then moved on to smearing it on the bars of your crib. The funny thing was that you started smearing it on every other bar. At the time I thought it meant you’d be good at Art—isn’t that ironic! It took a while, and we had to discipline you a little, but thank Heavens you finally took to the potty.”

“Boy, it pays to ask questions! This is what happens when kids grow up: they hear all sorts of embarrassing stuff.”

“Well you’ll always be my little Mattie, even though you’re twice my size! Speaking of embarrassing, I finished Moby-Dick last week.”

“Oh, I know, Ma—pile it on! I still feel bad about that, OK?”

“Don’t feel bad! The new edition is very handsome.”

“Took you a little longer to finish it this year. Could it be you’re finally getting tired of it?” Monique loved Moby-Dick, and made a point to read it every other year since the New Bedford Whaling Museum began their annual Moby-Dick Marathon 12 years ago. Monique and her Mattie have a tradition of attending the Marathon for a couple of hours, listening and reading along from the dog-eared copy Monique kept from her own high-school years, and then heading to the family’s favorite Portuguese restaurant, Antonio’s, for their knockout paella. This year it took Monique more than a month to finish it, her longest time yet.

“Bite your tongue! I could read it fifty times and always find something new to love. I don’t mean to pile it on any further, but the new book is kind of heavy, and it’s not as easy to carry around in my bag.”

“I understand, Ma. I’ll get you a paperback copy for Christmas, OK?”

“No Mattie, that’s all right. I’m not complaining, just letting you know. It’s a lovely volume, I love the cloth bookmark, and knowing it came from you makes it all the more special. Did you ever follow up with that professor, Roberta, who gave the morning lecture? It seemed to me she was sweet on you. She said she liked your reading!”

“No, Ma—she had a boyfriend! She said she’ll be there next year; maybe she’ll be single by then.”

“I’m already looking forward to next year, my boy. Are you going to read again at next year’s Marathon? What a grand surprise that was! Oh, Matthew—your father is waking up. I have to start the coffee and heat up dinner before he bites my head off.”

“I understand, Ma. Get to it, and tell Dad I said hi. Is he still mad about the Super Bowl?”

“We don’t talk about that; his pressure’s high enough as it is. OK, honey, call me next week?”

“Will do Ma.”

“Good. OK, Good night, sleep tight...”

“I won’t let the bedbugs bite. G’night Mom.”

“Good night my son—love ya!”

A few minutes later Sarisob was sipping a nightcap Balvenie, listening to S. Richter’s take on Beethoven’s “Diabelli Variations”, and dwelling on his Mom’s reaction to the Modern Library Moby-Dick he bought at the Marathon last month. He should have known Monique would’ve preferred a paperback copy, but at the time of purchase he was overcome by more conflicting emotions than he ever expected to feel in such an august, sedate setting.

He had high hopes for the day, as he planned to surprise his mom by being one of the readers at the Marathon. He called the Museum just after midnight on the preceding November 15th to request one of the 150 reading slots, and was thrilled to find that he was given a slot in the late-afternoon, not long before they’d be leaving for their paella. When his appointed time came, Sarisob whispered in her ear “OK Ma, I have a surprise for you,” and took her book with him to join the short queue of readers flanking the podium. Monique grinned from ear to ear, and had to remove her bifocals to dry her eyes. Sarisob was as touched as she was, and was glad to have had a few minutes to compose himself and listen to the other readers before taking his turn. While he read she beamed with joy, never once taking her eyes off of him.

Alas, leaving it at that would be too much of a happy ending for Sarisob. What happened after his reading did not ruin the day for Monique, but it certainly did for Sarisob, whose best intentions were once again undermined by the curious contradictions of his nature. The events of that late-afternoon—to be related in Episode 8—will endure in his memory as surely as the archival paper and cloth binding of a Modern Library edition of Moby-Dick.