"Sweetie," Louise says, "I'm sure it can't hurt you."

  "It hissed at me," Louise says.

  "Did it just hiss, or did you do something first?" Louise says. "Kettles hiss. It just means the water's boiling."

  "What about snakes?" Louise says. "I'm thinking it's more like a snake than a pot of tea."

  "You could ask a priest to exorcise it. If you were Catholic. Or you could go to the library. They might have a book.Exorcism for Dummies. Can you come to the symphony tonight? I have extra tickets."

  "You've always got extra tickets," Louise says.

  "Yes, but it will be good for you," Louise says. "Besides, I haven't seen you for two days."

  "Can't do it tonight," Louise says. "What about tomorrow night?"

  "Well, okay," Louise says. "Have you tried reading the Bible to it?"

  "What part of the Bible would I read?"

  "How about the begetting part? That's official sounding," Louise says.

  "What if it thinks I'm flirting? The guy at the gas station today said I should spit on the floor when I see it and say, 'In the name of God, what do you want?'"

  "Have you tried that?"

  "I don't know about spitting on the floor," Louise says. "I just cleaned it. What if it wants something gross, like my eyes? What if it wants me to kill someone?"

  "Well," Louise says, "that would depend on who it wanted you to kill."

  *

  Louise goes to dinner with her married lover. After dinner, they will go to a motel and fuck. Then he'll take a shower and go home, and she'll spend the night at the motel. This is aLouise -style economy. It makes Louise feel slightly more virtuous. The ghost will have the house to himself.

  Louise doesn't talk to Louise about her lover. He belongs to her, and to his wife, of course. There isn't enough left over to share. She met him at work. Before him she had another lover, another married man. She would like to believe that this is a charming quirk, like being bowlegged or sleeping with cellists. But perhaps it's a character defect instead, like being tone-deaf or refusing to eat food that isn't green.

  Here is what Louise would tell Louise, if she told her. I'm just borrowing him--I don't want him to leave his wife. I'm glad he's married. Let someone else take care of him. It's the way he smells--the way married men smell. I can smell when a happily married man comes into a room, and they can smell me, too, I think. So can the wives--that's why he has to take a shower when he leaves me.

  But Louise doesn't tell Louise about her lovers. She doesn't want to sound as if she's competing with the cellists.

  "What are you thinking about?" her lover says. The wine has made his teeth red.

  It's the guiltiness that cracks them wide open. The guilt makes them taste so sweet, Louise thinks. "Do you believe in ghosts?" she says.

  Her lover laughs. "Of course not."

  If he were her husband, they would sleep in the same bed every night. And if she woke up and saw the ghost, she would wake up her husband. They would both see the ghost. They would share responsibility. It would be a piece of their marriage, part of the things they don't have (can't have) now, like breakfast or ski vacations or fights about toothpaste. Or maybe he would blame her. If she tells him now that she saw a naked man in her bedroom, he might say that it's her fault.

  "Neither do I," Louise says. "But if you did believe in ghosts. Because you saw one. What would you do? How would you get rid of it?"

  Her lover thinks for a minute. "I wouldn't get rid of it," he says. "I'd charge admission. I'd become famous. I'd be onOprah . They would make a movie. Everyone wants to see a ghost."

  "But what if there's a problem?" Louise says. "Such as. What if the ghost is naked?"

  Her lover says, "Well, that would be a problem. Unless you were the ghost. Then I would want you to be naked all the time."

  *

  But Louise can't fall asleep in the motel room. Her lover has gone home to his home which isn't haunted, to his wife who doesn't know about Louise. Louise is as unreal to her as a ghost. Louise lies awake and thinks about her ghost. The dark is not dark, she thinks, and there is something in the motel room with her. Something her lover has left behind. Something touches her face. There's something bitter in her mouth. In the room next door someone is walking up and down. A baby is crying somewhere, or a cat.

  She gets dressed and drives home. She needs to know if the ghost is still there or if her mother's recipe worked. She wishes she'd tried to take a picture.

  She looks all over the house. She takes her clothes off the hangers in the closet and hangs them back right-side out. The ghost isn't anywhere. She can't find him. She even sticks her face up the chimney.

  She finds the ghost curled up in her underwear drawer. He lies facedown, hands open and loose. He's naked and downy all over like a baby monkey.

  Louise spits on the floor, feeling relieved. "In God's name," she says, "what do you want?"

  The ghost doesn't say anything. He lies there, small and hairy and forlorn, facedown in her underwear. Maybe he doesn't know what he wants any more than she does. "Clothes?" Louise says. "Do you want me to get you some clothes? It would be easier if you stayed the same size."

  The ghost doesn't say anything. "Well," Louise says. "You think about it. Let me know." She closes the drawer.

  *

  Anna is in her green bed. The green light is on. Louise and the baby-sitter sit in the living room while Louise and Anna talk. "When I was a dog," Anna says, "I ate roses and raw meat and borscht. I wore silk dresses."

  "When you were a dog," Louise hears Louise say, "you had big silky ears and four big feet and a long silky tail and you wore a collar made out of silk and a silk dress with a hole cut in it for your tail."

  "A green dress," Anna says. "I could see in the dark."

  "Good night, my green girl," Louise says, "good night, good night."

  Louise comes into the living room. "Doesn't Louise look beautiful," she says, leaning against Louise's chair and looking in the mirror. "The two of us. Louise and Louise and Louise and Louise. All four of us."

  "Mirror, mirror, on the wall," the baby-sitter says, "who is the fairest Louise of all?" Patrick the baby-sitter doesn't let Louise pay him. He takes symphony tickets instead. He plays classical guitar and composes music himself. Louise and Louise would like to hear his compositions, but he's too shy to play for them. He brings his guitar sometimes, to play for Anna. He's teaching her the simple chords.

  "How is your ghost?" Louise says. "Louise has a ghost," she tells Patrick.

  "Smaller," Louise says. "Hairier." Louise doesn't really like Patrick. He's in love with Louise for one thing. It embarrasses Louise, the hopeless way he looks at Louise. He probably writes love songs for her. He's friendly with Anna. As if that will get him anywhere.

  "You tried garlic?" Louise says. "Spitting? Holy water? The library?"

  "Yes," Louise says, lying.

  "How about country music?" Patrick says. "Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Hank Williams?"

  "Country music?" Louise says. "Is that like holy water?"

  "I read something about it," Patrick says. "InNew Scientist, orGuitar magazine, or maybe it wasMartha Stewart Living. It was something about the pitch, the frequencies. Yodeling is supposed to be effective. Makes sense when you think about it."

  "I was thinking about summer camp," Louise says to Louise. "Remember how the counselors used to tell us ghost stories?"

  "Yeah," Louise says. "They did that thing with the flashlight. You made me go to the bathroom with you in the middle of the night. You were afraid to go by yourself."

  "I wasn't afraid," Louise says. "You were afraid."

  *

  At the symphony, Louise watches the cellists and Louise watches Louise. The cellists watch the conductor and every now and then they look past him, over at Louise. Louise can feel them staring at Louise. Music goes everywhere, like light and, like light, music loves Louise. Louise doesn't know how she knows this--she can just feel the music, wrapping itself around Louise, insinuating itself into her beautiful ears, between her lips, collecting in her hair and in the little scoop between her legs. And what good does it do Louise, Louise thinks? The cellists might as well be playing jackhammers and spoons.

  Well, maybe that isn't entirely true. Louise may be tone-deaf, but she's explained to Louise that it doesn't mean she doesn't like music. She feels it in her bones and back behind her jaw. It scratches itches. It's like a crossword puzzle. Louise is trying to figure it out, and right next to her, Louise is trying to figure out Louise.

  The music stops and starts and stops again. Louise and Louise clap at the intermission and then the lights come up and Louise says, "I've been thinking a lot. About something. I want another baby."

  "What do you mean?" Louise says, stunned. "You mean like Anna?"

  "I don't know," Louise says. "Just another one. You should have a baby, too. We could go to Lamaze classes together. You could name yours Louise after me and I could name mine Louise after you. Wouldn't that be funny?"

  "Anna would be jealous," Louise says.

  "I think it would make me happy," Louise says. "I was so happy when Anna was a baby. Everything just tasted good, even the air. I even liked being pregnant."

  Louise says, "Aren't you happy now?"

  Louise says, "Of course I'm happy. But don't you know what I mean? Being happy like that?"

  "Kind of," Louise says. "Like when we were kids. You mean like Girl Scout camp."

  "Yeah," Louise says. "Like that. You would have to get rid of your ghost first. I don't think ghosts are very hygienic. I could introduce you to a very nice man. A cellist. Maybe not the highest sperm count, but very nice."

  "Which number is he?" Louise says.

  "I don't want to prejudice you," Louise says. "You haven't met him. I'm not sure you should think of him as a number. I'll point him out. Oh, and number eight, too. You have to meet my beautiful boy, number eight. We have to go out to lunch so I can tell you about him. He's smitten. I've smited him."

  Louise goes to the bathroom and Louise stays in her seat. She thinks of her ghost. Why can't she have a ghost and a baby? Why is she always supposed to give up something? Why can't other people share?

  Why does Louise want to have another baby anyway? What if this new baby hates Louise as much as Anna does? What if it used to be a dog? What if her own baby hates Louise?

  When the musicians are back on stage, Louise leans over and whispers to Louise, "There he is. The one with big hands, over on the right."

  It isn't clear to Louise which cellist Louise means. They all have big hands. And which cellist is she supposed to be looking for? The nice cellist she shouldn't be thinking of as a number? Number eight? She takes a closer look. All of the cellists are handsome from where Louise is sitting. How fragile they look, she thinks, in their serious black clothes, letting the music run down their strings like that and pour through their open fingers. It's careless of them. You have to hold on to things.

  There are six cellists on stage. Perhaps Louise has slept with all of them. Louise thinks, if I went to bed with them, with any of them, I would recognize the way they tasted, the things they liked, and the ways they liked them. I would know which number they were. But they wouldn't know me.

  *

  The ghost is bigger again. He's prickly all over. He bristles with hair. The hair is reddish brown and sharp-looking. Louise doesn't think it would be a good idea to touch the ghost now. All night he moves back and forth in front of her bed, sliding on his belly like a snake. His fingers dig into the floorboards and he pushes himself forward with his toes. His mouth stays open as if he's eating air.

  Louise goes to the kitchen. She opens a can of beans, a can of pears, hearts of palm. She puts the different things on a plate and places the plate in front of the ghost. He moves around it. Maybe he's like Anna--picky. Louise doesn't know what he wants. Louise refuses to sleep in the living room again. It's her bedroom after all. She lies awake and listens to the ghost press himself against her clean floor, moving backwards and forwards before the foot of the bed all night long.

  In the morning the ghost is in the closet, upside down against the wall. Enough, she thinks, and she goes to the mall and buys a stack of CDs. Patsy Cline, Emmylou Harris, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Lyle Lovett. She asks the clerk if he can recommend anything with yodeling on it, but he's young and not very helpful.

  "Never mind," she says. "I'll just take these."

  While he's running her credit card, she says, "Wait. Have you ever seen a ghost?"

  "None of your business, lady," he says. "But if I had, I'd make it show me where it buried its treasure. And then I'd dig up the treasure and I'd be rich and then I wouldn't be selling you this stupid country shit. Unless the treasure had a curse on it."

  "What if there wasn't any treasure?" Louise says.

  "Then I'd stick the ghost in a bottle and sell it to a museum," the kid says. "A real live ghost. That's got to be worth something. I'd buy a hog and ride it to California. I'd go make my own music, and there wouldn't be any fucking yodeling."

  *

  The ghost seems to like Patsy Cline. It isn't that he says anything. But he doesn't disappear. He comes out of the closet. He lies on the floor so that Louise has to walk around him. He's thicker now, more solid. Maybe he was a Patsy Cline fan when he was alive. The hair stands up all over his body, and it moves gently, as if a breeze is blowing through it.

  They both like Johnny Cash. Louise is pleased--they have something in common now.

  "I'm on to Jackson," Louise sings. "You big-talkin' man."

  *

  The phone rings in the middle of the night. Louise sits straight up in bed. "What?" she says. "Did you say something?" Is she in a hotel room? She orients herself quickly. The ghost is under the bed again, one hand sticking out as if flagging down a bedroom taxi. Louise picks up the phone.

  "Number eight just told me the strangest thing," Louise says. "Did you try the country music?"

  "Yes," Louise says. "But it didn't work. I think he liked it."

  "That's a relief," Louise says. "What are you doing on Friday?"

  "Working," Louise says. "And then I don't know. I was going to rent a video or something. Want to come over and see the ghost?"

  "I'd like to bring over a few people," Louise says. "After rehearsal. The cellists want to see the ghost, too. They want to play for it, actually. It's kind of complicated. Maybe you could fix dinner. Spaghetti's fine. Maybe some salad, some garlic bread. I'll bring wine."

  "How many cellists?" Louise says.

  "Eight," Louise says. "And Patrick's busy. I might have to bring Anna. It could be educational. Is the ghost still naked?"

  "Yes," Louise says. "But it's okay. He got furry. You can tell her he's a dog. So what's going to happen?"

  "That depends on the ghost," Louise says. "If he likes the cellists, he might leave with one of them. You know, go into one of the cellos. Apparently it's very good for the music. And it's good for the ghost, too. Sort of like those little fish that live on the big fishes. Remoras. Number eight is explaining it to me. He said that haunted instruments aren't just instruments. It's like they have a soul. The musician doesn't play the instrument anymore. He or she plays the ghost."

  "I don't know if he'd fit," Louise says. "He's largish. At least part of the time."

  Louise says, "Apparently cellos are a lot bigger on the inside than they look on the outside. Besides, it's not like you're using him for anything."

  "I guess not," Louise says.

  "If word gets out, you'll have musicians knocking on your door day and night, night and day," Louise says. "Trying to steal him. Don't tell anyone."

  *

  Gloria and Mary come to see Louise at work. They leave with a group in a week for Greece. They're going to all the islands. They've been working with Louise to organize the hotels, the tours, the passports, and the buses. They're fond of Louise. They tell her about their sons, show her pictures. They think she should get married and have a baby.

  Louise says, "Have either of you ever seen a ghost?"

  Gloria shakes her head. Mary says, "Oh, honey, all the time when I was growing up. It runs in families sometimes, ghosts and stuff like that. Not as much now, of course. My eyesight isn't so good now."

  "What do you do with them?" Louise says.

  "Not much," Mary says. "You can't eat them and you can't talk to most of them and they aren't worth much."

  "I played with a Ouija board once," Gloria says. "With some other girls. We asked it who we would marry, and it told us some names. I forget. I don't recall that it was accurate. Then we got scared. We asked it who we were talking to, and it spelled out Z-E-U-S. Then it was just a bunch of letters. Gibberish."

  "What about music?" Louise says.

  "I like music," Gloria says. "It makes me cry sometimes when I hear a pretty song. I saw Frank Sinatra sing once. He wasn't so special."

  "It will bother a ghost," Mary says. "Some kinds of music will stir it up. Some kinds of music will lay a ghost. We used to catch ghosts in my brother's fiddle. Like fishing, or catching fireflies in a jar. But my mother always said to leave them be."

  "I have a ghost," Louise confesses.

  "Would you ask it something?" Gloria says. "Ask it what it's like being dead. I like to know about a place before I get there. I don't mind going someplace new, but I like to know what it's going to be like. I like to have some idea."

  *

  Louise asks the ghost but he doesn't say anything. Maybe he can't remember what it was like to be alive. Maybe he's forgotten the language. He just lies on the bedroom floor, flat on his back, legs open, looking up at her like she's something special. Or maybe he's thinking of England.

  *

  Louise makes spaghetti. Louise is on the phone talking to caterers. "So you don't think we have enough champagne," she says. "I know it's a gala, but I don't want them falling over. Just happy. Happy signs checks. Falling over doesn't do me any good. How much more do you think we need?"

 

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