Stereoscope

My Aunt Josephine is very mean and very old, and her house is very messy. I hate when my mom makes me visit her, but since my Daddy ran away with the funny blond woman who worked at his office, we go to Aunt Josephine’s all the time. My mommy says that she is “eccentric,” which I think means very rich, because that is the other thing that she is.

I forgot to say that she is not really my aunt, but my great aunt, which means that she is my grandma’s sister. I would rather have my grandma, because my mom says that she liked to bake cookies and had a lot of china animals, but she died when I was little. Instead we have Aunt Josephine, who gives us sardines for lunch and who yells at me when I touch anything.

One time I asked my mom why nice grandma died and mean Aunt Josephine is alive, and my mom said that if I were God, who would I rather have come home sooner? But she looked kinda funny when she said it because she’d been drinking her grown-up drink, and anyways I don’t think Aunt Josephine is going to heaven because she is too mean.

Today we are going there again. Mommy has to get a taxi because Aunt Josephine says we smell when we ride the bus, but I like the taxi better than the bus, so that’s okay. Then we have to ride for an hour, and I sit very quiet and good because Mommy is already upset before we even get there. Then the taxi-man stops in the front of my aunt’s big house, which has a big gate. Every time we go, I try to decide what is on it. Sometimes it looks like flowers, sometimes it looks like animals, and sometimes I don’t know what is supposed to be up there, but I hide my eyes because it makes me feel sick and scared. I asked my mother one time why that happened, but she just shook her head and told me to shush.

As the taxi-man drops us off, I look up at the gate. Today it looks like frogs and witches, which isn’t too bad. I like frogs; I used to have one for a pet named Jumper, but my cat ate him. I was sad. The ones on the gate are big and have teeth, which real frogs don’t have. I tug at my mom’s sleeve and try to show her the gate, but she is busy pressing the button on the intercom. “James, it’s Fiona and Penelope to see my aunt.”

The intercom is old and makes lot of crackly noises. I think Mr. James—that’s my Aunt Josephine’s butler, which is like a really important helper— said “I will admit you, Miss Gwenetoire,” which is our name now since Daddy has gone away, but I’m not sure because it’s really hard to hear. But that doesn’t really matter because whatever he said, the gate opened then. One of the witches disappeared as it moved and turned into a tiger, but I ignored it because whenever I tell my mommy about that, she pats my head and says that I have a silly imagination. That’s what grown-ups say when they don’t notice things that are really there.

Aunt Josephine’s front yard has lots and lots of bushes that are shaped like animals, but she’s too old to go outside anymore and Mr. James isn’t a gardener, so they’re fuzzy now. Most of them, it’s like playing with one of those eye illusion things—you stare and stare at it, and it just looks like a lump of green, and then you spot what could be an ear and suddenly it’s a bunny. The other thing she has in her yard—which Mommy says is actually called a garden, but it doesn’t have any vegetables so I don’t think it’s a garden—is these big concrete statues. They mostly look like empty boxes piled on top of each other. Each box is so big I could play in them, but I’m not allowed. My mommy says that Aunt Josephine designed all these and that other people built them for her. I said that I didn’t think it would be very hard to design squares and I bet I could do better than that. She laughed but made me promise to never ever say that in front of Aunt Josephine, and she wore her serious face and made me pinky swear, so I think I said a bad thing.

It is very cold today, but I am wearing my fall jacket. This is because Tommy, at school, who is very mean and smells like glue and socks, pushed me down and I ripped a big hole in the back. Mommy tried to sew it back together but it didn’t work, and Daddy said that they are downsizing at work so he couldn’t buy me a new one. I don’t know what that is, but it made Mommy say lots of words that I’m not supposed to say, so it must be bad. This morning, Mommy was just sitting with my coat in her lap and crying, which is what she usually does right before we come here. I don’t know why we visit Aunt Josephine when it makes Mommy so sad, but I know better than to ask.

The only thing I really like about Aunt Josephine’s house is her door. It is painted bright red and has colored glass in the front that makes pictures. What I like is that the pictures are full of people with haloes—which my mommy says are called saints if you are catholic—and are always the same. Plus my aunt Josephine hates it, and I have noticed that most of the time if Aunt Josephine doesn’t like something, it is very good. So she hates singing and Christmas and dogs and the beach, which are some of my favorite things. Also I like her door because that is the way to leave. Aunt Josephine wants to get rid of the door, my mommy says, but she can’t because the house is a historical landmark, and there are people who won’t let her. That always makes my mommy smile very big.

The door is always opened before we can knock on it. Mr. James opens the door, because that is part of his job. I don’t like him very much. He never smiles and he has very shiny hair and shoes and gives me a mean look if he thinks I haven’t wiped my shoes enough before coming inside. The only thing that ever changes about Mr. James is that he wears a different color bow tie each time we come. Today it is a very ugly green. He bows to my mommy and me, and he says “Her Ladyship will see you now.”

One time I asked Mommy what this meant. She said that usually, it means that you are royal, which means that you are related to a king or a queen, but with my aunt it just means that she likes to think of herself as important and has enough money to pay people to pretend that it’s true.

My mommy sorta bows back to him and says “Thank you.” I am supposed to do it too, but I don’t like to and anyways I never wear dresses like Mommy does, so I don’t think it would work. Mr. James waves his hand and says “Follow me,” and then he takes us to the room where my aunt always is, which is called the parlor. We’ve gone there lots of times, so I don’t know why we have to wait until Mr. James shows us the way, but really pretty much nothing at Aunt Josephine’s house makes sense, so I gave up asking questions. Today, as we walk down the hall, I imagine that the reason that we have to follow him is because the parlor isn’t there unless he walks in front of us. It is easy to pretend this. The way to the parlor is through a very very long hall with no windows, and it is hard to see. Aunt Josephine has bad eyes and doesn’t like a lot of light, plus she doesn’t like to spend a lot of money on things like electricity or heat or food.

The walls are all covered with more boxes, but these ones are made out of wood and have things in them. My aunt Josephine is very famous for these boxes. She is an artist, and people pay her lots of money for them. Some of them are very pretty, and some of them are ugly, and some of them are kinda scary, and I don’t understand the rest of them. My mommy always looks at the floor when we walk through, because, she says, she doesn’t like them.

The last thing in the hall is a big picture, and I hate it. This is not only because there is a woman who is being burned in a fire on it, but also because that means we are almost to the parlor and Aunt Josephine, which makes me sad and also feel like I want to do lots of bad things.

Normally I’m very good, I really am, but whenever I see Aunt Josephine she just yells at me. She says that my fingernails are dirty and my face is filthy and that I look like a horrible little boy. Mommy holds my hand very tight and doesn’t say anything. I know that it’s because Aunt Josephine would just be meaner if she talked back, but it still makes me a little sad. Of course, my mommy always takes me out for ice cream later and tells me how sorry she is, so that’s okay. But I still want to kick Aunt Josephine for being so mean.

Today Mommy is holding my hand even tighter than usual. I think this is because we have been visiting Aunt Josephine a lot lately. Mommy doesn’t tell me, but I can tell it’s because we don’t have a lot of money right now, because we always come after she gets a letter in the mail that makes her cry or when I have a bad toothache or when we have to hide whenever somebody knocks on our apartment door. Then, when we leave, Mommy has an envelope in her hand and then we do whatever it is we couldn’t do before we came. I’m pretty sure that there is money in the envelope, but I don’t think Mommy wants me to know because she doesn’t say anything, so I don’t either.

When we go in, Mommy does her bow thing to Aunt Josephine. I do it too, because my aunt gets really mad when I don’t. I’m not very good at it, and I almost fall over this time. Aunt Josephine laughs as Mommy catches me. I want to yell at her for thinking that it’s funny, but instead I think really hard about what flavor of ice cream I want today. I think I might get a strawberry milkshake, because the place where we go puts real strawberries in it and it’s something I can carry home and eat where it’s warm.

When I am thinking about ice cream, I keep my eyes on my shoes. I do not have to look at the rest of the parlor, because it always looks exactly the same. It is full of old, dusty couches that are dark and covered with pillows that are also dusty and old. There are two windows, but they have thick curtains pulled across them. It is very hard to see, and Aunt Josephine sits in the darkest corner in her wheelchair with lots of blankets piled in her lap. The part of her that is easiest to see is her teeth, which are very white and look a little like a shark’s.

“So, Fiona, what brings you here today, as if I need to ask?” My Aunt Josephine has a very strange voice. The best I can describe it is by saying that if a rat could talk, and if it had eaten a lot of garlic, and if it had played with a balloon, which makes your voice very high, it would sound like my aunt. Which is to say that it is squeaky and mean and she has bad breath.

My mommy bites her lip. “Hello, Aunt Josephine. How are you today?”

I don’t like the way she sounds in the parlor. Her voice is very soft and nervous and she acts like my aunt is very important. But I just lean against her and try to make her feel better, because I know I’m not really supposed to talk while we are here, in case I make Aunt Josephine mad.

“Cut the manure, Fiona.” She doesn’t really say “manure,” but I’m not allowed to say the word she really says. “You’re here to squeeze another dime out of me, without any consideration of how hard I worked to get it, or without ever thinking that perhaps I need it to provide some small measure of comfort in my illness and retirement.” She points a finger at her. “You’re a taker, that’s what you are, Fiona! You take and you take and you never give anything back. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Aunt Josephine makes her voice go all shaky, like she’s going to cry, but she doesn’t fool me. “Oh, how I wish that somebody would give me things in my old age, and keep me company in this lonely house, but you only come over when you want something. That’s a shameful way to behave toward your mother’s sister.”

She’s the one who treats people terribly, I think. I want to say it, but I just bite the insides of my cheeks and think of all the horrible things that will happen to Aunt Josephine when she dies and goes to hell. I hope it’s soon.

My mommy must know how mad I am, because she lets go of my hand and bends down so that we can see each other eye to eye. “Penelope, sweetie,” she says, giving me a hug, “why don’t you go play in the other room while your great-aunt and I talk? You just have to promise to be very quiet and not hurt any of Aunt Josephine’s nice things.”

“Yes, go along, child. Your mother and I have a great deal to discuss.” I’m kinda surprised to see that Aunt Josephine looks happy that I’m leaving. Maybe she thinks she can be even meaner with me not there. “But don’t you dare touch anything in the adjoining spare parlor, or so help me, you’ll feel the back of my hand.”

I ignore her. “Yes, Mommy.” Happy to get away, I hurry into the other room.

“Stay there until I call you back!”

“Okay!”

The other room, which I think is another parlor but I’m not sure, isn’t really very interesting or fun, but I’d be happy to go into a dirty cold dungeon if it meant I could leave the parlor and Aunt Josephine. I close the door behind me. You can still hear things, because the walls aren’t very thick, but at least nobody can see me.

There is a big cupboard in here that has lots of interesting things in it, so I open it up and start pulling things out, one at a time, and putting them back again. Aunt Josephine did tell me not to touch anything, but I think I said that usually when she says not to do something, it is a good thing to do. Well, maybe not always, because I guess if she says not to jump off a bridge, I probably still shouldn’t do it, but anyways I’m bored.

It’s funny, Aunt Josephine always complains when my mommy asks her for money, but I think she really likes it. My aunt really doesn’t spend a lot of money, and she doesn’t buy much, and she really does have a lot, I think, so she doesn’t really care about giving it to us. But I think she does like being horrible to my mommy and making her beg for it, so in a really mean way Aunt Josephine is having fun.

But anyways she really does have a lot of interesting things. There is a funny little gold monkey with cymbals which I don’t touch because I bet it will make noise, and a book that is all moving pictures inside. There are a lot of sculptures of odd things, and a horned wooden mask that is painted in very bright colors.

The only thing I can’t figure out is a metal box with a sort of holder thing in the front, with clips, and a blank piece of paper is attached to it. The whole thing is on the third shelf, which is almost out of my reach, so I’m very careful as I pull it down. There is a word written on the side that I don’t know, so I sound it out, very quietly. “Ster-eh-oh-scope. Stereoscope?” I still don’t know what that all means, but I do know microscopes and telescopes, and those are both for looking at things, so maybe this stereoscope thing is too. Plus, there’s a place to press your eyes against the box to look inside, so I’m pretty sure I’m right.

I put my eyes up on the box and look into it. At first I don’t see anything but white, so I am disappointed. I turn a little and suddenly I can see myself. I stop looking and see that I turned enough so that I’m facing a mirror, but how could I see myself when the paper was in the way? That’s really weird. I look into the stereoscope again.

For the most part, I look just like I normally do. I have a scrunched up look on my face, but that’s probably because I’m squinting to look into the stereoscope. My ponytail is falling out like it always does, and the bottom of my jeans are dirty. I’m surprised Aunt Josephine didn’t yell at me. In the middle of my stomach, though, it is very strange.

Instead of seeing my shirt, I see all sorts of things that I like or that I remember. There are puppies and kittens and frogs all playing together. I can see the waterfall from the last vacation when Mommy and Daddy were happy, and some of the seashells that I have in my room. There are also some things that I don’t remember, or that I don’t like, and in the middle of everything is a girl who looks like me, only older, and she is smiling and waving.

I look and look, trying to see everything that is there, when I hear a noise behind me.

“Her Ladyship will be very displeased when she sees that you have been disturbing her possessions.”

It’s Mr. James, and I turn around fast, still holding the stereoscope to my eyes.
He’s frowning, of course, but I’m more interested in what I can see through the box. I can see lots of suits and ties, like he wears, and stacks and stacks of dishes, and a woman who is crying and holding hands with a man whose face changes every second. There is a boy with a dirty face and a cigarette who is pulling the hair of a pretty girl in a pink dress, and they are standing at the edge of a beach, which has lots of rocks instead of sand. Plus there is a red plane that is flying through everything and big horses that run and sometimes fall and all of them have smiles that are so scary-looking that I almost yell and I drop the stereoscope.

He frowns even more and reaches his hand back. I’m pretty sure he’s going to hit me, and all I can think to do is say “who is the girl in the pink dress?”

His eyes go wide and he drops his hand. I pick the stereoscope up and run back into the other room. I don’t really know why I pick it up instead of putting it back, but I like it, even if some of the things it shows me are scary. I can see the hall as I go back into the parlor, and I realize that what I’m seeing—the strange little things that don’t really make sense—look just like the boxes that Aunt Josephine makes. She must look into the stereoscope at people and just make what she sees. I wonder if that’s cheating, and, and . . . it’s not right, is it? I mean, I think that what I’m seeing is people’s insides, like their brains or what maybe their souls, like in the Bible. I’m not sure I’d like everybody to see exactly what is in my soul, because that’s private.

In the parlor, Aunt Josephine is yelling at my mommy, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I put the stereoscope to my eyes again and look at Mommy.

What I see, mostly, is me. Lots of little versions of me, all running around. Plus there is a golden retriever, and everywhere bills and the word “overdue” and money that disappears the next second. There are some more interesting things that I think are Mommy’s memories, or things that she likes, but they’re really hard to see and I only see them for a little bit before they fall behind the bills and money and me.

“You little brat!” Aunt Josephine has stopped yelling at my mommy, and she looks at me. I can tell that she’s really, really mad now. “I told you not to touch any of my things. That stereoscope is mine, and nobody else is allowed to use it!”

Well, I can’t help it, because my great-aunt just makes me so mad, so instead I raise the stereoscope to my face again. I look at Aunt Josephine through the eyepieces, which feel a little funny this time, sticky and hot.

Aunt Josephine has lots of stacked pieces of wood and the kind of nails you hammer, except the wood is all rotted and the nails are rusted. There is a little man running back and forth into a building that was on fire and then out again, and he is screaming. Plus there are all sorts of other things, like pebbles and matches and seaweed and things I can’t tell what they are, because they are moving so fast, like bats when you shine a light on them.

But the biggest thing, the thing in the middle, the thing that scares me the most is the stereoscope. It’s in my hands still, but it’s also in her, but the one in her is . . .

It’s . . .

It is the stereoscope, but a monster, too, and it’s made of metal, but also made of shiny green skin, and it has the place to put your eyes but that place is also the monster’s eyes, all big and black and mean. It has teeth, and in the middle of the teeth is a red, wet something that looks the model of the heart we saw in science class last week, and it’s chewing on it with awful slippery noises. And . . . it has the blank piece of paper like this one but, but it also shows things that—things that I don’t understand, and I have a really bad feeling in the middle of my chest, and I feel sick because I don’t know what the things are but they’re terrible, they’re mean, they’re—they’re—the things are evil and I want to go home and never come back here again!

I scream and throw the stereoscope as hard as I can against the wall. It breaks into three pieces, the holder breaking off and the box cracking in half. Aunt Josephine shouts and grabs at her body, right where I saw the monster-stereoscope. I grab Mommy’s hand and I run away. She tries to stop me “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” but I just keep running and finally she follows me. I don’t stop until we’re outside the house, in the cold, clean air, and then I cry because I feel so sick and I don’t think I’ll ever feel right again.

Mr. James comes running out the house too, banging the door as he leaves. He stops when he sees us. He has a funny look on his face, and I can’t tell if he’s mad or happy. “She is dead,” he finally says.

“Good!” I say. Then I start crying again because she was the meanest person ever and I’m glad she’s dead, but does that make me a bad person because you’re not supposed to wish anybody dead, but she had such terrible, evil things in her that I can’t help it.

“Penelope!” Mommy frowns at me. “You shouldn’t say such things about anybody, even Aunt Josephine.”

Mr. James looks at my mommy and shakes his head. “No, Miss Gwenetoire, your daughter is correct. These are for you.” I didn’t notice that he was carrying anything, but he hands my mommy two of the boxes. I see that he has another one in his hand with a horse with a smile peeking out of it.

Mommy looks at them and her face goes very white. “H—how? How did she do this? How did she know?”

“I’m really not sure, Miss Gwenetoire. You could ask Miss Penelope.” He puts the box into his pocket. “She seemed to have picked up the trick when I saw earlier.”

She hugs me and strokes my hair, like she did when I was really little. “Penelope, sweetie, do you know how Aunt Josephine knew to put an albatross in my box?”

Turning around, I bury my face in her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. It was bad. Really bad. Mommy, I wanna go home now and never come back.” I cry again, and shake, and Mommy makes an unhappy noise and holds me tight.

“Okay. Okay, Penelope, please don’t cry. Sweetie, please don’t cry. Calm down.” Mommy sounds like she’s going to cry now too. “Do you want some ice cream?”

I . . .

I . . .

I kinda want to say that maybe ice cream isn’t going to be enough this time, but I do like ice cream, especially strawberry milkshakes, and now I’m not even really sure what happened. I can’t remember. It was bad. Yes, it was very, very bad and it’s good that Aunt Josephine is dead, but that . . .

“Yes. Milkshake. Strawberry.” I look up at my mommy. “Please?”

“Of course, sweetie.” She picks me up for a second, but she has to put me down because Mommy’s not really very strong and I’m getting big. She says I’m going to be really tall, which I think is fun because I bet I’ll be good at sports, even though you don’t really have to be tall to be good at soccer, which is what I like best. “Thank you, James.”

He bows. “Goodbye, Miss Gwenetoire.” Then he leaves and doesn’t lock the door, or even close it, so I do instead, because you should always close the door when you leave.

Then my mommy takes my hand in hers and holds the boxes in her other hand, and we walk to the bus stop and then we go to the ice cream place, and Mommy gets me my strawberry milkshake, and then we get back on the bus and go home again.

And Mommy is sad because she didn’t get any money and I still don’t have a warm coat, but two days later a man calls on the phone and tells us that Aunt Josephine left us some money so that’s okay! And I get a new coat and we buy a nice house in the country and the only thing I really remember now is that I used to know a funny word that sounded like telescope and microscope and something to do with radios . . .