[INAUDIBLE] not so much now, the younger generation, but ghosts
were a big deal, houses that are haunted, ghosts.
I never believed in ghosts.
Russell Banks used to live close by, the novelist Russell Banks.
And he lived in an old house.
And somebody-- a whole bunch of friends
were sitting in the living room downstairs.
Somebody went upstairs to the bathroom,
and they came back and said, the ghost is back there.
Apparently, supposedly, there was an old man
who was peeking out a window at the graveyard that was outside.
So other people eventually had to also go pee, you know?
And they went up there.
And they came back, nodding.
So I said, let me go up there and take a look.
And I looked.
Nothing, you know?
But anyway, there was one time when something happened to me,
but actually, it wasn't in New Hampshire.
It was in South Carolina.
"Ghosts."
"Is Mr. Brown looking much better
than he did in the morgue?
He's brought me a huge carp in a bloodstained newspaper.
What an odd visit.
I haven't thought of him in years.
Linda is with him, and so is Sue,
two pale and elegant fading memories holding
each other by their hand.
Even their lipstick is fresh, despite all
the scientific proofs to the contrary.
Is Linda going to cook the fish?
She turns and gazes in the direction
of the kitchen, while Sue continues
to watch me mournfully.
I don't believe any of it, and still, I'm scared stiff.
I know of no way to respond, so I say nothing.
The windows are open.
The air is thick with this scent of magnolias.
Drops of evening rain are dripping
from the dark and heavy leaves.
I take a deep breath.
I close my eyes.
Dear specters, I don't even believe you are here,
so how is it you're making me comprehend things I
would rather not know just yet?
It's the way you stare past me at what must already
be my own ghost before taking your leave as
unexpectedly as you came in, without one
of us breaking the silence."