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"I don't know anything about what kind of mother you are," Garp told her. "I think Ralph's a nice boy."

"He can be a real shit," she said.

"Perhaps you'd rather Duncan not stay with you tonight?" Garp asked--Garp hoped. To Garp, she didn't appear to know that Duncan was spending the night with Ralph. She looked at the spoon in her lap. "It's tomato sauce," Garp said. To his surprise, Mrs. Ralph picked up the spoon and licked it.

"You're a cook?" she asked.

"Yes, I like to cook," Garp said.

"It's very good," Mrs. Ralph told him, handing him his spoon. "I should have gotten one like you--some muscular little prick who likes to cook."

Garp counted in his head to five; then he said, "I'd be glad to go pick up the boys. They could spend the night with us, if you'd like to be alone."

"Alone!" she cried. "I'm usually alone. I like having the boys with me. And they like it, too," she said. "Do you know why?" Mrs. Ralph looked at him wickedly.

"Why?" Garp said.

"They like to watch me take a bath," she said. "There's a crack in the door. Isn't it sweet that Ralph likes to show off his old mother to his friends?"

"Yes," Garp said.

"You don't approve, do you, Mr. Garp?" she asked him. "You don't approve of me at all."

"I'm sorry you're so unhappy," Garp said. On the seat beside her in her messy car was a paperback of Dostoevsky's The Eternal Husband; Garp remembered that Mrs. Ralph was going to school. "What are you majoring in?" he asked her, stupidly. He recalled she was a never-ending graduate student; her problem was probably a thesis that wouldn't come.

Mrs. Ralph shook her head. "You really keep your nose clean, don't you?" she asked Garp. "How long have you been married?"

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"Almost eleven years," Garp said. Mrs. Ralph looked more or less indifferent; Mrs. Ralph had been married for twelve.

"Your kid's safe with me," she said, as if she were suddenly irritated with him, and as if she were reading his mind with utter accuracy. "Don't worry, I'm quite harmless--with children," she added. "And I don't smoke in bed."

"I'm sure it's good for the boys to watch you take a bath," Garp told her, then felt immediately embarrassed for saying it, though it was one of the few things he'd told her that he meant.

"I don't know," she said. "It didn't seem to do much good for my husband, and he watched me for years." She looked up at Garp, whose mouth hurt from all his forced smiles. Just touch her cheek, or pat her hand, he thought; at least say something. But Garp was clumsy at being kind, and he didn't flirt.

"Well, husbands are funny," he mumbled. Garp the marriage counselor, full of advice. "I don't think many of them know what they want."

Mrs. Ralph laughed bitterly. "My husband found a nineteen-year-old cunt," she said. "He seems to want her."

"I'm sorry," Garp told her. The marriage counselor is the I'm-sorry man, like a doctor with bad luck--the one who gets to diagnose all the terminal cases.

"You're a writer," Mrs. Ralph said to him, accusingly; she waved her copy of The Eternal Husband at him. "What do you think of this?"

"It's a wonderful story," Garp said. It was fortunately a book he remembered--neatly complicated, full of perverse and human contradiction.

"I think it's a sick story," Mrs. Ralph told him. "I'd like to know what's so special about Dostoevsky."

"Well," Garp said, "his characters are so complex, psychologically and emotionally; and the situations are so ambiguous."

"His women are less than objects," Mrs. Ralph said, "they don't even have any shape. They're just ideas that men talk about and play with." She threw the book out the window at Garp; it hit his chest and fell by the curb. She clenched her fists in her lap, staring at the stain on her dress, which marked her crotch with a tomato-sauce bull's-eye. "Boy, that's me all over," she said, staring at the spot.

"I'm sorry," Garp said again. "It may leave a permanent stain."

"Everything leaves a stain!" Mrs. Ralph cried out. A laughter so witless escaped her that it frightened Garp. He didn't say anything and she said to him, "I'll bet you think that all I need is a good lay."

To be fair, Garp rarely thought this of people, but when Mrs. Ralph mentioned it, he did think that, in her case, this oversimple solution might apply.