The World According to Garp Page #7

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Your mother's weird.

You could say that.

Mom?

What are you doing?

Writing.

About what?

None of your business.

Just lay off me.

You've been hammering at me

ever since we got on the plane!

- I told you we should've stayed in Chicago!

- Come on, Rachel!

Don't "Rachel" me, Stephen!

Just don't "Rachel" me!

Get your mattresses!

Put your mattresses under!

Cushion his fall!

Jump! Jump!

Go ahead and jump!

Oh, my God! Stephen!

Rachel?

Remember Chicago?

Do you?

Remember these, Rachel? Do you?

I don't want them anymore!

"There will be other songs to sing

- "Another fall, another spring"

- Come down, Stephen!

"But there will..."

Watch out!

Well?

It's...

...a bit thin.

It's not quantity that counts.

Thank God for that!

This is good enough for me.

That's not very artistic.

I'm not an artist.

I'm a nurse.

It's about time I got back to it.

I want to be an artist,

and I want to know what you thought of it.

I'm not sure I understand it.

Mom, it's very simple.

He can do wonders

when he's wearing his magic gloves.

If his wife is sad, he just touches her

with his gloves, and she's happy.

If his children are crying,

he just touches them, and they smile.

But he can't feel them!

He yearns to feel.

He can even hold off death

with his magic gloves, but he can't feel life.

So he takes off the gloves, and he dies.

But, he finally feels life

as he's flying into the arms of death.

I like that.

If that's what it means, I like it.

Let me see yours.

No, I've got to go.

That's not fair. I showed you mine.

You should show me yours.

What do you think this is?

"Doctor's Office" with Cushie?

- I have an appointment.

- With who?

Whom.

With whom is your appointment, Mother?

With him. He's a publisher.

He looks like a nice man.

I'll let him publish my book.

- Let him?

- Why not?

Bring that along, will you?

We can return it.

- Come along!

- Yes, Mother.

"In this dirty minded world

you are either somebody's wife...

"...or somebody's whore...

"...or fast on your way

to becoming one or the other."

I think so. Don't you?

To tell you the truth, I've never given

the matter much thought but...

Garp! Is that right? Garp?

That's right. Garp.

You didn't write about me, did you?

I wrote about my life. You're a part of it.

- But when I wanted to write about your...

- My son is also a writer.

Short stories.

Sexual Suspect/

I wanted a job, and I wanted to live alone.

That made me a sexual suspect.

I wanted a baby, but I didn't want

to share my life in order to have one.

That also made me a sexual suspect.

Oh.

- I wanted to express an inner longing...

- Well, I'll call you.

That wasn't fair.

You said I couldn't write about you.

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