Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

“I know.” Knute nodded her head. She didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t want him to die, sweetheart,” said Dory. She had stopped sobbing but tears were still streaming down her cheeks.

“I know,” Knute said again. She kissed her mother’s forehead.

“But sometimes I do,” said Dory.

“Yeah.” Knute nodded quickly.

“Then I would know, you know?” Dory continued. “Then I would know what to do. I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know if I should force him out of his bed or if I should sit by his side or talk to him and just be patient and let him get up when he’s ready or if I should tell him I’ll leave if he doesn’t try, at least, but that’s so cruel and I don’t want to leave him. How could I? I just don’t know. And it’s not his fault. But he could at least sit down for meals or go on a little drive with me or just talk to me. Uncle Jack called earlier this evening and I couldn’t stop crying on the phone. You know how much Jack’s always loved Tom. He said he’d try to talk to him, but I don’t know …”

Knute didn’t know, either. “Maybe …”

“He can’t think straight, Knute, and it’s getting worse. The neurologist thinks that he’s had a series of small strokes, not big enough for anybody to really notice, except he knows it and he can’t do things, you know, like he used to. He can’t read anymore. When he said he was reading his journals in the garage while I worked, he wasn’t, you know, he just pretended to. His handwriting is illegible. His short-term memory is gone. Sometimes he forgets where he is, he gets dizzy. He can’t drive. And, Knute, he’s not affectionate like he used to be, he’s not funny, with the jokes and laughing, he’s just not the same guy …”

Knute closed her eyes and leaned her head against the damp wall.

“I’m sorry,” Dory said. “I don’t want to upset you. I just needed to talk to someone. I don’t know what to do. I want you to be happy, and now with Max back, I don’t know what’s going to happen, will he leave you again? Pregnant? Will he break Summer Feelin’s heart, too, this time? How many times is this going to happen?”

“Mom,” said Knute, “I’m not going to get pregnant. Don’t worry. Max and I aren’t even in a relationship. I can’t help it if he leaves again, but Summer Feelin’ is better off knowing him, having seen him, and having had fun with him. She’ll miss him but she’ll be fine. If he leaves again, I’m sure he’ll be back to see her. He won’t be able to stay away for long. He’s crazy about her. His mom lives here, I’m here for the time being, and this is his town. Don’t worry about me and Summer Feelin’ on top of everything else. Let’s just go to sleep and in the morning I want to hear about Dad and you and we’ll talk about it, and figure out what we can do, how we can live with it. It’s gonna be okay.”

Dory began to cry again.

“I love you, Mom,” said Knute. “I love you very much.”

Dory whispered, “I know you do, Knutie,” and stared at her ravaged wall.

Later, after Dory was asleep, Knute went to the garage and looked at Tom’s veterinarian journals. She skimmed over an article on ringworm and one on pregnant-mare urine, and then went inside the house and had a quick peek at Summer Feelin’. Her mouth was open, and her arms and legs were spread apart like a starfish. Knute moved her right arm and leg to make some room and then curled up beside her. “The sun’s coming up,” she whispered. She didn’t think S.F. had ever seen a sunrise, except for when she was a baby, and had woken up hungry and crying. She whispered it again.

“Okay,” said S.F. in her sleep, “that’s okay.” And she stretched out her right arm and leg again, on top of Knute.

“So, let me get this straight,” said Lorna. “You think Baert is your dad, but you’re not sure. Euphemia told you on her deathbed, and you believe she was lucid enough to know what she was talking about. That was three years ago. Since then you haven’t called him or even tried to get—”

Hosea interrupted. “Well, Lorna,” he said, “I can’t just call up the Prime Minister and say, Hey, I’m your son, you know, about fifty some years ago you rode through this small prairie town on a horse and—”

“Okay, okay,” said Lorna. “Fine, I understand. So then you get a letter from the Prime Minister saying he’s going to visit Canada’s smallest town on July first as a way of showing the country he’s interested in, well, small towns, I guess.”

“Right,” said Hosea.

“Hmmm,” said Lorna. “Interesting publicity stunt.”

“It’s not a publicity stunt,” said Hosea. “It’s a way of reaching out to rural Canadians, to show them that he cares.”

“Yeah,” said Lorna, “about their votes.”

“Well even so,” said Hosea, “it’s my chance.”

“Okay,” said Lorna. “It’s your chance. So, you want to make sure Algren is Canada’s smallest town on July first so you get a chance to see your dad, and show him what you’ve accomplished in your life.”

“Well,” Hosea smiled. “I guess—”

Lorna interrupted again. “Well, that’s basically it, isn’t it?” She smiled. “God, you’re an idiot, Hose.”

“Am I?” he said. “But do you love me?”

“Yeah,” she said, “because I’m an idiot, too, and now we’ll have a kid who’s an idiot, because how could it not be, with two idiot parents like us?”

Hosea smiled and for a second worried that she might be right.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Max and three babies. Four too many. Right?”

Hosea nodded. “Right,” he said. “Fifteen hundred is the number I need.”

“I know,” said Lorna. “You told me that. Okay, anybody else pregnant?” she asked.

“Just you,” he said.

“I mean anybody else in Algren due to give birth before July first?”

“Not that I know of,” said Hosea.

“Okay,” said Lorna again. She tapped her finger against her forehead.

“Look,” said Hosea, “the sun’s coming up.”

“Hmmm,” said Lorna. “You sound surprised. Now, Leander Hamm’s dead, so that’s one. Three left to get rid of.”

“Don’t say that,” said Hosea.

“Okay, not get rid of,” she said. “Three to, well, whatever.”

“Okay, get rid of,” said Hosea, smiling and rubbing Lorna’s stomach.

“Stop that, I’m trying to help you here. Cherniski’s in the hospital, because of Whatsisname the dog—”

“Bill Quinn,” said Hosea.

“But,” said Lorna, “who knows where that’ll go? If she makes it, she might go and live with her daughter in the city, which would be good. If she dies … well … I don’t want her to die. I’m just saying if she does, that would work out.”

Hosea frowned. “Well …” he said, “that’s not exactly how I—”

“I know, I know,” said Lorna. “Let’s just say Cherniski’s up in the air. Okay, then there’s the doctor. He says he might leave. But only after another doctor’s been hired and trained and et cetera et cetera and there’s no way that can happen before July first, so don’t even think of him as an option. You know, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hosea. “It’s like I can’t stop, I can’t stop until—”

“Okay,” said Lorna, yawning and holding up her hand. “Stop. Then, um, who’s this Johnny guy?”

“Johnny Dranger,” said Hosea.

“Right,” said Lorna. “The guy who could be in or out?”

“Yup,” said Hosea. “But he has to be in, because he needs to be the fire chief.”

Lorna looked at Hosea for a second. “Needs to be the fire chief?” she asked. “Like he needs to eat and sleep?”