Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

“Well,” said Tom’s Uncle Jack, “Lord knows I tried.” He stood by the front door wrapped in what looked like a groundsheet, fumbling with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol. “Like Cheerios I eat these,” he said to Dory. He turned to Summer Feelin’ and said, “You’re perfect, you are a perfect little girl.”

“She’s a perfect little girl,” he said to Knute.

And then to Summer Feelin’ he said, “I was born the day the Titanic sank.” Summer Feelin’ smiled. “That’s right, two disasters in one day,” said Uncle Jack. “But never mind, have you got a pumpkin?” Summer Feelin’ shook her head. “That’s too bad,” said Uncle Jack. “If you had a pumpkin I could show you my card trick. Do you know that I can throw an ordinary playing card right through a pumpkin and have the damn thing come out the other side with not one, I shit you not, not one shred of pumpkin flesh hanging from it, and the slit from the card entering and exiting barely visible on either side of the pumpkin?”

“Can you do it with a cantaloupe?” asked Summer Feelin’. Or somebody’s head? Knute wondered. “Absolutely not,” said Uncle Jack. “It must be a pumpkin. But listen to me, have you got a ten-story building anywhere around here, anywhere in this town?”

“A tall one, you mean a tall, tall building?” said Summer Feelin’ standing on her tiptoes and holding her arms up over her head.

“That’s right, it’s gotta be ten stories, not nine, not eleven, but ten, ten stories tall.”

“No, we don’t have one of those,” said Summer Feelin’.

“Well, that is too bad, that’s really a shame, because if you had a ten-story building I could show you another card trick. There are only two men in the whole world who can do this trick, me and my brother, your Uncle Skylar.”

Dory cleared her throat. “Jack,” she said gently, “Sky’s been dead for …”

“Never mind,” said Uncle Jack, “that’s what you think.”

Dory shook her head and tried not to laugh, not because she didn’t want to offend Uncle Jack, but because she didn’t want to encourage him.

“Now listen to me, Hooked on a Feelin’ or whatever your—”

“Summer Feelin’!” said Summer Feelin’.

“That’s right,” said Uncle Jack, “and some aren’t. Listen! I can take an ordinary playing card and, on the very first try, with just the right wind conditions, of course, throw that playing card onto the top of a ten-story building. Standing on the ground, me standing on the ground, of course. What do you think of that, Summer-Time Feelin’?”

Summer Feelin’ began to flap and hum. “What are you doing?” said Uncle Jack. “What’s she doing?” he said to Knute.

“She’s excited,” said Knute. “Don’t worry. She likes the idea of that card trick.”

“Really?” said Uncle Jack. “You find me a ten-story building, an ordinary playing card, get me out there, bring the kid, and I’ll do the trick for her, it’ll knock her socks off. I’m serious. Bring a pumpkin, I’ll do that trick, too, no charge. I mean it. Tell Tom to crawl out of his coffin and come along, he’s seen me do it, I’m better at it than Skylar ever was, or is—”

“Good-bye, Uncle Jack,” they all said in unison.

“Find me that building, Knutie!” he yelled just before getting into his car. “I’ll do the trick, I promise! Good-bye! A rived-erci! So long, Knutie! Keep your knees together …” his voice trailed off as he drove away.

“Areola is a nice name for a girl,” said Hosea. “Don’t you think?”

Lorna started to laugh. “Areola?” she spluttered. “God, you kill me—” Lorna was laughing hard. “Hey, Hose,” she said, “what do you think—?”

“Oops, watch your step, my dear.”

“Stop telling me to be careful, please. If you don’t let me move around normally my body will think I’m dead and reject the baby. I’ll end up aborting, Hosea, if you keep—”

“Well, every name means something, doesn’t it?”

“Areola Garden Funk, lovely. Sure. I love it. Can we walk a little faster, Hosea?”

“I never walk, you know, never, beats me why, I just—”

“Well, you’re fat and lazy, that’s why, I’m only pregnant, I can walk.”

“I prefer Funk Garden … isn’t that a band?”

“No, you’re thinking of Sound Garden.”

“Am I? Hey, wait a second …”

“Look,” said Hosea. “Shit. Shit, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Lorna, looking around, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head for a better view.

“Over there! Behind the Wagon Wheel. It’s Mrs. Cherniski, oh shit, that means she’s back, she’s okay. She’s already working, for Christ’s sake, some kind of feeble heart attack that must have been—”

“Hosea!” said Lorna, trying to unscramble her sunglasses from her hair. “I promised you I wouldn’t laugh, I promised you I wouldn’t move to Algren until after July first, I promised you I would keep your crazy plan a secret. But you promised me that you wouldn’t act like a nutcase, like some kind of grim reaper rubbing your hands together, sniffing the air for the scent of decaying flesh—”

“Lorna! I am not a grim reaper, sniffing the air for … I just thought if Cherniski had gone to live with her daughter in the city, then—”

“Oh, bullshit, you just wanted her gone. Even if she’d croaked, you wouldn’t have minded.”

“Lorna, that is not true, and don’t get all mad at me, it’s bad for the baby, and it’s—”

“Now listen to you, Hosea. In one breath you’re pissed off that Cherniski’s heart attack didn’t kill her, in the next you’re all concerned for the baby and admonishing me for, well, for basically reacting the way any normal person would to your bizarre plan, getting your father—”

“Hello, Mrs. Cherniski,” said Hosea, looking at Lorna and casually slicing his index finger across his throat in an attempt to shut her up. “It’s good to see you up and around, and back at work so soon, my God, you’re a lucky woman.”

Mrs. Cherniski glared at Hosea like she’d just been hit with a pitch, and was preparing to storm the mound. “Lucky? Lucky, my foot,” she said. “Lucky to be back slaving over a hot stove for a bunch of greasy, gap-toothed men in overalls and rubber boots who wouldn’t know a decent meal from a poke in the eye …” Mrs. Cherniski heaved a black garbage bag into the giant bin outside the Wagon Wheel and stomped back inside.

“I’ll tell you what, though, Hosea,” she yelled through the screen door. “Lucky is that my daughter is coming to Algren to help me out. She’s moving here, the whole kit and caboodle, and I’m gonna get myself some long overdue help from that girl. By the way, I hope to heck you’ve managed to get rid of that bastard Bill Quinn, you know he was the one who put me in the hospital, and if I see his scrawny butt ever again you’re the one who’ll be in the hospital, Hosea Funk.”

Hosea smiled and nodded. “Uh, when? When is she, are they, coming?”

“Can’t hear you, Hosea! What’d you say?”

Hosea’s hand flew to the front of his shirt. “I said when? When—”

Lorna grabbed Hosea by the arm and hissed, “Forget it, Hosea, don’t be so obvious, just let it go … say good-bye.”

“But …” said Hosea.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Cherniski,” said Lorna cheerfully, “don’t work too hard!”

Hosea and Lorna walked around to the front of the Wagon Wheel and nearly tripped over Bill Quinn, who was strolling down the sidewalk, tick tick tick, with his overgrown toenails clicking on the concrete and a new goatee-ish tuft of mangled hair on his chin and his soft wet eyes ringed by dark circles as if he’d spent all night smoking Gitanes in a waterfront speakeasy.