Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

Max lay next to Knute, propped up on his elbows. His smooth white butt, surrounded by the brownish straw of the bales, shone like a giant egg in a dark nest. “Why didn’t you tan your bum in the South of France?” Knute asked him.

“Shut up,” said Max, laughing.

She gave him a big push with her foot and she heard him yell and then he disappeared entirely and there was a dull thud. Max had fallen overboard into the field. “Oh my God, are you okay?” she shrieked, scrambling to put her clothes on and peer over the side at the same time.

“Fucking hell,” said Max, “I think I broke my leg. You’re gonna have to go get Johnny, Knute, for fuck’s sakes …”

Knute landed on the ground beside him and leaned over to have a look.

“Did you bring my clothes?” he asked.

“No,” said Knute, “sorry.”

“Oh fuck, oh God, my leg is fucking killing me …”

“I’ll go get Johnny!” she yelled, already running through the field towards Johnny’s little house.

“Hurry, I’m dying!” Max yelled. “I’ll rot in this fucking field!”

Johnny brought them to the hospital in his truck. Max lay stretched out on the seat with his head on Johnny’s lap, moaning. He was naked except for a gunny sack thrown over his loins. Johnny sat and drove, and laughed. And Tiny, Johnny’s dog, and Knute rode in the back of the truck with the warm wind in their faces.

When they got to the hospital they had to wait for the doctor to show up. By then it was around midnight, and the only person on duty was Nurse Barnes, who shook her head when Knute told her what had happened to Max. “I see,” she said. “I see.” It didn’t look like she saw. If she had seen she would have been nodding her head, not shaking it. “Can you put any weight on it?” she asked Max.

“No!” he said. Johnny laughed at that point and so did Knute. Max was lying on a gurney in the reception area, dressed in his gunny sack and staring up at the ceiling. “What the hell is so hilarious over there?” he said. He cursed under his breath. “Can I smoke in here?”

Nurse Barnes said, “No, I’m sorry.” And she added, “I’m afraid Dr. François is having some car trouble, it may be a few minutes before he arrives.” So Johnny wheeled Max outside and they all had a cigarette on the front steps of the hospital. Nurse Barnes passed by the open front door pushing an X-ray machine or microwave oven or something and said, “Johnny, I’m surprised at you, with your asthma.”

Johnny shrugged and Max said, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Sorry,” Knute said to Johnny, “for dragging you around like this. Sorry Max is naked. It was a very warm evening, you know, and …” She was smiling and Johnny nodded.

“Sorry?” yelled Max. “Why the hell are you saying sorry to him? I’m the one you booted off the bales. I’m the one with the fucking broken leg here!”

“And I’m sorry, Johnny,” said Knute, “that Max isn’t more grateful …”

“You guys are so lucky,” said Johnny out of the blue. He was staring at the moon. “You really are—”

Max interrupted him. “Lucky!” he said. “Lucky? Jesus, Johnny, are you warped?”

“Shut up, Max,” said Knute.

“Or what? You’ll break my other leg? … Johnny,” he said, “are you there?”

“Yeah,” said Johnny.

Nurse Barnes poked her head outside and waved her hand in front of her face. “Smoky,” she said. Max said “fuck off” in a very low voice, and then Nurse Barnes said, “The doctor’s here now, c’mon back inside.”

“I’ll race you to the front desk,” said Max, and Johnny wheeled him back inside.

The next morning Combine Jo drove Max over to Tom and Dory’s place. Summer Feelin’ saw them drive up and went running out to help Max with his crutches. She was looking forward to drawing all over his cast with her markers. Combine Jo made sure Max made it to the front door and then gave him a reassuring pat on the back. She picked up Summer Feelin’ and kissed her. “See you later, aviator,” she said to S.F. who grinned and shook her head. “See you later, hot potater?”

S.F. laughed and said, “No, no, no.”

Combine Jo tried again. “See you later, elevator?”

S.F. shrieked, “Alligator! Alligator!”

Combine Jo, all 250 pounds of her, jumped back and waved her arms in the air. “Where? Where?” she screamed. “Where’s the alligator?”

By now S.F. was flapping wildly with delight. “Over there!” She pointed to a spot behind Combine Jo, who jumped to the side. “No, no, over there!” S.F. said, and Combine Jo screamed and jumped again.

“Hey, Jo,” said Knute. Jo stopped jumping and put S.F. back down on the ground.

“Yes, ma’am?” she said, laughing and out of breath.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“Oh no,” she said. “Thanks anyway, Knuter, but I have some shopping to do, and a few errands to run, another time, though, eh?” She smiled and looked at S.F. “See you soon, you big balloon. Bye, Knute, see ya, Max! Dory!” she yelled into the house. “Give my regards to Tom!” Max had already hobbled into the kitchen and was sitting at the table with Dory, reading the morning paper.

Dory said, “Will do, Jo.”

And Max said, “Don’t forget, king-size! Not lights! And thanks,” he added.

This was the situation. Dory and Knute had had a long talk about Tom, about Max, about Summer Feelin’ and about themselves. They agreed that the most frustrating thing was that they didn’t know what to do. That is, they didn’t know how to make Tom happy, how to get him out of his bed. The doctors said there wasn’t much they could do, either. If a grown man decides to stay in bed for the rest of his life, what can you do? His headaches and his confusion and memory loss and depression, all of that was real. And his heart was weaker than it had been before his heart attack, but not strong enough yet to have open-heart surgery. He had been diagnosed as clinically depressed by his psychiatrist, but he had refused to talk to the doctor about his life, his family, his hopes, his dreams, the world, his sadness, anything. Then he had refused to go altogether. So Dory had started going to his appointments instead and discussing her life with Tom. Tom was on medication for all of his illnesses but nothing seemed to change. His medication had been increased, decreased, changed entirely, stopped altogether, and then prescribed again. The doctors said he should be able to do some light work, go for walks, travel, socialize with friends, stuff like that, without too much discomfort, or none at all. Staying in bed, they said, was not going to make him well. But what do you do when a grown man takes to his bed and won’t budge? Tom was lying at the bottom of his own mysterious black hole and they could do nothing to help. All they could do was wait for him to make a decision on his own, or for his sadness to lift. “Can you die from being sad?” S.F. had asked. And what could Knute say?

In the meantime, Dory would get on with her life. She decided that she would stop with the home renovations for a while, and go back to work full time at the labour pool, and join a support group in the city for people like her — women who love men who love beds, or something like that. Actually, it was cryptically called Friends of Houdini. They met every Tuesday night. And she thought she might try a couple of university courses in the fall.

It was also evident that Max and Knute had rekindled the old flame and Dory wasn’t happy about it. She wanted to be happy about it, but she wasn’t. “I need some time to process this,” she’d told Knute. She was still worried that Max would disappear any time and leave Knute and S.F. heartbroken once again. But Max and Knute were fine. They were in love, still, and having fun. They had plans for the future, to move to the city, to find work, and to raise their daughter together. “People can change, Dory,” Knute said. “People can grow up.”