Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

Knute was watering the petunias along Main Street, having a cigarette and keeping a lookout for the painters from Whithers. She had hired them to paint the water tower and put the horse decal on it and they had guaranteed the job would be finished by July first, when the Prime Minister might be coming for a visit. They were coming with a few truckloads of paint called eldorado, a kind of filter-orange, Hosea had said, a colour that would blend with the fiery hues of the sunrise and make it look like the white horse was racing through the sky and not plastered onto the side of a water tower. Whatever, she had thought to herself when Hosea told her that. She figured it must have been his girlfriend Lorna’s idea. Anyway, she was watering the flowers when Hosea opened his window and called out, “Hey, Knutie, who was that woman you were just talking to? I haven’t seen her around town before!”

“It’s Iris!” she yelled back. “Iris Cherniski! She’s moved here to help her mom at the Wagon Wheel!” And then Hosea slammed his window shut, just like that — end of conversation.

Hosea put his head on his desk. Well, he thought, she’s here. Those damn Cherniski women don’t waste any time, do they? Now I’ve got Max, the triplets, and Iris Cherniski, that’s five over fifteen hundred. Hosea opened his top drawer and pulled out his orange Hilroy scribbler. Under the column New Citizens of Algren, he added the name Iris Cherniski. He put his scribbler back in the top drawer and closed it. Then he opened the middle drawer and pulled out the tattered copy of the letter from the Prime Minister, promising to visit Canada’s smallest town on July first. It has to be, thought Hosea, it just has to be. He thought of the boxes of empty bottles in his basement and of Euphemia’s dying words, “Your father is John Baert, the Prime Minister.” He didn’t want to think about it. He re-folded the letter and put it back into the middle drawer. Wait a second, he thought. Today’s my birthday! Today’s my friggin’ birthday. He knew he’d have to remind Lorna. She often had trouble remembering her own. God, I’m ancient, he thought. People will think I’m my baby’s grandfather. Hosea flipped his hands over and checked for liver spots and any type of trembling. Had his left hand quivered? He decided to go home and make himself some lunch. He would call Lorna and have a quick nap, and on his way back to the office he would check on the painters and also on the progress of the carpenters who were busy transforming the old feed mill into a theatre. Then he would talk to Knute about Bill Quinn, and also drive out to the Welcome to Algren, Canada’s Smallest Town sign, and think about how to jazz it up.

Hosea drove home and pulled into his driveway. He imagined himself reaching over and unbuckling the seatbelt that would be securely fastened around his infant son or daughter’s car seat. Or, he wondered, does the baby ride in the back seat? From now on, he decided, he would closely observe parents interacting with their children. He made a mental note to remind Lorna to do the same. Hosea had his screen door open and was almost in his house when Jeannie appeared from between their houses. Hosea was afraid she’d bring up the subject of turning the feed mill into an aerobics/laundromat and he was about to tell her he already had plans for it, but he didn’t get the chance. “Oh, Hosea,” said Jeannie, “thank God I caught you, is this a bad time?”

“Uh,” said Hosea, “for what?” He knew for what, and yes, he thought, it was a bad time. Every time was a bad time as far as Jeannie was concerned.

“Well, I’ll just be a second,” she said. “Listen to this. Veronica, you know, Veronica Epp? With all the kids? She’s leaving her husband. Apparently, he’s being a jerk and not helping out with the triplets at all, he says they’re probably not his, excuse me? Not his? I don’t think so. It’s not like Veronica has any time to have affairs on the side. But he says triplets don’t run in his family, and they don’t run in hers, so in whose do they run? Veronica says, Well for Pete’s sake, they don’t really run in most families. So anyway, she’s had enough. She’s leaving. And she’s taking the triplets with her. She was going to take all the kids, but they don’t want to go, you know, they’re older and all that, and Gord’s nice to them because he can see the resemblance, et cetera, et cetera, so—”

“Wait!” said Hosea. “Veronica’s leaving? With the triplets? You mean all three of them?”

“Well, yes, Hosea, all three of them,” she said. “Triplets, three, get it?”

“I can’t believe it,” said Hosea, “that’s fabulous, well not fabulous, I mean, as in good, I mean, you know, fabulous, as in like a fable, it’s so strange, can it be true? That kind of fabulous …” Hosea’s hand flew to his shirt.

Jeannie shook her head. “Well, I don’t know, Gord may be a jerk, but he was probably more help than she realized. It won’t be easy for her to be alone with three babies, not to mention being separated from her other kids, and who knows what strange ideas Gord will put in their heads about their mother and their three baby brothers?”

“So,” said Hosea, “where is she moving to?” A quick horrible thought came to him. Maybe she was moving into the next block, in with her sister who lived in Algren, in which case it would make no difference to the number of citizens, she’d still be in the same town.

“Winnipeg,” said Jeannie. “She’s moving into public housing in Winnipeg and she’s gonna go on welfare until she can get her act together. Right at the beginning she’ll be at her sister’s. They call it a trial separation, you know, they’re not getting a divorce or anything, but as far as I’m concerned, those trial separations never work, that’s it, it’s over, people don’t get back together again, they just call it a trial separation ’cause it’s not so, you know, conclusive, and, of course, for the sake of the kids, who probably don’t want their parents to split up and for her parents, who will probably be devastated, they’re so conventional, and Gord’s parents, who think the sun rises from his you-know-what and—”

“Do you know when they’re leaving?” Hosea asked Jeannie. “Yeah, sometime on the weekend. She’s fed up.” “Oh, you know what?” said Hosea. “I think I hear my phone ringing. I’d better go.” Hosea had heard all that he needed to hear. This was wonderful news. And on his birthday! Four people leaving, that would leave only one person too many for Canada’s smallest town. There was some hope, there was a chance Hosea’s dream might come true. He threw Leander’s hat down on the sofa and rushed to the phone to call Lorna.

“Do you know anything about the Algren cockroach?” Knute asked Tom. No answer. “Do you know anything about petunias?” No answer. “Do you know anything about polite conversation?”

“Plenty,” said Tom. “Too much.”

“Then tell me about the Algren cockroach,” said Knute. No answer. She sat down on the bed next to him. “Did you know that cockroaches are responsible for producing 85 percent of the world’s methane gas?”

“No,” said Tom, sadly, “I didn’t.”

“Well, it’s true, it’s their flatulence that does it. Have you ever delivered a two-headed calf?”

“No.”

“A two-headed horse?”

“No.”

“A two-headed anything?” No answer. She sat and stared at her hands. She yanked a few bits of material dangling from her cutoffs and rolled them into a ball and flicked it to the floor.

“Do you miss being a vet?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Silence for a while. S.F. was playing in her room and Knute could hear her softly singing. She looked at the sky through the window. It would be a very hot day. It was time to leave for work. She got up and Tom said, “I never loved being a vet.”