Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

“So,” said Knute, “aren’t you going to tell me you told me so, about Max being the same old Max?”

“He was talking to a girl. A little girl. He had a job taking care of her in London, her and her baby brother, and he was calling her to tell her he wouldn’t be back. When he left he had told her he might be, and now he just wanted to tell her the truth.”

Knute looked at Tom. “He told you that?” she said. “And you believe it?”

“Yes, I do. He called her back after you had, well, interrupted him, and he apologized, and then he told her what he wanted to tell her.”

“That he wasn’t coming back,” said Knute.

“Right,” said Tom. “That he wasn’t coming back.”

“Because he wants to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“So where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he going home?”

“No, Combine Jo called here looking for him.”

“Oh God,” Knute said, and put her head in her hands.

“He can’t have gone too far,” said Tom. “He’s got a cast on his leg, and no car. Looks like Helen Keller dressed him this morning …”

“Oh God.”

“You know, Knutie,” said Tom, closing his eyes. “If you have fun with the guy …” Tom took a deep breath “… I hate advice,” he said. “But why don’t — if you have what you want — Why don’t—”

“Knutie!” Dory yelled from the kitchen. “It’s Jo on the phone. She’s wondering if you have any idea where Max could be.”

Hosea woke up from his nap with a stiff neck and a dry mouth. The room was much darker than it had been. He put the phone back where it belonged and put his notebook in the drawer. “I’ve got my fifteen hundred,” he whispered. “I’ve got the smallest town.” He sat at his desk with his hands folded in his lap and wondered, Was I coming or going? Well, he thought. I’m here now so I must be going. He stood up and walked to the open window and stared out at Main Street. It was completely deserted except for two small girls. They sat on the curb in the yellow light under the streetlight, playing a clapping game, and taking time out for sips from a Coke they were sharing. “Concen-tray-shun,” Hosea heard them chanting, “Concentration must begin-keep-in-rhyth-UM!” One of the girls slapped her thighs at the wrong time and both of them put their heads back and roared with laughter. “Okay, start again. Start again,” one girl said. “Okay, okay, hang on, okay, no, wait, okay,” said the other, and began to laugh again.

Hosea didn’t feel like going home. Tom, he thought. I’ll visit Tom. He was about to leave a note reminding Knute to spray the petunias with cockroach killer one more time, before July first, but then remembered that he’d be seeing her at Tom’s. Or, if she was out, he could leave the message there and she’d get it in the morning. Hosea left his office and his car, which he could barely remember parking, and set off for Tom and Dory’s. “Hello,” he said as he passed the girls on the curb. “Lovely summer evening, isn’t it?” The girl who’d been having a hard time concentrating was trying not to laugh, and nodded her head, and the other one said, “Mm hmmm.” She made a face at Hosea as soon as he had passed, and both girls burst into laughter yet again.

“C’mon, Summer Feelin’,” said Knute, “we’re going to find Max. Hurry up, let’s go.”

“Is he lost?” she asked.

“We’ll see,” said Knute. “You can go barefoot, c’mon. We’re taking the car.”

Dory stood up from the table. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Ask Tom,” Knute said. “He knows.”

“Tom knows?” asked Dory, as Knute and S.F. ran out the door.

“Ask him!” Knute yelled. “Wake him up!”

“Oh, Hosea,” said Dory, answering the door. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” said Hosea, “I was just wondering how Tom was. I thought I’d come visit for a while.”

“Oh. Well,” said Dory. “You know, Hosea, we’re having a little, well … oh, for heaven’s sake, just come in, then. Go and talk to him. My goodness, it’s hot out here.” Dory shook her head and peered off into the night. “Do you want a beer?” she asked suddenly.

“Oh no,” said Hosea. “No thank-you. Well, all right,” he said, and thought, hair o’ the dog, after all.

“Go on in,” said Dory, “I’ll bring you one. The only reason why I have a beer to offer you is because of Max. He’s looking after S.F. and Tom, while Knutie and I are off at work.”

“Well,” said Hosea, “that’s a nice arrangement.”

Dory frowned and stared off into the darkness again. “Go on in,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

“Um, I could just get it myself, Dory,” said Hosea. “I know where the fridge is.”

“Fine,” said Dory. “Help yourself.”

“Sure thing,” said Hosea. “Thank-you.” He went to the fridge and got himself a beer and then went over and knocked on Tom’s door. No answer.

“For heaven’s sake, Hosea, just walk in,” Dory yelled. “He won’t answer. Just go in.”

Well, thought Hosea. Dory’s acting very strangely. “Thanks, okay,” he called out.

Hosea sat down on the laundry hamper and crossed and uncrossed his legs. He put his beer on the dresser next to the laundry hamper, and cleared his throat and tugged at his Canada T-shirt. All he could see of Tom was the back of his ruffled head poking out from under the blanket. Whooooo , Hosea kind of breathed out loud. It was a hot day all right. Hosea stared at the back of Tom’s head, willing it to swivel around and face him. Hosea could hear the crickets and the hum of the refrigerator. Dory must have stepped outside to have a good long look at the dark sky, he thought. “So,” said Hosea, “what’s new?” He stared at the back of Tom’s head and said to himself, Move, move, your damn head. Look at me. He drank some of his beer and did a mental tally of the number of beers he had had that day. This was his eighth. And last, he told himself. He thought briefly of Lorna, and of the baby-to-be, and of his father, the Prime Minister. And then he thought of Euphemia. “So,” he said again, “how are you feeling, Tom?” He finished off his bottle of beer and longed for another. I’ll just get one, he thought. He wanted to talk about his fifteen hundred, his smallest town, so badly, he wanted to tell someone about it. He got up and went to the kitchen for another beer. Nine, he thought. No more. He went back to Tom’s room and sat down on the laundry hamper again. Tom’s head was in the same position. Nice head, he felt like saying. Needs combing. Hosea leaned over so his head was close to Tom’s. He could hear Tom breathing. He reached over and put his hand on Tom’s chest. Up and down, up and down, good sign. Like a baby, thought Hosea. Well. “So, Tom,” he said, “something is happening. To me. Something good.” He leaned over and pulled gently on Tom’s blanket. “Something good, Tom,” he whispered. Hosea looked around the room. “Hey, Tom,” he said. “You know something? I’ll tell you a secret. My father is the Prime Minister of Canada.” Hosea stared at the back of Tom’s head. He thought for sure that remark would get it to move, or at least make a sound. Nothing. He’s asleep, then, thought Hosea. He’s not hearing a word I say. Hosea had a sip of his beer. “And he’s coming to visit me on July first,” he said. Hosea told Tom all about the smallest town contest and about all the comings and goings of the people of Algren, about the triplets and Veronica Epp, about Leander Hamm, and Iris Cherniski, about the doctor’s girlfriend, and Max, and Johnny Dranger, about Lorna, and the baby, and how, finally, Algren had fifteen hundred people exactly, which was just the right number to make it the smallest town, and on and on. “So,” he said, “I’m going to meet my dad, Tom. I’ll see him for the first time, and I’ll tell him who I am, and I’ll show him my town.”