Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

Knute threw her cigarette down and ground it out with the heel of her boot.

“Listen,” said Jo, “why don’t we have a drink and then I’ll come looking with you?”

“Just bring it along, Jo. Let’s go.”

They decided to drive along the country roads around Algren, circling farther and farther out for a few miles, and then circling back in, going over the same ground again. It seemed as logical a plan as any. They’d been driving for a while when Knute decided to ask Jo about her habit of blasting down Main Street on her combine and sharing a drink with her dead husband over at the cemetery. “That combine thing, Jo, do you ever …?”

Jo looked at her and sighed. “I don’t do it anymore,” she said. Knute nodded and they kept driving. “You know,” said Jo, sitting in the front with Knute, and resting her arm on the windowsill, “when Max was nine I took him to Cooperstown.”

“Oh yeah?” said Knute. “What’s that?” She thought Jo had been too drunk and fat to get out of the house all those years. That’s how the story had gone, anyway. She wondered how much she really knew about her little town and the people living in it.

“Cooperstown,” she said. “Cooperstown, New York. The Baseball Hall of Fame is there.”

“Oh,” said Knute, “keep looking out your side.” S.F. and Bill Quinn were fast asleep in the back seat.

“Max was so excited,” continued Jo. “He’d say, oh, four days ’til we get there, and then, you know, two days, one day, six hours, three hours, like that. And, you know, we had driven for days and days and finally we got there, to Cooperstown, and Max didn’t want to go to the museum! We had gone all that way for him, you know, he loved baseball and this was a dream come true for him, the livin’ end, and then he balked. The little fucker, I thought then. What’s going on? So I said ‘Okay then, let’s have something to eat’ and he chose a restaurant a little way down the street from the hall of fame, so we could just sort of see the flagpost that was in front of it, but not the actual building. And then he just farted around in that damn café for an hour and a half, making up excuses not to go to the g.d. hall of fame! So, you know, we took a little trolley ride around the town, it’s a really pretty little place, just up this windy road from Woodstock, actually. Anyway, a fun little trolley ride packed with other tourists and some local people. And finally I thought, Okay, we have to go to that hall of fame now. We just have to. So I told Max, ‘Okay, we’re getting off this trolley at the next stop and we are going into that hall of fame. End of story. You know, the damn thing’s gonna close for the day before we get in.’ So we get off and we walk up to the front steps of the building and Max stops. He just stops and stands there staring at it. And I take his hand, you know, c’mon, c’mon. But he stands there and he starts to cry. Now I’m totally fed up, but, you know, a little concerned, and I say ‘Max sweetheart, what is the problem here?’ And he says, ‘If I go in now, it’ll soon all be over, like a dream. And I don’t want it to end.’”

Jo shook her head and laughed. “Crazy little fucker, eh?”

“Well,” asked Knute, “did you eventually go in?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “We did.”

“Was it … did it work out okay?”

“Yeah,” said Jo. “We went over every single square inch of that place. I followed Max around and he covered it all, we were there for hours and hours, they had to kick us out at closing time. He was in heaven, that’s for sure.”

“Did he cry when you had to go?” asked Knute.

“No,” said Jo. “No, I don’t think he did. He was perfectly content, as I recall.”

“I thought you never left the house when you were, uh, when Max was little.”

“That’s just another lie, Knutie,” said Jo. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well,” Jo said a little later, “we’re not finding him, are we?” She passed Knute her bottle of bourbon.

“Maybe he’s in Cooperstown,” said Knute. Jo laughed and yawned.

“Are you okay to drive, Knutie?” she asked. “Not too sleepy?” She put her head back and shifted her large body around on the seat.

“I’m fine,” Knute answered.

“I’ll just have a quick catnap, then, if you don’t mind,” said Jo, and closed her eyes.

Knute was worried. She was already circling back the way she’d come and if she hadn’t seen him on the way out of town, she didn’t know why she should expect to see him on the way in. Besides, he wouldn’t necessarily be on the road, he might have walked into somebody’s field and fallen asleep or gone into an open silo, a barn, anything. She passed the Hamms’ farm on the left. It had a giant yard light on that lit up the entire area for what seemed like miles. A million moths and bugs flew around the light and a couple of dogs were walking around in the yard. No lights were on in the house. Then Knute had an idea! She stepped on the gas and drove straight into town and out the other side, back onto the dike road and headed for Johnny Dranger’s house.

She peeled into the driveway, pulled right up to Johnny’s front door and left Jo, S.F., and Bill Quinn asleep in the car. She could hear music coming from the house and laughter and low voices and she knew she had her man. She just walked right in and said, “Hello, Max, hello, Johnny, what’s up?” They both stood there, smiling and staring at her, and instead of yelling she smiled and stared back. Johnny said, “Have a seat, Knute.”

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you, Knutie?” said Max.

“Nah,” she said, “I’m here to apologize.” Johnny disappeared into the kitchen then and Knutie whispered, “But why do you keep running away?”

“You ran away, Knute, this time. I didn’t.”

“You ran away after I ran away,” she said.

“No I didn’t,” said Max. “I stayed at your place until Dory came home, like I was supposed to, then I offered to take S.F. back to my house but she said no, she was gonna make pizza with Dory, so fine, no problem, then I left and—”

“And didn’t tell anybody where you were going,” interrupted Knute.

“Why should I have?” said Max. “I’m an adult, Knutie, I’m twenty-four years old. If a twenty-four-year-old doesn’t go straight home after work, is that a problem?”

“I know,” she said, “it’s not, but can’t you understand how I might have worried? You know it’s happened before.”

“Yeah,” said Max. “Okay, whatever, I’m not going to argue anymore, I have too fucking much at stake now, okay? You want me to understand all this stuff about you, fine, why don’t you try to understand some stuff about me?”

Knute didn’t say anything then. What was there to say? Then she thought of something. “Okay,” she said. Silence.

“Well, thank-you,” said Max. He smiled.

“You’re welcome.” Silence. “How’s your leg?”

“Fine, thank-you,” said Max. “How’s yours?” Knute smiled. Silence.

“I know about the phone call,” she said.

“I assumed,” said Max. “Tom told you?”

“Yeah.” Silence.

“I have something to ask you, Knute,” said Max.

“Do you think you and S.F. would like to live here with me? You know, just try it out, see how it goes, we could fight on a more regular basis, you know …”

It was the first time Knute had seen Max looking unsure of himself.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Where?”

Max took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. “Right here,” he said, blowing out smoke.

Knute pointed to the kitchen. “With Johnny?” she whispered.

“No, no, he’s leaving,” said Max. “That’s the thing. And he’s offered me his place. Us his place. If you want it.”