Thomas McGuane - Driving on the Rim

“We can’t even imagine what that must have been like. Try to picture Michael Jordan or Bill Cosby as slaves. ”

“I can’t.”

“Imagine how uppity they’d be?”

“I know, I know.”

“So, let’s confine our thoughts to the Civil War.”

“Well, in American history,” I said, “we touched on lots more than that. The Teapot Dome Scandal and so on.”

“The difference is, the Civil War has such a hold on our imagination.”

“Amen to that.” I wasn’t trying to be an asshole; I just didn’t know how to follow this line of conversation. At the same time, I intuited a lot of passion behind Shirley’s enthusiasm for that war. I felt so lost that I finally asked her why we kept talking about this particular subject; that was about as bold as I got in those days. She gave me a hard look and said, “I just lay the rail. I don’t drive the train.”

Shirley got the idea that Audra had the hots for me. This was no accident. Audra, who treated me with such savagery on the second floor, grew girlish in my proximity on the first floor. She seemed to have the capacity to emit light dew from her skin and add starlight to her eyes at will. By fluttering around me in the presence of both Hansons she produced a double effect: Hanson began to treat me with a new formality that verged on a surprising coolness; Shirley, doing housework for appearances upon Hanson’s return, always straightened slightly when Audra entered the room, then turned with a wintry smile to greet the three of us without focusing on any one, a teacher welcoming a new class. In this atmosphere, Audra swam like a happy fish looking to Hanson’s every need. Upstairs, she told me to quit acting like a member of the family: I was just a boarder. “And a fairy.”

Hanson’s law firm, three men, was small but it enjoyed a statewide reputation. That it had never departed this modest town in the generations following its founding by Hanson’s great-grandfather gave it an old-fashioned dignity unshared by high-powered competition elsewhere. It was still a prestigious place to have one’s legal work done, and this reputation was reflected in the decorum of the partners, who dressed with nostalgic severity and always paused before answering questions. I don’t know how else to say this, but the longer Audra was in the house the more peculiar were Hanson’s observations of his partners: one came to be described as “slow” and the other, now near retirement, was astonishingly referred to as a “prize boob.” A far cry from the collegiality of old. These comments left Shirley wide-eyed, and their being offered in Audra’s presence gave them an effect not experienced in this household before. Hanson had always seemed so somber, politely somber, though it’s true he was jollier these days, despite the new sarcasm, and his clothes brighter. His partners now looked grimly drab in his company. When Ton Yik Tailors came through that fall, Hanson ordered some high-spirited and entirely ghastly plaid sport clothes. Families — in this case households — are always evolving; on balance, ours was now more pleasant, that is, livelier. A pretty young woman always has this effect on groups, and Audra was very pretty. Anyone could see that she was slowly turning Karl Hanson into an idiot.

I came in from class wet from a spring snow flurry, my books damp and my worn-out shoes letting water into my socks. I went straight upstairs to change into something dry and warm. Audra was waiting for me in the hallway. She was leaning against the wall, her hands behind her at the small of her back and palms pressed to the wall; her chin was on her chest and she was regarding me with patronizing amusement. The single low-wattage lightbulb that frugally illuminated the hallway gave the scene an old-time Hollywood quality. “I have a small word with you?”

“Sure,” I said, simply hating my all-purpose enthusiasm.

“I’m thinking you show much fondness for Mrs. Hanson.”

“Yes,” I barked, “very fond. Very nice lady.”

“Ooh no, is not what I mean. Is what I mean is fond. ”

“I don’t know about that. ”

“Well, is not important. Is more important that Mrs. Hanson is fond of you.”

“Well, that would be nice.”

She snickered and I found it a bawdy snicker; curiously I noticed that I was morally indignant at this insinuation when I barely thought of anything besides sex with Mrs. Hanson, who exuded the ripe sensuality of early middle age. It proved another opportunity for Audra to one-up me: “I just hope the two of you don’t upset that nice man!” she cried, turning abruptly into her room and slamming the door. It worked: Karl Hanson was a fine man and I felt guilty.

As part of my obligations to the Hansons, I seemed to be something of a yard boy, for Shirley was a passionate but careless gardener. Before I arrived at the Hanson house, she had made a terrific effort to renew the perennials around the place — and there were many little flower beds under windows, around airyways and trees, along the stone sidewalk and between the house and the garage, which had a trotting-horse weather vane. But she couldn’t quite remember where she put things, and so in springtime she was consumed with mystery and anticipation as she awaited the appearance of flowers.

“I really don’t like spring,” she said to me as I followed her with an armful of tools — a forked implement for digging out weeds, pruning shears in three sizes, and an empty watering can. “Spring isn’t about hope for the coming season. It’s about being sick of winter.”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

“See the dead ones? Can’t you tell by the bark? Those are the ones you lop off. Right close to the trunk. I already showed you this once.”

I had to keep one eye on her as I pruned because she changed her mind from task to task and I rarely had the chance to finish anything. My main job was keeping up as she strode around directing my efforts here and there while quite obviously drifting off in thought as I started each thing destined for incompletion. One bed I was supposed to spade up for annuals turned out to be full of crocus bulbs. She’s the one who forgot she’d put them there, but she blew up: “Christ! Couldn’t you stop digging when you saw the first one?”

“I didn’t know what it was.” I thought it was onions.

“What it was, was an annual bulb, for crying out loud!” But then she ran her hand over my buttocks while watching the street, so I felt I was forgiven. She said, “Baby, let’s go to Florida.”

THE HANSONS ALWAYS ENJOYED A COCKTAIL between Karl’s return from work, his face often heavy with fatigue, and supper. One end of the living room served as a small private bar of a kind that flourished before the age of the exaggerated “wet bar.” A leaded-glass cabinet held glasses, cocktail shakers with the patina of age, a cylindrical device into which CO 2cartridges were inserted for the making of one’s own carbonated water, a leather-bound ice bucket; then, on display, the “top brands” lined up with their somber labels to the fore. I would have a ginger ale on the rocks, while the Hansons tossed back highballs, invariably Crown Royal and soda. Audra, having long since made herself the bartender, lately cast melancholy glances at the three of us, once we had our drinks, before making an uncharacteristically mousy exit. This evening, when Karl came in trailing the smell of cold and snow, he joined us vigorously at the bar, clapping his hands together in a spirited effort at warming them, and directed Audra to make it a stiff one. I already had my ginger ale, resentfully proffered by Audra, Shirley her accustomed highball, and Audra now prepared Karl’s, filling the whiskey to the usual level, then teasingly drizzling some a bit before adding soda. Karl watched every drop with enthusiasm, then suddenly said, “Audra, it’s time you joined us for a drink.” I saw Shirley cut her eyes at him, but if he noticed he didn’t let on. Audra posed primly at the bar, indicating by the tiny space between her thumb and forefinger that a small amount of the libation was all that a little princess should want. To cover the silence, Shirley went on a bit about what a cold, snowy spring it was, and Karl, turning from the preparation of Audra’s drink, raised his glass to one and all and said, “We need the moisture.”