George Saunders - Pastoralia

“I guess so,” the kid says.

“But nothing you couldn’t handle,” Marty says.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” the kid says, and blinks, and his eyes water up.

“Well, Christ,” Marty says, and his eyes also water up. “Time to hit the road, family. I guess this it. Let’s say our good-byes. Our good-byes to Home Sweet Home.”

They take a little tour around the doublewide and do a family hug, then drag their suitcases down the path.

I go to the Refuse Center and weigh our Human Refuse. I put the paperwork and the fee in the box labeled Paperwork and Fees. I toss the trash in the dumpster labeled Trash, and the Human Refuse in the dumpster labeled Caution Human Refuse.

I feel bad for Marty and Jeannine, and especially I feel bad for the kid.

I try to imagine Nelson padlocked to a boiler in a dark room full of rats.

Plus now where are us Remotes supposed to go for our smokes and mints and Kayos?

22.

Back at the cave Janet is working very industriously on the pictographs.

As I come in she points to my Separate Area while mouthing the word: Fax.

I look at her. She looks at me.

She mouths the words: Christ, go. Then she holds one hand at knee level, to indicate Nelson.

I go.

But it’s not for me, it’s for her.

Ms. Foley’s fax appears to be inoperative? the cover letter says. Kindly please forward the attached .

Please be informed , the attached fax says, I did my very best in terms of your son, and this appeared, in my judgment, to be an excellent plea bargain, which, although to some might appear disadvantageous, ten years is not all that long when you consider all the bad things that he has done. But he was happy enough about it, after some initial emotions such as limited weeping, and thanked me for my hard work, although not in those exact words, as he was fairly, you know, upset. On a personal note, may I say how sorry I am, but also that in the grand scheme of things such as geology ten years is not so very long really .

Sincerely,

Evan Joeller, Esq .

I take the fax out to Janet, who reads it while sitting on her log.

She’s sort of a slow reader.

When she’s finally done she looks crazy and for a minute I think she’s going to tear the cave apart but instead she scoots into the corner and starts frantically pretending to catch and eat small bugs.

I go over and put my hand on her shoulder, like: Are you okay?

She pushes my hand away roughly and continues to pretend to catch and eat small bugs.

Just then someone pokes their head in.

Young guy, round head, expensive-looking glasses.

“Bibby, hand me up Cole,” he says. “So he can see. Cole-Cole, can you see? Here. Daddy will hold you up.”

A little kid’s head appears alongside the dad’s head.

“Isn’t this cool, Cole?” says the dad. “Aren’t you glad Mommy and Daddy brought you? Remember Daddy told you? How people used to live in caves?”

“They did not,” the little boy says. “You’re wrong.”

“Bibby, did you hear that?” the dad says. “He just said I’m wrong. About people living in caves.”

“I heard it,” says a woman from outside. “Cole, people really did use to live in caves. Daddy’s not wrong.”

“Daddy’s always wrong,” says the little boy.

“He just said I’m always wrong,” the dad says. “Did you hear that? Did you write that down? In the memory book? Talk about assertive! I should be so assertive. Wouldn’t Norm and Larry croak if I was suddenly so assertive?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt you,” the mom says.

“Believe me, I know,” the dad says. “That’s why I said it. I know very well I could afford to be more assertive. I was making a joke. Like an ironic joke at my own expense.”

“I want to stab you, Dad,” says the little boy. “With a sharp sword, you’re so dumb.”

“Ha ha!” says the dad. “But don’t forget, Cole-Cole, the pen is mightier than the sword! Remember that? Remember I taught you that? Wouldn’t it be better to compose an insulting poem, if you have something negative about me you want to convey? Now that’s real power! Bibby, did you hear what he said? And then what I said? Did you write all that down? Also did you save that Popsicle wrapper? Did you stick it in the pocket in the back cover of the memory book and write down how cute he looked eating it?”

“What your name?” the little boy yells at me.

I cower and shriek in the corner etc. etc.

“What your name I said!” the little boy shouts at me. “I hate you!”

“Now, Cole-Cole,” says the dad. “Let’s not use the word hate, okay, buddy? Remember what I told you? About hate being the nasty dark crayon and love being the pink? And remember what I told you about the clanging gong? And remember I told you about the bad people in the old days, who used to burn witches, and how scary that must’ve been for the witches, who were really just frightened old ladies who’d made the mistake of being too intelligent for the era they were living in?”

“You are not acceptable!” the kid shouts at me.

“Ha ha, oh my God!” says the dad. “Bibby, did you get that? Did you write that down? He’s imitating us. Because we say that to him? Write down how mad he is. Look how red his face is! Look at him kick his feet. Wow, he is really pissed. Cole, good persistence! Remember how Daddy told you about the little train that could? How everyone kept trying to like screw it and not give it its due, and how finally it got really mad and stomped its foot and got its way? Remember I told you about Chief Joseph, who never stopped walking? You’re like him. My brave little warrior. Bibby, give him a juice box. Also he’s got some goo-goo coming out of his nosehole.”

“Jesus Christ,” Janet mumbles.

I give her my sternest look.

“What was that?” says the dad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Janet says. “I didn’t say nothing.”

“I heard you very clearly,” says the dad. “You said Jesus Christ. You said Jesus Christ because of what I said about the goo-goo in my son’s nosehole. Well, first of all, I’m sorry if you find a little boy’s nosehole goo-goo sickening, it’s perfectly normal, if you had a kid of your own you’d know that, and second of all, since when do cavepeople speak English and know who Jesus Christ is? Didn’t the cavepeople predate Christ, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Of course they did,” the mom says from outside. “We just came from Christ. Days of Christ. And we’re going backwards. Towards the exit.”

“Look, pal, I got a kid,” says Janet. “I seen plenty of snot. I just never called it goo-goo. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Bibby, get this,” the dad says. “Parenting advice from the cavelady. The cavelady apparently has some strong opinions on booger nomenclature. For this I paid eighty bucks? If I want somebody badly dressed to give me a bunch of lip I can go to your mother’s house.”

“Very funny,” says the mom.

“I meant it funny,” says the dad.

“I was a good mom,” Janet says. “My kid is as good as anybody’s kid.”

“Hey, share it with us,” says the dad.

“Even if he is in jail,” says Janet.

“Bibby, get this,” says the dad. “The cavelady’s kid is in jail.”

“Don’t you even make fun of my kid, you little suck-ass,” says Janet.

“The cavelady just called you a suckass,” says the mom.

“A little suckass,” says the dad. “And don’t think I’m going to forget it.”

Soon flying in through the hole where the heads poke in is our wadded-up Client Vignette Evaluation.