George Saunders: Pastoralia

“You sold it?” she says.

“There was nothing good ever on!” he says. “If they showed good programs I just know I would’ve gotten better. But no. It was so boring. So I decided to throw everybody a party, because they were all supporting me so well, by letting me keep the TV in my room? And so, you know, I sold the TV, for the party, and was taking the bucks over to the Party Place, to get some things for the party, some hats and tooters and stuff like that, but then I’ve got this problem, with substances, and so I sort of all of a sudden wanted some substances. And then I ran into this guy with some substances. That guy totally fucked me! By being there with those substances right when I had some money? He didn’t care one bit about my recovery.”

“You sold the rehab TV to buy drugs,” she says.

“To buy substances, Ma, why can’t you get it right?” he says. “The way we name things is important, Ma, Doe taught me that in counseling. Look, maybe you wouldn’t have sold the TV, but you’re not an inadvertent substance misuser, and guess what, I am, that’s why I was in there. Do you hear me? I know you wish you had a perfect son, but you don’t, you have an inadvertent substance misuser who sometimes makes bad judgments, like borrowing and selling a TV to buy substances.”

“Or rings and jewels,” says Janet. “My rings and jewels.”

“Fuck Ma, that was a long time ago!” he says. “Why do you have to keep bringing that old shit up? Doe was so right. For you to win, I have to lose. Like when I was a kid and in front of the whole neighborhood you called me an animal torturer? That really hurt. That caused a lot of my problems. We were working on that in group right before I left.”

“You were torturing a cat,” she says. “With a freaking prod.”

“A prod I built myself in metal shop,” he says. “But of course you never mention that.”

“A prod you were heating with a Sterno cup,” she says.

“Go ahead, build your case,” he says. “Beat up on me as much as you want, I don’t have a choice. I have to be here.”

“What do you mean, you have to be here?” she says.

“Ma, haven’t you been listening?” he shouts. “I got kicked out of rehab!”

“Well you can’t stay here,” she says.

“I have to stay here!” he says. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“Go home,” she says. “Go home with Grammy.”

“With Grammy?” he says. “Are you kidding me? Oh God, the group would love this. You’re telling a very troubled inadvertent substance misuser to go live with his terminally ill grandmother? You have any idea how stressful that would be for me? I’d be inadvertently misusing again in a heartbeat. Grammy’s always like: Get me this, get me that, sit with me, I’m scared, talk with me, it hurts when I breathe. I’m twenty-four, ma, baby-sitting brings me down. Plus she’s kind of deranged? She sort of like hallucinates? I think it’s all that blood in her lungs. The other night she woke up at midnight and said I was trying to steal something from her. Can you believe it? She’s like all kooky! I wasn’t stealing. Her necklaces got tangled up and I was trying to untangle them. And Keough was trying to help me.”

“Keough was at the house?” she says. “I thought I told you no Keough.”

“Ma, Jesus Christ, Keough’s my friend,” he says. “Like my only friend. How am I supposed to get better without friends? At least I have one. You don’t have any.”

“I have plenty of friends,” she says.

“Name one,” he says.

She looks at me.

Which I guess is sort of sweet.

Although I don’t see why she had to call me Mr. Tightass.

“Fine Ma,” he says. “You don’t want me staying here, I won’t stay here. You want me to inadvertently misuse substances, I’ll inadvertently misuse substances. I’ll turn tricks and go live in a ditch. Is that what you want?”

“Turn tricks?” she says. “Who said anything about turning tricks?”

“Keough’s done it,” he says. “It’s what we eventually come to, our need for substances is so great. We can’t help it.”

“Well, I don’t want you turning tricks,” she says. “That I don’t go for.”

“But living in a ditch is okay,” he says.

“If you want to live in a ditch, live in a ditch,” she says.

“I don’t want to live in a ditch,” he says. “I want to turn my life around. But it would help me turn my life around if I had a little money. Like twenty bucks. So I can go back and get those party supplies. The tooters and all? I want to make it up to my friends.”

“Is that was this is about?” she says. “You want money? Well I don’t have twenty bucks. And you don’t need tooters to have a party.”

“But I want tooters,” he says. “Tooters make it more fun.”

“I don’t have twenty bucks,” she says.

“Ma, please,” he says. “You’ve always been there for me. And I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Like this might be my last chance.”

She pulls me off to one side.

“I’ll pay you back on payday,” she says.

I give her a look.

“Come on, man,” she says. “He’s my son . You know how it is. You got a sick kid, I got a sick kid.”

My feeling is, yes and no. My sick kid is three. My sick kid isn’t a con man.

Although at this point it’s worth twenty bucks to get the guy out of the cave.

I go to my Separate Area and get the twenty bucks. I give it to her and she gives it to him.

“Excellent!” he says, and goes bounding out the door. “A guy can always count on his ma.”

Janet goes straight to her Separate Area. The rest of the afternoon I hear sobbing.

Sobbing or laughing.

Probably sobbing.

When the quality of light changes I go to my Separate Area. I make cocoa. I tidy up. I take out a Daily Partner Performance Evaluation Form.

This is really pushing it. Her kid comes into the cave in street clothes, speaks English in the cave, she speaks English back, they both swear many many times, she spends the whole afternoon weeping in her Separate Area.

Then again, what am I supposed to do, rat out a friend with a dying mom on the day she finds out her screwed-up son is even more screwed up than she originally thought?

Do I note any attitudinal difficulties? I do not. How do I rate my Partner overall? Very good. Are there any Situations which require Mediation?

There are not.

I fax it in.

15.

Late that night my fax makes the sound it makes when a fax is coming in.

From Louise:

Bad day , she says. He had a fever then suddenly got very cold. And his legs are so swollen. In places the skin looks ready to split. Ate like two handfuls dry Chex all day. And whiny, oh my God the poor thing. Stood on the heat grate all day in his underwear, staring out the window. Kept saying where is Daddy, why is he never here? Plus the Evemplorine went up to $70 for 120 count. God, it’s all drudge drudge drudge, you should see me, I look about ninety. Also a big strip of trim or siding came floating down as we were getting in the car and nearly killed the twins. Insurance said they won’t pay. What do I do, do I forget about it? Will something bad happen to the wood underneath if we don’t get it nailed back up? Ugh. Don’t fax back, I’m going to sleep .

Love, Me .

I get into bed and lie there counting and recounting the acoustic tiles on the ceiling of my darkened Separate Area.

One hundred forty-four.

Plus I am so hungry. I could kill for some goat.

Although certainly, dwelling on problems doesn’t solve them. Although on the other hand, thinking positively about problems also doesn’t solve them. But at least then you feel positive, which is, or should be, you know, empowering. And power is good. Power is necessary at this point. It is necessary at this point for me to be, you know, a rock. What I need to remember now is that I don’t have to solve the problems of the world. It is not within my power to cure Nelson, it is only necessary for me to do what I can do, which is keep the money coming in, and in order for me to keep the money coming in, it is necessary for me to keep my chin up, so I can continue to do a good job. That is, it is necessary for me to avoid dwelling negatively on problems in the dark of night in my Separate Area, because if I do, I will be tired in the morning, and might then do a poor job, which could jeopardize my ability to keep the money coming in, especially if, for example, there is a Spot Check.