Robert McGill - Once We Had a Country

Fletcher was different. He needed to be out among others, even if he didn’t always seem to enjoy it. In fact, sometimes in Boston when she sat with him and a group of his friends at a restaurant, watching him fidget and blush with embarrassment at others’ joking, she wondered if he’d committed himself to such sociability on a self-made dare. Or perhaps he thought that spending time with people, talking politics and ideas, was expected from a young man of his standing.

She met him on the opening night of The Go-Between , when she sat down in the empty seat next to him, a stranger. They were both on their own. Later he teased her about that, said she must have had her eye on him from the start, but in truth there were no other seats. At that point she often went to the cinema alone, needing an escape from the stress of teaching but not wanting to watch television because it reminded her too much of home. As a girl she had never really gone to movies. Now she discovered they weren’t like TV at all. There was no coyness about them; they showed you everything. She had watched McCabe and Mrs. Miller . She had seen Klute and Shaft . She had seen Carnal Knowledge and come out amazed that such things were shown in public places.

After the final credits for The Go-Between , Fletcher turned to her and asked what she thought of the film. There was a bashfulness about him that made her decide he wasn’t a creep, so she replied that she’d liked the novel better, though she admired Julie Christie’s performance. When he observed that not too many girls went to the movies Friday night on their own, Maggie told him she wasn’t by herself. He was taking her out for coffee, wasn’t he? It was the most daring thing she’d ever said.

The first time he invited her back to his apartment, they didn’t make it to the bedroom. Afterward, lying there still naked on the couch, he asked whether it was all right if he turned on the television, because there was a show he wanted to see about the Pioneer 10 spacecraft that NASA was launching soon. He said it would be the first human-built thing to leave the solar system. Maggie said she didn’t mind and pretended to watch along with him, but her eyes went around the room, taking in the bust of JFK on the bookshelf, the framed poster that showed Earth from space.

“Hey, look,” said Fletcher after a time, and she glanced back to the TV screen. They were showing the golden plaque the scientists had affixed to the side of the spacecraft, hoping that one day an alien race would learn about humanity from the information engraved there. It had hieroglyphs detailing the composition of hydrogen and the Earth’s location, and then there was a stark, plain image of a man and woman standing a few feet apart. Neither of them wore any clothes. The man’s hand was raised in greeting, and Maggie tried to imagine being so confident in her nakedness that she could wave at someone like that.

“Maggie, they’re us,” said Fletcher, sounding pleased at the idea. She looked more closely and saw the woman’s hips were as wide as her own, while the long, straight hair was more or less the same. But the man was stockier, more muscular than Fletcher, and he wore no glasses, had no moustache. Although Maggie didn’t say it out loud, the couple wasn’t them at all. It was only her and some man she’d never met.

One morning not long after their discussion about migrant workers, Maggie looks through the mud room window and sees Fletcher walking back from the orchard with a dark-skinned man in a checkered shirt and an orange woollen cap. Crossing the lawn to meet them, she apprehends that the man’s older than they are, maybe thirty-five, with pockmarked cheeks and short hair touched by grey.

“Maggie, this is George Ray Ransom,” says Fletcher. “George Ray works a little way from here, at the Beaudoin farm.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” says George Ray. His voice has a Caribbean lilt and a slightly ironic edge.

“We’re going to steal him away from his employer at the end of the month,” says Fletcher. Turning to George Ray, he adds, “Then you’ll stay with us for the rest of the summer, right?”

George Ray nods his assent. From the studied ease with which Fletcher speaks, she can tell that George Ray has made a good impression on him, and that Fletcher is eager in turn to seem knowledgeable and self-possessed. Of George Ray’s opinion about Fletcher, though, she gains little sense. When she asks him what he thinks about the place, he looks toward the orchard for a long time.

“Needs plenty of work,” he declares. “Three, maybe four seasons before you turn a profit.”

“That’s a conservative estimate,” Fletcher adds quickly. “If we get more people, there’s a lot we can do even before next season.” George Ray says nothing to contradict him, only taps the ground with the heel of his boot as though to dislodge something from the sole.

When she leaves them and re-enters the house, she finds Brid standing in the mud room by the window.

“Handsome devil,” says Brid. “You find out if he’s single?”

That afternoon, Maggie goes for a walk along the gravel road, thinking she might glance next door to see what’s going on there. She has decided the thin girl’s father must own the wrecking yard, and she imagines seeing him out on the lawn with his daughter. She imagines introducing herself, making the girl squirm a bit. It’s a silly fantasy, and Maggie doubts she could pull it off without embarrassing herself. When she reaches the gate for the wrecking yard, she turns toward the mobile home only for a second, trying to be surreptitious.

There’s no one on the lawn, but in the driveway sits a truck that bears a striking resemblance to the one driven by Frank, the gas repairman. Then a man in an undershirt, jeans, and a baseball cap steps out from the building. It takes Maggie a moment to recognize it’s him. From his clothes, and from the unselfconscious way he lets the door slam behind him, she realizes this is his home. Frank is their next-door neighbour. He must be the girl’s father, too. Maggie returns her eyes to the road and hurries back toward the farmhouse.

Once she’s out of view and can relax again, her bewilderment turns to irritation. If the man lives next door, why did it take him over a week to come and fix the gas? Why wouldn’t he introduce himself as their neighbour? Then she remembers: he thinks they’re hippies. He must want nothing to do with them.

Just as she’s about to re-enter the farmhouse, the camper comes up the driveway behind her and Fletcher steps out, back from his trip to the St. Catharines mall. She descends the porch stairs to greet him.

“You’ll never guess who we have for a neighbour,” she says.

“Frank the repairman,” he replies. She can’t believe it. “How did you know?”

“I just saw him pulling out of the lane next door.”

Then Maggie tells him about her encounter with the girls. He nods as if none of it surprises him.

“The daughter must have inherited her manners from the old man,” he says. “I bet he doesn’t know she and her friends are smoking dope, though.”

“You think I should have done something about them?”

“Nah, you did plenty.” She doesn’t know how he can have such certainty, but it’s a comfort. “Let’s get inside,” he says, kissing her on the forehead. He unloads a large cardboard box from the camper. “I want to show you what I bought.”

Fletcher opens it in the living room to reveal a silver television set, the shape of an egg and mounted on a stubby tripod. He says it’s one of the newest models from Japan. Juxtaposed with the room’s worn-out furniture, the television looks like an alien invader. Maggie thinks about asking how he plans to pay for the thing, but she decides not to risk ruining the moment. He calls in Brid and Pauline to see the set too, and they all wait on the couch while he fiddles with the rabbit ears, coaxing ghostly images from static.