Robert McGill - Once We Had a Country

After that, Brid gives up all pretence of watching television. She asks George Ray about Jamaica, claiming it’s for the sake of intercultural understanding. But when he starts talking about the country, she shows little interest in what he says, seeming more attentive to the way his lips move. Every so often she makes a little hum of encouragement and reaches out to touch his knee. Maggie worries she should be protecting him, but he’s married and a decade older than she is; he must have learned by now how to deal with the Brids of the world. Before his glass is even half empty, Brid refills it, and she glares when she realizes that Maggie has barely had a sip.

“C’mon, sweetie, let your hair down.” With flashing eyes, she reaches over to undo the first button on Maggie’s blouse, then laughs at her own trespass. To George Ray she says, “Don’t you think she should let her hair down?” Brid’s caftan rides high on her legs as she crosses and uncrosses them. Her nails are painted red but nibbled short. Beside her, George Ray leans forward to glance across the couch. Giving Maggie a sad smile, he points out that her hair is already down. Brid laughs as if this is the funniest thing she has ever heard.

She tries to draw them into conversation, at some points putting an arm around both at the same time. George Ray seems no more comfortable than Maggie, but Brid is dogged. Maggie resists an impulse to retire for the night, half curious to see how it will end, unsure whether she’s staying to prevent a seduction or to abet one. Maybe she’s a little jealous.

Through the news she sticks it out, but once Johnny Carson comes on, she declares she’s going to bed. George Ray stands promptly and says the same. Adopting a smile, Brid gives Maggie a long hug and a lingering kiss on the cheek that feels like it leaves lipstick. She’s on her fourth glass of wine.

“Are you sure?” she says. “You can’t stay a bit longer?” She offers to walk George Ray to the barracks and grows testy when he demurs. “I’ll come out anyway. I need a little fresh air.”

Maggie can’t help herself. “Jeez, Brid, give the guy a break.” She tries to make it sound humorous, but Brid’s eyes narrow.

“Relax, Auntie Maggs,” she replies. “You’ve got one back in Boston.”

Upstairs, Maggie is sleepless. Too hot; she opens the window and shivers at the chilly air that blows in. Her mind slips over to the barracks, to George Ray’s broad shoulders and Brid’s freckled breasts. Maggie couldn’t stay here with the two of them like that. The bed is lumpy, enormous. Finally she goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Before the water has boiled, there’s the distant slam of the barracks door and Brid’s voice shouting.

“Fine, you fucking prude!”

Silence follows, then a muttering that grows closer. When Brid appears in the mud room, she’s talking to herself, unaware of Maggie’s presence. “A bitch,” she’s saying. “God, I’m such a bitch.”

Maggie wants to hide under the table before Brid’s eyes fall on her. Once they do, she waits for the assault to begin, for all the woman’s spite to be heaped on her, but Brid looks through her as if she isn’t there.

“Don’t worry,” says Brid in a wavering voice. “Everything’s going to be fine.” Maggie stands and moves toward her. “What about Pauline?” says Brid. “She didn’t wake up, did she?”

Maggie tells her it’s all right, but she might as well not be speaking, because Brid rushes upstairs to her daughter’s room. A few minutes later, Maggie goes to peek in through the door and sees both of them asleep, sharing the bed peacefully with their two golden heads of hair dimly radiant across the pillows.

After Maggie wakes up, she stays in bed awhile, listening to the silent house, wondering how long she could remain here before someone comes to check on her. All morning, probably. Brid and Pauline must have gone out; maybe they’ve left for good. Eventually she hears the telephone ring and makes her way downstairs to answer, thinking it could be Fletcher. It’s a woman’s voice on the other end, though, telling her in broken English that she has a collect call. The operator says it’s from Wale. With a sense of trepidation, Maggie accepts the charges and hears a click. The line gains an underlying flow of static.

“Wale?” she says. “Where are you?”

The voice through the static is murky and phantasmal, but it’s him.

“Bangkok,” he replies.

“Bangkok?” In the background is the sound of car traffic. Jesus. He really is going to Laos. “I can’t hear you very well. What time is it there?”

“Dunno. Dark. Dark o’clock. Half past dark.”

He sounds wholly drunk. Maggie glances toward the hall, worried that Brid will come in and find out who’s on the line.

“You want me to get Brid?” she asks.

“No, honey, it’s you I want.” The way he says it makes her flush. There’s a burst of crackling before the line clears. “I’ve been dreaming about you,” he says, but she doesn’t want to hear about his dreams. Nervously, she looks up again to see if anyone is there.

“You aren’t really in Thailand. You’re putting me on, right?”

With slurring words, he affirms he’s really and truly in that country, and she asks him what the hell he’s doing there.

“Going to Laos to check on your dad.” At this response her stomach knots up further. It’s impossible. No, it’s not. Wale’s insane. He’s gone halfway around the world to prove it, and to make her crazy too. He waits on the line as if expecting more questions, but she refuses to play the game.

“You ran out on us,” she says.

“Ran out? I’m trying to show you I’m not so heartless after all.”

She isn’t going to be made responsible for his lunacy. “You’re not over there to impress me.”

“You think I’m a goon. A thug who shoots little kids.”

“I don’t think that.” In fact she does, but only because he’s made himself out to be one.

“You’re right, I’m a piece of shit. Some of the things I’ve done, I know I can’t make up for them.”

“Wale—”

“You have to believe me—your dad, if I’d seen anything coming …”

“Wale, would you listen to me? There’s nothing wrong. If you’d stayed here, you’d know. I heard from my grandmother, he’s fine, he just went over to a village—”

“You talked with him? You heard from him?”

“I told you, I got a call from Gran—”

“But you didn’t talk with him?” The way Wale says it makes all her relief fall away. She wants to hang up the phone and call Gran. “If I thought it was safe, I’d have asked you to come with me. I miss you, Maggie. It’s been a long time since I missed somebody.”

He’s interrupted by a voice shouting what sounds like abuse in another language. She says his name, but he doesn’t answer. Then suddenly he’s back and speaking in her ear.

“I’m off my face, aren’t I? The beer here is piss.” There’s the clonk of an empty bottle dropped onto pavement. “It’s so goddamn lonely. You know?” On the other end, a car passes playing a Simon and Garfunkel song. “Maggie, I wanted to tell you something. What was it—”

“You were dreaming about me,” she says feebly.

“No, something else.” There’s a noise like a long belch, then another voice in the background. “Shit, my ride’s here. I’m flying to Long Chieng in a couple of hours.”

“Wait, let me get Brid—” she says, but once she finishes speaking, she realizes he’s already gone. Out of the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of movement: Brid and Pauline coming in through the mud room door.

“Who was that?” asks Brid.

“Wrong number,” Maggie says, and she hangs up the phone.