Elizabeth Gilbert - Stern Men

And after it was over, Ruth got drunk. And after she got drunk, she set to dancing. She danced with Kitty Pommeroy and Mrs. Pommeroy and with the groom. She danced with Chucky Strachan, the bartender, and with two handsome young men in tan pants, who, she found out later, were summer people. Summer people at an island wedding! Imagine that! She danced with both of those men a few times, and she got the feeling that she was somehow making fun of them, though she couldn’t later remember what she’d said. She dropped a lot of sarcastic comments that they didn’t seem to get. She even danced with Cal Cooley when he asked her. The band played country music.

“Is the band from here?” she asked Cal, and he said that the musicians had come over on Babe Wishnell’s boat.

“They’re good,” Ruth said. For some reason she was allowing herself to be held very close by Cal Cooley. “I wish I could play an instrument. I’d like to play the fiddle. I can’t even sing. I can’t play anything. I can’t even play a radio. Are you having fun, Cal?”

“I’d have a lot more fun if you’d slide up and down my leg as if it were a greased fire pole.”

Ruth laughed.

“You look good,” he told Ruth. “You should wear pink more often.”

“I should wear pink more often? I’m wearing yellow.”

“I said you should drink more often. I like the way it makes you feel. All soft and yielding.”

“What am I wielding?” Ruth said, but she was only pretending not to understand.

He sniffed her hair. She let him. She could tell he was sniffing her hair, because she could feel his puffs of breath on her scalp. He pressed himself against her leg, and she could feel his erection. She let him do that, too. What the hell, she figured. He ground himself against her. He rocked her slowly. He kept his hands low on her back and pulled her tight against him. She let him do all that. What the hell, she kept thinking. It was Old Cal Cooley, but it felt pretty good. He kissed her on the top of the head, and suddenly it was as if she woke up.

It was Cal Cooley!

“Oh, my God, I have to pee,” Ruth said, and pulled herself away from Cal, which wasn’t easy, because he made a fight to hold her. What was she doing dancing with Cal Cooley? Jesus Christ. She weaved her way out of the tent, out of the yard, and walked down the street until the street ended and the woods began. She stepped behind a tree, lifted her dress, and peed on a flat rock, proudly managing to not splatter her legs. She couldn’t believe she had felt Cal Cooley’s penis, even faintly, pressing through his pants. That was disgusting. She made a pact with herself to do anything she had to do for the rest of her life to forget that she had ever felt Cal Cooley’s penis.

When she walked out of the woods, she took a wrong turn and ended up on a street marked FURNACE STREET. They have street signs here? she wondered. Like the other streets on Courne Haven, this one was unpaved. It was dusk. She passed a small white house with a porch; on the porch was an old woman in a flannel shirt. She was holding a fluffy yellow bird. Ruth peered at the bird and at the woman. She was feeling wobbly on her feet.

“I’m looking for Babe Wishnell’s house,” she said. “Can you tell me where it is? I think I’m lost.”

“I’ve been taking care of my sick husband for years,” the woman said, “and my memory’s not what it ought to be.”

“How’s your husband doing, ma’am?”

“He doesn’t have many good days anymore.”

“Really sick, is he?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.” Ruth scratched a mosquito bite on her ankle. “Do you know where Babe Wishnell’s house is? I’m supposed to be at a wedding there.”

“I think it’s right up the next street. After the greenhouse. Take a left,” the woman said. “It’s been some time since I was there.”

“The greenhouse? You guys have a greenhouse on this island?”

“Oh, I don’t think so, love.”

Ruth was confused for a moment; then she figured it out. “Do you mean that I should take a left after the house that’s painted green?”

“I think you should, yes. But my memory’s not what it ought to be.”

“I think your memory’s just fine.”

“Aren’t you a love? Who’s getting married?”

“Babe Wishnell’s daughter.”

“That little girl?”

“I guess so. Excuse me, ma’am, but is that a duckling you’re holding?”

“This is a chick, love. Oh, it’s awful soft.” The woman grinned at Ruth, and Ruth grinned back.

“Well, then, thank you for your help,” Ruth said. She headed up the street to the house that was green and found her way back to the wedding.

As she stepped into the tent, a hot, dry hand caught her by the arm. She said, “Hey!” It was Cal Cooley.

“Mr. Ellis wants to see you,” he said, and before she could protest, Cal led her over to Mr. Ellis. Ruth had forgotten that he was coming to the wedding, but there he was, sitting in his wheelchair. He grinned up at her, and Ruth, who had been doing a lot of grinning lately, grinned back. Good God, he was thin. He couldn’t have weighed a hundred and ten pounds, and he’d once been a tall, strong man. His head was a bald, yellow globe, burnished as the head of a well-used cane. He had no eyebrows. He wore an ancient black suit with silver buttons. Ruth was astonished, as always, at how poorly he had aged compared with his sister, Miss Vera. Miss Vera liked to affect frailty, but she was perfectly hale. Miss Vera was little, but she was sturdy as firewood. Her brother was a wisp. Ruth couldn’t believe, when she’d seen him earlier in the spring, that he’d made the trip to Fort Niles this year from Concord. And now she could not believe that he had made the trip from Fort Niles to Courne Haven for the wedding. He was ninety-four years old.

“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Ellis,” she said.

“Miss Thomas,” he replied, “you look well. Your hair is very pretty away from your face.” He squinted up at her with his rheumy blue eyes. He was holding her hand. “You will have a seat?”

She took a deep breath and sat down on a wooden folding chair beside him. He let go of her. She wondered whether she smelled of whiskey. One had to sit awfully close to Mr. Ellis so that he could hear and be heard, and she didn’t want her breath to give her away.

“My granddaughter!” he said, and smiled a wide smile that threatened to crack his skin.

“Mr. Ellis.”

“I can’t hear you, Miss Thomas.”

“I said, Hello, Mr. Ellis. Hello, Mr. Ellis”

“You haven’t been to see me in some time.”

“Not since I came over with Senator Simon and Webster Pommeroy.” Ruth had some difficulty enunciating the words Senator and Simon. Mr. Ellis did not seem to notice. “But I’ve been meaning to come by. I’ve been busy. I’ll come up to Ellis House very soon and see you.”

“We shall have a meal.”

“Thank you. That’s very nice, Mr. Ellis.”

“Yes. You’ll come on Thursday. Next Thursday.”

“Thank you. I look forward to it.” Thursday!

“You haven’t told me how you found your visit to Concord.”

“It was lovely, thank you. Thank you for encouraging me to go.”

“Wonderful. I received a letter from my sister saying as much. It might not be amiss for you to write her a note thanking her for her hospitality.”

“I will,” Ruth said, not even wondering how he knew that she hadn’t done so. Mr. Ellis always knew things like that. Of course she would write a note, now that it had been suggested. And when she did write, Mr. Ellis would undoubtedly know of it even before his sister received the note. That was his way: omniscience. Mr. Ellis dug around in a pocket of his suit and came up with a handkerchief. He unfolded it and passed it, with a palsied hand, across his nose. “What do you suppose will come of your mother when my sister passes away?” he asked. “I ask only because Mr. Cooley raised the question the other day.”