Ethan Canin - A Doubter's Almanac

—

LATER THAT NIGHT, at the cabin, I was jostled awake.

“Did you see?” he rasped.

“What?” I sat up in my parents’ bed: 3:58 a.m. I’d given him the shot an hour ago. “What are you doing up here, Dad?”

“He’s here.”

“Who is?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t. Jesus, Dad — you climbed up here in the dark?”

“You forgot to lock the door.”

“We always leave it unlocked.”

He leaned down. “Well, he got in.”

“Who, Dad?”

“Erdős.”

“What?” I rose and wrapped him in my blanket. “Let’s get you back down to bed. Here, come on now. I’ll help.”

“He won’t leave.”

“Let’s go take care of him together then. Come on, Dad. He’s a good guy.”

“He took the bed, Hans. He won’t leave.” Dad was shivering. “You go tell him. I’m staying up here. You go down and tell him no .”

—

BUT THE NEXT morning, he was fine again. He slept late, and by the time he woke, he seemed to have forgotten whatever it was. At breakfast, he was cheerful even, and after an egg and bacon, he got up and walked to the window, where he leaned down to look out at Emmy and Niels playing along the shore and said, “How about we take the kids up to the creek?”

“You mean walk up there, Dad? It might be a little far.”

He turned. “For the kids, you mean?”

I glanced at Audra.

It was a beautiful morning. First he led us down the cove to the turn. Then he picked up a branch and turned north into the meadow. I expected the tall grass to tire him, but it didn’t. It was higher than his knees, but he just pushed right through it, taking his time and using the branch as a walking stick, never missing a step. When we reached the rutted path at the top, Audra slid in next to him and hooked her arm through the crook of his cast. I saw him puff up like a bird.

By the time we reached the paved part of the road, the sun was trickling through the leaves, and the lake was sparkling. Dad was walking with a straight back. I was at the rear, and I watched him talking to Audra, saying things that made her nod or shake her head or sometimes laugh. Her arm was still in his. Behind them, Niels ran from one side of the path to the other, picking things up to put in his pockets. Emmy followed at a distance.

We made it all the way to the bridge, where he stopped finally and looked out over the slowly moving water. It puckered here and there where the fish were rising. Along the edge, the shore grasses rustled. In the distance, a tiny, dark triangle appeared and began drifting downstream toward us. As it neared, Dad said, “What do you suppose it is, kids?”

“A beaver,” said Emmy.

It might have been the first thing she’d said to him since she’d arrived.

Dad smiled. “That’s right, young lady. How’d you know?”

But she didn’t answer, just shrugged and turned to look back over the creek.

—

“HE LIKES HAVING you here,” I said.

“He just loves women,” answered Audra. She set her makeup bag on the counter and leaned down before the hotel’s tiny mirror. “I happen to be the youngest legal one in the vicinity.”

“That you are, and that he does. And you’re a beautiful one, too.”

“Well, thank you.” She turned from the mirror. “How do you think the kids are taking it, seeing him like this?”

“I think it might be the only chance they’ll get.”

“That’s what Niels said, too.” She reached for my hand. “Your dad’s trying hard with them, you know. He’s trying very hard to be decent.”

“I know, Aud. And Em can barely look at him.”

“Actually,” she said, “I don’t think Em can keep her eyes off him. Haven’t you noticed? Today, I saw her standing on a stool to watch him out the window.”

“Well, he’s more interesting than the squirrels.”

“She was hiding behind the curtain so he wouldn’t see her. He was on the porch about a foot away.”

“Did he see her?”

“No. He was concentrating. It’s not easy to open a pack of cigarettes with one hand.”

I laughed. “Well, at least she keeps her distance. That might be a good thing, in the long run.”

“Do you think so?”

“I don’t know, actually. I really don’t know what to think.”

“Well, I think she keeps her distance because she’s utterly fascinated by him,” she said. “There’s something so raw about him, Hans. Something so completely raw to the world. I think she recognizes it.”

—

THE NEXT MORNING, Niels came bounding out onto the porch. He opened his fist to Emmy, who hardly looked up from her book; then he came skipping across the floor and opened it to me. “Look what Grandpa made me!” He brought his hand to his mouth and let out a trill. “It works!”

“Apparently so,” said Emmy.

“Look, Em! It’s got two frequencies!”

“Dork.”

“He made two different-sized holes!”

“I’m reading.”

When he blew it near her ear, she raised a foot to kick him; but he tore back through the door and down the path. The screen banged shut, and he let out another two-toned blast.

I was watching Emmy. After a time, I said, “What book do you have there, sweetie?”

“Swiss Family Robinson.”

“I see.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You can read what you want, Em. I don’t care.”

“Thanks.”

She turned a page.

“Did your mother say something?”

“Shhh!”

“Well, it’s okay, you know. As far as I’m concerned, you can read whatever you want.”

She didn’t look up. I leaned forward. It was indeed what I thought: Zygmund and Fefferman’s Trigonometric Series .

“You know,” I said, “when I was a kid, Aunt Paulie used to think that Grandpa paid more attention to me than her.”

She set down the book. “Aunt Paulie used to think that?”

“Yes, she did. I don’t happen to believe it myself. I think he paid his own kind of attention to both of us. But that’s how your aunt saw it. I wonder if she mentioned anything to you.”

She screwed up her face. “It’s weird that Aunt Paulie was your sister.”

“She still is my sister, Ems.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Aunt Paulie used to be a lot like you, you know. She was great in math.”

“I’m not great in math.”

“Excuse me?”

“Grandpa’s better.”

“Oh, I see.” I glanced into the house, where Dad was asleep on the living-room sofa, his head thrown back against the cushions. “You could do anything in the world that you wanted to, you know. Mathematical or otherwise.”

“Okay, Dad.” She picked up the book.

“Your grandfather loves you, Em.”

“Thanks.”

“Things were different when he was young.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I reached out and laid my hand over her foot. “He’ll whittle one for you, too, Em. You know that, right?”

“You’re so weird.”

“He will. He’ll make one for each of you. I’ll make sure he does.”

She turned a page. A few moments later, without looking up, she reached into her side pocket and held her hand out in my direction. “He already gave it to me,” she said.

—

“MAY I ASK you something, Dr. Gandapur?”

“Of course.”

The two of us were on the dock, waiting for another sunset. Through the broken clouds, the flaming disk was dulling into a copper penny before it dropped into the slot.

“I understand,” I said, “that no test is perfect. I know all about specificity and sensitivity. I know all about outcome and probability.”

“I’m sure there are few in the world who know it as well,” he replied — then added, “Except, perhaps, your father.”