Part 46 (2/2)

”Is it far?”

”It took us only fifteen minutes. We came over from New Roch.e.l.le in this very small launch my father hired. You know New Roch.e.l.le?”

”I was there once,” I a.s.serted without grace.

”Well, you know Polygon's Boat Yard? It's right off Echo Bay. That's where we got this launch. It's named The Polygon, after Polygon. We just about all fit. It's really pretty small for a launch. You can't squeeze everything into a purse, but you can squeeze a Purse into anything. That's a joke my mother's always saying about us. Polygon's man is coming back for us in a couple of days. We've been here practically a whole week. He's a j.a.panese man, but Polygon's a Greek. Did you ever see him? Polygon? He's very fat, that's why I ask. When we first saw him my mother said he'd had all his angles filed off, but then he wanted to charge us a whole lot and she said he knew them all just the same. Then Polygon said he had to charge us so much because he charges per pa.s.senger, but my father said with nine of us it wasn't fair, he should charge us just for the launch and the j.a.panese man to run it. Then my mother said it was injustice for Polygon to fill his purse by filling The Polygon with Purses, because you could put a Purse in a Polygon and still make a profit, but if you put a polygon in a purse it would stay just as flat as before. So then Polygon laughed and said lady that's Greek to me. And then my mother said well, Polygon has a point, several points in fact, you can't deny that if you put Mr. Polygon in a purse it would turn out nice and round after all, points or no points. Then the j.a.panese man said lady don't try to bargain with Greeks. Then my father paid.”

I observed that he was panting slightly.

I asked, ”You mean he paid per Purse?”

”He had to. Did you ever read The Odyssey? Greeks are very hard. You know my mother has this sort of riddle she invented. 'If the money in parsimony can be seen it won't be perceived' is how it goes but it isn't wonderful until you hear how we spell the last word,” and he recited aloud capital letters and hyphens several times over until I had captured understanding. ”You see how wonderful it is? 'If the money in parsi-money can be seen it won't be Purse-sieved.' Harriet Beecher printed the whole thing on a chart. You see when my mother and father got married they took this vow that they would never spend more than fifty-five cents a pound on any cut of meat. And they never have. The first joke my mother ever said to my father was 'When meat is dear, Purse-severe'”-and very politely and perseveringly he spelled out the joke for me, which, however, I was this time able to seize at once. Mrs. Purse, it seemed, had a great many jokes, but, a.n.a.lyzed according to their dominant principle, they could be reduced to a single crystalline substance, what some would call an article of faith-she believed she had married a man with a comical name; and, further, she believed this placed her under a certain obligation to the muse, whom she unflaggingly Purse-secuted. But this I was not able to conclude until afterward.

”Your mother,” I said diligently, to please my navigator, ”must write the slogans on buses,” and dipped a forefinger over the side to feel the current.

”Oh no, my father wouldn't let her,” he told me gravely, ”he says never deface anything, especially library books. He was really pretty bothered when Mr. Tilbeck explained how he used up the beds.”

”The beds?” I said.

”Well, he sleeps in the kitchen, on a green sofa with little French people doing these minuets all over it in the embroidery. Mr. Tilbeck likes to have a roof over his head. He said that to my mother. That's why he stays in the house even though nothing works in it. The stoves don't work and the faucets don't work and the electricity doesn't work. Nothing works in the whole house. That's how come there aren't any beds. The radiators don't work either.”

”I don't see the connection,” I said.

”Mr. Tilbeck chopped them up for the fireplace last winter. All the beds in the house.”

”Oh,” I said.

”There's plenty of other furniture upstairs though. Only there's this very unusual sort of purple mold growing over most of it. In the kitchen there's this tremendous old refrigerator that doesn't work and it's full of purple mold. Harriet Beecher and Al and Foxy all climbed in to see if they would fit but Mr. Tilbeck said they might die in there if the door closed on them. So they got out. He's very nice to children, you know.”

”Who's Harriet Beecher?”

”My sister. We say Harriet Beecher for short. Her whole name is Harriet Beecher Stowe Purse. When my mother wants her to keep quiet she says 'Harriet Beecher, Stowe your tongue in its Purse.' That's because Harriet Beecher is an unusually talkative girl.”

”The price of being a Purse,” I noted. ”Extravagance of language. Money talks.”

He appeared to appreciate this, though not much. ”Well, I'm quite extravagant that way myself on occasion. Basically that's the reason I'm the one who turned out to be the family black sheep. They thought Foxy was going to be, but now I guess I'm the one for sure.”

”But didn't you just say you're going to be a minister?”

”I said I'm going to be a minister D.V.”

”Oh I see. Your mother disapproves of a Purse with initials on it.”

”She disapproves of a minister,” he said gloomily, ”because my father does. He says it's nothing but self-a.s.sertion. Our meeting doesn't have a minister. We just have this quiet and you can say things if you feel the spirit but I want to be a real pastor with a flock and everything and a pulpit and these very long sermons I like to make up. So that's how come I'm the black sheep.”

”In this case the black shepherd,” I observed. ”What was Foxy's offense?”

”Self-a.s.sertion, same as me.”

”Another minister?”

”Not Foxy,” he said scornfully. ”Foxy's against ministers. You see he thought he ought to act exactly like the person he was named for, or what was the use of his being named for that person, and he said he had to wear this black coat without a collar and this big black flat hat and everything, and say thee to everybody, to be true to himself. But my father said it was all just wilful self-a.s.sertion, and the reason they named him after George Fox in the first place was so he'd be courageous within but meek of mien and very plain and not go make a circus of himself everywhere. And Foxy said well Throw's worse, he wants to put an altar in the meeting and be a bishop and make people cough up their sins to him, and my father said well at least Throw doesn't put thee in his English compositions and get D in grammar.”

”You're Throw?” I inquired.

”Henry David Th.o.r.eau Purse,” he said grandly, ”and Dee's Mohandas K. Gandhi, and Al's Bronson Alcott, and Manny's Walt Whitman, and Sonny's Ralph Waldo Emerson. We're all named after someone great. It was my father's idea. At first my mother thought it was pretty shocking. She even told my father it might be self-a.s.sertion and maybe even self-praise not to call one's children just John and Mary and Susan and plain names like that. But my father said it wasn't for self-a.s.sertion, it was for inspiration. And then my mother's whole face lit up and she said, 'Yes, that is a good thought, because you certainly can't make a silk Purse out of a sow's ear,' and so they did it.”

”It's a remarkable story,” I admitted. ”I've never known any Quakers before.”

”That's just what Mr. Tilbeck said. When he asked us to come and stay with him he said he wanted to be able to tell himself just once that he'd tented a Friend in need.”

I watched the oars rise and mused in a corrective spirit and finally muttered ”Tended.”

”Oh no, tented, that's why my mother laughed so much. She laughed very much at that. It's a joke. You see Quakers are really called Friends.”

”I know that. I read it in the Times,” I said.

He devolved on me a wronged look. ”It's not a very good joke. The real reason she laughed,” and I took this as I was meant to, for a rebuke, ”is that my father says always respond adequately to your host as long as a principle isn't being violated. You know all those old tents he has?”

”Who has?”

”Mr. Tilbeck. He dragged them out when we came and slammed the dust and plenty of caked mud out of them and put them up and now we sleep in them. He put them up right near this terrific sort of spring that comes right out of these real woods back of the house. It's terrifically sanitary. We brought our own soap. You wouldn't expect that primitive living could be so sanitary. My father says it's very good preparation for Pakistan.”

”Oh,” I said, enlightened, ”tented a Friend. Yes. Did your mother top that one? It would be a Big Top, of course,” I offered blandly.

He rewarded this sally into Mrs. Purse's inmost pouch with the stern avoiding gaze of an archbishop about to reprimand a poacher on ecclesiastical precincts; he missed a stroke of the oar, clapping wood on wood-the hull gave out a blank sound with no overtone-and for a moment we weaved without direction. ”I guess she did,” he informed me, and I thought he was patronizing me until I heard his reply, which vindicated his manner and humbled my own. ”She said 'If you'll permit me to coin a phrase, Mr. Tilbeck, rely on it that you will always have a Friend in a Purse.' Then you know what Mr. Tilbeck said to that?”

”Bravo?” I asked.

”What?”

”He said bravo?” I ventured again. ”I would have said bravo.”

”No, no, he made a joke. He got the hang of it. Eventually everyone does. He said 'For a coin like that, go to a Purse.' That's not bad, you know.”

”For a beginner,” I agreed, ”it's not bad. It didn't violate any principle? I suppose your mother responded adequately?”

”Oh yes, she laughed very much. We all did. If it wasn't for Mr. Tilbeck, who knows where we'd be-he's the one that saved us. My mother said he s.n.a.t.c.hed us right out of the jaws of despair. She said we were all really very lucky to have met a Purse-s.n.a.t.c.her.”

I told myself privately that if they ever hanged Mrs. Purse for her wit, I should like to have charge of the Purse-strings.

”You see,” explained my pilot, ”the people we rented our house to had to move into it a whole week before it was time for us to leave for Pakistan from Idlewild Airport. You know Idlewild Airport? It's right near New York City. We were supposed to stay in this hotel in New York City for this bunch of days in between, before we had to go to Idlewild Airport. My father arranged it all in advance. He wrote for a room reservation and everything. But when we got to this hotel we had the reservation for, the manager came out and looked at us and counted and said we couldn't stay there unless we took two more rooms. Then my father said it wasn't fair and he didn't see why he should be forced to undergo all that extra expense for no good reason. Then the manager said because there are fire laws, and you can't have nine people in one room. Then my father said we certainly didn't intend to set fire to the hotel. Then my mother said it was injustice and not the fire laws at all, because we were a united family and the manager was just trying to divide one Purse three ways to get more money. Then the manager made this awful sort of demon's face and said he was very sorry but he was pretty sure he didn't have any extra rooms anyhow so would we please clear the lobby. So then we spent the whole morning going to different hotels and they all treated us the same way. My mother said New York City is very hard on pocketbooks and Purses.”

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