Part 9 (1/2)
Well, maybe; no one's come out and put the question to him
He has the self-confidence of a man who expects others to applaud hishis tihtly more than two million tiny stone pieces to set in place In the exact center, buried under the foundation, is a tirandchildren in Ottawa for contributions So small, he said, and representative of the tied by her father, sent a two-penny postage sta on it Warren sent a pressed ht, sent a headline cut from the local newspaper: PRINCESS ELIZABETH TO MARRY PRINCE PHILIP IN NOVEMBER
These items-stamp, leaf, and paper banner-Cuyler Goodwill has placed in a sealed metal box Maria, his second wife, has contributed an envelope of fennel seeds Goodwill himself, that eccentric old fool, has added, at the last ed to his first wife
The ring is of yellow gold with a fine raved inside, as well as the initials of the bride and groo, which was four dollars and twenty-five cents Eighteen karat gold too, ordered through the Eaton's catalogue He re wife died in childbirth two years later, he agonized about whether or not to re before burial; as the common practice? What did people do? He had no idea
It was the doctor's wife, a Mrs Spears, who urged hi as a keepsake; she also helped hi a little lard on his dead wife's finger, then easing it off Mrs Spears' voice as she performed this act had been most tender ”Keep it, Mr Goodwill,” she said, her face ehter when she grows up”
And this is what he has always intended to do, to present it to his dear child,a ceremony of it, a moment of illumination in which he would for once join the separate threads of his life and declare the richness of his blessings
But he feels, recently, that he has lost his way in life Old age has made him clu the scene to actuality or even, of late, to iine it What words would he find to invest the hter offer in return? Thank you would not do Gratitude itself would not do Speech and gesture would not suffice, not in the thin ether of the world he now inhabits Far less troubling to bury this treasure beneath a weight of stone-his pyramid, dense, heavy, complex, full of secrets, a sort of machine
His state of surrender
Mrs Flett's Old School Friend
Fraidy Hoyt and Daisy Goodwill Flett went to school together back in Indiana They sat on the Goodwills' front porch in Bloos of Jay's Potato Chips They went to college together too, and pledged the same sorority, Alpha Zeta, and ever since that time they've stayed in touch That is, they've corresponded three or four times a year, and sent each other jokey presents on their birthdays and at Christmas They haven't actually seen each other for years, but, finally, in August of 1947, Fraidy got herself on a train and went up to Ottawa for a week's visit
While she was there she thought: here is Daisy Goodith a distinguished husband and a large well-ot all that any of us ever wanted
Whereas I've , no husband, no kids, no hoarden Oh, Daisy's garden! That garden's so and spend all day if she likes tri beauty into the world While I' out on this business of being a woht: oh, poor Daisy My God, she's gone fat And respectable Although who could be respectable going around in one of those Godawful dirndl skirts-should I say so? Drop a little hint? Her cuticles too I don't think she's read a book in ten years And, Jesus, just look at this guest roo Four ee-dee proud of, no one has crocheted bedspreads anyit I'd like to unravel the whole da, and I could too, one little pull These kids are drivingup like little puppets for the return of the greaton a little play every single hypocritical day of their lives
And: what can I say to her? What's left to say? I see you're still breathing, Daisy I see you're still dusting that nose of yours with Woodbury Face Powder I observe your husband is always going off to ”s” in Toronto or Montreal, and I wonder if you have any notion of what happens to him in those places I notice you continue to wake up in theI believe your life is still going along, it's still happening to you, isn't it? Well, well
Mrs Flett's Intimate Relations with her Husband Deeply, fervently, sincerely desiring to be a good wife andDeeply, fervently, sincerely desiring to be a good wife and
Also McCall's and The Canadian Home Companion And every once in a while, between the cosmetic advertisements and the recipe columns, she comes across articles about ways a woman can please her husband in bed Often, too, there are letters fro special advice for particular sexual problems One of them wrote recently, ”My husband alants to have our cuddly ue Unfortunately I do the wash on Mondays and a to be an enthusiastic partner” The advice given was short and to the point: ”Wash on Tuesdays” Which hed out loud, in fact, and wished her friend Fraidy was here to hear her laugh Another wo physical drive, and expects intiht Is this nor as noroes on in the bedroom of married people is sacred” This advice struck Mrs
Flett as less than satisfactory; as a matter of fact, she isn't entirely sure as ht” would be a lot to put up with
Nevertheless she always prepares herself, just in case-her diaphragh she is repelled by its yellow look of decay and the cold, sick-se
It's a bother, and nine ti that has to be put up with ”Try to make your husband believe that you are always ready for his entreaties, even though his actual love may be sporadic and unpredictable”
Unpredictable, yes, although there are two particular times when Mrs Flett can be absolutely certain of an episode of ardor: before her husband goes out of town (as a sort of vaccination, she soht, a Wednesday inon the late train after a few days spent in Winnipeg The house is orderly, the children asleep, and she herself is bathed, powdered, diaphrag of pajamas has driven many a man to seek affection elsewhere”
She wonders what his mood will be
Lately he has been depressed Not that he's said anything, but she can feel it His sixty-fifth birthday is approaching; she knows retirement worries him, the empty width of time ahead and hoill cope with it Worse than idleness, though, is the sense of being cut off in the world Lately he has been speaking more frequently of his two brothers in western Canada, and always their na of sorrow Simon in Edmonton, a drunk, has been out of touch for years, and between Barker and his brother Andrew in Saskatchewan a coolness has fallen In the old days Andrerote frequently, usually, to be sure, asking for hand-outs, but the last two years have brought only an occasional brisk note or a holiday greeting
Mrs Flett knows, too, that her husband thinks often about his father in the Orkneys He wonders if he should write and , alh he can't bear to knohat has happened She, too, thinks often about her father-in-law, Magnus Flett, whoure, abandoned by his wife, dis In a way she loves him more tenderly than she loves her husband, Barker What exactly had Magnus Flett done to deserve such punishes at her sense of charity, never quite disappearing from view
Yet now-too late-his son, Barker, pines for reunion
Recently, another of Barker Flett's family ties has been rekindled, the most important of life's ties-that which exists between son andnot for his usual round of agricultural s, but to attend the dedication cerereat glass-domed structure set in the middle of assiniboine Park The benefactor is one Valdi Goodmansen, the well-known millionaire meatpacker and financier (Clarentine Flett, as Barker Flett'sbicycle back in the year 1916, and the rider of the bicycle was Valdi Gooduilt I felt at that time has never lifted,” Mr Goodmansen told Mr Flett over dinner at the Manitoba Club
”One moment of carelessness, and a hu the corner Or if I had been traveling at a e will be withhours, your ainst the foundations of the Royal Bank Building, her head striking the edge of the corner stone If only that stone had been rounded, but, alas, it was sharp as a knife My life has been altered as a result I've prayed to ht long and hard about a suitable monument” (Here he pulled out a handkerchief that was truly snowy, and blew into its starched folds a loud, prideful honk) ”Always, always I came back to the fact that your ht say that she was responsible for bringing flowers to our great city, for s of natural beauty in an inhospitable climate Of course I can never ive testi remorse in the matter of your mother's demise I am only sorry that your wife, I believe her name is Daisy, could not be with us today Of course, I fully understand how difficult it is for her to leave a fa children to travel across the continent, and I understand, too, yes I do, how emotional an experience this would be for her We are bound forever to those who care for us in our early years Their loss cannot be compensated Our ties to the in her bed and awaiting her husband's return, is thinking not so much of Clarentine Flett, her dear adopted Aunt Clarentine, as of her own mother who died minutes after her birth How slender and insubstantial that connection now seems, how almost arbitrary, for what does Mrs Flett possess of her n coin, too worn to decipher, which according to her father had been placed on her own forehead at birth-by whoine, nor for what purpose She has never experienced that everyday taken-for-granted pleasure of touching so veil, no beautiful hand-stitched christening gown, no little keepsake of any kind Once, years ago, her father hadthat would one day be hers, but he has not spoken of it since
Perhaps he has given it to his wife, Maria Or perhaps it has ht blanket and awaiting the return of her husband, a , the loss, in fact, of any connection in the world
Her own children are forgotten for the otten, even his na all over as if struck by a sudden infection
She's had these gusts of grief before The illness she suffers is orphanhood-she recognizes it in the saain-and again-and here she lies, stranded, genderless, ageless, alone
Tears have crept into her eyes and she dabs at the The darkness of the roo times for Mrs Flett, when she feels herself anointed by loneliness, the full weight of it Wonderingly, she thinks back to the ara Falls; her sleeve had brushed the coat sleeve of athat s a neave of panic
And yet, within her anxiety, secured there like a gemstone, she carries the cool and curious power of occasionally being able to see the world vividly Clarity bursts upon her, a spray of little stars She understands this, and thinks of it as one of the tricks of consciousness; there is so almost luxurious about it The narrative h She may be crowded out of her own life-she knows this for a fact and has always known it-but she possesses, as a co ability to draft alternate versions She feels, for instance, the force of her children's unruly secrecies, of her father's cluled contempt and envy of Fraidy Hoyt (who has not yet written soher suht Mrs Flett is even touched by a fila her to her dead mother, Mercy Stone Goodwill; this htly drawn, no ht which has no assigned place in memory, and which, curiously, suddenly, reverses itself to reveal a flash of distortion-the notion that Mrs Flett has given birth to her mother, and not the other way around
And as for Mrs Flett's husband-well, what of her husband?
Her husband will be ho in his usual way taken a taxi from the train station He will re them neatly over the back of the chair
These trousers carry an odor of sanctity, as well as a pattern of symmetrical whisker-like creases across the front Then his tie, next his shi+rt and underwear Then, unaware of her tears wetting the blanket binding and the depth of her loneliness this Septe careful not to put too entleman always supports himself on his elbows”) His eyes will be shut, and his warm penis will be produced and directed inside her, and then there will be a few o while Mrs Flett tries, as through a helix of mixed print and distraction, to remember exactly as advised in the latest issue of McCall's, so a rise in ardor; that was it-ardor and surrender expressed si of the body; but hoas that possible?
The brain, heart, and pelvis of Mrs Flett attempt to deal with this contradiction
The debris of her nancies, vacations,out the drain of her relationshi+p with her partner in e, the male God of her childhood It seems to her that these years have calcified into a firain be surprised It has beco script has promised her? Isn't this what created and now sustains her love for Barker, the protection frohs, her own buttocks-like soft fruit spreading out beneath her on the firm mattress-don't they lend a certain credence? House plants, after all, thrive in a vacuuraphy and climate-why shouldn't she?
It's quite likely, with Barker Flett still rocking back and forth above her, that her thoughts will drift to alast summer, The Best Years of Our Lives, a post-war epic in which a soldier returns from battle with crude hooks where his hands had once been