an old aunt. It’s from Italy.”
Arthur had never paid any attention to the table. It was handmade and probably a few hundred years old, he realized. And Maggie liked it very much. From his armchair, Arthur looked at the X-legged table as if he had never seen it before. If Maggie liked this—one day he and Maggie would have furniture like this, he promised himself. Nothing with varnish on it, nothing of formica, nothing of chrome! Maggie wanted to leave.
“I’m supposed to be home by eleven,” Maggie said. “Thank you for the drink, Mrs. Keer.”
“I’ll come with you,” Arthur said.
“You’ll just have to walk back!”
“And so what?”
Arthur declined Norma’s invitation to come back later if he wished. He wanted to be free to stay with Maggie, because he couldn’t predict her: She might want to go to the quarry tonight. But she drove toward her house.
“What time are you taking off tomorrow—you and your mother?” Arthur asked.
“Sometime in the morning. We’re all going to the Sigma Port Hotel where Dad always stays. Then Sunday afternoon I’ll be in the hospital, because they want me to sleep there the night before. All very proper.” Maggie gave a nervous laugh.
He bit his lip. “I’ll be thinking about you every minute—Monday.”
In her driveway, he said a quick good-bye, afraid to linger, and set out at a trot for his house. Maggie had said he could telephone her at the hospital Monday afternoon, the All Saints Hospital. She knew there would be a telephone in her room.
His family was home and in the living room, all except Robbie, whose room light was on and his door open. His father was standing with a glass of beer, wearing one of his new shirts, a boldly striped blue-and-white that hung outside his trousers. It seemed to Arthur that his church activities had inspired him to buy flashier clothing. Very strange.
“Hello, Arthur, where’ve you been?” asked his grandmother.
“Went in to say hello to Norma for a few minutes.”
“And she gave you a couple of drinks I suppose?” He added to Joan, “Round the clock bar next door.”
“Oh, Richard—” said Arthur’s mother. “You had a phone call a few minutes ago, Arthur. “A girl named Vera—no, Veronica. She said there’s a party on at her house and Gus is there. She thought you might like to come over.”
Arthur sucked his lip. “No. But thanks for the message, Mom.”
Robbie entered the living room just as Arthur was about to leave it.
“Here they are, my specials,” Robbie said. He had both fists clenched and extended. “Bought five.”
These were fishhooks with double and triple barbs, which Arthur gazed at with fascination, as did the others. They lay on Robbie’s open palms, and in his enthusiasm, he had stuck his palm with one, and a little blood came, which Robbie dismissed as “nothing.”
“With this one here, a fish can’t get away.” Robbie said, as if it were imperative to catch a fish.
The hooks made Arthur think of the operation Maggie was going to have Monday morning. Hook it and tug it out. But from what he had read, the operation was rather a scraping. He had read about desperate women using coat hangers, however, and dying from it. Arthur did not care to look at the hooks any longer and went off to his room. He felt even slightly faint.
10
T he sunshine early Saturday morning, beautiful as it was, struck Arthur as a curtain rising on a first act of tragedy, or doom. Maggie was going away this morning with her parents. Arthur had to keep telling himself that it was for “the best,” that it was what Maggie wanted.
He was inspired to buy Maggie a present, and the one he had in mind wasn’t a big one: a beige and blue scarf he had seen in a window the day he had visited the pawn shop. The forty- nine-dollar scarf had been out of the question then, but now it wasn’t. He left the house around 10. His mother had been ironing, his father poring over papers in his study. His
Arthur had never paid any attention to the table. It was handmade and probably a few hundred years old, he realized. And Maggie liked it very much. From his armchair, Arthur looked at the X-legged table as if he had never seen it before. If Maggie liked this—one day he and Maggie would have furniture like this, he promised himself. Nothing with varnish on it, nothing of formica, nothing of chrome! Maggie wanted to leave.
“I’m supposed to be home by eleven,” Maggie said. “Thank you for the drink, Mrs. Keer.”
“I’ll come with you,” Arthur said.
“You’ll just have to walk back!”
“And so what?”
Arthur declined Norma’s invitation to come back later if he wished. He wanted to be free to stay with Maggie, because he couldn’t predict her: She might want to go to the quarry tonight. But she drove toward her house.
“What time are you taking off tomorrow—you and your mother?” Arthur asked.
“Sometime in the morning. We’re all going to the Sigma Port Hotel where Dad always stays. Then Sunday afternoon I’ll be in the hospital, because they want me to sleep there the night before. All very proper.” Maggie gave a nervous laugh.
He bit his lip. “I’ll be thinking about you every minute—Monday.”
In her driveway, he said a quick good-bye, afraid to linger, and set out at a trot for his house. Maggie had said he could telephone her at the hospital Monday afternoon, the All Saints Hospital. She knew there would be a telephone in her room.
His family was home and in the living room, all except Robbie, whose room light was on and his door open. His father was standing with a glass of beer, wearing one of his new shirts, a boldly striped blue-and-white that hung outside his trousers. It seemed to Arthur that his church activities had inspired him to buy flashier clothing. Very strange.
“Hello, Arthur, where’ve you been?” asked his grandmother.
“Went in to say hello to Norma for a few minutes.”
“And she gave you a couple of drinks I suppose?” He added to Joan, “Round the clock bar next door.”
“Oh, Richard—” said Arthur’s mother. “You had a phone call a few minutes ago, Arthur. “A girl named Vera—no, Veronica. She said there’s a party on at her house and Gus is there. She thought you might like to come over.”
Arthur sucked his lip. “No. But thanks for the message, Mom.”
Robbie entered the living room just as Arthur was about to leave it.
“Here they are, my specials,” Robbie said. He had both fists clenched and extended. “Bought five.”
These were fishhooks with double and triple barbs, which Arthur gazed at with fascination, as did the others. They lay on Robbie’s open palms, and in his enthusiasm, he had stuck his palm with one, and a little blood came, which Robbie dismissed as “nothing.”
“With this one here, a fish can’t get away.” Robbie said, as if it were imperative to catch a fish.
The hooks made Arthur think of the operation Maggie was going to have Monday morning. Hook it and tug it out. But from what he had read, the operation was rather a scraping. He had read about desperate women using coat hangers, however, and dying from it. Arthur did not care to look at the hooks any longer and went off to his room. He felt even slightly faint.
10
T he sunshine early Saturday morning, beautiful as it was, struck Arthur as a curtain rising on a first act of tragedy, or doom. Maggie was going away this morning with her parents. Arthur had to keep telling himself that it was for “the best,” that it was what Maggie wanted.
He was inspired to buy Maggie a present, and the one he had in mind wasn’t a big one: a beige and blue scarf he had seen in a window the day he had visited the pawn shop. The forty- nine-dollar scarf had been out of the question then, but now it wasn’t. He left the house around 10. His mother had been ironing, his father poring over papers in his study. His
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