grandmother had taken his mother’s car to do an errand. His grandmother could stay another week, which pleased Arthur. He cycled toward the street of the pawn shop, then to the street in which was the rather expensive shop for women’s accessories. Arthur bought the scarf. It was of heavy silk. The beige and dark blue, set in an irregular diamond-shaped pattern, were the colors of Maggie’s bedroom, the colors of her curtains, anyway, and he supposed that Maggie liked them. The salesgirl put the scarf into a pretty, flat square box. Then Arthur, with his spirits lifted a little, rode on his bike to the Chalmerston public library to change books and browse in the science shelves for an hour or so.
It was nearly noon when he got home. His grandmother was back, and Arthur’s mother told him that she and his grandmother were going to make curtains for the whole house.
“Isn’t that nice?” His mother turned with a large spoon in her hand to look at Arthur. She was making an orange cake, she had told Arthur.
“Sounds great—curtains.”
Arthur went to his room and put the box for Maggie in his second drawer, which contained folded shirts. He felt unhappy, vague about everything. Even Maggie. Would the operation somehow change her and turn her against him—next week, by Tuesday? Was his father going to put up the nearly nine thousand dollars for Columbia or not? Arthur wanted very much to speak with his mother about the Columbia money now, to find out his father’s attitude through her, if he could, but his grandmother was in the house and might overhear, and Arthur did not want to appear to be hinting for money from his grandmother. His father, at best, would make him aware of every dollar, every hundred dollars that college would cost, even though his father was now poking ten-dollar bills into the limp purple bag that they passed around in church, Arthur had noticed, instead of his former couple of singles. Columbia might be a dream. And so might Maggie, he realized.
He didn’t want to see or speak to anybody in the kitchen, his mother, grandmother, and now Robbie, back from fishing, so he left quietly by the front door and no one noticed. It was near enough to 1 to go to Shoe Repair.
That afternoon, Gus Warylsky came into the shop with a pair of shoes that needed new heels.
“Good party last night?” Arthur asked.
“Yeah. Veronica’s birthday.—Greg wrecked his car afterwards. Did you hear?”
“Where would I’ve heard?” Not the first car Greg had smashed up, Arthur knew. “Hurt anybody?”
“Broke his own nose. The girl with him was okay, but the car’s a write-off. Dumb show-off. That guy ought to have his licence taken away for a year .”
Arthur didn’t comment. Greg’s father had political influence in the town, and Greg would be driving again as soon as he got another car.
“Might buy some shoes, too,” Gus said, looking around.
“What kind you want for them big feet?—What size do you take, twelve? Fourteen maybe?”
“Ten and a half. I was thinking of something—for dress,” Gus said a bit diffidently.
“Wedding? Funeral maybe? Try this section, the ones on the floor. See you in a minute, Gus.”
A man with two small children was waiting for service.
A few minutes later, Arthur found just the kind of shoes that Gus had had in mind, shiny black leather that kept its shine but was not exactly patent leather and didn’t crack either, and with a buckle at the side.
“Wow, are these comfortable!” Gus said. “They don’t look so comfortable but they feel like house-shoes. How much?”
“Eight ninety-five.”
“It’s a deal.” Gus was admiring himself in the full-length mirror. “Snazzy,” he commented. Gus wore a limp white shirt, black cotton trousers and a leather belt that looked like a hand- me-down from a grandfather. He put his old shoes back on and gave Arthur a five-dollar bill and some singles. “Coming to the barbecue tonight?”
“Whose
It was nearly noon when he got home. His grandmother was back, and Arthur’s mother told him that she and his grandmother were going to make curtains for the whole house.
“Isn’t that nice?” His mother turned with a large spoon in her hand to look at Arthur. She was making an orange cake, she had told Arthur.
“Sounds great—curtains.”
Arthur went to his room and put the box for Maggie in his second drawer, which contained folded shirts. He felt unhappy, vague about everything. Even Maggie. Would the operation somehow change her and turn her against him—next week, by Tuesday? Was his father going to put up the nearly nine thousand dollars for Columbia or not? Arthur wanted very much to speak with his mother about the Columbia money now, to find out his father’s attitude through her, if he could, but his grandmother was in the house and might overhear, and Arthur did not want to appear to be hinting for money from his grandmother. His father, at best, would make him aware of every dollar, every hundred dollars that college would cost, even though his father was now poking ten-dollar bills into the limp purple bag that they passed around in church, Arthur had noticed, instead of his former couple of singles. Columbia might be a dream. And so might Maggie, he realized.
He didn’t want to see or speak to anybody in the kitchen, his mother, grandmother, and now Robbie, back from fishing, so he left quietly by the front door and no one noticed. It was near enough to 1 to go to Shoe Repair.
That afternoon, Gus Warylsky came into the shop with a pair of shoes that needed new heels.
“Good party last night?” Arthur asked.
“Yeah. Veronica’s birthday.—Greg wrecked his car afterwards. Did you hear?”
“Where would I’ve heard?” Not the first car Greg had smashed up, Arthur knew. “Hurt anybody?”
“Broke his own nose. The girl with him was okay, but the car’s a write-off. Dumb show-off. That guy ought to have his licence taken away for a year .”
Arthur didn’t comment. Greg’s father had political influence in the town, and Greg would be driving again as soon as he got another car.
“Might buy some shoes, too,” Gus said, looking around.
“What kind you want for them big feet?—What size do you take, twelve? Fourteen maybe?”
“Ten and a half. I was thinking of something—for dress,” Gus said a bit diffidently.
“Wedding? Funeral maybe? Try this section, the ones on the floor. See you in a minute, Gus.”
A man with two small children was waiting for service.
A few minutes later, Arthur found just the kind of shoes that Gus had had in mind, shiny black leather that kept its shine but was not exactly patent leather and didn’t crack either, and with a buckle at the side.
“Wow, are these comfortable!” Gus said. “They don’t look so comfortable but they feel like house-shoes. How much?”
“Eight ninety-five.”
“It’s a deal.” Gus was admiring himself in the full-length mirror. “Snazzy,” he commented. Gus wore a limp white shirt, black cotton trousers and a leather belt that looked like a hand- me-down from a grandfather. He put his old shoes back on and gave Arthur a five-dollar bill and some singles. “Coming to the barbecue tonight?”
“Whose
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