Charlie, he explained, ‘People love to pick the bark. Drives me crazy.’
‘I wasn’t going to pick it, just touch it,’ I said, a statement that effectively doubled my discomfort with its wounded tone. I decided the table was the stupidest piece of furniture I had ever laid eyes on.
Charlie handed over the she-bear’s pelt and Mayfield’s face transformed from its expression of apparent indigestion to that of a lad gazing upon his first set of naked breasts. ‘Ah!’ he cried. ‘Aha!’ There were three brass handbells on his desk, identical save for their sizes, small, medium, and large; he rang the smallest bell, which summoned an old hotel crone. She was told the pelt should be hung on the wall behind him and she unfurled it with a snap. But as I had failed to scrape the skin, this sent red globules of fat and blood flying across the room. These clung to the windowpane and Mayfield, scowling distastefully, called for the pelt to be cleaned. The woman rerolled it and left, her eyes on the ground as she walked.
The trappers, meanwhile, were unhappy we had usurped their glory with the she-bear and were, I felt, preparing to exhibit rudeness. To thwart this I introduced Charlie and myself, our full names, which silenced them. Now they will hate us ever more virulently, but secretly, I thought. Charlie found these men amusing, and could not help but make a comment. ‘It seems you four are involved in a kind of contest to become totally circular, is that it?’
Mayfield laughed about this. The trappers looked at one another uneasily. The largest one of the group said, ‘You do not know the customs here.’
‘If I were to linger, do you suppose I too would take on the physical proportions of the buffalo?’
‘Do you plan to linger?’
‘We are only passing through, for now. But I am for getting to know a place intimately, so do not be surprised if you see me on my return trip.’
‘Nothing in this world could surprise me,’ said the trapper.
‘Nothing?’ Charlie wondered, and he winked at me.
Mayfield sent these men away. As the evening came upon us, he called for the room to be lit. This was accomplished by ringing the medium-sized bell, which produced a different tone and thus summoned a different human, a Chinese boy of eleven or twelve; we watched as he flitted from candle to candle with admirable precision and not a half second wasted. Charlie said, ‘He moves like his life depends on it.’
‘It’s not his life, it’s his family’s,’ said Mayfield. ‘He’s saving to bring them over from China. Sister and mother and father—a cripple, from what I gather, though to tell you the truth I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. Little bastard might see his mission through, though, the way he hops to.’ When the young fellow had finished, the room was bathed in light, and he stood before Mayfield, removing his silken hat and bowing. Mayfield clapped and said, ‘Now, you dance, chink!’ With these words the boy began dancing wildly and without grace, looking much like someone forced to stand barefoot over hot coals. It was an ugly thing to witness, and if I had not before this point made my decision about Mayfield, the matter was now settled in my mind. When he clapped a second time the boy dropped to his hands and knees, panting and spent. A handful of coins were tossed to the ground and the boy scooped these into his hat. He stood and bowed, and as he left his footsteps made no noise whatsoever.
The crone soon returned with the red pelt, now scraped and set on a kind of display to stretch it taut, something like a large drum lain on edge. She pulled this cumbersome apparatus across the threshold; I stood to assist her and Mayfield ordered me, a little too curtly I felt, to sit. ‘Let her do it,’ he said. She dragged the display to a far corner where we all might study the strange coloring of the she-bear. The crone wiped her brow and walked heavily from the room.
I
‘I wasn’t going to pick it, just touch it,’ I said, a statement that effectively doubled my discomfort with its wounded tone. I decided the table was the stupidest piece of furniture I had ever laid eyes on.
Charlie handed over the she-bear’s pelt and Mayfield’s face transformed from its expression of apparent indigestion to that of a lad gazing upon his first set of naked breasts. ‘Ah!’ he cried. ‘Aha!’ There were three brass handbells on his desk, identical save for their sizes, small, medium, and large; he rang the smallest bell, which summoned an old hotel crone. She was told the pelt should be hung on the wall behind him and she unfurled it with a snap. But as I had failed to scrape the skin, this sent red globules of fat and blood flying across the room. These clung to the windowpane and Mayfield, scowling distastefully, called for the pelt to be cleaned. The woman rerolled it and left, her eyes on the ground as she walked.
The trappers, meanwhile, were unhappy we had usurped their glory with the she-bear and were, I felt, preparing to exhibit rudeness. To thwart this I introduced Charlie and myself, our full names, which silenced them. Now they will hate us ever more virulently, but secretly, I thought. Charlie found these men amusing, and could not help but make a comment. ‘It seems you four are involved in a kind of contest to become totally circular, is that it?’
Mayfield laughed about this. The trappers looked at one another uneasily. The largest one of the group said, ‘You do not know the customs here.’
‘If I were to linger, do you suppose I too would take on the physical proportions of the buffalo?’
‘Do you plan to linger?’
‘We are only passing through, for now. But I am for getting to know a place intimately, so do not be surprised if you see me on my return trip.’
‘Nothing in this world could surprise me,’ said the trapper.
‘Nothing?’ Charlie wondered, and he winked at me.
Mayfield sent these men away. As the evening came upon us, he called for the room to be lit. This was accomplished by ringing the medium-sized bell, which produced a different tone and thus summoned a different human, a Chinese boy of eleven or twelve; we watched as he flitted from candle to candle with admirable precision and not a half second wasted. Charlie said, ‘He moves like his life depends on it.’
‘It’s not his life, it’s his family’s,’ said Mayfield. ‘He’s saving to bring them over from China. Sister and mother and father—a cripple, from what I gather, though to tell you the truth I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. Little bastard might see his mission through, though, the way he hops to.’ When the young fellow had finished, the room was bathed in light, and he stood before Mayfield, removing his silken hat and bowing. Mayfield clapped and said, ‘Now, you dance, chink!’ With these words the boy began dancing wildly and without grace, looking much like someone forced to stand barefoot over hot coals. It was an ugly thing to witness, and if I had not before this point made my decision about Mayfield, the matter was now settled in my mind. When he clapped a second time the boy dropped to his hands and knees, panting and spent. A handful of coins were tossed to the ground and the boy scooped these into his hat. He stood and bowed, and as he left his footsteps made no noise whatsoever.
The crone soon returned with the red pelt, now scraped and set on a kind of display to stretch it taut, something like a large drum lain on edge. She pulled this cumbersome apparatus across the threshold; I stood to assist her and Mayfield ordered me, a little too curtly I felt, to sit. ‘Let her do it,’ he said. She dragged the display to a far corner where we all might study the strange coloring of the she-bear. The crone wiped her brow and walked heavily from the room.
I
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