A Singular Man Part 8

"Good morning, Mr. Smith."

"I think two eggs, toast, honey and coffee."

"The juice of some fruit, Mr. Smith."

"Not this morning, thank you. Think there'll be ice today."

"Hard to say Mr. Smith, going to be a white Christmas, sure was a lot a snow last night."

"Skiing, how's that."

"Plenty."

And breakfast on the big maple tray. As Smith snaked up from behind the blankets when the maid was gone. Toast hot in the napkin. Pop on the b.u.t.ter and honey. Live and let live. Pour out the steaming dish of coffee. And the train just pulled out of the junction and Miss Tomson never took a peek or gave a wave. Didn't even want her pay. Just disappeared off to her house party and fun with the flashy makers of her life's laughter. Why do the odious manage so well in this world. And people with principles get trampled and kicked and crushed to the bottom of the pile.

And Smith in galoshes, a parcel tucked under each arm, set off down the road from The Goose Goes Inn, walking in a tire track. By a closed up shack for selling summer vegetables. And another two miles by white fields, to a fork in the road. Where a narrow lane climbed a little hill lined neatly with young trees. And beyond a stone wall the white gabled roof of a house. In die first month I bought it I planted a rare row of saplings along the drive. Carried away by the thought of summer evening strolls under a canopy of leaves. The kids got at them with hatchets. What's left looks all silver now.

Smith gingerly making tracks through the snow, drifts up to the knees. Stone wall with a tall rustic figure and light and sign. Mrs. George Smith. I don't suppose she'll be looking out the window or G.o.d forbid, down the sights of a gun. Always had a horror of living near roads. Now when I come out here I wish I could hear the odd car go by. Catch my breath. They don't see me coming. She's in there combing out her hair. Which is brown. She used to say when I first met her, hey George grab handfuls of it and pull me down on your knee. I obeyed in a stiff mechanical manner because it was all so overt. Yet once she gave me a whole bowl of cherries and they were side by side on the kitchen table and I thought this will be the test, she's always withholding and depriving and I counted the cherries in each bowl and I was stricken when mine had two more than hers. Found all the good things about her in some secret moment.

Up the little path press the bell and the chimes are ringing. No carefree children's foot prints out in the snow. Maybe they're not up. I hear a clatter, and a voice inside.

"It's daddy."

"O.K., it is. Open up the door and let me in."

"Hey daddy, you a snowman out there."

"Please open the door, it's rude to leave someone standing on a doorstep."

"What's the snow, hard or soft."

"Please open the door."

"Please "No."

If you don't live with kids they grow to hate you. If you five with them they hate you more. Not a shred of respect. Left standing on what technically is my own doorstep. Just one careless night, getting carried away, George pull me by the hair down on your knee. Then end up standing stiff with cold and they won't let you in.

"I'm asking you, quite civilly and calmly if it's you Roger, to open up this door."

"No. This isn't Roger."

"Whoever it is, open it."

"No."

"Why won't you open it."

"Because I don't like you."

"Who's speaking in there, is that you, Wilbur."

"Stop calling me boys' names."

"Clarissa."

"Smart. How did you guess."

"What's happened to your voice."

"None of your business."

"I'm asking you for the last time, Clarissa to open up this door. I'm frozen."

"It's not your house."

"It is my house."

"We live in it and that means we own it and that means I can keep this door shut and you out of here if I want. I guess you understand English don't you."

"Call your mother."

"You call her."

"Where have you learned to be so revolting."

"Out of a book."

"Sa.s.sy little b.i.t.c.h."

"And you're a revolting degraded human being."

Smith chose silence. Toes hardening to ice. Can't see through the steamed up gla.s.s. If this goes on any further I'm going to turn on my heel and walk straight back to the hotel, pack and if necessary hitch hike back to town. After a couple of miles ramble through the snow overstraining my heart I have to stand here and take this offense. Can see what open country, summer green fields and shady woods with crystal lakes do for kids. Makes them into savages. Ah, a sound of authority.

"Just a moment George, it's bolted with half a dozen locks. Now get, Clarissa."

"Thanks. I'm frozen."

"Come in, you're early. Just lost my slipper coming down the stairs. Forgive the chaos. Roger and Wilbur were building a jail on the stairs last night."

"For me I suppose."

"Don't be so sensitive."

''Naturally one wants to feel welcome."

"Well, all right, you're welcome, George. Give me the galoshes. Take a seat and I'll get you a drink. What would you like."

"I had a derobe on the train last night."

"Is that you being objectionable or a drink."

"Just a drink."

"I'll make you one. How do you make it"

"I don't know. I don't know anything."

"Don't bleed all over the furniture now."

"It's two miles walk here."

"I know."

"Well what do you mean don't bleed over die furniture. I've come in an absolutely friendly mood. Ha ha, he he. Just bubbling with good nature."

"So am I, ha ha."

"And get locked out on my own doorstep."

"O.K. George, I know you own the house."

"Just an ordinary decent reception is all I'm asking for. And I get abuse."

"Do you have to take a young child seriously."

"A revolting, degraded human being. No father wants to hear that."

"Well you heard it."

"That's what I'm saying."

"And George, I'm saying don't sit bleeding over it."

"Welcome. Come in George. Sit down George. Attempt a pleasantry."

"A gruesome pun."

"Even so, you ask me if I'm trying to be objectionable."

George leaning back. Stare out at the family unit. Her handfuls of brown hair. I have never asked my kids to treat me like G.o.d. Or for that matter even like some saint. O I've been guilty. Shouted when I should have shut up. Shut up when I should have shouted. I admit those things. Lashed out when the child was only trying to give me a friendly punch in the kidneys. Even got down on my knees with the toys and they tell me get away, you're ruining our game. I said O.K. kids I don't mind, youth wants to play together. Youth is exuberant. All I was trying to do was push one of the little trucks up the ramp and they push me away. Why should I mind. Haven't I been honest with you kids. What's the matter, don't you get enough to eat and the best of everything. I never had toys like this as a kid. They look up at me and say coldly, don't blame us, we weren't your father. And when feelings are hurt. O.K. that's that. But make no mistake, I've got feelings.

"Georgie, boo, Georgie. Boo. Here's a nice little c.o.c.ktail for Georgie. Made it all my ittle self."

"Look Shirl, it's a long way in the snow out here, if you don't want me, say so right now."

"You say that every time you come, George. You're dressing differently George."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be ashamed, George, it's an improvement. How's fat."

"I'm not answering that."

"George she's fat. O.K. how's Matilda."

"She's all right."

"Make nice yummy meals as usual."

"Matilda's quite adequate as a cook."

"Well guess so long as that's all you use her for that's swell."

"For your information I don't fornicate with my servants."

"No one has ever suggested such a thing. Excuse me while I get dressed, the kids are locked in the cellar, you're safe."

"Very thoughtful."

"Knew you'd see it that way."

Smith saw cross the sitting room. Wide maple floors. Great brick oven fireplace and gla.s.s doors to the garden shutting out the winter. Nearly ten years ago. My G.o.d I was young. And today take a frosty journey to suffer a stream of smart remarks. The way I met her first by paying for her ticket on a train and I've been paying for her ever since. When people are fidgeting through a handbag with a conductor hanging over you, naturally you want to be of a.s.sistance. And so for my few pennies of kindness I purchased a nice background of fast back chat, the big pile of brown hair, George get your hands in this, shoe bills, George you know how I need a change since everybody looks at my legs. Then once in the courtship she said she wanted to say something serious, something she knew I would understand and she wouldn't be misunderstood. She said promise you won't mind. I said of course. She said George, I know you speak very educated and I know there are awful things like those who live on one side of the tracks and those who live on the other side of the tracks. Well, George, this is my problem, you know what side of the tracks I'm from and it's not my fault that it's the best side, but what side of the tracks are you from, George. Don't answer if you don't want, George. You're hurt now George, aren't you, that there's a track running between us. It's only sometimes, George, that your grammar and I know you may be only using this sort of usage to be funny, but even your selection of ties and shirts, now please, we both know that there are two sides to every track and matters not a d.a.m.n really except that there are two sides. George what side of the track are you from. And we had that litde talk on a train. Which while we were talking was putting people on their side of the tracks. I was confused and must admit terribly fl.u.s.tered. I had no warning except having a remark of mine remade by her and she'd add, sounds better that way. I never told her what side of the tracks I was from. And I suppose she a.s.sumed it went right through my house. Wow was I deeply shocked by her question and woo hoo, surprised she ever felt it needed an answer. And a big dark hand came out and pushed the sun out of our togetherness. Still I took a fistful of the brown hair. With no mention of tracks when I was taking it.

"Penny for your thoughts, George/'

"OI was just thinking."

"About money."

"No."

"Do you like these things you just slip on. Do you think it suits me, don't you think it has that Sat.u.r.day lunch about it."

Shirl stopping abruptly to shift a hip in front of George, throwing out the cloth just so. This Friday lunch feeling, the snow outside, kids in the cellar, the presence of the kid's father, a half mile of open country in every direction two feet deep in whiteness.

"Hey George stay for dinner and I'll show you something else I got, gorgeous things for feet in gold thread. Hey. Your mind's so far away, George. You take being a father so seriously. Trudge through the snow with your little presents. Get left on the stoop of your own house. Do we cost too much."

"Enough."

"We cost too much."

"You're saying it, not me."

"How's business, George."

"Depressingly full of insult."

"O you poor ruthless thing, let me get something cold to put on your head."