Read Online A Christmas Blizzard by Garrison Keillor - Free Book Online
Authors: Garrison Keillor
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new with you, Jimbo?”
“Trying to get out of town.”
“Thought you left a long time ago.”
Mr. Cobb laughed. It reminded him, he said, of a joke about the small town so small that—what? How did it go?
“The small town where the population stays the same because every time a baby is born, a man has to leave town,” said James.
No, that wasn’t the one. But this joke was about having babies.
“The one about the man and his wife who had twelve kids because they lived near the train tracks and when the midnight train came through and woke him up, he’d say, “Well, should we go back to sleep or what?” and she’d say, ‘What—’”
No, but it was about sex.
“I’ve got to run, Jack. Really. Got to catch a plane.”
“Aw, nothing’s flying in this weather, Jimbo. Come in and have a beer. It’s been years.”
Jack was opening the van door now. “Let’s have a look at you, for cripes’ sake.” He saw the black wool coat and let out a low whistle. “Nice coat. How much that set you back, Jimbo?” James had to wrestle the door from him and pull it shut and lock it and even then Jack pounded on the glass. “Think you’re hot stuff? Well, you’re not. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire!”
“Immaturity knows no age limit,” said Leo. By now the snow was coming down thick, big fluffy flakes like chicken feathers, and now Leo couldn’t figure out which way was west. He turned left onto a street that didn’t feel like the right way but James didn’t say anything because the street was so familiar, and then it dawned on him—His street! His old street. Davis Avenue. And his boyhood home was up ahead on the right. The little white story-and-a-half frame house with the two oaks in the front yard.
He used to walk down that driveway to school and turn right to take the long way around and avoid the Durbins who lived between his house and school and who were laying for him. He used to shoot baskets in that driveway, back before the garage was brought down by carpenter ants. Come December and the Arctic blast, their old Ford coupe sat out in the open and froze to the gravel. Daddy put the key in the ignition and it was like trying to start a box of hammers. So he brought out a bucket of hot coals and put them under the engine block to warm up the crankcase oil to where it’d move and then James had to get behind the wheel while Daddy pushed it down the slight incline of the driveway and at just the exact right moment, James had to pop the clutch and if he timed it exactly right the momentum of the car turned over the engine and it fired up, and if he didn’t do it right, the car jerked to a stop and Daddy had to call up Mr. Wick to come over with jumper cables and to be beholden to Mr. Wick was something Daddy preferred to avoid. Mr. Wick was a Democrat and an agnostic, or the next thing to it.
He told Leo to slow down as they came to his old house and Leo stopped. There was a new garage plus a deck where the old incinerator used to be, where he used to burn the trash including aerosol cans that said, “Danger: May Explode If Exposed to Open Flame.” And the driveway where the old Ford coupe rolled slowly, creaking, little James hanging onto the wheel and peering out through a tiny aperture in the frost on the windshield, the car jolting over the bumps, bouncing like a wild bronco, the shock absorbers frozen solid, the boy hanging on to the wheel, his foot slipping off the gas pedal as Daddy cried, “Now! Now!” and trees flying past while the boy hung on and then he popped the clutch and the engine roared and the car jumped forward and he slammed on the brake and remembered to hit the clutch too and the old Ford sat there, shaking, and Daddy opened the door and said, “Get out before you kill it.”
And off he trudged to the bus stop, feet crunching on the snow, the sound of sharp cracks that might be trees cracking or maybe the earth itself. A planet with hot molten rock in
“Trying to get out of town.”
“Thought you left a long time ago.”
Mr. Cobb laughed. It reminded him, he said, of a joke about the small town so small that—what? How did it go?
“The small town where the population stays the same because every time a baby is born, a man has to leave town,” said James.
No, that wasn’t the one. But this joke was about having babies.
“The one about the man and his wife who had twelve kids because they lived near the train tracks and when the midnight train came through and woke him up, he’d say, “Well, should we go back to sleep or what?” and she’d say, ‘What—’”
No, but it was about sex.
“I’ve got to run, Jack. Really. Got to catch a plane.”
“Aw, nothing’s flying in this weather, Jimbo. Come in and have a beer. It’s been years.”
Jack was opening the van door now. “Let’s have a look at you, for cripes’ sake.” He saw the black wool coat and let out a low whistle. “Nice coat. How much that set you back, Jimbo?” James had to wrestle the door from him and pull it shut and lock it and even then Jack pounded on the glass. “Think you’re hot stuff? Well, you’re not. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire!”
“Immaturity knows no age limit,” said Leo. By now the snow was coming down thick, big fluffy flakes like chicken feathers, and now Leo couldn’t figure out which way was west. He turned left onto a street that didn’t feel like the right way but James didn’t say anything because the street was so familiar, and then it dawned on him—His street! His old street. Davis Avenue. And his boyhood home was up ahead on the right. The little white story-and-a-half frame house with the two oaks in the front yard.
He used to walk down that driveway to school and turn right to take the long way around and avoid the Durbins who lived between his house and school and who were laying for him. He used to shoot baskets in that driveway, back before the garage was brought down by carpenter ants. Come December and the Arctic blast, their old Ford coupe sat out in the open and froze to the gravel. Daddy put the key in the ignition and it was like trying to start a box of hammers. So he brought out a bucket of hot coals and put them under the engine block to warm up the crankcase oil to where it’d move and then James had to get behind the wheel while Daddy pushed it down the slight incline of the driveway and at just the exact right moment, James had to pop the clutch and if he timed it exactly right the momentum of the car turned over the engine and it fired up, and if he didn’t do it right, the car jerked to a stop and Daddy had to call up Mr. Wick to come over with jumper cables and to be beholden to Mr. Wick was something Daddy preferred to avoid. Mr. Wick was a Democrat and an agnostic, or the next thing to it.
He told Leo to slow down as they came to his old house and Leo stopped. There was a new garage plus a deck where the old incinerator used to be, where he used to burn the trash including aerosol cans that said, “Danger: May Explode If Exposed to Open Flame.” And the driveway where the old Ford coupe rolled slowly, creaking, little James hanging onto the wheel and peering out through a tiny aperture in the frost on the windshield, the car jolting over the bumps, bouncing like a wild bronco, the shock absorbers frozen solid, the boy hanging on to the wheel, his foot slipping off the gas pedal as Daddy cried, “Now! Now!” and trees flying past while the boy hung on and then he popped the clutch and the engine roared and the car jumped forward and he slammed on the brake and remembered to hit the clutch too and the old Ford sat there, shaking, and Daddy opened the door and said, “Get out before you kill it.”
And off he trudged to the bus stop, feet crunching on the snow, the sound of sharp cracks that might be trees cracking or maybe the earth itself. A planet with hot molten rock in
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