Read Online Eastern Standard Tribe by Cory Doctorow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cory Doctorow
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understand. Tell me, Art, how are you? When will you visit Toronto?"
"I'm fine, Gran. I'm sorry I haven't called, I've been sick." Shit. Wrong lie.
"You're sick? What's wrong?"
"It's nothing. I -- I put my back out. Working too hard. Stress. It's nothing, Gran."
He chances to look up at Linda, who is standing where he left her when he dived reflexively for his comm, staring disbelievingly at him. Her robe is open to her navel, and he sees the three curls of pubic hair above the knot in its belt that curl towards her groin, sees the hourglass made by the edges of her breasts that are visible in the vee of the robe, sees the edge of one areole, the left one. He is in a tee shirt and bare feet and boxers, crouching over his trousers, talking to his Gran, and he locks eyes with Linda and shakes his head apologetically, then settles down to sit cross-legged, hunched over an erection he didn't know he had, resolves to look at her while he talks.
"Stress! Always stress. You should take some vacation time. Are you seeing someone? A chiropractor?"
He's entangled in the lie. "Yes. I have an appointment tomorrow."
"How will you get there? Don't take the subway. Take a taxi. And give me the doctor's name, I'll look him up."
"I'll take a cab, it'll be fine, he's the only one my travel insurance covers."
"The only one? Art! What kind of insurance do you have? I'll call them, I'll find you a chiropractor. Betty Melville, she has family in London, they'll know someone."
God. "It's fine, Gran. How are you?"
A sigh. "How am I? On this day, how am I?"
"How is your health? Are you keeping busy?"
"My health is fine. I keep busy. Father Ferlenghetti came to dinner last night at the house. I made a nice roast, and I'll have sandwiches today."
"That's good."
"I'm thinking of your mother, you know."
"I know."
"Do you think of her, Art? You were so young when she went, but you remember her, don't you?"
"I do, Gran." He remembers her, albeit dimly. He was barely nine when she died.
"Of course -- of course you remember your mother. It's a terrible thing for a mother to live longer than her daughter."
His Gran says this every year. Art still hasn't figured out how to respond to it. Time for another stab at it. "I'm glad you're still here, Gran."
Wrong thing. Gran is sobbing now. Art drops his eyes from Linda's and looks at the crazy weft and woof of the faded old Oriental rug. "Oh, Gran," he says. "I'm sorry."
In truth, Art has mourned and buried his mother. He was raised just fine by his Gran, and when he remembers his mother, he is more sad about not being sad than sad about her.
"I'm an old lady, you know that. You'll remember me when I go, won't you Art?"
This, too, is a ritual question that Art can't answer well enough no matter how he practices. "Of course, Gran. But you'll be around for a good while yet!"
"When are you coming back to Toronto?" He'd ducked the question before, but Gran's a master of circling back and upping the ante. *Now that we've established my imminent demise...*
"Soon as I can, Gran. Maybe when I finish this contract. September, maybe."
"You'll stay here? I can take the sofa. When do you think you'll arrive? My friends all want to see you again. You remember Mrs. Tomkins? You used to play with her daughter Alice. Alice is single, you know. She has a good job, too -- working at an insurance company. Maybe she can get you a better health plan."
"I don't know, Gran. I'll *try* to come back after I finish my contract, but I can't tell what'll be happening then. I'll let you know, OK?"
"Oh, Art. Please come back soon -- I miss you. I'm going to visit your mother's grave today and put some flowers on it. They keep it very nice at Mount Pleasant, and the trees are just blooming now."
"I'll come back as soon as I can, Gran. I love you."
"I love you too, Arthur."
"Bye, Gran."
"I'll call you once I speak to Betty about the chiropractor, all right?"
"All right, Gran." He is going to have to go to the
"I'm fine, Gran. I'm sorry I haven't called, I've been sick." Shit. Wrong lie.
"You're sick? What's wrong?"
"It's nothing. I -- I put my back out. Working too hard. Stress. It's nothing, Gran."
He chances to look up at Linda, who is standing where he left her when he dived reflexively for his comm, staring disbelievingly at him. Her robe is open to her navel, and he sees the three curls of pubic hair above the knot in its belt that curl towards her groin, sees the hourglass made by the edges of her breasts that are visible in the vee of the robe, sees the edge of one areole, the left one. He is in a tee shirt and bare feet and boxers, crouching over his trousers, talking to his Gran, and he locks eyes with Linda and shakes his head apologetically, then settles down to sit cross-legged, hunched over an erection he didn't know he had, resolves to look at her while he talks.
"Stress! Always stress. You should take some vacation time. Are you seeing someone? A chiropractor?"
He's entangled in the lie. "Yes. I have an appointment tomorrow."
"How will you get there? Don't take the subway. Take a taxi. And give me the doctor's name, I'll look him up."
"I'll take a cab, it'll be fine, he's the only one my travel insurance covers."
"The only one? Art! What kind of insurance do you have? I'll call them, I'll find you a chiropractor. Betty Melville, she has family in London, they'll know someone."
God. "It's fine, Gran. How are you?"
A sigh. "How am I? On this day, how am I?"
"How is your health? Are you keeping busy?"
"My health is fine. I keep busy. Father Ferlenghetti came to dinner last night at the house. I made a nice roast, and I'll have sandwiches today."
"That's good."
"I'm thinking of your mother, you know."
"I know."
"Do you think of her, Art? You were so young when she went, but you remember her, don't you?"
"I do, Gran." He remembers her, albeit dimly. He was barely nine when she died.
"Of course -- of course you remember your mother. It's a terrible thing for a mother to live longer than her daughter."
His Gran says this every year. Art still hasn't figured out how to respond to it. Time for another stab at it. "I'm glad you're still here, Gran."
Wrong thing. Gran is sobbing now. Art drops his eyes from Linda's and looks at the crazy weft and woof of the faded old Oriental rug. "Oh, Gran," he says. "I'm sorry."
In truth, Art has mourned and buried his mother. He was raised just fine by his Gran, and when he remembers his mother, he is more sad about not being sad than sad about her.
"I'm an old lady, you know that. You'll remember me when I go, won't you Art?"
This, too, is a ritual question that Art can't answer well enough no matter how he practices. "Of course, Gran. But you'll be around for a good while yet!"
"When are you coming back to Toronto?" He'd ducked the question before, but Gran's a master of circling back and upping the ante. *Now that we've established my imminent demise...*
"Soon as I can, Gran. Maybe when I finish this contract. September, maybe."
"You'll stay here? I can take the sofa. When do you think you'll arrive? My friends all want to see you again. You remember Mrs. Tomkins? You used to play with her daughter Alice. Alice is single, you know. She has a good job, too -- working at an insurance company. Maybe she can get you a better health plan."
"I don't know, Gran. I'll *try* to come back after I finish my contract, but I can't tell what'll be happening then. I'll let you know, OK?"
"Oh, Art. Please come back soon -- I miss you. I'm going to visit your mother's grave today and put some flowers on it. They keep it very nice at Mount Pleasant, and the trees are just blooming now."
"I'll come back as soon as I can, Gran. I love you."
"I love you too, Arthur."
"Bye, Gran."
"I'll call you once I speak to Betty about the chiropractor, all right?"
"All right, Gran." He is going to have to go to the
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