Read Online Nancy Culpepper by Bobbie Ann Mason - Free Book Online
Authors: Bobbie Ann Mason
Tags: Fiction
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are Jack’s—demanding and eerily penetrating, eyes that could pin her to the wall.
After Robert leaves, Nancy lowers the venetian blinds. Her office is brilliantly lighted by the sun, through south-facing windows. The design was accidental, nothing to do with solar energy. It is an old building. Bars of light slant across her desk, like a formidable scene in a forties movie. Nancy’s secretary goes home, but Nancy works on, contacting all the parents she couldn’t get during working hours. One parent anxiously reports that her child has a swollen lymph node on his neck.
“No,” Nancy says firmly. “That is
not
a symptom of hepatitis. But you should ask the doctor about that when you go in for the gamma globulin.”
Gamma globulin. The phrase rolls off her tongue. She tries to remember an odd title of a movie about gamma rays. It comes to her as she is dialing the telephone:
The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds.
She has never known what that title meant.
The office grows dim, and Nancy turns on the lights. The school is quiet, as though the threat of an infectious disease has emptied the corridors, leaving her in charge. She recalls another movie,
The Andromeda Strain.
Her work is like the thrill of watching drama, a threat held safely at a distance. Historians have to be detached, Nancy once said, defensively, to Jack, when he accused her of being unfriendly to shopkeepers and waiters. Where was all that Southern hospitality he had heard so much about? he wanted to know. It hits her now that historians are detached about the past, not the present. Jack has learned some of this detachment; he wants to let Grover go. Nancy thinks of the stark images in his recent photographs—snow, icicles, fences, the long shot of Grover on the hill like a stray wolf. Nancy had always liked Jack’s pictures simply for what they were, but Jack didn’t see the people or the objects in them. He saw illusions. The vulnerability of the image, he once said, was what he was after. The image was meant to evoke its own death, he told her.
By the time Nancy finishes the scheduling, the night maintenance crew has arrived, and the coffeepot they keep in a closet is perking. Nancy removes her contact lenses and changes into her fleece-lined boots. In the parking lot, she maneuvers cautiously along a path past a mountain of black-stained snow. It is so cold that she makes sparks on the vinyl car seat. The engine is cold, slow to turn over.
At home, Nancy is surprised to see balloons in the living room. The stove is blazing and Robert’s face is red from the heat.
“We’re having a party,” he says. “For Grover.”
“There’s a surprise for you in the oven,” says Jack, handing Nancy a glass of sherry. “Because you worked so hard.”
“Grover had ice cream,” Robert says. “We got Häagen-Dazs.”
“He looks cheerful,” Nancy says, sinking onto the couch next to Jack. Her glasses are fogged up. She removes them and wipes them with a Kleenex. When she puts them back on, she sees Grover looking at her, his head on his paws. His tail thumps. For the first time, Nancy feels ready to let the dog die.
When Nancy tells about the gamma globulin, the phrase has stopped rolling off her tongue so trippingly. She laughs. She is so tired she throbs with relief. She drinks the sherry too fast. Suddenly, she sits up straight and announces, “I’ve got a clue. I’m thinking of a parking lot.”
“East or West?” Jack says. This is a game they used to play.
“West.”
“Aha, I’ve got you,” says Jack. “You’re thinking of the parking lot at that hospital in Tucson.”
“Hey, that’s not fair going too fast,” cries Robert. “I didn’t get a chance to play.”
“This was before you were born,” Nancy says, running her fingers through Robert’s hair. He is on the floor, leaning against her knees. “We were lying in the van for a week, thinking we were going to die. Oh, God!” Nancy laughs and
After Robert leaves, Nancy lowers the venetian blinds. Her office is brilliantly lighted by the sun, through south-facing windows. The design was accidental, nothing to do with solar energy. It is an old building. Bars of light slant across her desk, like a formidable scene in a forties movie. Nancy’s secretary goes home, but Nancy works on, contacting all the parents she couldn’t get during working hours. One parent anxiously reports that her child has a swollen lymph node on his neck.
“No,” Nancy says firmly. “That is
not
a symptom of hepatitis. But you should ask the doctor about that when you go in for the gamma globulin.”
Gamma globulin. The phrase rolls off her tongue. She tries to remember an odd title of a movie about gamma rays. It comes to her as she is dialing the telephone:
The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds.
She has never known what that title meant.
The office grows dim, and Nancy turns on the lights. The school is quiet, as though the threat of an infectious disease has emptied the corridors, leaving her in charge. She recalls another movie,
The Andromeda Strain.
Her work is like the thrill of watching drama, a threat held safely at a distance. Historians have to be detached, Nancy once said, defensively, to Jack, when he accused her of being unfriendly to shopkeepers and waiters. Where was all that Southern hospitality he had heard so much about? he wanted to know. It hits her now that historians are detached about the past, not the present. Jack has learned some of this detachment; he wants to let Grover go. Nancy thinks of the stark images in his recent photographs—snow, icicles, fences, the long shot of Grover on the hill like a stray wolf. Nancy had always liked Jack’s pictures simply for what they were, but Jack didn’t see the people or the objects in them. He saw illusions. The vulnerability of the image, he once said, was what he was after. The image was meant to evoke its own death, he told her.
By the time Nancy finishes the scheduling, the night maintenance crew has arrived, and the coffeepot they keep in a closet is perking. Nancy removes her contact lenses and changes into her fleece-lined boots. In the parking lot, she maneuvers cautiously along a path past a mountain of black-stained snow. It is so cold that she makes sparks on the vinyl car seat. The engine is cold, slow to turn over.
At home, Nancy is surprised to see balloons in the living room. The stove is blazing and Robert’s face is red from the heat.
“We’re having a party,” he says. “For Grover.”
“There’s a surprise for you in the oven,” says Jack, handing Nancy a glass of sherry. “Because you worked so hard.”
“Grover had ice cream,” Robert says. “We got Häagen-Dazs.”
“He looks cheerful,” Nancy says, sinking onto the couch next to Jack. Her glasses are fogged up. She removes them and wipes them with a Kleenex. When she puts them back on, she sees Grover looking at her, his head on his paws. His tail thumps. For the first time, Nancy feels ready to let the dog die.
When Nancy tells about the gamma globulin, the phrase has stopped rolling off her tongue so trippingly. She laughs. She is so tired she throbs with relief. She drinks the sherry too fast. Suddenly, she sits up straight and announces, “I’ve got a clue. I’m thinking of a parking lot.”
“East or West?” Jack says. This is a game they used to play.
“West.”
“Aha, I’ve got you,” says Jack. “You’re thinking of the parking lot at that hospital in Tucson.”
“Hey, that’s not fair going too fast,” cries Robert. “I didn’t get a chance to play.”
“This was before you were born,” Nancy says, running her fingers through Robert’s hair. He is on the floor, leaning against her knees. “We were lying in the van for a week, thinking we were going to die. Oh, God!” Nancy laughs and
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