Read Online The Big Why by Michael Winter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Winter
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Emerson. The middle brick is the keystone. It checks the gravity of all the others.
Bob Bartlett did not seem perturbed by the collier. It was as if that was the risk you took. Coal, he said, is a more intimate cargo than bananas. He had spent four years of service in the West Indian fruit trade aboard the Corisande . I hate, he said, to eat a banana. But at least it never got into your coffee. Coal gets into everything — it’s like a woman in love.
Rupert said they were about to have supper and would I stay. They left me to the Artic Room. At the end of the photographs was a window and I saw Tom Dobie in the road talking to Emily Edwards. I watched them turn. I decided to speak a word just as Emily turned back for the door. I said the word reckless . It was a strong word, a word I could not say aloud. I was saying it to be a shit disturber. There was a politeness or restraint going on out there between Tom Dobie and Emily Edwards; restraint stood like a third figure between them at the Bartlett gate and then it pushed that beautiful young woman towards the house, she wasnt even looking back, and I felt Tom Dobie in the corner of my eye. I was impressed with how much you can see out of the corner of your eye. Then Tom went home and Emily stamped her boots by the clock with the white partridge nesting above midnight. Eleanor, the sister, was laying out silverware, placing the forks and spoons face down in the old-fashioned way, and Emily Edwards ran in to help her. I walked into the parlour and sat myself in a chair with strong arms and listened to Rupert Bartlett, that quieter younger brother with two years left to live, speak to his older brother as though he were his father.
26
Jenny’s father, the word magnate applies. Part of the allure of Jenny was her father. George Crocker financed dry docks and port facilities, had sunk a fair bit into railroads then sold the lot, and was now financing Peary’s polar ambitions. And so the big circle of how I got to meet Bartlett and ended up bringing my family to Newfoundland.
They spoke, Jenny said, more since she’d returned to Luis. George Crocker’s tastes ran through his daughter, and marriage appealed to him. Jenny called our son George, after him. He wanted heirs.
George Crocker had an aquiline nose and the same cliff of forehead he’d given his daughter. His shirts were English. George Crocker was an American with a European flair — the capitalist European. Once Jenny had become the wife of Luis Starling, he allowed me to design letterhead for his offices on the West Coast, San Francisco and Seattle. I needed the money. And now that his daughter was out of my hands he became fond of her, and me. George Crocker recognized a part of himself in Jenny, appreciated the daring. It was her lack of caution — she was living her life in a real way. He was encumbered by a love of money and he loved the Crocker name.
27
Gerald Thayer: Do you remember a distinct image from a book, or are you left with a general sweep.
Me: Definitely a general sweep.
See, that’s the difference between you and me right there.
Gerald often exclaimed at a homecooked meal. He’d push back from the table and say, How much. How much would you pay to get a meal like this in a restaurant?
And if that restaurant had a flag hoisted after sunset, he’d walk in and tell them to take it down. Yes, he hated to see flags aloft at night.
Cocks, he said. Why dont you paint men’s cocks.
Their penises.
Yes, their genitalia. All your men have bushes. They look like big strong women. They are made of wood and their cocks have all been whittled off.
Well thanks, Gerald.
Or you stick a thigh in front of the cock. Every time. Youve got a problem with cocks, I think. Tits you paint. Vulva and asses you reveal. Men’s asses even. As long as theyve got a perky ass. I doubt you’d ever paint my ass. But the cock — what is it with you. Everything about you is grand and Greek except for the —
Just
Bob Bartlett did not seem perturbed by the collier. It was as if that was the risk you took. Coal, he said, is a more intimate cargo than bananas. He had spent four years of service in the West Indian fruit trade aboard the Corisande . I hate, he said, to eat a banana. But at least it never got into your coffee. Coal gets into everything — it’s like a woman in love.
Rupert said they were about to have supper and would I stay. They left me to the Artic Room. At the end of the photographs was a window and I saw Tom Dobie in the road talking to Emily Edwards. I watched them turn. I decided to speak a word just as Emily turned back for the door. I said the word reckless . It was a strong word, a word I could not say aloud. I was saying it to be a shit disturber. There was a politeness or restraint going on out there between Tom Dobie and Emily Edwards; restraint stood like a third figure between them at the Bartlett gate and then it pushed that beautiful young woman towards the house, she wasnt even looking back, and I felt Tom Dobie in the corner of my eye. I was impressed with how much you can see out of the corner of your eye. Then Tom went home and Emily stamped her boots by the clock with the white partridge nesting above midnight. Eleanor, the sister, was laying out silverware, placing the forks and spoons face down in the old-fashioned way, and Emily Edwards ran in to help her. I walked into the parlour and sat myself in a chair with strong arms and listened to Rupert Bartlett, that quieter younger brother with two years left to live, speak to his older brother as though he were his father.
26
Jenny’s father, the word magnate applies. Part of the allure of Jenny was her father. George Crocker financed dry docks and port facilities, had sunk a fair bit into railroads then sold the lot, and was now financing Peary’s polar ambitions. And so the big circle of how I got to meet Bartlett and ended up bringing my family to Newfoundland.
They spoke, Jenny said, more since she’d returned to Luis. George Crocker’s tastes ran through his daughter, and marriage appealed to him. Jenny called our son George, after him. He wanted heirs.
George Crocker had an aquiline nose and the same cliff of forehead he’d given his daughter. His shirts were English. George Crocker was an American with a European flair — the capitalist European. Once Jenny had become the wife of Luis Starling, he allowed me to design letterhead for his offices on the West Coast, San Francisco and Seattle. I needed the money. And now that his daughter was out of my hands he became fond of her, and me. George Crocker recognized a part of himself in Jenny, appreciated the daring. It was her lack of caution — she was living her life in a real way. He was encumbered by a love of money and he loved the Crocker name.
27
Gerald Thayer: Do you remember a distinct image from a book, or are you left with a general sweep.
Me: Definitely a general sweep.
See, that’s the difference between you and me right there.
Gerald often exclaimed at a homecooked meal. He’d push back from the table and say, How much. How much would you pay to get a meal like this in a restaurant?
And if that restaurant had a flag hoisted after sunset, he’d walk in and tell them to take it down. Yes, he hated to see flags aloft at night.
Cocks, he said. Why dont you paint men’s cocks.
Their penises.
Yes, their genitalia. All your men have bushes. They look like big strong women. They are made of wood and their cocks have all been whittled off.
Well thanks, Gerald.
Or you stick a thigh in front of the cock. Every time. Youve got a problem with cocks, I think. Tits you paint. Vulva and asses you reveal. Men’s asses even. As long as theyve got a perky ass. I doubt you’d ever paint my ass. But the cock — what is it with you. Everything about you is grand and Greek except for the —
Just
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