Read Online The Burgess Boys by Elizabeth Strout - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Strout
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refrigerator? Not that I have the money, but if I did.” Susan gazed off into space, then started knitting again. “But I don’t feel like dragging these women around buying them things and then telling everyone I did it. It makes me cynical, that’s all.” Susan crossed her ankles. She continued, “I have this friend, Charlene Bergeron, who got breast cancer, and people offered to help with her kids, take her to treatments. But then her husband divorced her a few years later. And zip. Zero. Nothing. No one stepped forward to help her at all. And it hurts, Bob. That’s how it was for me, back when Steve left. I was scared to death. I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep this place. Nobody offered to buy me a refrigerator. Nobody offered to buy me a meal . And I was dying, frankly. I was lonelier than I bet these Somalians are. They have family crawling all over them.”
Bob said, “Oh, Susie. I’m sorry.”
“People are funny, that’s all.” Susan rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Some say it’s no different from when the city was filled with French Canadian millworkers speaking French. But it is different, because what nobody talks about is that they don’t want to be here. They’re waiting to go home. They don’t want to become part of our country. They’re just kind of sitting here, but meanwhile they think our way of life is trashy and glitzy and crummy. It hurts my feelings, honestly. And they just completely stick to themselves.”
“Well, Susie. For years the French Canadians stuck to themselves too.”
“It’s different, Bob.” She gave a yank on the yarn. “And they’re not called French Canadians anymore. Franco-Americans, please. The Somalians don’t like being compared to them. They claim they’re entirely different. They’re incomparable .”
“They’re Muslim.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said.
When he stepped back inside from having a cigarette, Susan was taking hot dogs from the freezer. “They believe in clitoridectomies.” She ran water into a pot.
“Oy, Susan.”
“Oy, yourself. God’s teeth. Do you want one of these?”
He sat in his coat at the kitchen table. “It’s illegal here,” he said. “It has been for years. And they’re Somalis, not Somalians.”
Susan turned and held the fork by her chest. “See, Bob, this is why you liberals are morons. Excuse me. But you are. They have little girls here bleeding like crazy, brought in to the hospital because they’re bleeding so hard at school. Or the family saves up the money and has them sent back to Africa to have it done there.”
“Don’t you think we should ask Zach if he’s hungry?” Bob rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m going to take these up to his room.”
“People don’t say ‘Negro’ anymore, either, Susan, you should know. Or ‘retarded.’ Those are things you really should know.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Bob. I was making fun of you. Craning your neck the way you did.” Susan peered into the pot on the stove, and after a moment she said, “I miss Jim. No offense.”
“I’d prefer it myself, if he were here.”
She turned, her face pink from the steam of the boiling water. “One time, right after the Packer trial, I was at the mall and I heard this couple talking about Jim, saying he went from being a prosecutor to a defense attorney just so he could take on a big-profile case and make money. It killed me.”
“Oh, they’re idiots, Susie.” Bob waved a hand. “Lawyers switch all the time. And he was already doing defense work at that Hartford firm. It’s all defense work. Defend the people or defend the accused. That case fell into his lap and he did a great job with it. Whether or not people think Wally was guilty.”
Susan said earnestly, “But I think most people who remember Jim still love him. They get a kick out of it when he shows up on TV. He never sounds like a Mr. Know-It-All, that’s what people say. And it’s true.”
“It is
Bob said, “Oh, Susie. I’m sorry.”
“People are funny, that’s all.” Susan rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Some say it’s no different from when the city was filled with French Canadian millworkers speaking French. But it is different, because what nobody talks about is that they don’t want to be here. They’re waiting to go home. They don’t want to become part of our country. They’re just kind of sitting here, but meanwhile they think our way of life is trashy and glitzy and crummy. It hurts my feelings, honestly. And they just completely stick to themselves.”
“Well, Susie. For years the French Canadians stuck to themselves too.”
“It’s different, Bob.” She gave a yank on the yarn. “And they’re not called French Canadians anymore. Franco-Americans, please. The Somalians don’t like being compared to them. They claim they’re entirely different. They’re incomparable .”
“They’re Muslim.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she said.
When he stepped back inside from having a cigarette, Susan was taking hot dogs from the freezer. “They believe in clitoridectomies.” She ran water into a pot.
“Oy, Susan.”
“Oy, yourself. God’s teeth. Do you want one of these?”
He sat in his coat at the kitchen table. “It’s illegal here,” he said. “It has been for years. And they’re Somalis, not Somalians.”
Susan turned and held the fork by her chest. “See, Bob, this is why you liberals are morons. Excuse me. But you are. They have little girls here bleeding like crazy, brought in to the hospital because they’re bleeding so hard at school. Or the family saves up the money and has them sent back to Africa to have it done there.”
“Don’t you think we should ask Zach if he’s hungry?” Bob rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m going to take these up to his room.”
“People don’t say ‘Negro’ anymore, either, Susan, you should know. Or ‘retarded.’ Those are things you really should know.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Bob. I was making fun of you. Craning your neck the way you did.” Susan peered into the pot on the stove, and after a moment she said, “I miss Jim. No offense.”
“I’d prefer it myself, if he were here.”
She turned, her face pink from the steam of the boiling water. “One time, right after the Packer trial, I was at the mall and I heard this couple talking about Jim, saying he went from being a prosecutor to a defense attorney just so he could take on a big-profile case and make money. It killed me.”
“Oh, they’re idiots, Susie.” Bob waved a hand. “Lawyers switch all the time. And he was already doing defense work at that Hartford firm. It’s all defense work. Defend the people or defend the accused. That case fell into his lap and he did a great job with it. Whether or not people think Wally was guilty.”
Susan said earnestly, “But I think most people who remember Jim still love him. They get a kick out of it when he shows up on TV. He never sounds like a Mr. Know-It-All, that’s what people say. And it’s true.”
“It is
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