It took me a little while, she explains.
She walks toward me, pulling the pins out of her brown hair.
And that’s when I remember what I was going to tell her that first time that we met.
I won’t ever let you out of this room, darling.
I say it now.
She thinks that is funny and wonderful, and laughs.
And in another moment, I can’t remember anything else that ever happened. The universe is nothing but the two of us holding each other, laughing ourselves sick.
MY CHIVALRIC FIASCO
George Saunders
Once again it was TorchLightNight.
Around nine I went out to pee. Back in the woods was the big tank that sourced our fake river, plus a pile of old armor.
Don Murray flew past me, looking frazzled. Then I heard a sob. Near the armor pile I found Martha from Scullery, peasant skirt up around her waist.
Martha: That guy is my boss. Oh my God oh my God.
I knew Don Murray was her boss because Don Murray was also my boss.
All of a sudden she recognized me.
Ted, don’t tell, she said. Please. It’s no big deal. Nate can’t know. It would kill him.
Then hightailed it out to Parking, eyes black underneath from crying.
Cooking had laid out a big spread on a crude table over by CastleTowerI V: authentic pig heads and whole chickens and blood pudding.
Don Murray stood there moodily picking at some coleslaw.
And gave me the friendliest head-shake he’d ever given me.
Women, he said.
See me, said a note on my locker next morning.
In Don Murray’s office was Martha.
So Ted, Don Murray said. Last night you witnessed something that, if not viewed in the right light, might seem wrongish. Martha and I find that funny. Don’t we, Mar? I just now gave Martha a thousand dollars. In case there was some kind of misunderstanding. Martha now feels we had a fling. Which, both being married, we so much regret. What with the drinking, plus the romance of TorchLightNight, what happened, Martha?
Martha: We got carried away. Had a fling.
Don: Voluntary fling.
Martha: Voluntary fling.
Don: And not only that, Ted. Martha here is moving up. From Scullery. To Floater Thespian. But let’s underscore: you are not moving up, Martha, because of our voluntary fling. It’s coincidental. Why are you moving up?
Martha: Coincidental.
Don: Coincidental, plus always had a killer work ethic. Ted, you’re also moving up. Out of Janitorial. To Pacing Guard.
Which was amazing. I’d been in Janitorial six years. A man of my caliber. That was a joke MQ and I sometimes shared.
Erin would call down and go: MQ, someone threw up in the Grove of Sorrow.
And MQ would be like: A man of my caliber?
Or Erin would go: Ted, some lady dropped her necklace down in the pigpen and is pitching a shit fit.
And I would go: A man of my caliber?
Erin would be like: Get going. It’s not funny. She’s right up in my grill.
Our pigs were fake and our slop was fake and our poop was fake but still it was no fun to have to don waders and drag the SifterBoyDeLux into the pigpen to, for example, find that lady’s necklace. For best results with the SifterBoyDeLux, you had to first lug the fake pigs off to one side. Being on auto the pigs would continue grunting as you lugged them. Which might look funny if you happened to be holding that particular pig wrong.
Some random guy might go: Look, dude’s breast-feeding that pig.
And everyone might laugh.
Therefore a promotion to Pacing Guard was very much welcomed by me.
I was currently the only working person in our family. Mom being sick, Beth being shy, Dad having sadly cracked his spine recently when a car he was fixing fell on him. We also had some windows that needed replacing. All winter Beth would go around shyly vacuuming up snow. If you came in while she was vacuuming, she would prove too shy to continue.
That night at home Dad calculated we could soon buy Mom a tilting bed.
Dad: If you keep moving up the ladder, maybe in time we can get me a back brace.
Me: Absolutely. I am going to make that happen.
After dinner, driving into town to fill Mom’s prescriptions for pain and Beth’s prescription for shyness and Dad’s prescription for pain, I passed Martha and Nate’s.
I honked, did a lean-and-wave, pulled over, got out.
Hey Ted, said Nate.
What’s up? I said.
Well, our place sucks, Nate said. Look at this place. Sucks, right? I just can’t seem to keep my energy up.
True, their place was pretty bad. The roof was patched with blue sheeting, their kids were doing timid leaps off a wheelbarrow into a mud puddle, a skinny pony was under the swingset licking itself raw like it wanted to be clean when it finally made its break for a nicer living situation.
I mean where are the grown-ups around here? Nate said.
He picked a Snotz wrapper off the ground and looked for somewhere to put it. Then dropped it again and it landed on his shoe.
Perfect, he said. Story of my life.
Jeez, Martha said, and plucked it off.
Don’t you go south on me too, Nate said. You’re all I got, babe.
No I am not, Martha said. You got the kids.
One more thing goes wrong, I’m shooting myself, Nate said.
I kind of doubted he had the get-up-and-go for that, although you never know.
So what’s going on at your guys’ work? Nate said. This one here’s been super moody. Even though she just got herself promoted.
I could feel Martha looking at me like: Ted, I’m in your hands here.
I figured it was her call. Based on my experience of life, which I have not exactly hit out of the park, I tend to agree with that thing about, If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. And would go even further, to: Even if it is broke, leave it alone, you’ll probably make it worse.
So said something about, well, promotions can be hard, they cause a lot of stress.
The gratitude was just beaming off Martha. She walked me back to the car, gave me three tomatoes they’d grown, which, tell the truth, looked kind of geriatric: tiny, timid, wrinkled.
You’re a good friend, she whispered.
Next morning in my locker were my Pacing Guard uniform and a Dixie cup with a yellow pill in it.
Hooray, I thought, finally, a Medicated Role.
In came Mrs. Bridges from Health & Safety, with an MSDS on the pill.
Mrs. Bridges: So, this is just going to be 100 milligrams of Knight-Lyfe®. To help with the Improv. The thing with KnightLyfe® is, you’re going to want to stay hydrated.
I took the pill, went to the Throne Room. I was supposed to Pace in front of a door behind which a King was supposedly thinking. There really was a King in there: Ed Phillips. They put a King in there because one of our Tropes was: Messenger arrives, charges past Pacing Guard, throws open door, King calls Messenger reckless, calls Pacing Guard a lackwit, Messenger winces, closes door, has brief exchange with Pacing Guard.
Soon Guests had nearly filled our Fun Spot. The Messenger (a.k.a. Kyle Sperling) barged past me, threw open the door. Ed called Kyle reckless, called me a lackwit. Kyle winced, closed door.
Kyle: I apologize if I have violated protocol.
I blanked on my line, which was: Your rashness bespeaks a manly passion.
Instead I was like: Uh, no problem.
Kyle, a real pro, did not miss a beat.
Kyle (handing me envelope): Please see that he gets this. It is of the utmost urgency.
Me: His Majesty is weighed down with thought.
Kyle: With many burdens of thought?