To Sail Beyond The Sunset

‘To bless the death. To get me to write a death certificate, to keep him from trouble with the law when he buries it... which he is probably doing this very minute. Primarily to cause me - and you - to make a six-mile round trip to save himself the trouble of harnessing his mule and coming into town.' Father laughed without mirth. ‘He kept pointing out that I couldn't charge him for a call since I didn't get there before the baby died. I finally said, "Shut up, Jackson. You haven't paid me a cent since Cleveland beat Harrison." He said something about hard times and how this administration never does anything for the farmer.'

Father sighed. I didn't argue with him; he had a point.

Maureen, you've been keeping my books this past year, would you say these were hard times?'

That brought me up sharp. I had been thinking about the Howard Foundation and Chuck's pretty penis. ‘I don't know, Father. But I know that you have far more on the books than you ever get paid. He noticed something else, too: the worst of the deadbeats would rather owe you a dollar for a house call than fifty cents for an office visit. Like Jackson Igo.'

‘Yes. He could have fetched that little cadaver in - never saw a child so dehydrated! - but I'm relieved that he did not; I don't want him in my clean clinic... or Adele's clean house. You've seen the books; do you estimate that collections are enough to support our family? Food, clothing, shelter, oats and hay, and a nickel for Sunday School?'

I thought about it. I knew my multiplication tables through twenty times twenty, same as everybody, and in high school I had been learning the delights of more advanced ciphering. But I had never applied any of it to our household affairs. Now I drew a blackboard in my mind and did some hard calculating.

‘Father... if they all paid you what they owe you, we would be quite comfortable. But they don't pay you, not enough of them.' I thought. ‘Nevertheless we are comfortable.'

‘Maureen, if you don't want the Howard option, better marry a rich man. Not a country doctor.'

Presently he shrugged and smiled. ‘Don't worry about it. We'll keep food on the table even if I have to slide over into Kansas and rustle cattle. Shall we sing? "Pop Goes the Weasel" would be appropriate today. How is your weasel by now, dear? Sore?'

‘Father, you are a dirty old man and you will come to a bad end.'

‘I've always hoped so, but I've been too busy raising Kinder to raise Cain. Meant to tell you: someone else is interested in your welfare. Old lady Altschuler.'

‘So I know.' I told him about her remark. ‘She thinks I'm Audrey.'

‘That unspeakable old cow. But she may not really think you are Audrey. She asked me what you were doing na the grandstand at the fairgrounds.'

‘Well! What did you tell her?'

‘I told her nit. Silence is all a snoopy question deserves... just fail to hear it. But the insult direct is still better. Which I handed that snapping turtle by ignoring her question and telling her next time to bathe before she comes to see me, as I found her personal hygiene to be less than adequate. She was not pleased.' He smiled. ‘She may be so angry that she will switch to Dr Chadwick. One may hope.'

‘One may. So somebody saw us go up. Well, sir, they did not actually see us doing it' I told Father about the box heavy with weights. ‘Spectators would have to have been in a balloon.'

‘I would say so. Safe enough if not very comfortable. I wish I could extend to you the courtesy of the sofa... but I can't, until you take up the Howard option. If you do. In the meantime let's think about it. Safe places.'

‘Yes, sir. Thank you. What I can't figure out is this: we trimmed the trip to Butler short, in order to conceal the time used up in unscheduled activity. I've been figuring times and differences in my head. Cher papa, unless my arithmetic is wrong -‘

‘It never is.'

‘Whoever spotted us climbing up into my hideaway must then have proceeded at a fast trot to the Altschuler place, reported my sins, then the Ugly Duchess must have been already dressed, with her buggy hitched and ready, to hurry over to sec you. When did she show up?'

‘Let me see. When she arrived, three patients were waiting. I made her wait her turn... so she carne in already angry. I sent her out boiling mad. Hmm... she must have arrived at least an hour before you showed up and bumped into her coming out.'

‘Father, it won't work. Physically impossible. Unless she herself was at the fairgrounds, then drove straight to our house on the pretence of needing to see you.'

‘That's possible. Quite unlikely. But, Maureen, you Nave just encountered a phenomenon that you will see again and again all your life after this red-letter day: the only thing known to science faster than the speed of light is Mrs Grundy's gossip.'

‘I guess so.'

‘I know so. When yon next encounter it, how will you handle it? Do you have that in your commandments?'

‘Uh, no.'

‘Think about it. How will you defend yourself?'

I thought about it for the next half-mile. ‘I won't'

‘Won't what?'

‘I won't defend myself against gossip; I will ignore it. At most I will look her - or him - in the eye and state loudly, "You are a filthy-minded liar." But it's usually best to ignore it entirely. I think.'

‘I think so, too. People of that sort want to be noticed. The cruellest thing you can do to them is to behave as if they did not exist.'

During the remaining half of 1897 I ignored Mrs Grundy while trying to avoid being noticed by her. My public persona was straight out of Louisa M. Alcott while in private I tried to learn more about this amazing new art I don't mean to imply that I spent much time on my back, sweating away for the mutual pleasure of Maureen and His Name Is Legion. Not in Lyle County, not in 1897. Too hard to find a place to do it!

‘Conscience is that little voice that tells you that someone may be watching.' (Anon and op. cit.)

And there was the problem of a satisfactory partner. Charles was a nice boy and I did offer him that encore, and even a third try at it for good measure. The second and third attempts were more comfortable but even less exciting - cold mush without sorghum and cream.

So after the third one I told Charles that someone had seen us on top of Marston Hill and had told one of my sisters... and a good thing that it hadn't been one of my brothers, because I had been able to cool things down with my sister. But he and I had better act as if we had quarrelled... or next time the word might get all the way to my mother, who would tell my father, and then there was just no telling. So you had better leave me alone until school starts, huh? You see, don't you. dear?

I learned that the hardest problem of all in dealing with a man is how to stop dealing with him when he does not want to stop. A century and a half of quite varied experience has not given me any answer that is totally satisfactory.

One partly satisfactory answer that I did not learn until much later than 1897 requires considerable skill, great self control, and some sophistication: the intentional ‘dead arse'. Lie there like a dead woman and, above all, let your inner muscles be utterly relaxed. If you combine that with garlic on your breath, it is likely - although not certain - that he will save you the trouble of thinking of a reason to break off. Then, when he initiates a break, you can be brave about it. A ‘good sport'.

I am not suggesting that lively hips and tight muscles constitute ‘sex appeal'. Such qualities, while useful, are merely equivalent to sharp-tools for a carpenter. My sister wife Tamara, mother of our sister wife Ishtar and at one time the most celebrated whore in ali Secundus, is the epitome of sex appeal... yet she is not especially pretty and no one who has slept with her talks about her technique. But their faces light up when they sec her and their voices throb when they speak of her.