“I’M VERY matutinal this morning,” Grampa is saying after reveille and an extra verse of “Up Lad” (there’ll be time enough for sleep after you’re dead). He’s been up since 5:00 A.M. in the morning. Said he was starving after a wonderful night’s sleep. Frying up a batch of pork rinds.
“Matutinal?” I say.
“Right!” he says. “Latin for the Greek goddess of dawn, Matuta! Very handy word. Impress your friends with knowledge. Be the most popular kid on the block!”
I get to the Pure Spring truck early. I look in the window and see my birth certificate on the seat. He’s giving it back to me. I slip it in my wallet.
“You’re early,” Randy says behind me.
“I’m very matutinal this morning,” I say.
“Yeah, right, smart ass! I figure I’d give your birth certificate back. I felt sorry for ya. You were sick and crazy there. I got worried. Maybe I was a bit hard on ya. Maybe we can be pals? No hard feelings?” He puts out his hand. “Shake?”
I take my hand out of my pocket and put it out. His hand is small and hard and rough and strong. We shake.
“Pals?” says Randy.
“Mm,” I say.
I don’t think I ever said “mm” in my whole life before. It sounds like yes but not quite.
Maybe Randy’s not so bad after all. A liar and a thief, yes. But, so am I. So am I a liar and a thief.
We drive off. Lots of silence.
Then Randy: “What’s this fancy word business? Why cancha talk English? Ya said you were what this morning?”
“Matutinal,” I say.
“Ma toot in al...”
“Greek goddess of dawn — Matuta. Means you like the morning. A morning person. I was up early because my Grampa Rip couldn’t sleep because he was hungry —”
“Matoota! Well, why don’t you just say you got up early? Why do you wanna say all this nutty stuff? I thought we were pals...my last helper was useless, he was lazy and stoopid and he picked his nose and ate it but at least he didn’t come up with all this baloney about Latin words and Greek goddesses and crap. What’s wrong with you anyway?”
Inside, I’m smiling. Two reasons. One. I’m making a list of everything we’ve ever stolen — the name of the store, the date, the number of cases, the method. Two, I’m smiling because of Gerty. Because of you, Gerty! Now I’m not so afraid of Randy any more. I’ve got much nicer things to think about.
Randy is back on the subject of how charming he is.
“I like ‘em tall, I like ‘em short, I like ‘em skinny, I like ‘em chubby. It don’t matter...they all come to Randy... they can’t help themselves...”
I’m drinking my one free Honee Orange for the day and eating peanuts. Randy lifted two bags on our way out of our last store without paying for them.
Do stolen peanuts taste better than bought peanuts? Randy says they do. And, oh, they taste so warm, Gerty, it’s like chewing sweet bark and the salt on them on your tongue and the crunchiness and the butternutty sunflowery orange smell of the oil on them and when you stick your nose right into the package you get all of it specially when you lick the salt, stick your tongue inside and lick the cellophane...and pour down the warm Honee Orange, down your throat until it feels smooth and sweet and it makes your nose squeeze up it’s so delicious, and then you’re not thirsty any more for a while and...what’s Randy talking about now...?
“...tulips. Boy oh boy I can hardly wait for all those tulips to come up. You know what a tulip reminds me of?”
“What,” I say.
“Guess,” says Randy.
I can guess but I won’t.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“A woman’s patootie, banana brain!”
Banana brain? Where does he get these brilliant sayings? Patootie?
“Anyway, the tulips in Ottawa when they come up they all come from Holland, did ya know that? I was over in Holland in the war. The women, the girls really loved old Randy over there, you know what I’m sayin’? Their favorite Canuck was yours truly and you better believe it. Near wore me out, they did! Come closer to killin’ me than the Germans did and that’s the truth!”
What was that last thing she said to me? Could you come to me sooner? No, it wasn’t that. When will I see you again? No. She said when does the truck come again. I said a week or so. She said, “That’s too bad.” What beautiful words. That’s. Too. Bad. Like music.
Randy again: “But no more of that for Randy. Cause ol’ Randy’s married now. Settled down. Got the most beautiful...you ever see the movie Neptune’s Daughter starring Esther Williams? Technicolor? Esther sells bathing suits. Designs them or something. Every five minutes she comes out in a new bathing suit. Drives ya crazy! This handsome guy tries to get her into bed. Sings her this stupid song about how cold it is outside. And, oh yeah, Red Skelton falls in the pool — he’s the funny guy. Anyway, my new wife looks a lot like Esther...long legs, beautiful skin, lovely breasts.”
I’m wondering what Grampa Rip would say about Randy. “This fella needs to have the inside of his head hosed out...” Something like that, probably.
“...legs long like Esther’s, really narrow waist, nice breasts like that, nice beautiful smile like that — except her hair...her hair is more thicker and curly blonde, golden blonde. You should see her in her Esther Williams swim suit. She has one, ya know. I bought one for her. I buy her everything. Did ya know. They like ya to buy stuff fer them. Nice stuff. They’ll do anything for you if you buy them stuff. And praise their hair. They like that. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Oh, Gerty, I wish I was with you right now instead of this...this...
YOUR FATHER was showing everybody the car he borrowed. Proud of it, he was.
“A brand-new ’51 Buick, four-door sedan. One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-five bucks is what she cost!”
You remembered how worried was Horrors’ face as you drove off skidding down the snow-packed street. You waved. Trying to say with the wave to Horrors not to worry. Everything will be all right with the car.
Your father driving off, never looking back.
Some of the neighbors were out in the street to say good-bye. Mrs. Laflamme was whispering to Mrs. Sawyer, “It’s for the best. She hasn’t been the same all this time — four or five years, is it? — since she lost the baby. And Phil is more and more of a burden...getting bigger and bigger...harder to handle!”
“And she gets absolutely no help at home...”
“It will be hard for a while but it’s best in the long run...’’
“It’s very sad, it is.”
Phil was in a good mood when you helped put him in the backseat. He had extra napkins on, in case. He had a rubber toy that squeaked when he squeezed. He showed it to you. His strange eyes. He has feelings, you thought.
Your mother was standing fussing with her clothes and her purse.
“Come on,” your father was saying. “Hurry up and get in! The next time we take you anywhere we’ll leave you at home!”
Your father couldn’t wait to get driving Horrors’ new car.
Cheap was in the living-room window, saying goodbye.
Mrs. Laflamme would feed him. Not to worry.
You drove off. It had started to snow. Big flakes. Mild weather.
“Snowstorm coming. Doesn’t matter to us, though. Not in this machine! We’re going to find Highway 15. Then it’s straight down 15 to Smiths Falls! It’s a long drive. So just sit back and relax!”
You drove through the thickening storm.
Phil was happy squeezing his rubber toy, making it squeak and giggling and bubbling.
Your father, taking a sip from his small rye bottle, was singing.
Your mother sat staring straight ahead. Your father singing. Happy. Another sip of his rye: “There’s no tomorrow...when love is true...”
Another sip.
“What a beautiful machine is this car!”
Your father, the singer. They loved it in the tavern when he sang. If they only knew what he was like at home!
“There’s no tomorrow / There’s just tonight!...”