Of Memory and Desire: Stories

Reunion

REUNJON "Well, Jarve, you old sinner, it's about time," Alison said as she met me on the porch. She gave me a little peck on the cheek, then stood back to make inspection. "You've gotten skinny as a rail, Jarve,"she said, "and pretty thin on top. The years have begun to tell on you, Jarve." "You haven't changed a bit, Al." "Oh yes, I know," she said, with a crack of a smile. "Same nasty tongue I've alwayshad. But come in. No reasonforus to stand on the porch staring at each other like idiots. Alna will be here directly to tell you how ill-used she alwaysis." Before she turned to go in, she gave me another quickgoing-over. "Little short of breath these days, are you?" "I lost my cat." "Oh," she said, and pretended not to understand. "Youderive long-windedness from cat fur? Cats make me sneeze." She sneezed. "Even the idea of cats." "He was nearly wild in the car," I explained. "I can imagine," she said, having noticed the coveredbirdcage next to my suitcase. "I can't say the bird would be too happy either. Must be continual warfare in the back seat— worse than the battle of the sexes." "A mynah bird," I told her. "He talks. Name's Charlie. But anyway—" going back to the cat, "the moment I opened the door, he shot out. Wouldn't come when I called. Stoppedand gave me a backward look over the shoulder and hotfooted it off as fast as he could go. I tried chasing him . . ." "Just see he doesn't come in the house," she said. "I have OF MEMORY AND DESIRE put in my last cleaning up animal doo-doo." Then she added, "Foolishness to chase anything." She ought to know, I thought: flve-foot-four and over two-hundred-fifty pounds. Already my malice was beginning to show. A bad sign. "Your personal philosophy?" I intended a dig. "Mypersonal philosophy," she said, underlining the words. "There is nothing in this world worth chasing—" Shestarted in and held open the screen door while I gave thought to whether I should hunt for Tigger or wait for him to turn up on his own. I followed her in. "Nothing in this world—" she went on, "neither love nor fame nor . . ." "Truth?" She snorted. "What's that anymore? No—'nor peace nor certitude nor light.' Spendyour energychasing around and all you get is a little pool of tears." "Not getting cynical in your old age, are you, Al?" I said, upsetting a coat-tree as I bumped it with a suitcase. "Me? What an idea." "That's an heirloom," she reminded me, as I caught the coat-tree on its way down to the floor. "Been in the family for at least three generations." "Well, I'd hate to break up the family tree," I said, whatever that meant, and stood blinking in the hallway,unable to seea thing. "We keep the blinds drawn for coolness," she said, raising one at the front-room window. Motes of dust danced in the sunlight. I settled myself in a wingback chair, while she lowered herself into an overstuffed. "Well, you recognize the old place?" she wanted to know. "Think you can claim it?" Now that my eyeshad adjusted to the light, the roombegan to take on a certain familiarity, though the furniture had been rearranged, afew things added,others gone. Icrossed my legs, clasped my hands around my knee, and took a long look. "That's Granddad's old school desk," she said. "They were going to get rid of it when they built the new school . . .Used 32 REUNION to be a huge big old double desk, but Alna and I had it cut in half so we could each have one." Leather-covered couch, wooden rockers, overstuffed chairs, the sort of things that would creak and scritch and groan when you sat in them, carrying on a conversation of their own, nearly all complaint. Drop-leaf table with the milkglass plate and the shepherd and shepherdess exchanging coy looks across the polished surface. Familypictures on the wall, a crowd of silver and gold frames on the shelves, the desk, the mantel: including pictures of me. (Butof course. The family never let go of you, never absolvedyou from being a member, but waited for the prodigal, who in some sense...