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only place he had it."
"Have some taste," I said. "The man is among the dead."
"Let FINALLY blow along the Utica-Mohawk tracks.
The egg is what matters."
"We could go partners," I said.
"Ha. You are a gutsy one, Harold. Too late for partners.
Now give me the Nagle Discovery. Any hesitation, reluc-
tance or even a bad breath and you join Hikhoff for choir practice."
He was a nice fellow, the Nagle, with a face like Don
Ameche, not the killer type, but you never know.
THE EGG OF THE GLAK 69
"The egg is here under my pillow," I said.
My luck held. The Nagle had never seen the egg before.
He lit up when I showed him that pink-splotched pullet, balancing it in his
palm.
"Slow and easy," I said, with wild eyes.
"It's been a pleasure," he said, tucking the egg in a towel and putting it
into his medical bag. "Maybe when this is over and done with, you and I can
sit and play chess."
"I would like nothing. ..."
Pong. I was hit so hard on the head I flew half off the bed.
I saw ferns wheels turning at different speeds. I tumbled too, spinning like a
bobbin. Then later, there was another crash. A gooshy sound, a wetness. I
woke.
"Bye, bye. Poor thing," Cynthia was saying, lifting my blanket, observing the
destruction.
"What, what, what?"
"Harold, it had to be this way. Even that specialist said all you needed was
complete rest. Better the egg should never see light, even in the free world,
than you should die in your prime."
Cynthia never noticed the Scotch tape in the goo. She was so self-satisfied.
The next days passed smoothly.
Myma had my Glak. Cynthia had her pleasure unshared.
The Nagle was accounted for, squatting on his chicken.
Mrs. Fonkle avoided me like doom. Mr. Fonkle, served like
Farouk by his wife, brought cards to my room and we played.
Out of respect for her promise and a sense of my need for quiet, Myma came
gently only to report on the Glak. It was hopping all the time now, making
tiny sounds. She de-
scribed the sounds as like chalk on the blackboard, and I
knew how happy Hikhoff would be if he could hear, as maybe he could.
While Myma warmed Glak, Cynthia warmed Harold.
Her vision of recovery was not based on abstention.
My only discomfort came from Mrs. Fonkle, and it was
70 Harvey Jacobs mild. Out of suspicion, she fed her daughters garlic and Ox
Tails and other odiferous, glutenous foods that made their lips stick or
filled them with protective cramps. I kept Turns
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and Clorets at bedside.
March went like the best kind of lamb. The windows unfroze. A bird sang on the
telephone line. I had.to move again and make plans again.
How did Chaucer say it? APPPRRRILLE WITHE HER
SHOWERRRS SOUGHT THE DRAUGHT UFF MARS
HATH PIERCED TO THE RUCHT. Like that. Up I came like a crocus.
Now it came time for partings and farewells. Cynthia was easy to leave, so
easy it hurt. When the month turned, she met a podiatrist of good family. Her
prospects im-
proved. When we had our confrontation, she brought knitting along. In the
tense air she knitted like a factory. A
sweater for him.
"I am called back to D.C.," I said. "And will be punished."
"Punished, hen?"
"Forget it. Nothing painful. Chastised is more the word."
The thought of my punishment made it easier for Cynthia to say goodbye.
Really, she had never been the same since the breaking of the egg. I think she
thought less of me for not breaking it myself. Who can fathom a woman's heart?
While we talked, she compared me to her podiatrist, and found him better. The
mystique of new weather.
"No reason to prolong this suffering," I said. "I will always remember you and
what we had together and how you sustained me."
Cynthia dropped a stitch, but caught it. Her reflexes had gained from our
acquaintanceship.
It was harder to leave lanky Myma.
"I know you must go," she said, "I know and I won't make scenes. Do you plan
to return?"
"My life is a question mark," I said honestly. "What can
I say?"
THE EGG OF THE GLAK 71
"It won't be the same without you two."
"Or for me. Ever."
"Send an announcement if it hatches. Nothing too fancy.
A simple card."
Mrs. Fonkle, who had taken to charitable activities, said
a swift goodbye. She was full of dignity and adorable poise.
Such an ego.
The air was balmy on the day I left the Fonkle home. I
had a new suitcase, the pudgy executive type, and in it my
Glak had room enough. The egg was practically a bowling ball now, straining to
pop.
The Fonkles stood in a family group when I entered the cab. I waved and wished
them well. I was full of emotion, with watering eyes. They did so well by me
and mine.
We live in a time of shortening distances, except between people. How easy it
is to reach the most remote comers of the imagination. A person like myself
can go from Utica, New York, to Labrador for $120.35 by bus and by plane.
The facts made me swoon. Utica to Labrador. We are only hours from the place
where the world ends.
To reach Labrador you go first to a travel agent. You tell him you wish to
visit Labrador. He does not flinch.
"Where," he says, "Goose Bay?"
"No," you say, having studied maps and folders. "May-
be the Mealy Mountains."
"We have a special on the Mealy s," he says.
"Or Lake Melville," you go on, "Fish Cove Point, White
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Bear, Misery Point, Mary's Harbor, Chidley on Ungave
Bay, Petissikapan Lake, Nipishish, Tunungayluk or perhaps
Gready. I haven't made up my mind."
"Go to Goose Bay," the agent says. "From there you can go any place."
"Can I jump off to Kangalakksiorvik Fiord?"
"In the Tomgat region?" he says. "Naturally."
By intuition I had already chosen Kangalakksiorvik Fiord as the place where my
Glak would be bom. Not that
72 Harvey Jacobs
Canadian citizenship could not be gotten closer, but Kan-
galakksiorvik felt right.
"The scenic route," the agent said, stamping tickets. "By
Greyhound from Utica to Syracuse leaves 10:50 AM, arrives Syracuse 12:05 PM.
Leaves Syracuse 2:30 PM, arrives Montreal 10:20 PM. You have a bite, see a
pic-
ture. At 4:00 AM, Air Canada flies out, and at 7:20 AM you are in Goose Bay
for a total cost, including economy air fare, of $120.35 plus a little tax."
"Then?"
"Then in Goose Bay ask around, hire a charter, and zoom you are in
Kangalakksiorvik. The Tomgats are lovely this time of year."
From the agent's convenient uncle I bought $10,000 in travel insurance. My
policies were divided between Myma and Cynthia, deserving souls.
At long last, with my Hikhoff snug in a pocket and my
Glak bag in my hand, I headed for the terminal. On the downhill slope of
responsibility, time is sweet.
For me a bus ride is only slightly removed from sexual intercourse. Since a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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