• Donwood West opens new retirement option • - Canadian ...

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Small Talk
And she said How are you, Harry?
I said How are you, Sue?
- Harry Chapin, Taxi
byJ. Braun
Whenever he reads Updike he becomes
pensive. He peruses the text deliberately,
savoring the language, disentangling
each turn of phrase, pausing at
the end of a paragraph to reflect. For a
moment he studies the carpet coffee
stain: a Rorschach test, distorted valentine,
lopsided kidney. The neighbor's
mongrel howls once, twice. Another
answers to be echoed by another: a
cacophony dissipating into the distance.
The radio glows dimly in the corner, casting
grim shadows on the spines along the
bookshelves. Bruce Cockburn is singing
And you're not even here on the coldest
night of the year. On the window the
season's first fist of frost cradles each
molding: three, six, nine, a dozen framed
IS/mennonite mirror/april 1988
-1
slate blue luminescent quarter moons.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
The trill of the telephone rouses him
from his stupor.
- Good evening.
- Hello. May I speak to Jay?
The voice is familiar. Vaguely. He jostles
for a reference, light years past. A
pause and the recognition tumbles
through from a half world away.
- Speaking.
- Hi. This is Ellen.
Confirmed.
-Oh ... um ... ah ...
Now he is pacing, from his study,
around the corner, through the archway,
into the kitchen.
- Well, this is a pleasant surprise.
Back out and in circles around the sofa,
flicking the cord as it dogs him.
- I thought I would call to see how
you've been keeping. I read your article a
few months ago. That was you, wasn't it?
It was very clever, I thought. I meant to
call you earlier this past summer but
somehow never got around to it. Are you
writing much these days?
- Well, this is ... I can't believe ...
Well, thank you. Thank you for the compliment.
Kudos from the critics, as they
said. And yes. Yes, I am writing some,
now and then. My desk is a clutter of
paper scraps, jottings, bits and pieces. At
the mercy of the muses, the doppelganger
syndrome, you know. This is so
remarkab . . . And yourself? How was
your summer?
- I spent a few weeks in the Maritimes.
More beautiful than I ever imagined,
especially the coast, the pounding surf.
And your holidays?
- Oh ... not quite as long as I suppose
yours was, of course, but I did manage to
get in some white watering on the B1oodvein.
- Isn't that kind of dangerous?
Yes it was. And she would be one to
remind him. Ever the conservative, she
was the typical teacher who had heard
too many stories, the same recycled tragedies,
over and over from the desks in
front of her. And because, as is their wont,
her students sat in confident anticipation
offailure, she sought to protect them and,
subconsciously, herself with the steady
voice of caution: stop, hold on, be careful,
look out, wait, don't do it, it won't work
out, take the straight and wide. But he
was not a conservative; he was a romantic.
A romantic who believed in the impossible
beauty of the world, who revelled
in the endless possibilities of life, who
would have told those kids: go ahead, see,
find out, discover, explore, have an
adventure, take the gamble and play it.
And swviving it, you will become the better
for it. And you will never change back
to what you were.
- That's the thrill of it. I pulled a few
spills without too much damage. The
canoe got it worse . . . What have you
been up to otherwise?
- Still teaching in Fort Garry. Have
been for five years now. The first year I
cried every other night, it was such a
change from that small town. Oh, it was
good to leave there. I never felt at home in
that basement suite.
- Neither did 1. You live with your
baggage packed. Mentally, that is ...
And your Master's? You should be about
finished your thesis by now.
No. I put that on hold. I need my evenings
and summers off. I might try again
sometime in the future, I don't know yet.
And you? What are you up to these days?
- At the University. My second home.
- What kind of work?
- Research. A research project in the