| “Oh my stars. Indiana,” she said. “South Bend.” “Where is it?” Joe asked. “It’s one of those cities you hear about, but you don’t know where it is. It’s like Indiana in general.” “You really ought to travel more,” his mother said. She sipped her coffee. “It broadens the mind.” “I was in Maustown last week.” “South Bend. She sighed. “Your father had a brother in South Bend. You never met him. Stuart. He had a bowling alley, which I think he bought so he could work somewhere that drowned out his . . . noises. The man had gas.” “I remember Uncle Stu, Mom. He came here for Christmas once. We called him Farty Stu. We used to play games where one of us was Farty Stu, and the other guy would fall down and choke. That must have been 43 or 44. When did you go see him?” “I don’t recall. My stars. This was in your father’s jacket?” Joe nodded. Not the only match, but that wasn’t her business. Yet. “Stu took us out for dinner. I remember this. We met at his bowling alley. He wanted us to meet him there. He played the big shot, ordering the help around, saying hiya jack to all the regulars. He opened up the register and took out some money, trying to impress your father – see, I have the keys to the register here, I can take what I like. Of course your father knew he was in debt up to here. But Stu was always like that. You couldn’t hate him, but you had a hard time liking him, so you just settled on waiting him out.” Joe took a bite of his sandwich. His mother had made bologna and white bread with butter – a kid’s meal, but he had to ask himself why he didn’t have this every day. It was great. “He took us here.” She tapped the matchbook. “I remember this because Joy and he obviously weren’t strangers.” She blushed, slightly. “He was a single man, so I can’t fault him, and I’ve nothing against Orientals at all, I think some of them are lovely people. It’s just – well, it wasn’t about this Joy at all, it seemed to be about Chinese things in general? He went on and on about Chinese women and how they knew how to treat a man, and I remember he was so loud about it, and this Joy smiled and nodded and said nothing, standing back by the kitchen in this empty restaurant with six waiters hanging around looking at us, and I just wanted to slap him. Bless your father, I didn’t have to. Stu got tipsy as he usually did and he talked louder and louder and started making these remarks I can’t repeat.” “Oh sure you can.” “No I can’t. “Mom, no one’s going to hear you.” “It’s not nice.” “To who? Stu? Sounds like he hardly deserves it.” “No tickee no fukkee.” Joe coughed. “What?” She was crimson now. “You heard me. Don’t make me say it again, it was bad enough to hear it the first time. That’s the sort of man he was. Still is, for all I know.” Joe imagined a man with his face, flush with drink, saying these things in front of his parents, laughing at the woman who had brought them dinner. He could see his father wearing that hard stare he got before he started speaking very quietly. That stare would fix you in your place. You wanted to run, but you knew that would just make it worse. “So your father had a word with him. He took him by the elbow and walked him back to the hallway where the men’s rooms were, and you know your father –“ “Yeah.” “He gave Stu the what-for, I guess. He never told me what he said and I didn’t ask, but I remember Stu coming back to the table all flushed, smoothing his tie down, mad. Why do you ask? All this about a matchbook.” “Well, because I don’t know? It’s interesting.” Joe shook out a cigarette from his mother’s pack. “Every kid wants to know what their parents did when they weren’t around, mom. You never told us anything about Stu –“ “It wasn’t for you to know.” “Then. But what’s the diff now?” “You want a macaroon?” “No, I’m fine.” He lit the cigarette. “There’s no harm, Mom. So Stu was a jerk. Good I know this if he comes around for a touch, you know?” “Oh, he won’t.” “Why?” “Because he tried that at your father’s funeral, that’s why, and the only thing I could think of saying was sorry, Stu, no tickey no fukkee. And I poked him right here.” She leaned over and tapped Joe’s breastbone. He flinched and drew back by instinct. “He never called again and I don’t think he will. He calls you, you know what to do. I don’t think he would. Just stay away from South Bend.” “Won’t even go to Bend,” Joe said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, smoking, listening to the radio. “How was the food at Joy’s?” Joe asked. “The chicken was greasy and brown,” his mother sighed. “I guess that’s the way those people like it.” |
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