Foreign Affairs - Alison Lurie [10]
“Mm, yes,” she agrees, without looking up. She finishes the sentence she is reading, stops, and frowns. Has she been talking to herself out loud, as she sometimes does? No; rather, misled by her New England accent and her academic intonation—plus, no doubt, her preference for tea—this western American believes that she is British.
Vinnie smiles. Ignorant as the man is, in a sense he is onto something, like those of her British friends who sometimes remark that she isn’t really much like an American. Vinnie knows that their idea of “an American” is a media convention. Nevertheless, she has often thought that, having been born and raised in what they call “the States,” she is an anomaly; that both psychologically and intellectually she is essentially English. That her seatmate should assume the same thing is pleasing; it will make a nice story for her friends.
But Vinnie also feels uneasy about the misunderstanding. As a teacher and a scholar she finds errors of fact displeasing; her instinct is to correct them as soon as possible. Besides, if she doesn’t correct this particular error, the heavy red-faced man in the aisle seat will realize his mistake when he sees her in the queue labeled “NON-COMMONWEALTH PASSPORTS.” Or possibly he will think Vinnie is making a mistake, and will loudly try to help her out. No; she must explain to him before they land that she isn’t British.
A bare announcement, however, seems graceless; and having discouraged her seatmate’s attempt to interrupt her reading so often, Vinnie hesitates to interrupt his—particularly since he is now deep into Little Lord Fauntleroy, one of whose minor characters, the outspoken democratic grocer Mr. Hobbs, he somewhat resembles. She sighs and looks out the window, where the air is now darkening above a scarlet horizon line, planning a casual reference to her American citizenship. When I first read that book, when I was a little girl in Connecticut . . . Then she looks at Mr. Hobbs, willing him to turn and speak; but he does not do so. He reads steadily on, increasing Vinnie’s respect both for him and for Frances Hodgson Burnett, the book’s author
It is not until they are over Ireland, some hours later, that Mr. Hobbs finishes Little Lord Fauntleroy and returns it with thanks, and Vinnie is able to clear up the misunderstanding.
“You mean you’re an American?” He blinks slowly. “You sure fooled me. Where you from?”
Since they have almost reached their destination, and her eyes are tired from reading, Vinnie relaxes her unsociability and replies graciously. In the next twenty minutes she learns that her seatmate is called Charles (Chuck) Mumpson; that he is an engineer from Tulsa specializing in waste-disposal systems; educated at the University of Oklahoma; married with two grown children, one of each sex, and three grandchildren (the names, ages, and occupations of all these relatives are supplied); and on a two-week Sun Tour of England. His wife, who is “in real estate,” hasn’t been able to accompany him (“There’s a big property explosion on now in Tulsa; she’s up to her ass in deals”). His older sister and her husband, however, are on the tour, which consists mainly of employees of the electric company for which his brother-in-law works, and their relatives. At this point Hobbs/Mumpson heaves himself up in his seat and insists on introducing Vinnie to Sis and her husband, of whom it is only necessary to report that they are a very nice sixtyish couple from Forth Worth, Texas, now visiting Europe for the first time.
As Vinnie listens to these facts, and under friendly interrogation supplies a few of her own, she wonders why citizens of the United States who have nothing in common and will never see one another again feel it necessary to exchange such information. It can only clog up their brain cells with useless data, and is moreover often invidious, tending to estrange casual acquaintances. (Mumpson’s brother-in-law, like many before him, has just remarked to her, “You’re an English teacher? Gosh, I better watch my language, I was always