Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [82]
87 California Sunshine
Feeling the need of some sort of moderate physical activity, Mr. Bridge decided he would clean out the garage. After changing into old clothes he put on his fishing hat and a pair of cotton gloves and walked through the kitchen, where he paused just long enough to sample a kettle of turkey soup simmering on the stove. Then he stepped outside and inhaled deeply. A high veil of clouds grayed the sun and the wind blew steadily from the north. He clapped his hands to frighten some chickadees hopping around on the frozen earth and proceeded to the garage in good humor, amusing himself by walking into his breath which was visible in the wintry air.
He opened the garage door and stepped inside but instantly hesitated, sensing that he was not alone. He snapped on the light but did not see anybody. A cat or a dog might be under one of the cars, so he got down on his hands and knees and looked, but nothing was there. Somewhat puzzled, he got to his feet ready to admit he had been mistaken, when he felt again a strong intuition and glanced up and discovered his son almost directly overhead straddling a plank which lay across the rafters.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “Good morning up there!”
Douglas nodded but did not speak. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth and he was holding a magazine. The magazine made Mr. Bridge suspicious.
“What do you have there?” he asked.
Douglas shrugged and murmured. Occasionally he climbed up into the garage rafters and stayed there awhile, but Mr. Bridge had never thought this particularly strange because he remembered how he used to enjoy climbing. He had attempted to explain this to his wife, who did not like their son going up into the rafters or very high up in trees; but women could not understand because they lacked the instinct, or urge, or need, or whatever it was that impelled most boys and a good many grown men to climb things, to get as high as possible. There was a peculiar airy excitement in reaching for a branch or a foothold. And a thick pleasure flowed like syrup through the blood. However, these things could not be explained; either you understood, so that no explanation was necessary, or you could never understand. But now something else was going on. Mr. Bridge stood just inside the garage door and squinted up into the diagonal shadows.
“What are we having for lunch?” Douglas inquired, swinging his feet. The cigarette still drooped from his lip, but he was sliding the magazine out of sight.
Mr. Bridge said, “Come down here.” He snapped his fingers.
Douglas pretended bewilderment. He blew a large cloud of cigarette smoke.
“Come along. Be quick about it. Bring that with you, whatever it is. No more of this nonsense.”
At last he got up, his arms outstretched for balance, and walked the rafters like railroad ties until he reached the wall, lowered himself to the top of the stepladder, jumped over the hood of the Chrysler and nearly landed on the snow shovel.
The title of the magazine was California Sunshine. It consisted of pictures taken at a nudist camp.
“Where did you get this?” Mr. Bridge demanded. “And throw away that cigarette.”
Douglas expertly flipped his cigarette out of the garage. He said he had gotten the magazine downtown. “I think I just put my knee out of joint when I jumped,” he added, grimacing and rubbing his knee. “It sure hurts. You better call Dr. McIntyre.” However, as this did not distract his father, he began to stamp his feet and blow on his fingers and he said, “Wow, it sure is cold. It must be about zero.”
Mr. Bridge was turning the pages three and four at a time. “How long have you had this thing?”
Douglas stuffed his hands into his hip pockets and leaned against the fender of the Lincoln.
“Couple of weeks, I guess. I don’t know. I forget. Why? What difference does it make?”
“Get rid of it.”
“Get rid of it?” he echoed in a squeaking voice.
“You heard me.”
“It cost fifty cents.”
“You made a poor investment. We won’t have this sort of junk around the house.”
“Well,” Douglas said, “I can’t just dump it in the