The Moons of Jupiter - Alice Munro [107]
Wilfred must have started that story as a tribute to ladies whose crocheting or baking or whatever put them away ahead of ladies who had better looks to offer, but Mildred didn’t think even Grace and Vera would be pleased to be put in the category of Blanche Black, who looked like a turnip. And mentioning the mickey of whiskey was a mistake. It was a mistake as far as she was concerned, too. She thought of how much she would like a drink at this moment. She thought of Old Fashioneds, Brown Cows, Pink Ladies, every fancy drink you could imagine.
“I better go and see if I can fix that air-conditioner,” Wilfred said. “We’ll roast tonight if I don’t.”
Mildred sat on. Over in the next block there was a blue light that sizzled loudly, catching bugs.
“I guess those things make a difference with the flies,” she said. “Fries them,” said Albert.
“I don’t like the noise, though.”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer but he finally said, “If it doesn’t make a noise it can’t destroy the bugs.”
When she went into the house to put on some coffee (a good thing Pentecostals had no ban on that), Mildred could hear the air-conditioner humming away. She looked into the bedroom and saw Wilfred stretched out asleep. Worn out.
“Wilfred?”
He jumped. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“They’re still sitting out front. I thought I’d make us some coffee.”
Then she couldn’t resist adding, “I’m glad it isn’t anything too serious the matter with the air-conditioner.”
ON THE NEXT-TO-LAST DAY of the visit, they decided to drive forty-five miles over to Hullett Township to see the place where Wilfred and Albert were born. This was Mildred’s idea. She had thought Albert might suggest it, and she was waiting for that, because she didn’t want to push Albert into doing anything he was too tired to do. But at last she mentioned it. She said she had been trying for a long time to get Wilfred to take her, but he said he wouldn’t know where to go, since he had never been back after being taken away as a baby. The buildings were all gone, the farms were gone; that whole part of the township had become a conservation area.
Grace and Vera brought along their tablecloths. Mildred wondered why they didn’t get sick, working with their heads down in a moving car. She sat between them in the back seat, feeling squashed, although she knew she was the one doing the squashing. Wilfred drove and Albert sat beside him.
Wilfred always got into an argumentative mood when driving. “Now what is so wrong with taking a bet?” he said. “I don’t mean gambling. I don’t mean you go down to Las Vegas and you throw all your money away on those games and machines. With betting you can sometimes be lucky. I had a free winter in the Soo on a bet.”
“Sault Ste. Marie,” Albert said.
“We always said The Soo. I was off the Kamloops, I was in for the winter. The old Kamloops, that was a terrible boat. One night in the bar they were listening to the hockey game on the radio. Before television. Playing Sudbury. Sudbury four, the Soo nothing.”
“We’re getting to where we turn off the highway,” Albert said. Mildred said, “Watch for the turn, Wilfred.”
“I am watching.”
Albert said, “Not this one but the next one.”
“I was helping them out in there, I was slinging beer for tips because I didn’t have a union card, and this grouchy fellow was cursing at the Soo. They might come out of it yet, I said, the Soo might beat them yet.”
“Right here,” said Albert.
Wilfred made a sharp turn. “Put your money where your mouth is! Put your money where your mouth is! That’s what he said to me. Ten to one. I didn’t have the money, but the fellow that owned the hotel was a good fellow, and I was helping him out, so he says, take the bet, Wilfred! He says, you go ahead and take the bet!”
“The Hullett Conservation Area,” Mildred read from a sign. They drove along the edge of a dark swamp.
“Heavens, it’s gloomy in there!” she said. “And water standing, at this time of the year.”
“The Hullett Swamp,