The Moons of Jupiter - Alice Munro [86]
MRS. CROSS and Mrs. Kidd used to play cards in the Recreation Room every afternoon. They put on earrings, stockings, afternoon dresses. They took turns treating for tea. On the whole, these afternoons were pleasant. They were well matched at cards.
Sometimes they played Scrabble, but Mrs. Cross did not take Scrabble seriously, as she did cards. She became frivolous and quarrelsome, defending words that were her own invention. So they went back to cards; they played rummy, most of the time. It was like school here. People paired off, they had best friends. The same people always sat together in the dining-room. Some people had nobody.
THE FIRST TIME Mrs. Cross took notice of Jack, he was in the Recreation Room, when she and Mrs. Kidd were playing cards. He had just come in a week or so before. Mrs. Kidd knew about him.
“Do you see that red-haired fellow by the window?” said Mrs. Kidd. “He’s in from a stroke. He’s only fifty-nine years old. I heard it in the dining-room before you got down.”
“Poor chap. That young.”
“He’s lucky to be alive at all. His parents are still alive, both of them, they’re still on a farm. He was back visiting them and he took the stroke and was lying face down in the barnyard when they found him. He wasn’t living around here, he’s from out west.”
“Poor chap,” said Mrs. Cross. “What did he work at?”
“He worked on a newspaper.”
“Was he married?”
“That I didn’t hear. He’s supposed to have been an alcoholic, then he joined A.A. and got over it. You can’t trust all you hear in this place.”
(That was true. There was usually a swirl of stories around any newcomer; stories about the money people had, or the places they had been, or the number of operations they have had and the plastic repairs or contrivances they carry around in or on their bodies. A few days later Mrs. Cross was saying that Jack had been the editor of a newspaper. First she heard it was in Sudbury, then she heard Winnipeg. She was saying he had had a nervous breakdown due to overwork; that was the truth, he had never been an alcoholic. She was saying he came from a good family. His name was Jack MacNeil.)
At present Mrs. Cross noticed how clean and tended he looked in his gray pants and light shirt. It was unnatural, at least for him; he looked like something that had gone soft from being too long in the water. He was a big man, but he could not hold himself straight, even in the wheelchair. The whole left side of his body was loose, emptied, powerless. His hair and moustache were not even gray yet, but fawn-colored. He was white as if just out of bandages.
A distraction occurred. The Gospel preacher who came every week to conduct a prayer service, with hymns (the more established preachers came, in turn, on Sundays), was walking through the Recreation Room with his wife close behind, the pair of them showering smiles and greetings wherever they could catch an eye. Mrs. Kidd looked up when they had passed and said softly but distinctly, “Joy to the World.”
At this, Jack, who was wheeling himself across the room in a clumsy way—he tended to go in circles—smiled. The smile was intelligent, ironic, and did not go with his helpless look. Mrs. Cross waved him over and wheeled part of the way to meet him. She introduced herself, and introduced Mrs. Kidd. He opened his mouth and said, “Anh-anh-anh.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Cross encouragingly. “Yes?”
“Anh-anh-anh,” said Jack. He flapped his right hand. Tears came into his eyes.
“Are we playing cards?” said Mrs. Kidd.
“I have to get on with this game,” said Mrs. Cross. “You’re welcome to sit and watch. Were you a card player?”
His right hand came out and grabbed her chair, and he bent his head weeping. He tried to get the left hand up to wipe his face. He could lift it a few inches, then it fell back in his lap.
“Oh, well,” said Mrs. Cross softly. Then she remembered what you do when children cry; how to josh them out of it. “How can I tell what you’re saying if you’re going to cry? You just be patient.