The Age of Cities Read Online Free PDF Page A

He’d decided that the old Greek story had no relation to him, living thousands of years after the fact and in a wholly different world. That he was living with his mother and that his father was missing was sheer coincidence. There was no untoward affection here in River Bend City, and, certainly, no lost eye, no oracle, no murder. Even tragedy was a rarity. A drunken murder outside of a beer parlour five years ago was as sensational as it ever got. Not even a perverted crime of passion, like the one that had Alberta so worked up. Small potatoes only. Pathetic failings and petty scrambling for money or territory, those were the headline crimes in the Bend. Nothing tragic or epic. Ordinary, not remotely majestic.
    Relaxing in the humid kitchen air, Winston turned his attention to his vexing foot. He held steadfast to his belief that nothing psychological was involved and that there was something else he could do. Poised between his mother’s well-intended tonics and poultices and Doc Carter’s promissory but inconclusive prescription of time will tell, he decided that a trip to a specialist in the city would be the rational man’s wisest choice.
    A foot doctor’s the thing, he thought. He’ll discover what’s wrong. He’d stop by Doc Carter’s and ask for a recommendation.
    Winston slid the stewing rhubarb off its element and returned to his chair. He withdrew the problem appendage from a faded brown plaid slipper. The soft skin reminded him of putty. With the same gesture he’d been repeating for months he made an impression of his thumb and then watched it disappear. Without the insulating slipper the linoleum floor was cold, and he walked gingerly to his mother’s remedy. He sank a fingertip into the yellow fluid and drew it to his nostrils. Cayenne pepper snuck out from within the mustard’s overpowering vinegary miasma. He reached tentatively with the tip of his tongue. It tasted sharp but not unpleasant, as though Alberta had created it to be served with ham and bread at lunch.
    Fingers curved into a scoop, he collected some, then crouched and daubed it along the top of his foot just as his mother had instructed. The skin did not absorb the thin ointment, which looked like spilled sauce. With a frown, he scraped off the excess and wiped his hands on a dishcloth. Winston remembered that the egg white remedy had needed to cover the skin overnight. Alberta had told him it might take a while to soak in. He doubted this latest batch of folk medicine would have any more power than the last, but hopped to his bedroom to retrieve a worn pair of socks. If nothing else, applying the poultice helped him feel he wasn’t a weak and passive captive of an invisible hunter. The successes of religions and snake oil salesmen were clear to him. Same principle. Winston knew that credulousness was no fire ablaze in his soul and felt glad that his mother’s run of curatives had nearly finished.
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    â€œI hear that you were going to the city to have that foot of yours examined by a specialist.” Mrs. Pierce was reclined on the staff chesterfield, the saucer holding the morning cup of tea poised on her lap.
    â€œYou hear?”
    â€œWell, you know. There are no secrets safe in the staff room of River Bend City Senior Secondary School.” Winston returned her sly smile.
    â€œI was wondering if I could impose on you? There’s this delightful English candy that I have never been able to find out here. I’m sure Eaton’s Department Store stocks it.”
    â€œOf course, I’d be happy to.”
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    â€œDelilah tells me you are going to the city to have that foot of yours examined by a specialist.” Miss Mittchel sat across from him as he was removing a sandwich from his lunch bag. He’d used the bag so often the paper was as soft as chamois.
    â€œShe did, did she?”
    â€œWell, you know. It’s well known that there are no