out that it was the planet Venus they saw, which had appeared in the sky long before the invention of an electric light bulb. They had never heard of the planet Venus.
“Ignoramuses,” said Flo. At which Rose knew, and knew her father knew, that Flo had never heard of the planet Venus either. To distract them from this, or even apologize for it, Flo put down her teacup, stretched out with her head resting on the chair she had been sitting on and her feet on another chair (somehow she managed to tuck her dress modestly between her legs at the same time), and lay stiff as a board, so that Brian cried out in delight, “Do that! Do that!”
Flo was double-jointed and very strong. In moments of celebration or emergency she would do tricks.
They were silent while she turned herself around, not using her arms at all but just her strong legs and feet. Then they all cried out in triumph, though they had seen it before.
Just as Flo turned herself Rose got a picture in her mind of that airship, an elongated transparent bubble, with its strings of diamond lights, floating in the miraculous American sky.
“The planet Venus!” her father said, applauding Flo. “Ten thousand electric lights!”
There was a feeling of permission, relaxation, even a current of happiness, in the room.
Y ears later, many years later, on a Sunday morning, Rose turned on the radio. This was when she was living by herself in Toronto.
Well sir.
It was a different kind of place in our day. Yes it was.
It was all horses then. Horses and buggies. Buggy races up and down the main street on the Saturday nights.
“Just like the chariot races,” says the announcer’s, or interviewer’s, smooth encouraging voice.
I never seen a one of them.
“No sir, that was the old Roman chariot races I was referring to. That was before your time.”
Musta been before my time. I’m a hunerd and two years old.
“That’s a wonderful age, sir.”
It is so.
She left it on, as she went around the apartment kitchen, making coffee for herself. It seemed to her that this must be a staged interview, a scene from some play, and she wanted to find out what it was. The old man’s voice was so vain and belligerent, the interviewer’s quite hopeless and alarmed, under its practiced gentleness and ease. You were surely meant to see him holding the microphone up to some toothless, reckless, preening centenarian, wondering what in God’s name he was doing here, and what would he say next?
“They must have been fairly dangerous.”
What was dangerous?
“Those buggy races.”
They was. Dangerous. Used to be the runaway horses. Used to be a-plenty of accidents. Fellows was dragged along on the gravel and cut their face open. Wouldna matter so much if they was dead. Heh.
Some of them horses was the high-steppers. Some, they had to have the mustard under their tail. Some wouldn step out for nothin. That’s the thing it is with the horses. Some’ll work and pull till they drop down dead and some wouldn pull your cock out of a pail of lard. Hehe.
It must be a real interview after all. Otherwise they wouldn’t have put that in, wouldn’t have risked it. It’s all right if the old man says it. Local color. Anything rendered harmless and delightful by his hundred years.
Accidents all the time then. In the mill. Foundry. Wasn’t the precautions.
“You didn’t have so many strikes then, I don’t suppose? You didn’t have so many unions?”
Everybody taking it easy nowadays. We worked and we was glad to get it. Worked and was glad to get it.
“You didn’t have television.”
Didn’t have no TV. Didn’t have no radio. No picture show.
“You made your own entertainment.”
That’s the way we did.
“You had a lot of experiences young men growing up today will never have.”
Experiences.
“Can you recall any of them for us?”
I eaten groundhog meat one time. One winter. You wouldna cared for it. Heh.
There was a pause, of appreciation, it would seem,
“Ignoramuses,” said Flo. At which Rose knew, and knew her father knew, that Flo had never heard of the planet Venus either. To distract them from this, or even apologize for it, Flo put down her teacup, stretched out with her head resting on the chair she had been sitting on and her feet on another chair (somehow she managed to tuck her dress modestly between her legs at the same time), and lay stiff as a board, so that Brian cried out in delight, “Do that! Do that!”
Flo was double-jointed and very strong. In moments of celebration or emergency she would do tricks.
They were silent while she turned herself around, not using her arms at all but just her strong legs and feet. Then they all cried out in triumph, though they had seen it before.
Just as Flo turned herself Rose got a picture in her mind of that airship, an elongated transparent bubble, with its strings of diamond lights, floating in the miraculous American sky.
“The planet Venus!” her father said, applauding Flo. “Ten thousand electric lights!”
There was a feeling of permission, relaxation, even a current of happiness, in the room.
Y ears later, many years later, on a Sunday morning, Rose turned on the radio. This was when she was living by herself in Toronto.
Well sir.
It was a different kind of place in our day. Yes it was.
It was all horses then. Horses and buggies. Buggy races up and down the main street on the Saturday nights.
“Just like the chariot races,” says the announcer’s, or interviewer’s, smooth encouraging voice.
I never seen a one of them.
“No sir, that was the old Roman chariot races I was referring to. That was before your time.”
Musta been before my time. I’m a hunerd and two years old.
“That’s a wonderful age, sir.”
It is so.
She left it on, as she went around the apartment kitchen, making coffee for herself. It seemed to her that this must be a staged interview, a scene from some play, and she wanted to find out what it was. The old man’s voice was so vain and belligerent, the interviewer’s quite hopeless and alarmed, under its practiced gentleness and ease. You were surely meant to see him holding the microphone up to some toothless, reckless, preening centenarian, wondering what in God’s name he was doing here, and what would he say next?
“They must have been fairly dangerous.”
What was dangerous?
“Those buggy races.”
They was. Dangerous. Used to be the runaway horses. Used to be a-plenty of accidents. Fellows was dragged along on the gravel and cut their face open. Wouldna matter so much if they was dead. Heh.
Some of them horses was the high-steppers. Some, they had to have the mustard under their tail. Some wouldn step out for nothin. That’s the thing it is with the horses. Some’ll work and pull till they drop down dead and some wouldn pull your cock out of a pail of lard. Hehe.
It must be a real interview after all. Otherwise they wouldn’t have put that in, wouldn’t have risked it. It’s all right if the old man says it. Local color. Anything rendered harmless and delightful by his hundred years.
Accidents all the time then. In the mill. Foundry. Wasn’t the precautions.
“You didn’t have so many strikes then, I don’t suppose? You didn’t have so many unions?”
Everybody taking it easy nowadays. We worked and we was glad to get it. Worked and was glad to get it.
“You didn’t have television.”
Didn’t have no TV. Didn’t have no radio. No picture show.
“You made your own entertainment.”
That’s the way we did.
“You had a lot of experiences young men growing up today will never have.”
Experiences.
“Can you recall any of them for us?”
I eaten groundhog meat one time. One winter. You wouldna cared for it. Heh.
There was a pause, of appreciation, it would seem,
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